#as in they apparently spar with each other so ok

[xsunnysucculentx]

newbie

part 2 to meeting task 141! 

summary: you have a sparring session with ghost, soap and könig 

warnings: reader smokes, has tattoos/piercings, mentions of guns, violence content warning: none 

pronouns: she/her

a/n: thanks for the support on the last post, im happy you liked it ehe~ well, back at it it again with a new post, enjoy! 

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"sparring session!" price announced loudly and you looked up from your breakfast. "you too, newbie" 

"yessir" you said and started gathering some stuff from the other guys and put the trays in the cart. "thank you!" soap shouted from across the cantine and put the straw of his apple juice between his lips. you were glad that you were already in your sportswear, because the men left almost immediately after the call from price. you quickly followed them because the sparring sessions weren't in the gym, but in a hall, which you could've never found by yourself.

you were four people, ghost, soap, könig and you. even though könig was part of KorTac he still trained with the 141 sometimes, soap explained to you earlier. ghost opened the door to the hall and you were apparently the first group to enter a session. you just kinda hoped that the guys would go easy on you. and you hoped that you wouldn't be partnered up with könig, he's taller than ghost and you don't want to underestimate any of them. "how do your sparring sessions work?" you asked as the guys started taking off their jackets, vests, whatever they had on, leaving them in tank tops and ghost and könig wearing their masks. "we usually train all at once, but we didn't want to overwhelm you the first time you're here. basically we just 'fight' against each other and thats it, last one standing wins." könig said and crossed his arms. you nodded and put your hair up in a ponytail. "no music?" you looked at the ceiling of the hall, which reminded you of your high school P.E. hall but with softer floors, and spotted a few speakers. "you dont need concentration?" ghost seemed to be raising an eyebrow and you shrugged. "multitasking i guess, lieutenant" you almost never trained without music, gave you main character vibes. "we can try, im open to something new" soap said and pulled out his phone. "any recommendations?" "dunno" you said seriously, forgetting every song you've ever listened to. "just put something on" ghost grew impatient. he hated wasting time if there was clearly something to do. soap handed you his phone and you put your gym playlist on, knowing there were no embarrassing songs in it. "five laps." ghost said and started running, followed by the other two. you hated running with your entire heart and pulled a grimace. you may be strong, but your stamina wasn't the best. as a sniper you didn't need to have it, after all. you noticed falling behind the guys with your short legs and picked up speed. their jog was a full on sprint, but you knew that you had a significant advantage in combat. you finished your lap last and put your arms on your knees, catching your breath. 'i need to stop smoking' you thought and took a deep breath. "you alright?" soap asked, dude didn't even look like he was full on sprinting the last three laps. "yeah yeah im not used to running at full speed for so long" you inhaled and pulled your ponytail tighter. "that was full speed?" he joked and you shot him a death glare. "you two" ghost pointed between könig and you. "partner up, soap and i will be the other team" you looked at könig, who gave you an apologetic look and you nodded before taking your hoodie off, leaving you in an oversized black t-shirt. "i'll be gentle." könig promised and you chuckled. "no need dude, i can handle myself." you just didn't expect ghost and soap to be watching for a moment. "we'll see" könig got into position and you did the same. ok maybe you did underestimate his height. mans was towering over you like almost two entire heads. 'i can handle myself' you repeated in your head. ghost looked at your arms, noticing the patchwork style tattoos. some butterflies, flowers, those famous hands from some portrait. you looked like you escaped a pinterest picture. not that he knew what pinterest was. obviously. "oh god" you yelped as könig launched at you and you put your hands up right in time. you heard escapism playing faintly in the background and you looked at könig. think of it as a game. you had the advantage of being small, you could easily climb on his back. you just needed to know what the best tactic would be. könig launched at you once again, but this time you used his calf as a 'ladder' typa deal and jumped on his back, motioning a knife with your thumb against his throat and jumping off. "i can handle myself" you said and smiled at him. "not bad" he nodded and you bowed a little. "thank you, thank you" ghost looked indifferent, thinking könig just went light on you. "pair up" he said to könig and soap, wanting to test your skills himself. 'yeah no fuck that' you thought. königs statue was slimmer than ghosts, and you didn't really feel like taking ghost on. grave started playing and you put your fists up, signing that you were ready. no, ghost looked intimidating, for sure. but you looked death right into the eyes, one little ghost isn't gonna hurt you. "it's about to get interesting" soap said to könig and you asked if he could turn the music up a bit. you launched first this time and ghost duck under your fist, ready to strike back. you jumped back, no time planning your next step because ghost was already on his way to throw you onto the floor. you wanted to step aside gracefully, but tripped over his feet and almost face planted the floor. he held your arm, holding you back from the floor and you looked back. "you'd be dead" "no! that wasn't fair! your shoe laces are too long, i tripped!" you gasped and ghost let you go. "könig said last one standing wins and im clearly standing." soap shook his head with a chuckle and könig leaned against the wall. you felt like it was just some kind of setup to see how good you really were. "all right then." ghost shrugged and grabbed your arm, kicking your leg from under you. you reacted quickly, standing on your other leg for support, freeing yourself from his grip. you tried to use the same tactic on him as you did on könig, but ghost reacted way quicker than you anticipated. you stepped into air instead of his thigh and were a little wobbly for a second. this would go on for ever if you wouldn't come up with a plan. 'if you cant beat them, confuse them. and then beat them.' the words of your mom sounded through your head and a light bulb went off on your head. "i bet you like crushing girls with them thicc daddy thighs" ghost stopped in his motion, giving you the perfect moment to jump and kick his knee in, making him kneel onto the floor. just as you were about to celebrate your victory, you felt a hand swiping both your feet from the ground, making you fall. "what the fuck" you gasped and ghost came into your field or vision. "never heard my thighs being described that way" he said in a monotone voice and held a hand out to you. you grabbed it and got pulled up, nodding admiringly. "i was this close" you put your index finger and thumb as close as possible together without touching them "to winning. they are my witnesses." you pointed to where soap and könig were, but they started their own sparring session. "fuck." "i've won."

könig left a little detail out. it wasnt "last one standing wins". it was more of a "looser plays the wrecking doll for takedown combat techniques”

and obviously, it was you. you stiffly stood next to ghost, looking at the men who you didn't know and who were definitely not in the 141 task force. day four on this base and you'll already loose all dignity those men had for you. if there was any to start with. some of them had a pitiful look in their eyes, some were literally looking at you like they didn't expect any less from a woman. "alright" prices voice was loud and clear, the chatter immediately stopped. "we'll go through three techniques today, i want to see them perfected by the end of the week." "yessir" came back and you mentally prepared yourself for the embarrassment that was about to come. "before you begin, it's important to know how to take down your enemy without any weapons. your body is your weapon, your mind its strongest component." price continued and gave ghost a slight nod. "ghost will demonstrate with newbie. watch closely." oh god, this is the end there was literally nothing to worry about tho, ghost is just gonna throw you against the floor. nothing more, nothing less. "-to catch your enemy off guard" you heard price say before ghost grabbed you firmly, twisted your arm and lowered you to the ground forcefully. his knee was on the small of your back, his right hand holding a pistol immitat and his left both of your wrists. "wasn't ready" you mumbled and tapped the floor. you got up after ghost took his knee away from your back. "you alright?" he whispered and shot you a side glance. "no worries, im tuff" you whispered back and looked at price, who signed to get on to the next technique. this time, ghost faked attacking your right leg, grabbed your left one and pushed you on the floor, putting his knee on your belly. you noticed that he tried not to put too much weight on you and you met his eyes. your felt your cheeks flush up, its been a while since someone pinned you down. the men starred at you after ghost helped you up and got ready for the next strike down. he grabbed your arm, turned around and threw you over his shoulder, trying to throw you on the floor as carefully as possible. you left out a defeated sigh and sat up, legs crossed. "nice work" you commented and looked up at him. "start training!" price said loudly and the men started pairing up and repeating the techniques ghost showed them. "im going out for a smoke" soap announced and your arm shot up. "i'll go too!"

[sam-glade]

Find the Words Tag

Tagged by the wonderful @winterandwords here and @eccaiia here. Thank you💜

I'll pass it gently to: @frostedlemonwriter @liv-is @autumnalwalker @axl-ul. Your words are: sneak, sand, soft, silent.

From @winterandwords: awake, morning, day, and afternoon

From The Fulcrum:

AWAKE and MORNING

The rosy dawn bleeds onto the sky, still subtle, still gentle. And yet with every passing minute the horizon becomes more clear-cut, the contrast more apparent. The sun's beak hasn’t pierced the night sky yet. As soon as it does, the Priests will begin Morning Pleas, and Lornai will stir awake.

DAY

She hopes to reach the Apothecary before the Priests’ evocations begin, before avians start going about their day. The Apothecary rises early to prepare fresh salves and potions, to have them ready as soon as they are needed. He is kind and understanding, the Soulless assures herself. He will forgive the wilted herbs and bruised berries which she failed to deliver last night.

AFTERNOON

Her first mistake was that she spoke up. Peacemakers stopped her at the Gateway Bridge in the late afternoon. The crowds were non-existent at the time — it was the middle of a workshift. They fished her out swiftly and took her to one of the guardhouses. They didn’t divulge their reasons. She’s been perfectly obedient — what other choice did she have? She didn’t stop them when they started driving hands into the pouches at her belt, checking each one, shoving her this way and that. She didn’t squirm when one of the Peacemakers dug his fingers into her shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise, holding her in place. She didn’t point out that he didn’t need to. She spoke up when the other Peacemaker reached into the pouch with the charcoal gillcap. She told them not to touch it. The first one slapped her, his knuckles hitting her cheekbone with enough force to knock her off her feet.

~*~

From @eccaiia: throw, kick, live, push, and hurl

Ok, I'm going to dive into Gifts of Fate for these; need to look in action scenes:

THROW

If Gullin had any lingering doubts that the kid really channelled all Five Elements, they were gone now. Any nicks and cuts disappeared in seconds, and even the most powerful punch Gullin could throw was blocked effortlessly. And Lissan’s Water-enhanced reflexes were by far superior to Gullin’s.

KICK

It spun away from another strike and pivoted on the ball of its foot, bringing its other shin up. The kick was aimed at Lissan’s ribs; he blocked it with his forearms, unable to bring the blade down in time. He was too slow. This thing didn’t even need its Sword to be a match for him. We can do better than that, partner.

LIVE

The monster opened its jaw. Lissan slashed up and across, in a wide arc. He ground his teeth, pouring every last bit of his strength into this one attack. His last chance to live. The blade was driven deeper into the demon’s head than he’d anticipated, and black ichor spilled from the wound. He rolled, ducking his head under the monster’s jaw. He heard the liquid sizzle on the ground behind him, moments before the body of the Dark One burst apart, covering him in oily black ash. The demon was dead. He lived. The Dark One was dead, and he survived.

PUSH

Gullin pooled raw energy inside him and let it course through him. It propelled him to move, to act. Wind picked up and a whirlwind cocooned him, strong enough to deflect the smaller pebbles. A dozen of the ones floating nearby converged on him — he heard them zip through the air, his senses honed to the extreme. A gust pushed him further into the fray; the pebbles’ paths crisscrossed harmlessly behind him and they clattered to the ground.

HURL

There were few Swords who’d agree to spar with Gullin full-release. Fewer still would pose a challenge to him. Officers of various divisions would ask him to hurl his knives at them, to hone their reflexes and precision. He’d still have to hold himself back. If they reacted fast enough, they channelled Water, not Matter, so he had to be careful not to cut them. If they did heal from the cuts, their reaction time was lacking, and it forced him to slow down.

[husbandomail-archive]

Hi could I request headcanons for Felix Ignatz and Ashe being shy around female reader? If that's ok of course.

Felix:

Out of all the boys, Felix is the one who handles his feelings the worst. He doesn’t even know what happened; last week, he’d had no problem mouthing off as the two of you sparred, his tongue as sharp as the edge of his sword. A flick of his wrist and your own blade had gone flying across the arena, embedding itself in a bay of hale near the wall— as you fought to free your sword from its new prison, you’d pouted at your opponent, and Felix’s next words died in his throat.

Since then, he’s had trouble approaching you in any fashion, and he doesn’t know what changed. Used to, the pair of you were constantly bickering, taking clear relish in your verbal sparring sessions as much as your physical ones. Other students would look between each other with obvious worry painted on their faces as Felix made some comment about your parentage— but when you followed with an uppercut to his ego, it was apparent you were comfortable. Now, though, when you sit next to him in the dining hall, Felix doesn’t say a word; your shoulders brush against his and he finds himself curling inwards. It pisses him off.

Of course you noticed. Even if you didn’t know what was going on, it was clear that Felix was struggling with something; he’d never been the type to share his feelings, but damn if you weren’t going to make him talk somehow. But it seems like Felix is avoiding you— whenever you enter the training hall, he’s quick to sheathe his sword and shut his mouth. When your eyes meet his in class, his face turns red— or maybe it’s just a trick of the candlelight. You’ll get him to talk eventually.

Ignatz:

Ignatz is already fairly shy; he’s used to having to hide aspects of himself, always fearing what other people might think if he strays too far from his projected self-image. It had taken a lot of work to get him to open up to you, and now that he’s comfortable enough to involve you with his art, you don’t want to shatter that fragile balance.

One night, he’d dragged you to an oft-ignored balcony, where he’d already set up his canvas and paints on the stone. He was a bit too nervous to outright ask if you’d pose for a painting, but you knew him well enough to take the hint, quickly sitting yourself on the low stone wall and turning to stare out over the courtyard. And it was there in the moonlight that Ignatz realized he was suddenly really nervous.

The painting will never be finished if he can’t bring himself to look at you, he knows that much. But Ignatz’s hands are trembling too much now, and he barely gets through a basic sketch within the first hour you’re up there. He sighs out an apology, setting his supplies down and averting his gaze; you just smile, one that has his heart slamming against his ribcage, and agree to come back whenever he’s feeling better. For the next few days, Ignatz observes you from afar, hoping to maybe memorize enough of you that he can finish the portrait by himself— but even that doesn’t work, because you’re always catching him staring, and your smile blinds him.

Ashe:

Ashe is already fairly open with his emotions; from the moment you’d met, he turned into a squeaky-voiced bundle of nerves whenever you managed to rope him into a conversation. His face would turn a shade of red that completely drowned his freckles, and suddenly he found his shoes the most interesting thing on earth. It was probably one of the cutest things you’d ever seen.

He’s very easy to tease, especially because he’s eager to prove himself. You’re surrounded by strong men of varying titles and royal bloodlines— if he wants your attention, he’s going to have to fight for it. Of course, that’s easier said than done; the moment he realizes you’re watching him, he completely falls apart. When you’re paired for kitchen duties, his usually-steady hands are shaking so much that he drops everything; even with his beloved bow and arrow, if you’re around, he can’t hit the broad side of a barn.

It’s too cute. He’s too cute. Whenever you get the chance, you find yourself practically hanging off him in ways that you probably shouldn’t, draping yourself over his shoulders until you’re worried he’ll combust. He still makes valiant efforts to fumble through a sentence or two, but the fact that you’re so close— the fact that you might like him the way he likes you— it’s too much. You know it’s bad when Dimitri tells you to knock it off.

[zorosmalewife]

chain rxn up8

Chapter 12 DONE! BOO YAH! Just [checks notes] five to go haha. [looks at all the hacking and sawing I've done to the outline] Six to go! Haha!

I'm trying to do NaNoWriMo this year, with my goal being to complete this fic! I've been making good progress on it, and I will hopefully be able to continue as I have been.

I am once again changing the projected chapters because God I am apparently totally incapable of hitting target lengths. The scenes are going to be as long as they want to be, and I know that forcing it will make an inferior product, so. Until this point, I have (obviously) been following a set pattern of scenes (scene, family dinner interlude, scene, spar interlude, repeat) but since a lot of those flow into each other without breaks, it might behoove me to be less strict with it. (It's not like any readers who haven't seen these posts would recognize the pattern for what it is, anyway.) Chapter 13 was supposed to be 3 sections long, so 'love' needed to be at least 3k, but I wrote 500 words that I'm extremely pleased with and need a separate followup... So that means chapter 13 will have to be different. The emotional through-line no longer works, so I'll have to push 'sacrifice' back into chapter 14, and probably pull some of the slated chapter 14 stuff into 13. And then because of that I kind of ended up adding new scenes, removing old ones, moving a bunch of shit around... It'll be a bit of a hackjob, but worth it. Hopefully.

There's a lot that goes into the pacing. I tend to have only one Major Emotional Beat per chapter, otherwise it feels muddled and rushed. So each chapter will, ideally, have one emotional through-line, interspersed with character interactions. Which means that if I'm writing according to the outline, and I write something I like that has a different emotional through-line from the chapter it's slated to be in, I'll just have to move the scene. That's part of why everything keeps changing. Another part is that while it's a little silly, I like to end chapters with impactful lines. So, if I write a really good closing line, I might just end the chapter there. It's mostly about vibes TBH

Scenes, in tentative order, starting with chapter 12:

12 - trust [COMPLETE] INTERLUDE - S5 - wrestling -> mihawk [COMPLETE] 13 - solidarity [COMPLETE] INTERLUDE - FD 6 - nipples [COMPLETE] 14 - honest answer [COMPLETE] -- predicted end of chapter 12 & start of chapter 13 -- INTERLUDE - S 6 - mihawk.... 2! [COMPLETE] 15 - love [COMPLETE] INTERLUDE - FD 7 - icy [WIP] 16 - sick INTERLUDE - S 7 - excuse -- predicted end of chapter 13 & start of chapter 14 -- INTERLUDE - FD 8 - recovery 17 - hair INTERLUDE - S 8 - secrets INTERLUDE - FD 9 - sacrifice [COMPLETE] -- predicted end of chapter 14 & start of chapter 15 -- 18 - charades [WIP] INTERLUDE - S 9 - real 19 - top INTERLUDE - FD 10 - calm -- predicted end of chapter 15 & start of chapter 16 -- 20 - it all comes spilling out. INTERLUDE - S 10 - unseen -- predicted end of chapter 16 & start of chapter 17 -- 21 - reunion INTERLUDE - FD 11 - awkward 22 - future [WIP] INTERLUDE - S 11 - unequivocal victory 23 - legacy -- predicted end of chapter 17 & start of chapter 18 -- 24 - ok stud. INTERLUDE - FD 12 - announcement, and all that comes next

Total word count: 72,677 -> 78,167

[imperfectskeleton]

I don’t dislike being touched - I do dislike being touched. But it is in part about what is stands for.

It’s about me at the age of five saying “no, I’m not ticklish,” and standing, stone faced when someone tickled me anyway. I knew I would be touched whatever the answer and I knew that making no response would stop it happening in future.

It’s about the ex boyfriends who let their hands wander because we were DATING and obviously that meant they could do whatever they wanted, right?

It’s about the strangers who would tap my shoulder and my having to school myself to not look disgusted or flinch.

And when I make an effort to reciprocate actions that aren’t natural to me, I am told I am wrong.

I shake hands for too long or with no resolution.

I miss high-fives, or stare in confusion at offered fist bumps.

I lean down to kiss someone’s cheek and get an offended noise as my nose touches their ear by mistake.

But I know as much as I don’t understand touch and avoid it so I don’t get told I am wrong, other people speak in touch. And so I lean in for hugs even though I can’t hug back.

There was a brief time when I could touch people. I could hold hands with any of my friends as a joke and as a comfort in one.

I could never initiate a kiss, when I dated. I could lean in, barely, as my own consent, but I couldn’t kiss. The motion was foreign to me, and I cannot comprehend what another person wants with touch.

I like hanging onto people for support when I am uncertain or unsteady.

It needs to be a person I can trust, and one I know I am allowed to touch, but I will cling in what I’m sure is a very annoying manner to their arm or shoulder. When I was tired in a crowd I would find my mum and hold onto her but as a teenager I stopped because she got annoyed (once).

So I can’t touch my mum anymore unless we are sitting down.

Instead I stand too close to a person I trust to look after me, not touching but just there. Personal space is strange and I know I’m ignoring it but I need other people for balance.

I don’t like being hugged because it constricts me.

But an arm around my shoulder is strength and support from the right people.

I wish I could say this out loud.

I know that if I hug someone, it is a non-verbal cue. “I like you,” it says, silently, “you can touch me if you want to. I’m touching you, so it’s ok if you want to touch me.”

Some people don’t understand that a hug only allows so much touch back.

My hugs don’t allow for me to be held in a way that isn’t protective or affectionate. And if I push you off me without words, it’s because when I am scared I can’t talk.

Because when I’m scared I say things that are stupid and dangerous, so it’s better to just act.

So I can’t hug people anymore, because the silent permission to touch me apparently cannot be overridden.

I can verbally allow hugs, and I can let myself be hugged when I know to expect it, but I can’t hug first.

But I don’t hate it anymore. I need to be touched, and I know it, because without touch I am exhausted.

But there are rules. Silent rules, that even I don’t know the extent of.

My brothers and I can sit close together, but otherwise we do not touch each other, except for the youngest who I poke and tease and lead by the hand when he needs protecting.

He doesn’t complain, because we have always touched each other, sparring or in games. He doesn’t tell me I am doing it wrong.

Some people I touch because it never occurs to them I might not want to for more than a minute at a time.

My other brother, the one who is not of blood but of a choice to be family and to love each other with my unfiltered adoration and his supportive care, I touch with a mix of unconscious and conscious thoughts.

When we chose to be family, I had learned touch can be a weapon. I had learned that boys who are bigger than you can disregard your boundaries and apparently not even notice that you are upset by it.

I couldn’t sit next to him when I decided I wanted him as a part of my life. I couldn’t even sit within arms reach.

And I chose, I CHOSE to fix that. I put effort into getting a little closer until I could sit and look over his shoulder and chatter about meaningless things.

I stood looking over his shoulder once, as he sat at the table looking at the project he was working on (a jigsaw puzzle) and he looked up at me, down there by my ribs, and he smiled, and I saw another boy, one who had said he loved me (this boy has said he loves me too, he has said it laughing and affectionate and I know he means it, such a different kind of love to that one.) and my throat clenched and my chest melted and I wanted to kiss his forehead and snap something in two. I couldn’t sit beside him that day.

I can touch this boy, and though I think I’m doing it wrong he doesn’t complain.

I can’t hug him, but he is a hugger so I try to speak his language.

I don’t dislike being touched in the same way I don’t dislike speaking French - if I knew what I was doing and the people around me knew too, it would be ok. But I am stiff and uncertain, and there is a lot to think about.

[staryuee]

Hi hi hi!!!! I like ur writings >< its ok if u dont butt can i request a scenario is ok with itto and thoma where the reader is jealous of sara and ayaka respectively but the reader doesnt lash out, they just become big sad:( thank youuu!!!

jealous reader gets upset :( — genshin hcs ⸝⸝

— warning[s]. kinda angsty ? and also intense favouritism w the women👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

— synopsis . . . reader becomes jealous of (insert my favourite girls here) and becomes sad :’(

— characters . . . itto , thoma

★ notes . . . jealousy is to be expected in any relationship, don’t ever feel bad abt ur feelings ! make sure to talk it out with your partner :)) <3

— small backstory to what happened: itto had been hanging around sara a lot and leaving quite little time to spare for you (much to his dismay) it’s mostly been just him teasing and annoying her into sparring , once again she won’t budge - this sort of thing repeated for days and the coos and awes of people around town weren’t helping your jealousy

— he noticed you’ve been having this sort of negative energy around you , and that your eyes always had this red tint to them but he just assumed it was just allergies or something (once again, he’s a himbo.)

— big himbo man doesn’t understand why you’ve been avoiding him for the past few weeks :( he’s been missing your surprise hugs and your cute smile

— the days you do catch each other’s attention , it’s very short lived and you end up leaving straight away, he just wants to know what he did wrong so things can finally go back to normal !! ;’(

— when he finally managed to catch you he pleaded that you two go out on a date together to bond his charming smile was too hard to resist so you agreed with a simple nod

— though , this plan ultimately backfired. sara was walking around inazuma apparently searching for something to do with military affairs assigned by the raiden shogun , being the social man he is he went up to sara to start a conversation

— obviously , this upset you even more since you were literally on a date so you just decided to leave as to not waste your time

— poor man’s heart dropped when he couldn’t find you i mean you were right there next to him a couple seconds ago ?? where could’ve you gone in such a short time frame ??

— honestly searched for hours on end before he finally saw you sitting underneath a tree , knees bucked up towards your face and the sunshine softly enveloping you

— he sat down next to you , muscly arms pulling you in gently with a loving sweet kiss to the crown of your head yet all that wasn’t enough to put a pause on the burning tears that ran down your face

— hearing your silent weeps sincerely broke his heart and the fact you wouldn’t even look at him like you normally would when you’re upset - he understood it was his most likely his fault but he was more than ready to take responsibility

— he let you calm down , slowly rubbing your back with one hand whilst giving you short kisses on the top of your head for comfort which manages to work as your tears finally start pricking your eyes

— once you finally explained your feelings and thoughts to him , he just wanted to spoil you with his affection because he felt so bad :(( treats you to anything you want ! with extra cuddles, kisses and words of affirmation as a reward <3

— as ayaka’s housekeeper (malewife) and as a loyal friend of course he’d hang and monitor her quite often , but when those “often’s” become “daily” it can get pretty lonely

— the only things you ever really heard over the past weeks was “sorry , i can’t i need to help ayaka” or any other variation of that same sentence and honestly , you were tired

— when passing by the yashiro commission it was hard to not notice the playful and fleeting touches that they gave each other and the giggles that echoed throughout your head like nails on chalkboard

— thoma would never dare to hurt your feelings on purpose , he’s loved you since like forever ! so you had no real doubt that his love for you was true however you just couldn’t handle the envy that brew itself inside you and planted this seed of insecurity

— you refused to go out whilst you were feeling this way , you just had this sense of shame that you’d even let these sort of thoughts pass through your mind even though you’re more than aware that she’s just his friend

— thoma started to feel your absence besides him , i mean he’s noticed it since the beginning but only now it’s dawning over him that you’ve genuinely not been together enough and that your daily dose of kisses hasn’t been given in way too long ! :(

— he’s an extremely observant individual and very talented at identifying certain behavioural patterns especially when it comes to you , so when he saw you curled up in bed with tissues swarming your bedside table he really knew that this detachment from one another has took a toll on you

— climbs into bed with you and slowly but surely wraps his arms around your waist with a light squeeze and a few chaste kisses on your neck

— didn’t waste any time to apologise thoroughly , he confessed and affirmed his love for you as if you were both back at the start of your relationship - he just wanted to make sure you knew he loved and adored you and that nothing or no one could prevent that

— makes sure to dote on you heavily , so if you’re not into heavy PDA then .. good luck ! <3

IHEARTGANYU do not copy, steal or repost <33

★ notes : i went a tad overkill with the angst on some parts :’) i’ll reward you guys i swear <3

[crepe-of-wrath]

Intergenerational Solidarity (Class 1-A & Mr. Aizawa, Aizawa x Fem Reader)

Summary: A famous (and pretty!) Quirkless author and combat expert comes to share her wisdom with Class 1-A. She is quite smitten with both the boisterous students and their homeroom teacher, so she asks Aizawa on a date and offers to take the students on a big shopping spree if they help her get ready. Most of the students go with her, but a few stay behind with their teacher...

Notes: This is a long, very fluffy, sentimental piece that actually started as a goofy chat thread. Set shortly after the Sports Festival, it looks at the dynamic between Aizawa and his students. Aizawa is shy and a bit awkward--definitely not Daddyzawa. Shinsou is in Class 1-A. Fair warning: this is an atypical Reader fic on two counts: a) it's in the third person and b) Reader is essentially off-screen for most of it, as it's really about the lads helping Mr. Aizawa get ready for his big date with Reader. There will be a follow-up describing said big date in the more traditional second person Reader format.

Continued in: To Have His Back

Class was over for the day, but 1-A was in no hurry. The students stared hard at Mr. Aizawa, mentally willing him to not mess this up.

Unfortunately, instead of, say, telling this stunning woman who somehow wanted to go on a date with him that he looked forward to seeing her later that evening, or anything else that even they—literal dumb hormonal teenagers—knew you should do, he started padding over to the yellow bag in the corner.

Shinsou was first to try to avert disaster: “Mr. Aizawa, can you—"

Their teacher just stopped, gave him the I’m-not-answering-a-question-from-you-how-stupid-do-you-think-I-am? look that everyone in Class 1-A had quickly become accustomed to, and crouched down to tuck himself in. 

Thankfully, this had bought Jirou and Satou enough time to hustle [Name] out into the hallway before she realized that yes, he was climbing into a sleeping bag. They were soon followed by most of the rest of the class, who were excited for the shopping spree.  

Iida stayed behind because it was his duty. Bakugou was making noises about sparring, so all the boys who were desperate for any chance to best each other, but were trying to pretend they were chill and nonchalant—that is, Todoroki, Midoriya, and Shinsou—stayed. So did Kaminari and Tokoyami, who apparently wanted to see how all this was going to play out more than they wanted to spend [Name's] money.

Yaoyorozu was last out the door, glaring at Iida as she backed into the hallway. She pointed with one hand at the sleeping bag, making a fist in her hair with the other, and mouthing, “HELP HIM!”  Iida nodded vigorously, but said nothing until the rest of the class had been gone for about five minutes and the now-familiar sound of snoring was radiating from the yellow sleeping bag, like a demented purr. 

At that, everyone who was still in class turned back to look at him. He shrugged.

“What should we do?” It was an uncharacteristically hesitant question from the class representative.

“This is pretty fuckin’ hopeless.”

All the heads turned toward Bakugou. Someone softly said, “A bit harsh.” 

“I didn’t say we don’t do something. He got broken in pieces keeping us alive. We at least have to try to help him. Somehow.”

That Iida and Bakugou had allowed uncertainty to seep into their voices underscored the severity of the situation.

“OK,” said Shinsou. “So, he’s not going to wear anything that isn’t black, right?”

“I think that’s a safe guess,” replied Tokoyami. 

“We should get him to, like arrange his capture weapon differently. I’ve been trying to experiment with some new looks myself…” 

While Shinsou continued, Todoroki stared at him in a quiet and unnerving way. Both he and Midoriya were taking notes and occasionally glancing at one another Then, they started whispering.

It kind of pissed Shinsou off that they were doing this because was he was like, right there. 

“Do you have something to say to me?”

Midoriya held up a notebook that had some kind of shitty sketches of Shinsou and Aizawa and a lot of arrows randomly arcing over the page. 

“Do you have any proof” said Todoroki, as nonchalantly as if he were asking what you were having for lunch, “that the man you live with is your father?”

Shinsou clearly brushed the question off as a failed attempt at teasing and was about to start talking again when the meaning of his classmate’s query finally sunk in. 

“WAIT, WHAT?”

Everyone else’s mouth was just sort of agape. Well, almost everyone’s. 

“This is the dumbest conversation…can’t you sidekicks do basic math?” hissed Bakugou. 

“Thank you,” Shinsou replied. 

“Don’t speak to me, extra.” 

Kaminari patted Shinsou's shoulder and scowled at Bakugou.

“Uh, you guys?” said Midoriya, the pitch of his voice floating all over the place like it did when he was exceptionally nervous, “Shouldn’t we be focusing on how to help Mr. Aizawa?”

“Well, while you morons were being super weird, I actually came up with a solution,” said Bakugou. “All we have to do is get him to wear his hair up. There, we’re done. Now that I’ve handled this for the rest of you, it’s time to fight!” 

“Oh, that’s what Momo was referring to! Of course!” exclaimed Iida. 

Bakugou actually let his head hit his desk. “What else could she have meant, idiots? Don’t you remember how horrible it was, that day when Mr. Aizawa came to class with his hair in a ponytail?”

“I heard the second and third years say things at lunch that day that I can never unhear,” said Tokoyami. Dark Shadow popped out to nod and added a plaintive little whimper. 

“People hounded me asking if I had taken pictures of him,” said Kaminari, whose face had settled into a thousand yard stare. “Why? Why would I take pictures? Even the assistants and interns on staff, grown adults, were asking me. Why?”

The zipper on Aizawa’s sleeping bag seemed to fly open of its own volition, and a surprisingly animated “WAIT, WHAT?!” emerged from the bag’s depths. 

Midoriya and Todoroki exchanged glances and nodded as the latter scrawled in his notebook. Shinsou sucked in an irritated breath. 

Aizawa had completely emerged from his cocoon. “I think I asked a question?”

All the eyes drifted back toward Iida. Tenya loved falling on his sword on behalf of others: why deny him such an absolutely exceptional opportunity? 

He stood up, a portrait of dignity so long as you weren’t close enough to see the beads of sweat. “Mr. Aizawa, it is true. When you wore your hair in what people usually call a ‘man bun,’ it seems to, ah, have met with approval, and we were indeed asked for pictures.”

“I got asked for strands of your hair by a third year girl from General Studies,” continued Kaminari, in the tone of voice one might expect from someone whose calm afternoon has just been shattered by the sudden recollection of a particularly unsettling nightmare. 

There was the most distressing silence. Mr. Aizawa’s eye may have twitched.

“Sir?” Iida asked.

No response. No one even cleared their throat. Was it possible to actually hear time passing? 

Finally, Mr. Aizawa heaved a large sigh. “Well, if that is the response that people have, I guess it would be the rational thing to wear my hair that way. I do want to make a decent impression for the lady.” 

Every single student blinked slowly. Oh boy, was there some work to do. 

“Well, uh, maybe you should wear a suit,” said Kaminari. “Those folks asked me if I had any of those pictures too.” 

Mr. Aizawa blinked slowly a couple of times and shook his head. “I think I’ll just wear my gear.”

“But Ms. Nemuri and Mr. Yamada say you clean up so nicely in a suit!”

“You can’t just tell him that,” said Iida, aghast.

Mr. Aizawa sucked in an irritated breath. Behind him, Shinsou could hear what was clearly the sound of Midoriya slapping Todoroki’s hand to get his attention. 

He sucked in an irritated breath of his own, immediately followed by slamming his fist on the desk and muttering, “Damn it.” 

Aizawa shot that general corner of the room a look that made it clear that, whatever it was, he did not want to know. 

“Why can’t you wear a suit, Mr. Aizawa?” asked Midoriya.

“Why do you think, assholes? First, she couldn’t take her eyes off his pro gear most of the time she was in this room. It was really annoying. Second, if you’ve got a low-key costume like Mr. Aizawa’s, why wouldn’t you wear it if you were taking out a famous and gorgeous lady who literally everyone on earth knows is Quirkless? Wouldn’t you want to be extra prepared in case you needed to protect her?”

As the sounds of realization echoed throughout the room, Mr. Aizawa and Bakugou shared something that neither of them had imagined sharing when they woke up that morning: a look of solidarity. 

Things were descending into chaos. Iida and Tokoyami were huddled in the back, Todoroki and Midoriya were doing, well, whatever their thing was, and Shinsou, uncharacteristically, had a lot to say: 

“How could he not know that his hair thing drives everyone crazy?” Shinsou was hiding behind his capture weapon to try and keep his voice low. “I thought he knew everything. I thought he never made mistakes. Is this a crisis of faith? Kaminari?!”

Kaminari’s mouth opened and he really did try to say something, bless his heart, but all they heard was Todoroki muttering, “This is how I acted when I became disillusioned with my own father.” 

Just as Shinsou was about to get out of his chair and just start pummeling his classmate, damn the consequences, all the boys became aware that Mr. Aizawa was speaking again.

“Well, according to what you all have heard, should I shave, or not?”

Once again, it became pin-drop silent in Class 1-A. His voice had been completely sincere, with no trace of distance or defensiveness. And there were his eyes. All the boys saw the change: it was as though they were the eyes of a much younger man. Sure, they were still bloodshot, still had the bags, and carried great sadness, but the outright suspicion and exhaustion with life had receded and made room for something rather unexpected: Mr. Aizawa’s eyes were just a little excited. A little hopeful. They were the eyes of a boy who had once been, or maybe still was, more like them than they could have ever imagined before this moment.

If one was paying careful attention to the boys’ facial expressions, it became clear they were having a series of individual, but interlinked, realizations. 

He’s nervous.

He’s, like, as nervous as we would be.

He’s still here because he’s reasoned that we’ll actually understand best.

He wants to talk to us because his adult friends don’t remember how this feels. 

He’s decided we’re least likely to laugh at him.

Midoriya’s lip actually trembled a bit and something seemed caught in his throat. A new surge of collective resolve charged the entire room.

“What I have heard around the school suggests ‘shave’” Tokoyami volunteered. 

“I agree, “said Iida. “It is a sign of honorable respect.”

“Shave,” said Todoroki.

“100%” added Kaminari. 

“Yeah, just shave and put your hair up. It’s not hard, geez” Bakugou’s voice lacked any of its usual contempt. 

“We were saying earlier, while you were napping, that, you know, maybe you could kind of, maybe drape your capture weapon like so…?” Shinsou modeled the look he’d shown off earlier. “It’s supposed to be stylish.” 

To their absolute collective shock, their teacher fumbled about with his capture weapon until he had replicated Shinsou’s look. Everyone murmured in approval. 

“That’s good,” said Iida. 

“It really does make a difference,” said Tokoyami. 

“You’ve got this, Mr. Aizawa,” said Shinsou. 

Their teacher cast his eyes down for a moment and then looked back up at them, having apparently summoned a bit of his usual stoicism.  “Well, now that we’ve settled all that, I guess I should take a shower and get ready. I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but I appreciate your willingness to help. Go ahead and spar, but don’t actually hurt each other. If you do, I’ll have to cancel my date, and you won’t want to deal with me if that happens.” 

And with that, he shuffled out of the room. 

“Maybe it will go well, guys!” said Midoriya.

***

Class 1-A, now fully reconstituted, was walking back from dinner when they spied Mr. Aizawa walking toward the main gate with a particularly unreadable look on his face. 

“Good, you idiots got him to wear his hair up and shave,” said Mina. “But why does he have such a weird expression?”

“I think we may have accidentally destroyed his entire worldview,” said Tokoyami. “I bet he’s not missing how people are acting around him now.”

“Yep,” said Midoriya, “he totally clocked that guy who just tried to take a stealth picture.” 

“And that girl,” added Hagakure.

“Wait. Wait—he didn’t know that people go crazy for the hair?” said Tsuyu.

“Completely clueless,” replied Shinsou. Kaminari patted him on the shoulder. “It’s OK man, no one can be perfect.” 

[Name] emerged into their field of vision. “Holy shit, there she is,” said Kirishima. 

“Her and Mr. Aizawa,” said Sero. “Wow.” 

As the two of them came closer together, everyone in Class 1-A held their breath. It seemed as though they awkwardly looked at each other forever, and then Mr. Aizawa clumsily took [Name’s] hand, and some students gasped or winced, but then he brought it up to his lips—sure, it certainly wasn’t the most graceful version of the gesture, but still—and gently kissed it. 

“Yeah, Mr. Aizawa, you can do it,” said Midoriya softly. Other students were gently clapping or letting out little cheers. 

There was a huge sniffle behind them. The class wheeled around to see Ms. Nemuri, who had a pretty tear falling down her face. 

“Thank heavens someone told him to wear his hair up,” she said, laughing weakly, trying to make things feel light. “You—you—you’re all sweet,” she said, sniffling one more time and speeding away in the direction of her rooms as fast as she could. 

There were a few squeals of surprise when Dark Shadow popped out and fluttered his wings as though he was just completely done. “This has been the strangest day,” said Tokoyami. “The fact that she asked out our homeroom teacher, who usually looks like something a cat dragged in from an alleyway, is somehow the least weird thing about it.” 

“Our shopping spree was crazy,” said Tsuyu. “They closed stores for us and everything.” 

“Whatever. It wasn’t half as weird as the conversation we had with Mr. Aizawa,” said Bakugo. “He was so incredibly not cool, but that somehow made it cool.” Tch. “Fuck it, I don’t know.” 

Kaminari nodded solemnly. “It was a totally weird conversation. I mean, did you that Todoroki and Midoriya think Mr. Aizawa is Shinsou’s dad?”

*** A loud chorus of “WAIT, WHAT?” rang across the UA grounds, and it might have caught Mr. Aizawa’s attention, might have made him distracted or anxious, except for the fact that he and [Name] were already on their way, hidden by tinted windows and privacy screens in a fancy car.

If the students had thought ahead or been better spies, they would have been able to see how, at that very moment, [Name] was beaming at their teacher—much in the same way that one smiles to try to calm and coax a terrified kitten—as she gently rested her hand on top of his and said (with a bit of a blush on her cheeks!), “Your hair looks really nice.” 

[ithebookhoarder]

SW: Reacting to a reader with Force Lightning Disease

A/N: Thanks to @jedigeneralmollykestis​ for sending this one in. This is technically part 2 of her ask - the first part / original post can be found here. 

Now, disclaimer, this is technically not a real disease, but Lightning Disease is, and I’m taking it more on the principal that the reader has a condition which means what the ask originally detailed where: “your heart is damaged and you have cardiac arrests through out your life.” 

Yet again, I’m no medical expert and I am making most of this up. However, if I get anything super wrong and you have medical experience, let me know 💕

(Obi-wan Kenobi x Reader) & (Anakin Skywalker x Reader)

Ok, so, in my mind Force Lightning Disease is similar to ‘lightning disease’, in that it is caused by a great electrical shock causing damage to your heart. 

Chances are you can thank a Sith Lord for the condition - probably Dooku, given his reputation.  

As such, you can bet you’re treated with great respect by your peers for risking your life to face him, and surviving - even if you didn't emerge unscathed. 

Many Jedi carry battle wounds and scars - each of which is seen as a medal in its own right, and yours would be no different. 

I’m also sure there would have been others who would have been diagnosed with such a condition, meaning that the medical team and your fellow Jedi wouldn't be completely without knowledge of what it is and what to do to support you. 

Like with most conditions where your heart can go into cardiac arrest there are things you can do to manage symptoms, even if you cannot necessarily cure it. 

As soon as Anakin and Obi-wan learn what you’re dealing with, they would be right by your side, asking the medical droids for information, as well as hitting the archives, to find out all they can about helping you manage the condition and stay healthy. 

For instance, these two make sure you have a water bottle on hand at almost every moment of the day, and usually carry one themselves just to be sure. 

They also know the importance of controlling high blood pressure by eating healthy foods. Luckily, the Jedi tend to keep meals simple, but that doesn't stop them making sure you get proper nutrition even in the field - be it via vitamins, some sort of infusion, or just them cooking for you when you have the time to. 

Getting regular exercise is also meant to help, which isn't an issue with these two. They’ll take you for walks in the gardens, run you through drills in the training arena, and even spar with you if you feel up to it. 

They also take great care to help you learn to lower your stress levels, be it through meditation or making sure you have time to rest. 

Obi would also make you some soothing tea whenever he could - which is apparently the key to his calm and patient demeanour (unlike his ex-padawan) 

He also has a clear schedule for any and all medication or medical appointments you may require. 

I think Anakin, given his technical abilities, would also be keen to help when it came to things like maintaining and monitoring mechanical aids, like a pacemaker etc. 

Just like he does with droids, he is constantly tinkering with prototypes for a new devices that will help manage your heart rate and possibly even help re-start your heart if you need it. 

On that note, I think it’s important to say that you couldn't have better company to watch over you, given the Jedi’s gifts. Their natural ability with the force means that they can detect the slightest change with you, and can often pre-empt any cardiac episodes. 

Their gifts also allow them to help heal you, and return your heart rate to a normal pace - making you stable enough for them to move you to get any additional medical help you may require. 

Plus, they won't exactly hate the chance to tease you about giving you mouth to mouth, should the need ever arise. 

You know they do it to help make you feel less conscious, as well as to make you laugh about the fact they get to kiss you in public without people thinking it’s weird. 

They want you to know that they love you and want to take care of you because you're important to them.

They do not see you as a burden or as weak or lesser than, just because of what happened to you and the battle you now face every day. If anything, it makes you braver than most.

They're always there to offer an encouraging word, or give you a much needed hug whenever you feel down about it and promise that they're not going anywhere. 

Masterlist

[ptergwen]

I can't stop thinking about sleepy!peter. This is a request please anything with a sleep-deprived dorky peter

oof i made this kinda long by accident 😭 pls enjoy <3

-

“five more minutes, mr. stark. just… five minutes,” peter murmurs to tony and shrugs his hand off of him. after arriving at the tower straight from school, he’d done his usual training session and a last minute cram session for what tony guesses is a history test. he drifted off somewhere in between everything.

if you ever think your schedule is packed, you haven’t seen peter’s.

tony sighs when his protégé still doesn’t budge. he’s at the kitchen table, passed out on a stack of textbooks.

“up and at ‘em, kid. wouldn’t you rather sleep in, i don’t know, your own bed?” tony proposes instead. it earns him a childish pout and head shake from peter. “i wanna sleep in y/n’s. want her cuddles.” he quirks an eyebrow at the mention of his daughter. “oh? you two are in the sleepover stage?” “have been for a while,” peter corrects him, nuzzling his cheek against the textbook.

why wouldn’t you tell tony that? it’s not like he doesn’t know you’re together, and he was bound to find out eventually. you and peter do live under his roof. teenagers and their privacy.

grabbing peter’s shoulder, tony yanks him back into a sitting position. “tell you what, i’ll take you up to y/n if you promise me you’ll get some sleep.” peter begins to protest, and barely gets out a but before tony interrupts. “real sleep. crashing while you analyze the declaration of independence hardly counts.”

peter lazily blinks his eyes open, rubbing the exhaustion out of them while he speaks. “as much as i want to, mr. stark… i…” he yawns his words out. “i should really get back to work.” just like that, he’s awake. tony has to admit that his commitment is impressive. impressive, but not good for him. “kid, it’s late. when’s that test of yours, anyway?” he asks peter, whose shoulders slump. “uh, tomorrow.”

“bedtime it is, then. that genius brain of yours could use a break before the big day ahead,” tony decides and successfully helps peter out of the kitchen chair. “you think i’m a genius?” peter smiles shyly, letting tony lead him to the staircase. “who doesn’t? i doubt you even needed the all nighter you were gonna pull.” his jaw slightly dropping, peter follows next to tony. “how did you know i-“ “i know everything,” he simply insists.

there’s a beat of silence, then tony inquires some more. “except that you apparently canoodle with my daughter every night. since when does that happen?” the two of them continue trudging up the stairs. peter grins once again as he thinks of you. “started before we were dating, actually. it’s nothing bad, though.” he shrugs a shoulder. “we just, like, spoon each other.”

“ah, you’re into the classics. me and pep are the same.” a fond smirk pulls at tony’s lips. “she’s the big spoon.” “i figured,” peter chuckles back, tony scrunching his face up in mock offense. “and why’s that?” “oh, come on. it’s no secret pepper wears the pants,” peter teases his mentor while they make their way down the hall. “you’re much nicer unconscious,” tony remarks.

the two of them reach your room finally, peter letting out a long breath. your door is cracked open, in case peter wanted to stop by. he can see you at your desk with a dim light on next to you. another grin crossing his features, him and tony watch you scribble something in a notebook.

tony knocks on the doorframe and peaks his head into your room. “special delivery,” he announces, you cocking your head to the side curiously. “what is it?” your dad answers by pushing open the door to reveal peter. peter gives you a small wave. “oh,” you bite back a smile, getting up from your seat. “just what i ordered. how’d you know?”

“kid fell asleep studying. the only way i could get him up was to bring him here,” tony explains, clapping peter on the back. “he was asking for you. your cuddles, specifically.” “thanks, mr. stark. i think she gets it,” peter says through clenched teeth. you laugh softly at his forced confession. “it’s okay, pete. i was waiting for you to come.” he rubs one of his pink tinted cheeks.

“we’ll discuss this in the morning, young lady,” tony playfully scolds you. “for now, why don’t you kids head off to dreamland. pete’s got a test tomorrow.” peter presses his lips together, you walking up to him. “i‘ve got him, dad. thank you for being cool about us.” you take peter’s hands with a nod at tony, him ruffling your hair.

“night, y/n/n. hands stay above the waist, parker,” tony meets his eyes for emphasis. “understood,” peter mumbles and threads his fingers through yours. “night.” satisfied in that, tony leaves and closes the door behind him. he sticks around for a few seconds, hearing you chastise peter about fixing his sleep schedule. your dad walks away with a smile on his face.

“you’re supposed to get a good night’s sleep before a test, by the way,” you remind peter while he changes into pajamas. he’s left a few things here for whenever he sleeps over, as tony called it. “which i’m about to do. i have the world’s best snuggler for a girlfriend.” peter pulls up his flannel bottoms, coming towards the bed. you’re sitting at the edge of it.

“you also have to eat a good breakfast. that means no poptarts and chocolate milk,” you beam knowingly, peter flopping down onto his back and your comforter. “they make healthy ones now, y/n/n. bruce just bought them,” he protests and tries to reach for you. you look at him over your shoulder. “so?” “so, he’s a doctor. i trust him.” a yawn slips out of peter. he keeps his eyes closed after this one.

“i wouldn’t take nutrition advice from the hulk, but ok,” you concede and lay down next to your sleepy boyfriend. “how was your day? besides the studying.” your voice drops to a whisper, peter’s arms winding around your middle. “not bad, just busy. i did some sparring with sam.” he pulls you closer to him and hides his face in your neck. “he beat me, obviously.” giggling quietly, you cradle the back of his head with one hand.

“school?” you wonder and tangle your fingers in his unkempt locks. “good, ‘cuz you were there.” he places a few kisses to your skin, and you can feel his lips curve into a smile. your leg drapes around his waist. “very smooth.” “it’s true,” peter whines and tightens his grip on you. “just knowing you’re around somewhere makes me happy.” humming, you keep combing your fingers through his hair. “you’re the cutest. go to bed, petey.”

peter easily gives in. “mm, whatever you say. g’night, lovey.” you kiss his hair lightly in response. his breathing doesn’t take long to even out, and he’s soon fast asleep while cuddled up next to you.

tony was right, as per usual. peter’s genius brain really did need a break.

[ticklishbeans4]

If you're taking prompt requests, would you be able to write Hunter getting tickled by Gus? Hunter isn't familiar with affection and Gus takes it upon himself to show Hunter good forms of physical contact? Poor guy probably didn't get much affection from anyone while he was with Belos so he needs love and his little brother is more than willing to give him that :)

Don't feel pressure to write this of course, if you don't want to that's absolutely fine <3

Hiiiiii friend! Sorry it took so long! I've been super tired, plus dealing with life stuff. But! Here you are! Hope you enjoy!

This is also my first two prompts for Laughust! Hands and Feathers!

Hunter sat on the couch in Luz’s house, looking at his hands. Camilla had all but forced him to give her his gloves, they were falling apart at the seams and smelled horrible, she promised to hand wash them and sew them back up good as new. But in the meantime… he was left to sit with uncovered hands for the first time in… well he didn’t know how long. 

He stared at the myriad of scars on his hands, left there from years of abuse. Not just from Belos even, missions, spars, kitchen accidents. There were a million ways he’d hurt his hands, and each one left him feeling… insecure, at best. He didn’t like how his hands looked, as ragged and worn as his gloves really. He also didn’t like the feeling of them out of the gloves, it was like pins and needles. He tried to wear other gloves around the house, but none felt right. It was… frustrating.

“Hey man!” Gus exclaimed, bouncing next to him on the couch, startling Hunter out of his reverie.

“Oh! Uh… hey Gus. What’s up?” he asked tentatively, subtly trying to hide his hands from view.

“Just wanted to see how you were doing. …Plus I’m super bored. Willow’s in the garden, Luz and Amity went for a “romantic walk” and thus here I am. Poor little Gus-Gus, left to fend for himself!” the younger boy whined dramatically, flopping over Hunter's lap, a hand to his forehead. His theatrics made Hunter giggle a bit, “Oh you poor thing. But I’m afraid I can’t help you much, I’m not really doing anything interesting at the moment.” “That could change though! Come on! Let's have a guy day! You and me! Taking on the human world!” Gus grinned, bouncing back up and looking at Hunter with wide expectant eyes. Hunter looked away, his brief jovial mood souring. “Sorry… I can’t right now. I’m… a bit stuck here. Till Camilla gives me my gloves back.” Gus tilted his head like a curious puppy, “She took your gloves? Why?”

“They were getting gross apparently.” he shrugged, hands hidden under his thighs. “Oh… ya know I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hands.” Oh no. “They’re just… hands.” Please don’t ask. “Can I see them?” Noooooooooo. “I… they’re kinda…” he started, not really sure how to explain without sounding childish

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” he said earnestly, shocking Hunter. He was still getting used to this… freedom, so to speak. He didn’t have to do a lot of things nowadays. He didn’t have to go on patrols, he didn’t have to do all the chores, he didn’t have to get up at 4am every morning, he didn’t have to make his own food, heck he didn’t even have to eat all his food if he didn’t want to! It was… so strange, and new and weird. But… he found himself nodding, and lifting his hands up for Gus to see. He looked away though, not wanting to see his friend's reaction.

“Whoa… did… did He, do that?” he asked softly, and Hunter nodded again.

“Sorta… some was him, some was just… normal wear and tear from my job.” he mumbled, hugging himself.

Gus sighed, “I’m sorry you had to live with that.” 

Whether THAT was Belos or his old job, was up for debate.

“Yeah… me too.” he sighed.

“...Is it ok if I touch them?”

Hunter thought for a moment, but hesitantly shook his head no. He was… getting used to saying no to people. Sure when it was an underling, or someone he used to see as “lesser” it would be easy. But now… he saw his friends as his equals, so it was certainly harder.

“Ok! That’s fine!” Gus smiled, holding his hands up in front of him. “…Can I hug you though?”

“I… guess?” hugs were still odd to Hunter. His friends were always hugging each other, and they tried to hug him a lot. Mostly Gus, Willow, and Luz, but still. He didn’t mind the hugs. Especially the tight “bear hugs” Willow gave.

Gus’s grin grew and he wrapped his arms around Hunter, hugging him tight. His face nuzzled Hunter’s neck a bit, making the teen squeak involuntarily. Gus pulled back a bit and tilted his head again, “Dude, you ok?” Hunter rubbed his neck, a weird feeling without his gloves. “Y-yeah… when you brushed my neck it just felt… weird.” “Weird?” “Weird.” “Weird… how?” he asked, scooting a little closer.

He shrugged, “I don’t know… tingly? I guess?” 

Gus hummed and smiled again, this seemed… mischievous. “Can I do it again?” Hunter narrowed his eyes but nodded, lowering his hand and tilting his head to give Gus better access.

Gus brushed his fingers over Hunter’s neck, fluttering them a bit. This made Hunter squeak again, a few involuntary titters leaving him as his shoulders scrunched up. “Hehehe! W-what the heck is that?!”

Gus laughed as he pulled his hand back, “I can’t believe it! You’re ticklish!”

“I’m… what?” he blinked, “I’ve never heard that word before.” “Ticklish! It means that basically there are some spots on you that are ticklish! Like your neck! Someone pokes you, or does what I just did, and it makes you laugh! Some people like it, some hate it, some people are ticklish, some aren’t. It’s different for everyone.” Gus explained, “My dad used to tickle me all the time, it was a fun bonding thing for us! Plus, Willow and I get into tickle fights a lot, same with Luz!”

“Huh… so is it just necks that are… ticklish?” he asked.

“Nope! There are lots of spots! If you want, we can find out if you’re ticklish in other places! It’ll be fun!” he grinned, practically bouncing on the couch cushion.

Hunter looked at his friend but eventually shrugged, the… ticklish feeling on his neck hadn’t been unpleasant. Besides, it wasn’t like he could be that ticklish in too many places. Surely he’d know about that by now if that was the case.

Gus pumped his fist in the air and raised his hands, forming claws with his fingers. “Alright… let’s see… where to start. How about we go from the top down?”

Hunter shrugged again, “I doubt I’m that ticklish.”

“That’s what they all say.” he chuckled, his fingers lightly scratching behind Hunter's ears.

Hunter immediately jerked forward with a squeal, holding his ears and looking shocked. “EEK! W-what the- How- What- I-” “Whoa! Dude, your ears are crazy ticklish! That’s hilarious!” Gus giggled, moving closer and scratching behind his ears again.

Hunter honest to titan shrieked, his ears wiggling as he tried to keep still this time. “EHEHEHEHEHE! IT-IT TIHIHIHIHIHICKLES! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” “Well that’s the point! Oh! Oh! I wanna try something!” Gus then drew a spell circle in the air, a feather appearing in his hand. “Ok, this might tickle more, let me know!” Hunter was still fizzling out giggles when he felt that horrible, soft, bristly, torture device on his ears. “AAAAAAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! NOHOHOHOHOHO! W-WAHAHAHAHAIT! GUHUHUHUS! OH TITAHAHAHAHAN! I CAHAHAN’T TAHAHAKE IT! AHAHAHAHA!” Gus snorted, “Dude I just started! How ticklish are you?” “V-VEHEHEHEHERY! STAHAHAHAP! PLEEHEHEHEHEASE!” he shrieked, shooting his hands around his ears as soon as Gus moved the feather away. The Gus in question just giggled at him, “Maybe we should take a breather. LEt you get your bearings.”

“W-whyihihihi dohohoes it tihihickle so muhuhuch?” he asked, still giggling as he tried to rub away the lingering ticklish feeling.

“I don’t really know, it just does.” Gus shrugged, “We can find more of your tickle spots later. We’ve already got ears and neck. So that’s a start!” Hunter nodded, he felt… better honestly. Lighter even! It was… nice to laugh a bit, he hadn’t even thought about his gloves, or how weird his hands looked or felt. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

Gus beamed at him and hugged him. “Heck yeah! Just beware, when the others find out your ticklish, there’ll be no stopping them.” Hunter scoffed and pulled Gus into a noogie, “I can take ‘em!”

The pair laughed, both quite happy at this new discovery, and both excited for the next experiment.

[hintofelation99]

The Justice League Hangs out with Duke

Bruce: Duke, it's time we had the talk.

Duke: Uh... nope. No thank you. I'm not getting the sex talk from Batman.

Bruce: What? No! The Robin talk.

Duke: But, I'm- I'm the Signal now? Isn't it a bit late for a Robin talk?

Bruce: Son, it's never too late, not for this.

Duke: Um. Ok.

Bruce: When Dick, Jason, and Tim first started as Robins they created a tradition. A tradition that continued with Stephanie, Damian, and now you.

Duke: And that tradition is?

Bruce: Taking down the Justice League. By being annoying and slightly terrifying.

Duke: OHHHHHH. Is that why no one from the Justice League talks to me?

Bruce: Yes, yes it is. But don't worry. I made an arrangement that will allow you time alone with league members to continue the tradition. You have a week to prepare.

——————

Duke: Cass, what do I do?

Cass raises an eyebrow at Duke.

Duke: For the Robin tradition thing. I have to take down the entire Justice League in a night using creative, outlandish, and original methods. But it's already been done by Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, and Steph. So what do I do? How can I be better than all of them.

Cass smirks: Take them down too.

Duke looking at Cass like she's crazy: What?

Cass: Take. Them. Down.

Duke: Holy shit, you are terrifying.

Cass just smiles and leaves.

-> One Week Later <-

Wonder Woman, Superman, Flash, Aquaman, Green Lantern, Black Canary, Martian Manhunter, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, and Steph gather in the Watchtower.

Duke: Hey guys, Batman just wanted to go through some training exercises with everyone. He'll be a little late. Harley and Ivy escaped Arkham and are trying to grow penis shaped shrubs in all the public parks. But, don't worry he asked me to go ahead and start with out him.

Green Lantern: Why are you leading this meeting?

Duke: Batman is running late and he wants me to practice leading meetings.

Green Lantern, glaring suspiciously at Duke: Are you about to do that stupid Robin tradition where you torture all of us?

Duke: What Robin tradition? Also, I'm not even a Robin? I'm the Signal.

Green Lantern continues to glare at him.

Superman: Calm down Green Lantern, the Robins never do this in front of each other.

Every League member seems to relax at this.

Duke acting confused: Uhhh, yeah. Ok, we have a few housekeeping things to do according to the list Batman left. So, I'll have everyone pair up for sparring while I handle these individually.

------

Everyone is in the training room working out or sparring. Duke approaches Tim.

Duke: Hey Tim, Bruce wanted you to look in to that Bludhaven case. Is that ok with you?

Tim: Yeah, why wouldn't it be?

Duke: Oh, I just thought it might be difficult considering what Dick did.

Tim: ...What did he do?

Duke: Wait, you haven't noticed? Oh no, I'm sorry I shouldn't have said anything.

Tim: Duke. Tell me what he did.

Duke: Well, Jason said that he replaced all your coffee with decaf.

Tim: THAT BASTARD. No wonder I've been feeling so tired! I'm going to kill him!

Duke: Wait, just stop! I heard that he hid all of it in Green Lantern's room.

Tim: Wait, why there?

Duke: Something about you being afraid of him.

Tim: WHAT?! I'm not afraid of the Green Nightlight! I'm gonna find that coffee then make Dick pay.

Duke: Oh, well cool, good luck!

------

Green Lantern: Um, what are you doing in my room?

Tim: Where is it?

Green Lantern: Where's what?

Tim: You know what I want. Give up now or face the consequences.

Green Lantern: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

Tim: Fine. Consequences.

------

Steph, sparring with Duke: So, what's it like being the first meta bat?

Duke: Not too bad, but I could do with out the whole 'predict the future' thing.

Steph, laughing: What? You can not see the future.

Duke: I bet you $50 I can

Steph: Your on.

Duke, makes everything around him light up and uses a weird voice: In the next thirty minutes Green Lantern will flee the Watchtower in fear. Soon after Dick will be attacked by Tim.

Steph, snorts in obvious disbelief.

Steph: That was so fake-

Green Lantern runs out of the tower looking terrified.

Steph: No way.

Tim tackles Dick and they start fighting like three year old's on the floor.

Steph, handing Duke $50: Holy shit Magic Man.

Duke makes things light up and does the voice again: Oh my god.

Steph, looking excited: What?!

Duke: The- the sushi. The sushi you brought today, it's made from-

Duke pretends to choke back a sob.

Duke: It's made from the fish who was the maid of honor at Aquaman's wedding.

Steph: HOLY SHIT.

------

Steph and Aquaman sit beside each other for lunch, she pulls out her sushi and looks at Aquaman sadly.

Steph: I am so, so sorry for your loss. But just know that her sacrifice is not in vain.

Aquaman, looks confused for a second then sees the sushi: NOPE. Not this again! I'm leaving.

Steph: Wait! I'm sorry!

Aquaman leaves as Steph tries to chase him down.

------

Jason is laughing and filming as Dick and Tim fight.

Duke, whistles: Man, imagine if that video went on YouTube.

Jason, looking confused: What?

Duke: I'm just saying if the video of Red Robin and Nightwing fighting like kids ever got on YouTube, it'd go viral. Oh and they would be so pissed!

Jason, laughs: Too bad B would kill me if I uploaded this.

Duke: Yeah, I guess so. And you can't upload it here because then Superman would get in trouble.

Jason: Why would the boy scout get in trouble?

Duke: Cause he always uses his YouTube account on the Justice League computer. So it'd look like he uploaded it and B would find out that Superman watches cat videos while he's on monitor duty.

Jason, smirking: Huh, so you're saying if I upload this on the League computer I'd piss off Bruce, Tim, and Dick and get Supes in trouble?

Duke, acting innocent: Huh, I guess so.

-> A Few Minutes Later <-

A call from Bruce comes up on the main computer.

Superman: Hey Batman, what can I do for you?

Bruce: You, Red Hood, cave now.

Jason: What? Why me?

Bruce: Because I saw that little home video you uploaded of your brothers.

Jason: What, that wasn't me!

Bruce: I could hear you laughing while you filmed.

Jason: Dammit.

Jason and Clark leave for the cave pouting like kids.

------

Duke: Hey, Black Canary?

Black Canary: Yes Duke?

Duke: I'm sorry to do this on such short notice, but I'm very worried about Dick and Tim.

Black Canary: Why?

Duke: Well, Tim keeps claiming that Dick is out to get him. Something about Dick messing with his coffee? And Dick feels like he's just being attacked for no reason and is worried about Tim's health. Is there anyway you could intervene?

Black Canary, looking sighing and looking exhausted: Usually I have three days of preparation before dealing with bats.

Duke: I know it's just-

Duke gestures to Tim and Dick rolling on the floor fighting.

Duke: They really need help.

Black Canary: Alright, I'll see what I can do.

Black Canary attempts to intervene only to get pulled into the fight. Now the three of them are tangled in a huge, confusing fight, that's filled with yelling and hair pulling.

------

Duke: Damian! Quick!

Damian: What is it Thomas.

Duke: I think somethings wrong with Dick and Tim and maybe even Black Canary. They're all fighting and won't stop! Can you help me contain them so that we can figure out what's going on?

Damian: Fine. I shall help.

Duke: Ok, just try to herd them into this containment cell.

Damian joins the fight managing to get everyone, including himself, into the containment cell. As Damian is trying to leave Duke closes the cell. Damian angrily yells and bangs on the sound proof walls.

Duke: What? Sorry, can't hear you! My hand slipped!

------

Wonder Woman: Very well done Signal.

Duke, acting innocent: Hm?

Wonder Woman: You tricked Red Robin into scaring Green Lantern away, then into fighting Nightwing. Once that fight broke out you tricked Red Hood into uploading a video to the internet using the Superman's credentials. By uploading that video he caused both himself and Superman to face Batman's wrath. You also used the fight to trick Stephanie into annoying Aquaman to the point of leaving. Then you involved Black Canary in the fight, which was her downfall. And, as a final touch, you managed to get Robin into the fight and trapped all in a containment cell. You successfully eliminated 9 foes with one trick.

Duke: You mean 11.

Wonder Woman: What?

Duke: 11. You see, I didn't trick Red Robin, I tricked Nightwing. I had a week to prepare. In that week I convinced Dick that Tim needed to cut back on the caffeine and that Dick should help by switching all of Tim's coffee with decaf. I also convinced him to hide that coffee in the watchtower, in Green Lantern's room. So that was all true.

Wonder Woman: But, that still does not make 11?

Duke: It does. Because This morning I moved the coffee. I replaced the Flashes decaf with Tim's ultra caffeinated coffee. You see Tim has it specially manufactured to increase the caffeine levels. And, while Flash doesn't usually drink his coffee in the morning, he's always running late and forgets, he does drink coffee during training breaks. Which is now. So in about five minutes we will have an incredibly caffeinated speedster in the Watchtower. And since you're the only one around right now with a chance of catching him, that's your problem.

Right as Duke finishes Flash runs by, majorly hyped up on caffeine.

Duke: Checkmate.

------

Martian Manhunter: It appears that I am the last remaining League member.

Duke: Yeah, I don't really understand this tradition but apparently every Robin ends it by picking a favorite league member.

Martian Manhunter: Out of all the League members, why have you chosen me?

Duke: Your smart and have a lot of cool powers. Also, I dunno, I hear you sometimes feel like an outsider with the league. Cause, the whole martian thing. And I know it's not the same but, sometimes I feel like an outsider with the bats, being the only meta and all.

Martian Manhunter: You have chosen me so that we may bond over our lack of connections?

Duke: Uhhhh, yeah?

Martian Manhunter: Hm. Very well, I assume that this is your “Robin Weakness”. Apparently every Robin has one.

---------------------------------------------------

<- Previous |

[inke-ri]

ok ok fine so- best moments of this new update:

(yes, this will be long, no I dont know how to put it under a read more on mobile. Sorry OTL)

- The Nightlights get actual unique personalities. In Homecoming, only Dart seemed to have one, while the boys were basically "cute boys who are always sparring". Here, Dart is inquisitive and forward, Ruff is a bit lazy but with a heart of gold, and Pouncer is playful and brave (he's biting at his tail like a dog would here lmao).

- Pouncer reminds me of his dad a lot. He follows you around because he wants to be near you, he sneaks after you as you go to a dangerous place, and even tho he is Baby, he still tries to use a blinding sort of light flash /shot to protect you from dragon hunters. He can get a little scared at times but he immediately calms down near you, and trusts you enough to follow you despite being afraid. The moment the fear disappears he just happily flies around like a dork <3 He's probably my favorite of the three but it's really hard to choose because they're all so unique.

- Dart is very much her mother's daughter. She's impulsive, wild, and does what she wants when she wants. She also apparently idolizes the Green Death, which is hilarious (for those that dont know, the Green Death is another female who moved and took over Dragon Island after the original Red Death was killed in SOD Universe, and yes, she is green). I'm not kidding, she killed a ship full of people lmao. Well, indirectly. She flew up to the Green Death and eventually led her to shoot fire at a whole ship of warlords. And eventually set fire to the whole fleet... in the open seas. Yea, those people are dead.

That said Dart is caring and protective and her special "power" is to rally and protect other dragons. She really feels like a mix of her mom's wild, more brutal side with her father's protectiveness. While she likes the Player character well enough I got the distinct feeling she bonds with dragons better, which I really love! She's just. Wild, but still open to work with people, just like her mom in this universe. Well, maybe a little more open than Mom. I also really like that both Pouncer and Ruffrunner had moments in which they were afraid and the Player had to comfort them, but Dart never did. She was always up and ready to go lmao.

- Ruffrunner is SO cute. Despite being a fighty boy, he's very attached to his parents and apparently wants to make them proud. He's also very lazy, he likes to nap around |D That said, he cares so deeply for others that he willingly puts himself in danger and draws enemy fire so others can attack properly. He's more tanky than the other two so he can take it. He's SO eager to help (and prove himself), be it you or his parents, which matches how his unique ability is to take hits to make sure everyone isnt attacked. He reminds me of the Toothless that was willing to die if it meant saving Hiccup.

- Bonus points for Toothless for being a fantastic dad to his kids and apparently not taking the Stoick route. He encourages Ruffrunner to be brave and look, this is just an excuse to show you how adorable they are.

- Hiccup remarks that Ruffrunner reminds him a lot of himself and how he wanted to make his parents proud of ALL of him. Why, yes, he referenced the "all this" line in the year of our Lord 2022. Did I mention I love this game? I love this game.

- As an AMAZING bonus, Valka was there and heard it, and she was actually a little awkward and upset at the thought of Hiccup suffering because of that. God. I love their dynamic. Just the right amount of awkwardness and guilt despite how much they love and understand each other, which makes perfect sense considering she abandoned him for 20 years.

- Valka in general getting focus and development is great. I love how every time she visits the Hidden World (she gets to see the Hidden World y'all!!!) she's in awe of it.

- Backtracking to talk about the Green Death for a second bc I love what they did with her! While she's just as violent and brutal as the Red Death, she didn't immediately go for the Warlord ships. Only after we rescued some baby scuttleclaws from those ships was that the Green Death attacked them.

I just love love LOVE that a dragon of the same species as the "pure evil"-type one from the first movie is not ACTUALLY shown as pure evil and IS capable of protecting and caring... just like any other dragon. I did not expect this but it was SO good. Between this and you being able to rescue and train one of Grimmel's deathgrippers, I LOVE how this game tells us that there are no true evil dragons. 10/10 point goes to School of Dragons.

- Just, this line from Valka:

I'm gonna be a bit salty for a sec because this. THIS. You have to respect these creatures and sometimes only watch from a distance- not every dragon needs to be trained, which is the lesson Hiccup seemingly had to learn in httyd 3. But learning about them, seeing them, living with them, even from a distance, is what leads to love and respect and inspires you to take care of them.

Not, y'know, shoving them down a hole for a thousand years. Even if it IS a very cozy hole. THAT just leads to them being forgotten and for people to still wanna use them for their own gains, like the timeskip show whose name I'm forgetting tells you.

Here they actually move back and forth between the skies and their ancestral home. I love that they have the freedom to do so.

- The King of Dragons lives! Somehow!

I didn't expect this- would have been cool if Drago's Bewilderbeast had taken over the King's duties to protect the original nest- buuuut y'know what? I'm okay with this. He deserved better and he's a good boi and I love him so yea.

Stoick is still dead here, and it IS heavily implied to still have been Drago-Toothless who took him out, so my best guess is that Drago's Bewilderbeast took the King out of commission long enough for Toothless to challenge him and become an Alpha on his own, etc, but he's recovered since?

- Hiccup arrives in the Sacturary after a while and... I dunno, maybe seeing the King of Dragons reminded him of his father, because he quietly mutters that "I miss him so much."

The shock and pain kept me from screenshotting the first comment from him. Ugh, come for my heart won't you. I love that Hiccup still struggles with being Chief, and missing Stoick, but is trying his best. I love how this game doesn't forget about him- there's a whole video sequence dedicated to his memory in one of the previous storyline missions when we return to Dragon Island for the first time. I'm very lucky to have played this game VERY on and off for years, because I still remember everyone's httyd1 models, Stoick being there, and his missions about the importance of being responsible and being a chief. I treasure them fondly since he's not around anymore- not even in this game.

- Speaking of Hiccup, he's surprisingly absent for most of the storyline! He only shows up every now and then and doesn't even participate in the battle with the Warlords and Stormheart- you work mainly with the Nightlights and Valka through this story. At first I wasn't sure why, but eventually I realized that I really liked this. It sort of shows that Hiccup can delegate- that we don't NEED him to be there at all times to do the right thing and fight for the bond with dragons. It shows his ideas are spreading- that he's changing the world little by little :)

- I also really like how they pair each of the nightlights with a King Dragon that inspires them. Pouncer with the playful, curious and brave Luminous Krayfin, Dart with the fierce, wild yet protective Green Death, and Ruffrunner with the gentle, protective and loyal Bewilderbeast. Amazing way to showcase their personalities and make them unique! Also goes to show how all 3 have what it takes to, perhaps one day, become worthy Alphas of their own.

- As a last bit, I love that they make the Warlords threatening- Griselda gets a bit of a spotlight, and I loved the tension between the three Warlords and Stormheart since they kept intruding on her turf. I love how the Warlords got a whole storyline for themselves after Grimmel is dead, even if the star of the show is still Stormheart.

- Also also, it takes the whole gang (minus Hiccup and Toothless), PLUS Player and his dragon, PLUS Valka and Cloudjumper, PLUS THREE WHOLE NIGHTLIGHTS to defeat them, instead of 6 kids in flight suits. While the game focuses just on you and the nightlights, everyone else IS there and they didn't NEED to spend money and resources to add that. I thought it was very cool.

- Stormheart in general is just such a good character. I love that we have a female villain in the first place, I love how after threatening you for so long she finally decides she's done and Player's gonna die... I love that SHE's the final boss of the storyline because SHE is the main antagonist of this story and has always been.

- Also, I love that we finally get to blow up her fancy ship that used enslaved dragons to create steam for it to move. It felt so satisfying after all these years.

- Also, it's cute that the Player character gets to pick a nightlight to bond with and train for free at the end of the story, with Toothless and the Light Fury watching on. The fact that they approve and that Hiccup trusts you with this is such a fun way to end this story and to show how far Player has come.

Overall, I both feel and fear this game is gearing up for a final storyline... Stormheart escaped, but her ship and most of her power is no more. Even her ally, Harald, has (perhaps surprisingly) betrayed her and gave us the info to destroy her ship. It feels like it's leading up to one final confrontation with her. If so, it will make the whole thing one hell of a ride, and I couldn't be happier to be able to experience it myself. This story and world is so rich, and it really sticks to the franchise's core, while being fun, educative, not afraid to craft their own unique stories, and so, so full of heart. As I said earlier, it really reminds me of why I love httyd as much as I do.

[kris-side]

ok im gonna

yell abt this stuff about Ingo and Volo to the best of my ability

do like i dont really have much of a connection to the pokemon game's protags, personally. so after i played through most of pla, i thought. i like ingo, i like volo, lets intertwine their stories some more.

so Ingo is taken to the past on accident and in the process his memories get scrambled. he spends however long in hisui before Volo came along, and he was immediately intrigued. I mean, after all, Ingo is very skilled and unafraid of pokemon unlike everyone else. he has become warden to a very picky Sneasler. he also, y'know, fell out of the sky and almost died in the snowy mountains.

So they chat. they become friends. Volo convinces Ingo to come help him gather the plates, instead of what would be the protag. So Ingo kind of takes that role, doing all the base pla story. i dont know whether or not i care for adding the original protag, but thats ok! this is just my version of this idea.

and my version is admittedly. very mean to ingo :-)

because Volo, is sly and clever and a wonderful actor. and it helps that Ingo is trusting to a fault, so long as Volo appears nice. they journy, they camp together, eat meals and listen to each others stories. it becomes comfortable, routine, intimate.

Volo, one day, pries on Ingo with a Zorua. Those sneaky foxes have been known to find something deep within your subconscious to use against you. It was a surprise to both of them when it took the form of what looked like Ingo, but dressed in white with a big smile on his face. And it was a surprise to both when Ingo ran to the figure, ready to barrel over it into a hug. Startling the Zorua in disguise, and before he knew it there was pain in his ribs as he lay crumpled on his side, gasping in pain.

Volo silently dismissed the Zorua and tended to Ingo. He was jumpy for days after, and they had to take a break from their mission.

A long break that Ingo would prefer not to have ended.

But it did, and they continued. It was ok, if it was for him.

They trained together, too. Pokemon battles and mock sparring. Exerciding together. Ingo didnt mind it, though he didnt know why Volo trained so much as well. Their relationship had become clear to him now: Ingo would protect Volo. At all costs. Nothing else mattered.

His heart had swelled the first time he realized, and later vocalized to Volo. That was the feeling, right? Maybe. His heart had beat so fast, and so hard, it felt like he was going to pass out. It felt like he had started freezing from the inside out, tiny needles prickling his skin.

But, that was fine. It was normal, even. It had to be, if Volo said ot was. And, besides, he had so many holes in his memories. Every day its so painfully apparent that he's forgotten so many things. Basic, simple things even.

Volo helps him remember, though. He's very kind like that. Ingo loves that about him.

-----

ok im done for now

[dameferre]

ok since u apparently HATE ME i am sending another one in. do uhhhh unlucky number 13

This may have been. Objectively speaking. A terrible idea.

It was just supposed to be a little stress relief. A couple of friends, helping each other out. She's not sure when it- became more than that. To her, anyway.

"How was that?"

Suki blinks herself out of her thoughts, then blurts out, still a little breathless, "Oh! Uh- better, yeah, a lot better."

"You sure? It felt like my timing was off." Ty Lee pouts, from where she's straddling Suki's hips. It is- unfortunately- really cute, and makes Suki want to kiss her. Suki kind of. Always wants to kiss her. "I barely blocked your kick in time."

"No, you're-" Suki clears her throat. "It was great." Suki is better than this. It takes more than a pretty girl to have her so embarrassingly off her game, and yet here she is. Pinned. Helpless.

"Aw, such a sweet liar." Ty Lee giggles, as she leans over to grab her fan where Suki knocked it out of her hands. She stops halfway back to sitting up, arms flexing just slightly as they brace on either side of Suki's head, her long braid falling to brush against Suki's arm. "Hey, you seem a little... distracted today." She smiles as she glances down at Suki's mouth, a little too knowing, but still as sugar-sweet as ever.

Suki feels like her brain is buzzing at an inhuman frequency. She feels like she's about to vibrate out of her skin, and inhales deeply to calm herself the fuck down. Doing so fills her with the sweet floral scent of whatever it is Ty Lee puts in her hair. Kyoshi help her, Suki is so fucked.

"What'cha thinking about?" Ty Lee, the picture of innocence, asks, as her hand easily finds the space between the pieces of Suki's training uniform and presses against the bare skin of hipbone underneath. "The last time we sparred together, maybe?"

Suki rolls her eyes. "Get off me."

Leaning back, Ty Lee rests her hands on the floor. Suki tries to keep her eyes on the ceiling; safe, neutral ground. "Say pretty please."

"Fuck you." She grits out.

Ty Lee laughs, bright and melodic, and places her hands on Suki's chest. It takes every ounce of restraint Suki has not to let her hands move to Ty Lee's waist, where they so desperately want to be. "Teach me that spinning kick you do, and then we'll see."

She pushes off Suki then, rolls into a standing position, winks, and then does a back walkover until she's out of Suki's peripheral vision.

A terrible, terrible idea.

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[thewritetofreespeech]

just read your psycho pass hcs {great btw!} and I need that kogami x reader training scenario in my life! straight or nsfw if you're comfortable with it.

Yes! Yes! Yes! So much yes!!

I went ahead and did both. Sexy is under the cut. I tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible up top but (spoiler alert) it’s fem!reader below. Enjoy!

Kogami Shinya x Reader + Training

The loud, painful sound of your butt hitting the mat echoed through the training gym as you were thrown into the soft surface once again.

"Geez Kogami! You could try to take it easy on me!!" You whine as you rub your backside. Though the mats were softer than the floor, they didn't add that much protection. Coupled with the fact that your ass had been thrown into them more time than you could count at this point, you were going to be sore in the morning.

"Some latent isn't going to take it easy on you in the field." He replied. Serious as ever. Almost seeming miffed you asked for leniency. "You need to be ready for anything when the time comes."

“I’m fine with combatives.” You insist from your spot on the ground. “I just can’t beat you. Cause you have all this training, and built like a superhero, and have all those big muscles-“Don’t change the subject.” Kogami interrupted. Being a brilliant detective, he knows what you’re trying to do.

“Besides,” you continue after a defeated sigh, “it doesn’t matter. I’m not in the field without my Dominator. I can pop off a shot before anyone gets close.”

“Dominator malfunction all the time. Shots miss.”

“I don’t miss.” You insist. Your turn to be miffed.

You’re a better shot than Kogami any day of the week, and he knows it. You have the higher range score out of the two of you. Plus you’re to only one currently on the team long range certified. To imply that you would miss is an insult.

He seems to get that he’d stepped over the line and let out a heavy sigh before pushing his hair back. “I just want you to be ready.” Kogami said. Offering you his hand to help you on your feet. One good jerk and you were back up in front of him, looking into his eyes. Seeing his concern. “I can’t be with you all the time in the field. I know you’re strong. Level headed. But things….they don’t follow the system when you’re in the middle of it.” His vision seemed to cloud for a moment, and you know he’s gone some place bad in that moment, before he comes back to you. “I just want you to be safe.”

You sigh. Defeated. You know this is important to him, and it’s obvious why. He’s extremely protective of you. Unfortunately for Kogami, you’ve both chosen a life that is inherently dangerous. The long-term survival rate for Enforcers was shaky at best. He’s trying to delay the inevitable the one way he knows how.

“Ok. Well, I think I have one more round in me.” You take a step back from Kogami, who seemed surprised, and stretch out your arms before you get into stance. “But this is the last one. After this, we do what I want to do and get frozen yogurt in the caf.”

The dark haired Enforcer smirked and dropped into stance as well. Apparently not dignifying that with a response.

The two of you spar again for a few minutes, and realize that you have picked up on somethings. Kogami is physically stronger and more skilled, but you are more flexible and wily. He’s clearly trying not to hurt you, which is an advantage you can’t let go of. When you lock in a grapple, face-to-face, you struggle for a moment before headbutting Kogami. He let out a noise of pain and obviously staggered. You seize the moment to get your foot between his legs and trip him. This time Kogami’s butt making the loud sound on the mat in the gym as you pin him.

You look down at him, arm braced against his neck, and break out into a huge grin from on top of him. You did it! You finally did it!

You were about to break out into a chant of those exact words when Kogami grabbed you and flipped you over onto the mat quick as a flash. The move made your world spin. To the point that it took you a moment to refocus on Kogami on top of you. His expression wild, with a mixture of pride and hunger as he looked down at you. His gaze making you squirm against the mat.

Suddenly, he surged forward. You half expect him to kiss you, or head butt you in retaliation; either was a possibility with Kogami. He stopped, however, just before sealing your lips. His body straining it seemed to not finish the movement. “My room.”

You blink. Not sure why he stopped. Then he lifted up and his eyes dart over to the corner where one of the cameras were. Oh, right. You’re still in a public portion of the facility, where your movements are being watched and recorded, and it would be a bad idea to do anything here.

The two of you get up from the floor, Kogami taking a moment to adjust his pants, before you hastily leave the gym. 

His room is closer. Which was probably why he had chosen it and why he was choosing it now. You’re at his door in a matter of minutes with how fast you’re walking, and with a quick punch of the key pad your inside. The door had barely slid closed all the way before Kogami had you pinned against it. The metal making a loud sound, but one you can’t seem to care about over the loud sound of your kissing.

It’s hot, and messy, and fast. Fueled with the adrenaline from your sparing match, Kogami seems to want to take his final, and only, loss out on your mouth. His tongue wrestling against your own for dominance. His teeth nipping at your lips. Stealing your breath away so all you can do is moan.

He finally let you go and you’re both panting at the end of it. Exercise and now this had both left the two of you needy for air. But you’re both needy for something else.

The Enforcer took your mouth again passionately, and lifted you up off the wall. His hands find their way to your legs to lift them up. Wrapping them around his waist and keeping them secure with his strong arms before he pulled you away from the wall altogether.

He wandered blindly through his dorm with you in his arms. Still kissing. His hands caressing your backside in your tight gym pants. Cursing now and then when his shins clip into something. Eventually, he made it to his bed. The rumbled bedding hitting your back in a familiar puff of cotton. He never made his bed.

It only then that he pulled away to look at you. His eyes darker in the dim light. Neither of you had bothered to turn on the lights, since you’ve been busy upon arrival. You don’t need them anyway. The ever-present blue glow of the various circuits & inlay boards in the tower walls the only ambient light in the room. Even with out it, you could feel he was looking at you.

A calloused hand reached out to cup your cheek. Caressing it in a strange juxtaposition of the rough way they had been handling you earlier in training. He does this sometimes. Seems to want to memorize your face like it will disappear. Like you’re not real.

When his thumb came across your lips you snap your teeth out to nip at the pad. Not to hurt it. Just a little bite. Kogami hissed before he grinned wolfishly down at you and you’re off again. He leaned down to kiss you once more, but not nearly as long as the other times. He seemed to have other plans. Slowly, he moved from your lips down to your neck, then down further still to the top of your sports bra. Making you moan.

You’re thankful that you’ve decide to wear one of your fancy front zip ones, and decide to throw out all your other types of sports bra as you watch Kogami pull the zip down with his teeth. That cheeky grin on his lips as he watches you watching him and knows you’re getting turned on.

Without the zipper, your bra can’t hold your breasts in any longer. Now it’s Kogami’s turn to moan as he sees them literally burst out of their confines in front of his face with a sassy jiggle. He wasted very little time admiring them before both of his hands come up to envelope both your breasts and squeeze them. Your back arched as he massaged the soft flesh. Your body shivering as his warm breath brushed over them before his mouth encased around your nipple.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you’re still sweaty from your work out. Quite the contrary. The salty taste of your skin seemed to arouse your boyfriend even more. To the point that his hips were rolling against the bed for some kind of release.

“K-Kogami….Shinya.” The Enforcer immediately looked up when you called his first name. No one but you calls him by his name anymore. “I want to make you feel good too.”

You reach for him and Kogami instantly comes up to you. Because he’ll do anything you ask. He kisses you again, less fire, no less passionate, as you reach between the both of you to grab his length through his own training pants. He moaned into your mouth and bucked up against your hand in a low, slow rhythm.

“Feels good.” He breathed into your mouth. In case you needed to hear the words. He’s learned that from you, over time. Sometimes you need to hear the words, not just the action.

You don’t need the words this time, however, as his actions speak volumes. He continues to buck into your hand. His cock unbearably hard under your fingers. You let go for a second to slip your hand down his pants and grasp him firmly, skin on skin, and you both moan.

Kogami obviously from having you touch him directly. While you moan at how hard & hot his cock is in your hand and imagine it inside you. Your pussy tightens in anticipation just at the thought of it.

He lets you pump his cock a few more times, before he seems unable to take it anymore and starts getting you both undressed. His hands are fast and forceful. They quickly strip you down out of your pants and underwear in one hard pull before Kogami was stepping out of his own pants & shirt as well. The hard lines of his chest defined in the low light. No matter how many times you see him like this, it makes you bite your lip.

That hard body was back on top of you in an instant. The feel of your naked skin against each other making you sigh in contentment into the kiss he landed on you.

Your body immediately opens up to him when he fell upon you. And with a well practice shift, and one good thrust, he was inside you.

His thrust start out slow. Long and deep to give you time to adjust to his size; especially since he hasn’t worked you open like he normally would, but he’s so impatient. It lasts only as long as necessary, however, before he shifts into his usual frenzy. Hard and fast. Not that you’re complaining in the least.

“Fuck! God! Shinya! More!” You cry out against his shoulder as you hold on to that hard body like an anchor.

Kogami, in return, just grunts against your ear. He keeps pace for a while before you feel a shutter quake down his back. He was going to cum soon.

Between the adrenaline and how good sex with Kogami is, you’re not far behind. Your body tightens up around him as he finally stops to cum inside you. He doesn’t like to mess up the sheets, and it’s not like you can get pregnant. It’s the worst kept secret at the bureau that they ‘sneak’ Enforcers all kinds of things in their food. All essential vitamins and mineral for healthy hunting dogs, and birth control. So there are no little Enforcers running around.

You lay together for a moment, panting and sweaty again, before Kogami rolled off you.

He reached over to the nightstand for his usual pack of cigarettes and lit one. The smell and faint waft of smoke filling the air. “You did good.”

“With the sex? Thanks.” You tease. Grinning at Kogami’s eye roll.

“I meant with training. You did good. I’m proud of you.”

Your heart both fluttered and swelled at those words: ‘I’m proud of you’. You shift around a little to curl into Kogami’s side and chest. Watching the smoke curl up from his cigarette lazily before disappearing to nothing. “I love you too, Kogami.”