#can we pick just one ship name and stick w it

[manofbeskar]

i'm convinced these two will actually die if they don't have their hands all over each other at all times it's crazy how much they touch each other

[thesharktanksdriver]

Academic Achievements (romantic)

Requested by - can i request an academic rivals to lovers w/ damian? :) maybe a dash of angst >:)

Angst heh? Ha ahhahahhahahahhahahhahahahhahahha yes~

Btw some topics of bullying, class division and Damien kinda being a little shit at the beginning (but we all expected that)

Damien Wayne was a stuck up snooty brat who didn’t work for anything that came his way

Controversial opinion but it was one held by you and the handful of other kids of Gotham academy that came from blue collar or lower class families

Everything came to him with a flick of a finger whether that be his lunch on a silver platter or the attention of others. It was effortless, truly and utterly effortless

He never truly had to work for what he’s gotten in your eyes

Just another rich kid at this academy that’s populated by them

What makes him different though is that he’s a Wayne, a breed of rich all on its own

Practically royalty to Gotham society

He and them get in on money and name alone while you and a handful of others have to work their asses off to get in

It isn’t fair but you’ve accepted that at this point

It’s why you dedicated yourself to studying, to be better than them, than him for once

All students at this school were given a somewhat level playing ground when it came to actual grades

Sure, some had tutors and private fancy teaches at home to help but unless they actually cared they could not buy their way to victory

This in itself gave you enough edge to be head of class academic wise

Well not before the Wayne whom was your age had to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong and had decided he’d try to outsmart you

It started off small at first, projects in which he’d try to constantly one up you

Sending you snide smirks from across the class

You never acknowledged them but perhaps that’s what made him more determined. More pissed off that it didn’t aggravate you like he had intended

So he moves into trying to answer questions faster than you

Raising his hand up high as to be picked first

And so on and so fourth with his attempts

It was getting annoying but you’d put up with worse, much worse at this school

But he just didn’t seem to get any hints

Especially not when he one day tracked you down at lunch while you were in the art room

It was one of your only sanctuaries here. You are in peace without the threat of getting food or a drink dumped on you by some prissy girl again for not agreeing to give her the answers she wanted for homework

You just want to be left in peace but he doesn’t get that

No, he had to stick his nose where he shouldn’t have

He tells you to give up, that he’ll win and it’ll just be easier for you accept that

You almost punch him but hold back knowing you’d be fucked if you did that

You tell him to fuck off

And that leads to the two of you arguing loudly though fortunately no one was around

Rose white statues are the only ones that see and hear the carnage

Words are thrown back and forth, like a rocking ship before it crashes bow first into the waves

Sinking deep into ice cold murky waters as neither of you back down

For him it was his pride that kept him going, for you it was your stubbornness and determination that pushed you

Two opposing forces, an unstoppable force meeting an unmovable object

A fiery red rage vs seething cold fury

“You just can’t let anyone be better at you than anything huh?. That’s the problem here, you just won’t let anyone else win. You already have everything, for once stop being selfish and just give others that chance at victory, you get it enough as it is for just waving a hand in a certain direction”

“Why do you even care so much!?, does your self esteem really hang so much on your position as the top of class?”

“Damien, I’ve had to work MY ass off to get into this school along with my friends. We fucking cried when the acceptance letters came in, and it’s a miracle that the school was merciful enough to pay for me!. You don’t have to worry about that!, you probably didn’t even bat an fucking eye when that letter came because it didn’t matter to you but it does for ME!. It matters to me cause it’s the only thing I can do that everyone else can’t just pay to win”

You leave after that, grabbing your book bag and slinging it over your shoulder as you storm past him to go to your next class. Tears lining your eyes that you hold back and push away

You wouldn’t cry, not in this jungle where the moment you show weakness they’ll descend upon you like vultures to pick away at your self esteem even more

He doesn’t move oddly enough but you don’t pay attention to it much

That night when you barely catch the bus home and then have to walk for at least another 15 minutes with your hands gripping a small pocket knife as you get home.

It’s late, dinner is cold but you don’t have the effort to place it in the microwave

You go to study for the missed time at lunch from your altercation

Your tired and cold from the walk, cheeks still red and nose stuffy but you don’t care

You pull out your notebook and begin to answer equations as best you can

The words from before playing in your mind before you drowned it out with the soundtrack of howls moving castle

As Damien returns home though he’s…shaken so to say

He kinda realizes he may have gone a step too far, a line crossed in the sand that he bounded over in pursuit of something

It also makes him realize how in some ways you were right, which he didn’t want to admit aloud

He didn’t think much about that initial letter, he tossed it away noting giving it the time of day

He knew he was smart and would’ve passed the test to get in but his fathers money had paid for him not to go through that effort

And you were right, he didn’t let others win

He always thought that was a good trait, but perhaps in cases like this it wasn’t as good as initially perceived to be

He would usually go to Dick or his father for advice but instead he goes to Todd for it

Knowing how he had a better grip on what it was like to not live rich in Gotham

And well…

“Wow ok…yeah kinda dick thing to do. You came at them unprovoked and then tried to take a crack at self esteem…good going”

And that’s when the guilt begins to set in the longer he talks to his older adoptive brother

And it hits bad especially when he knows a simple apology won’t likely cut it

It’s during the next couple of days that he watches you in a new light

Compared to him and everyone else who had large social groups your relatively alone

Only one or two friends who come to your side

It’s also here he now notices the divide that he for some reason never caught onto while at the school

Damien is a loner yes, but if he wanted friends he had people who would flock to him at a heartbeat. People who seemed to adore his every breath, a single wave getting a few cheering at getting his attention

But for you and your friends there is disdain and disgust. Like seeing a bug crawled it’s way on your table before swatting it away

But you can’t be swatted, no matter how many times someone pours water or attempts to trip you it ends up with you walking it off

Giving a glare that sends them running off with giggles as they hide a smirk behind a small “oh I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there”

You never say anything about it though, you never go to a teacher or report it at all

You just take it and it makes him confused as to why you stood up to him and not them

It’s why he returns to you after a week or so of observations

Once again interrupting your lunch as you worked on a new painting

“Oh…your back.”

“I’ve…” he pauses for a moment trying to find the right words, pride be damned “I’ve come to say I’m sorry”

You stop your painting at that, mid-stroke as you put down your brush and turn back to look at him. “I don’t believe that” it comes out your mouth and he’s left to stare

“And how would I make you do so?”

“If you really want that then show me change. Show me that you work for what you get just like I do, then I’ll respect you, then I’ll accept your apology”

That seems to hit something in him since he pauses whatever response he had

And surprisingly enough he nods

It’s from that point on you notice that there’s a shift in the young Wayne

One that others also begin to catch onto

It’s a slow process but you begin having lunch with him…well more like he joins you for lunch as you either study or continue your paintings

He shows his notebooks when your stuck and how a truck into solving a question

When others are jeering at you or your friends he steps in, glaring them down

At some point he even reported on a few students after one had poured a drink on your friend purposely

For once the report wasn’t brushed aside

There are definitely jealous glared from others about how he seemed keen on spending time with you but you don’t pay it any mind

Especially not when your working on a history project about the Ottoman Empire which he had extensive knowledge about

You…begin to enjoy his presence

At first you tolerated it but now you genuinely enjoy when he meets up at lunch and integrates himself into your small group of friends

He seems happier, more content and not scowling all the time

In class the two of you start a playful competition, not like before which was motivated by bitterness and pride

Now it’s just for the hell of it as mrs.smith can only watch as the two of you fling your hands up to answer

Afterwards depending who answered the most you’d both do a dare

He begins to actually seem like a kid and not a self-centered robot

You both begin to partner up for projects

He ends up at your small house since you don’t feel quite comfortable yet going to his place, partially in fear of being out of place

He doesn’t seem to mind but tells you that his family would love you

You wave the comment off but it does help ease your nerves slightly

In your home he finds a certain sense of normalcy he’d never really experienced

This feels like what a normal home should be like, small and cozy

Fruit left out by your mom with a note saying to have a snack

He enjoys it wholeheartedly and can’t help but smile when he keeps returning to work with you on the project

Perhaps with a bit more eagerness than he’d like to admit which makes Alfred smile knowingly

Eventually you end up at the manor with him

Your nervous and clutching your bag as your fingers fidgeted

He sees this and takes your hand

Squeezing it in a silent gesture of “it’s alright” and “your gonna be ok”

You swear your heart skips a beat yet you ignore the feeling as you step out a the car with him

The large building and its gates seeming to look over you before your attention is taken away at the sight of a dog

He smiles as the dog comes bounding forwards, stopping for a moment to sniff you before he seemingly gave you permission to pet him

“What’s his name?”

“This is Titus. He’s my dog, and resident best friend”

You giggle a bit at that as Titus pushed his snout into your hand

Tail wagging back and forth before he followed the two of you into the large home

It feels grandiose and elegant

You’d only ever see bits and pieces from magazines or on tv but seeing it in person felt like something else

Almost like walking into a book or painting

Damien guides you through the old halls and into their private library

There are a few stacked books left on a table, all of which are related to your shared project

Honestly this placed seemed like heaven

The two of you work on the project but it’s intercepted by moments of the two of you just passionately talking about the subject

Neither of you had seen it before but both of you are overwhelmingly passionate and headstrong

A reason why you’d both clashed heads before but now seemingly brung you both together

At some point he asks about your art and you somewhat shyly tell him of your hobby

How you sell your pieces on the side to make some extra money since your parents only make enough to get by

Surprisingly he compliments your skill, the techniques you’d learned over years of trial and error

And it’s…nice

You feel warm and fuzzy on the inside just as he does when you ask him to tell you more about his pets or about his roots

Eventually you have to leave but you come back soon after to confine the project

The two of you making a schedule where you sometimes go to your house or his

It’s through this you meet his kind butler who is nothing but kind and caring as he delivers cookies

Along with brief instances of Damien’s older brothers who are seemingly shocked

Especially the slightly (in your eyes) infamous Dick Grayson who peaks in as you both study

Well…before Damien hucks a book at his head yelling for him to leave

The king of Gotham himself, Bruce Wayne even stops by when your about to leave to talk to you

He thanks you for having such a positive change on Damien and your left a bit flustered by it

Especially since the man says your always welcome in their home and that your always welcome if you need help

Things seem better for both you and Damien

You’d been selling more paintings as he actually gained a group of tight knit friends who were just as nerdy as he was

Things are good

So good in-fact that Damien ends up inviting you to a gala him and his family were invited too as his plus one

Aomehow he ends up convincing you to join, even helping you find something appropriate for the occasion at a new exhibit at the Gotham art museum

A place you’d visited before for a couple feudal trips yet never saw in its actual capacity

As the celebrations start the tow of you quickly end up wandering the empty halls, admiring the art

You were both the only kids there so it was only natural to do so, besides, the adults were all mingling with one another

There are countless classics and styles of all kinds ranging from paintings to sculptures

All of which lead to the two of you talking of your interpretations of the meaning

Before you both end up at a painting with a black dot in the middle

Nothing else, just a blank white canvas with a dot

The sight of which makes you giggle

the sound makes his eyes widen and heart race, it sounds like the chimes that would happen from a light summer’s breeze or the fluttering of petals in the wind

And then he joins along in your giggles as the two of you stare at the hoity toity painting of a plane black dot on a white canvas

“I think I make better works than that” you joke

“Think?, no you definitely make better stuff than this. I don’t buy bad art”

Wait what?

You turn to him and he seems to catch what he had said

You notice that his avoids eye contact and how turns to face slightly away from you

“You…your the person who bought my art?. Why?”

“Like I said, I don’t buy bad art. Yours is much better than some of the stuff here, father even thought so”

Now it’s your turn to be flustered as you feel butterflies in your stomach

Off in the distance the two of you can hear the sound of classical music

It’s muffled and too slow for your taste so you pull out your phone and AirPods

“Wanna dance to some real tunes?”

He smiles and takes the AirPod as you press shuffle on your playlist

The sound of “lovesong” by the cure playing conveniently in both your ears

Damien takes your hand and you both take turns leading the dance

He can’t help but grin happily

Neither of you notice his family pealing into the room watching with happy smiles

Nor how Tim had kinds maybe hacked your phone to play that song

[howlingday]

Nora & the Valkyries: Thunderstruck

Imagine a world where instead of being Hunstmen and slaying Grimm, Jaune and his friends are "killing it" in a Battle of the Bands-centric world.

He just so happened to get roped into the one called "Nora & the Valkyries" with a REALLY CUTE lead...

...who is completely OBLIVIOUS to how she makes him feel!!!

Jaune just tries to shrug it off at first and doesn't even realize how bad he has it for her until their first debut...

Meanwhile, Ren's the smuggest little drummer boy because he totally called it, and is still figuring out how to ship them.

How do you imagine it playing out?

Youtube Inspiration/Reference

https://youtube.com/shorts/lJ6XAjZFtyc?feature=share

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Aw~! This sounds adorable! I approve!

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Jaune panted as he finished his set. The crowd was roaring with excitement. He'd never felt so alive. His heart was pounding somewhere between two hundred to a thousand miles a minute, and there was only one girl to blame.

"Thank you, Vale! Good night!" Nora shouted into her microphone, fist pumping to the crowd as they sceamed her name. She reset the mic and skipped off to the back-stage. Jaune followed into her to the dark as he lifted her knees with every step, just like he did when they first met.

Jaune was miserable before. The girl he tried to woo with his guitar skills left her less than impressed and him with a broken heart. But he wasn't to be deterred so easily in his love pursuit, so he looked online for anyone who needed a guitar player. That was when he found 'Nora & The Valkyries,' a band for, as Nora put it, 'only the worthy!'

The next morning, he received a call from a soft-spoken young man, and that afternoon, he met the most beautiful angel he would ever meet... But he didn't know that then. What he first met was a very loud, chipper, and scary strong girl who was probably half his size. He auditioned with his guitar, and she... wasn't impressed either.

"Uh, you do know this is a rock band, right?"

"Y-Yeah?"

"So why are you bringing wood to metal audition?"

"...Insulation?" Jaune chuckled.

Nora looked to the other young man there, her manager, who shrugged at her. Nora then beamed.

"I like it!" She jumped from the couch. "Everybody knows trees catch lightning!" She wagged her finger. "You're smart. We need smart around here."

"Hey."

"More smart, Renny." She corrected. "But I think you still need some work. And some actual metal."

"Oh." Jaune slumped his shoulders. "Well, thanks for letting me try."

"No problem!" She grinned. "So what size shirt do you wear?"

"Huh?"

"What size shirt do you wear?" She repeated. "I need to know so I can order the T-shirts!"

"T-shirts?" Jaune did a double take. "W-Wait! You mean... I'm in the band?"

"Duh! Wasn't that obvious?"

Jaune hugged her and tried to pick her up in his excitement. He couldn't, but she could, and did. Since then, Jaune had been one of Nora's Valkyries ever since. It was just him at first, but then came Ruby and Pyrrha, who backed him up as bass and backup vocal, respectively.

Pyrrha and Ruby were about to start packing up backstage when Nora stopped them.

"Hey, hey, whoa!" She waved her arms. "What if the crowd wants an encore?"

"We're not doing an encore, Nora." Pyrrha giggled.

"Why not? Did ypu not hear that crowd? They're just BEGGIN for another dose!"

"We're supposed to stick to the schedule, though." Ruby pointed out. "If we take up Schneiss's time-"

"Ah, who cares about that fuddy-duddy Ice Queen?" Nora waved. "People don't come to a rock concert for a snowstorm. They come out for THE THUNDAH!"

"While I agree with your enthusiasm," Ren said as he entered, "I also agree with Ruby's statement of punctuality. Besides, there is an after-party to attend."

"Fiiiiiine..." Nora groaned, low carrying her drumsticks as she slumped.

"Jaune, a word?"

"Uh, sure." Ren guided him to a corner and spoke in a low voice. Too low for the girls to hear.

"You need to tell her."

"What?! Now?!"

"Either now or soon. Sooner than soon." Ren checked over his shoulder. "You missed a few chords during your last song."

"I did?" Jaune looked over. "Uh, did-"

"I noticed, which means everyone noticed." Ren summarized. "Everyone except..." He nodded to Nora. "But that's just one person. One person who is distracting you."

"She's not-"

"Nora, don't take off your jacket in here!" Jaune whirled around, finding a still jacketed Nora.

"I wasn't gonna! Gosh!"

Jaune looked to Nora, who was packing up her drum set. Her angelic voice carried over her beats without overpowering them, and kept the band rolling as they played. She then handed her case off to two roadies with one hand , while the roadies hefted it with their arms.

"Now, Jaune." He looked to Ren, who held a stern look.

"I... I don't know." Jaune sighed. "What if it doesn't work out and the band breaks up?"

"Did it not work out when Pyrrha asked you out?"

Jaune looked to Pyrrha, who was drinking the rest of her water bottle, before crushing the thin plastic in her hand with a satisfying crunch. He still remembered the tears she cried when he broke things off. "Y-Yeah?"

"Did the band break up?"

"No."

"And who is Pyrrha dating now?"

"She's dating Ruby." Jaune looked over to see Ruby hack and cough as she tried to chug, too, but failed. Pyrrha giggled and patted her back. The two shared a loving look.

"Do you think the band will break up?"

"If it does, it'll be long before those two."

"Exactly, so go ask her."

"I don't-"

"Jaune!" The two looked over to see Nora tapping her foot at them. "What's the holdup? Is Ren picking on you again?"

"Uh," Jaune looked to Ren, then back to Nora, "yes?"

"Well, lecture him later, Renny! We gotta go!" She patted her belly. "There's a pancake buffet in town that serves a full pound flapljack, and they close before midnight!"

"Remember what I said Jaune." Ren walked away, leaving the two alone.

"Uh, Nora?"

"What?" Nora covered her mouth. "You're sick, aren't you?!"

"No, no, I'm... Well, I am, but I don't think it's contagious."

"Okay, fine, but I'm not cleaning up your throw-up." She tapped her chin. "It would explain your screw-up earlier, though."

"Wait, you noticed that?!"

"Duh! Of course I did!" She tapped her brain. "I know everything that happens in this band, Jaune. Even Pyrrha's crush on you, and Ruby's crush on Pyrrha. Nothing slips by me!"

Jaune felt his heart sink. She knew, but she was too nice to let him know she knew. He slumped over and got to work packing his stuff. She knew and she was being too nice.

"Try not to throw up, Jaune." She rubbed his back. "Last thing we need is my second best friend missing the after-party."

Jaune slumped further.

"Aw, c'mon! Don't pout!" She pulled him up, holding him by the shoulders. "Flapjacks, Jaune! A whole pound of them!"

Jaune chuckled. "All right, all right."

"There we go!" She let go of him. "Now come on! If we get there and they're closed, I'm making you cook them for me instead!"

"Sure thing, Nora." She skipped away into the dark once more, and he followed her, same as before.

'Ugh, now that sounds like a bad romance.' Jaune thought.

[sansloii]

Name: Hollis! ( though, i go by Marshy as well and have for about 6 years )

Pronouns: she/they

Preferred comms: discord because tumblr ims are questionable at best. i also uninstalled the app because of how often it would just randomly crash for little to no reason so.... if you want to reach me, disco is the safest bet

Name of muse(s): I have eight wonderful creatures of varying temperament. Batch 1 was Mikah. Batch 2 was Penelope, Wynn, Evan, Dakota, and Joseph. Batch 3 was Roderick and Andris. I also am working on fleshing out Vega properly but he's not quite done yet.

Experience in RP: in about 2012-ish, i was into f.andomstuck and i had an oc for that until like.... 2014-ish? it was baby's first blog and i didn't really know what I was doing. I had fun, while it lasted, but i also knew some of the people in this community ( like they went to the same high school as me ) so any issue we had on tumblr would translate into lunchroom confrontations. I didn't enjoy that part so much and my interest for it fizzled out by the time i graduated. then, i jumped over to the fire emblem fandom and made an oc for fire emblem awakening! i think i stayed in that rpc until 2016/2017 and i had two ocs, a mother and her son from the future, that i still very much adore. there were ups and downs and i feel like i was taught.... multiple frustrating lessons during my tenure there. it did help me develop my writing a lot and i have to say that i'm honestly better off having taken the chance to do it.

lastly, i ended up here in 2017 and i'm not leaving. i also have another massive oc blog i'm slowly reworking but i'm trying not to stress myself out lol.

Best experiences: it's very difficult to put specific experiences into words because most of it, for me, is vibes. my best experiences have been interactions and plots with people that I not only get along with but like... you know--we understand each other. like if i decide that i'm not going to rp on tumbles for a month and maybe just stick to headcanons, i can do so without fear that you think i'm wasting your time. or that we can pick up where we left off and it's okay if you respond to the months old thread you had with me. or! we can just stay up until the wee hours of the morning talking about ideas or blorbos or getting really into a discord rps. like it's the vibes that i can come to you like a fart in the night with a gifset or image like "hey this is our muses" and, likewise, you can do the same with me.

to those of you who i vibrate at the speed of light towards at any given moment, you know who you are. thank you for being patient with me and giving me the space to vibe with you :)

Pet peeves / dealbreakers: i feel like every time i open my mouth about pet peeves i have, i sound like a crotchety old person that always has something negative to say deep down ... but w/e. it's my soap box.

i've noticed that since i've come back, it feels like i have to be the one that's chasing some people for interactions or plots more often. or like. right out the gate, they wanna jump from A to Z and be best buds and whatever so we can speedrun everything. or... i'm expected to or have to do most of the work because they're quite literally doing none of it after expressing interest. and like some of that isn't inherently bad! i'll be the first to admit that if we're friendly enough and progress something enough to where it's like... an established thing? we can have something going faster than the speed of sound after that. we can have multiple ships, a dedicated au, a whole slew of worldbuilding shit together and i won't care because i know said person on some level. and that took time + a whole slew of back and forths.

however, it doesn't feel great to express that "hey i want to plot something but it'll take time and like... if we're shipping on top of that, it'll take double that amount" and watch, in real time, as that person just... eventually leaves you on read. and/or just doesn't interact with your content anymore. and i can tell the difference between being preoccupied/ having not great week/taking a break from tumblr entirely/being slow and being put on a shelf/ barely acknowledged very clearly. i shouldn't have to feel like i'm competing for a slot or something, which is the vibes i got sometimes and ( as you would expect ) didn't like.

this isn't directed at anyone i'm currently following, ofc. i know i am not perfect but i also know that i am an extremely patient person, which is how I want to be treated. It's very frustrating to try and try and try again only to get the bare minimum from people i genuinely wanted to interact with. but c'est la vie--such is life--and i move on. i, like many others, have limited time to be on here and if something doesn't bring me joy after a month, two months, three months, I'm more than willing to part with it. there has to be effort on both ends in some way and if you want me to pat your ass, pat my ass too.

Muse preference ( fluff, angst, smut ): you cannot make me choose. now, does that mean that I write them all in equal amounts? certainly not. but it really depends on my mood. sometimes, all i wanna do is talk about soft moments. other times, i want to put my muses in a blender and watch them process what's happening to them. occasionally, i'll let them roam free and be as horny as they like. the key is to always cycle through the three so you don't get burnt out on any one of them.

Plot or memes: uuuuuhhhh it depends? plots are my fucking jam and i like having a general storyline to follow when writing and then figuring out the little details when we get to them. it's a long process but i enjoy the wait and the buildup more than i enjoy air so djsfdvdfvd--

buuuuuut i also think memes are a valueable, valueable springboard into interactions. and plotting straight outta the gate can be intimidating for some. plus, if you want to plot but your head is empty atm, finding and sending memes with the same vibe as the plot point you wanted to discuss is helpful! i'll admit that i'm not great at sending in memes but it's not for lack of wanting to. it's more not knowing what to send and picking a muse to send along with it that trips me up. Plus, not being here most of the day tends to mean i miss a lot of meme reblogs orz

Long or short replies: long replies but i do trim them shorter or rewrite portions of them. sometimes, i will write what i deem to be "too much" for a reply ( e.g: my partner has like 350 words and i'm sitting at like 625 words ) and i'll go back and edit it down to 450-500 if i find stuff that doesn't really move anything along or is just needless padding.

Best time to write: it used to be late night but i pass out too often for that to be effective anymore ( because of my sleep schedule for work ), so i tend to favor late mornings and early afternoon. if i'm writing late at night, it's because i didn't have time during the day to do so.

Are you like your muse(s): n...not really in most cases. like we share some traits here and there but for the most part, my personality, sense of style, and morality deviates from most of them.

tagged by: @rexpyre tagging: @arcxnumvitae @gunrising @royaletiquette @nezumivc103221 @bonesofchaos and anyone else that wants to.

[anxious-art-block]

LU Headcanons Part 3: I Thought of These While Watching Baymax

SCOTTISH LEGEND

“Aye.” “Wur youse vaccinated wi’ a gramophone needle?!” “A wee devil more like.” “Yer aff yer heid, Wild.” “It’s pure dead brilliant!” “She was a bonnie lass…” “Speak O’ the Devil.” “Aye right!” “Moan fur a wee drink, Cap’n?”

My grandfather is Scottish so these are things I’ve ACTUALLY heard him say

Also, her Hylian is based on Gàidhlig to further prove this 

Vegetarian Sky

When the Chain is on Tetra’s ship for the first time, Wind gathers the crew into singing The Wellerman 

When Four is arguing with someone he stands on the nearest stump, table, or chair to reach their height or taller. He needs to assert dominance.

While they all have their “Titles” since they’re all named Link, how ‘bout some nicknames?

Twilight: Cub/Rancher/Twi Time: Dad/Old Man/Sir Wild: Pup/Gremlin/Champion/Princess Wind: Sailor/Young One/Ghostie Four: Smithy/Munchkin/Artificer Warriors: Captain/Princey/Pretty Boy/Wars Legend: Vetertan/A Sheòid [by Ravio]/Honeybee [by Ravio] Hyrule: Traveler/Roolie/Buttercup Sky: Angel/Darling [by Sun]/Hero

Twi’s Hylian is based on Chinese [I like the idea of him singing Yours Forever from Over the Moon about Midna ;-;]

Legend just… doesn’t mention that he’s the prince of his Hyrule. Like it literally just slips his mind until they’re there and he talks to Fable and it just slips out, and he’s like “oh did I not mention that?” 

Obviously, due to the number of musical instruments, challenges, and quests in the Zelda universe, people have given their HCs about the boys’ musical talents, so here’s my 2 cents:

Fuck the idea that having the hero's spirit also means being tone-deaf, what about the Chain being able to sing and the ZELDAS CAN’T

TAKE THAT HYLIA

Hyrule doesn’t sing a lot, it would draw too much attention in his Hyrule so he chooses not to, but he has a very haunting air to his voice [I use Ashley Serena as a reference to how he would sound] and sounds lovely when he does

And because of his travels, he’s a very good dancer! Like, REALLY good. He learned all sorts of stuff from the places he’s been, and simply enjoys doing it which only made the skill grow

TWILIGHT SOUNDS LIKE JEON JUNGKOOK 

It was first discovered that he could sing so well when he was about 13 when he was on the ranch just singing aloud to the goats and Ilia heard him and told e v e r y o n e 

Legend has a smooth and deep voice, can sing in like 6 different languages, and can play like every instrument invented 

Srsly u could probably give it a brand new one and would probably pick it up within like a minute 

Warriors: This piano costs more than your house

I will continue to draw Twi in JKs outfits, so feel free to drop me ones u wanna see him in [like send an ask or smth]

Anyway

Time and Malon will make little duets often, with him on his ocarina and her singing, or them both singing just cause they love each other *sobs*

Ok enough music stuff on to the shit y’all care about 

Wild and Flora were goofing off and trying on each other’s royal dress and guard uniform then looked in the mirror and both just kinda went  “Oh.”

This is me saying they’re both trans [icons]

I really like the nicknames thing for the Chain & Co. so my idea is that Wild calls themselves that even after the journey, and that their Zelda ditches the name ‘Zelda’ and changes it to Florian 

“So, what’s your Princess Zelda like?” “Oh, I don’t have a Princess Zelda.” “???” “No, I have a Prince Florian.”

I also demand - platonic or romantic - that we keep the absolute CHAOS that those two have

LITERALLY TRIED TO MAKE WILD EAT A FROG IN CANON WHERE IS THAT ENERGY Y’ALL

W H E R E  I S  I T

Gives Wild his old royal dress and Wild cries

Twilight has really sharp K9s [c’mon there had to be SOME side effects to being a wolf for a while]

And is secretly a cat person

Four loves Wild’s Hyrule ‘cause of the surplus of minerals and mining

Time calls the Chain “His boys” 

Sky will take random sticks or logs he finds and carve small designs into them when he’s bored, as well as idly strumming his lyre 

You're welcome

[no-droids]

Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22.5K DONT say shit alright just don’t

Warnings: Okay. There is degradation in this, some name calling and heated interactions. There is a LOT of smut, dirty talk and rough sex. If these things offend you, please do not continue reading.

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

It actually might be your favorite part.  Granted, alarm bells ringing and thousands of jumpsuits scrambling in all directions is never typically a good thing, but there’s also an inherent rush about it, a thrill in launching up the metal paneling as quick as you can and suiting up to provide aid.  It’s a side-effect of camaraderie, of being surrounded by like-minded individuals willing to do everything they can to help.  You never feel like you’re going to your death, even though that’s often the grim reality for at least one of you on a good day.  There’s always a roaring in your ears while you do it, adrenaline sharpening your senses and preparing yourself for conflict, not thinking anything beyond gogogogogo—

But getting out of the x-wing is… not great.  At least for you.  It’s sluggish.  Your body is always completely drained and you never come out of it feeling the same way you went in.  Even in times of victory, there’s a somberness inside you after battle.  As much as you tell yourself you’re fighting for good, for prosperity against an evil machine hellbent on enslaving the galaxy, there’s only so many explosions lighting up in front of your eyes and screams cutting out through your comms you can take before winning just doesn’t really feel like winning anymore.  Most pilots are able to handle it better than you are, but since you joined the Resistance, you’ve never truly felt the desire to celebrate.  Not even when you serve a massive, glaring defeat to the other side.  There’ll always be at least one missing x-wing, one empty seat at the table, one person not here to celebrate with you.

You came back in one piece this time.  Barely.

The whole mission went sideways—literally.  You’d purposefully stationed the tandem just outside the coordinates you were meant to be surveilling so that you’d be hidden from sight and dead to the scanners should the fleet arrive, but something must’ve happened.  You must’ve powered down a few seconds too early after he turned the thrusters off, because apparently the ship drifted in dead space for close to eight hours without either of you noticing, having no working computers to actively read your location and correct it.  You were sitting ducks right in the hyperspace drop zone by the time the First Order showed up, and by that point you had no choice but to engage.

“Gold-Ten,” a voice murmurs from behind you, and you blink, suddenly seeing the base landing platform stretching out long in front of you, hundreds of docking ships and boisterous pilots scrambling out of them to hug their comrades and congratulate them even as medics rush past with white coats and gurneys.  They’re never for the pilots, but they dispatch healers anyways whenever a convoy returns in case a straggler gets picked up.  There’s an unspoken understanding in space battle—pilots never get injured.  They either come back unharmed, or they don’t come back at all.

Dameron.

You turn around and watch him slowly approach you with an unreadable expression, his jumpsuit still bunched halfway down his torso.  The once bright white sleeveless undershirt is now greasy and damp with sweat,  his dark curls sticking to his forehead.  He winces with every bow-legged step—you know the feeling—before he’s standing directly in front of you and something is carefully being pulled out of your hands.  You didn’t even realize you were holding onto anything.

Your helmet.  You forgot to leave it in the x-wing, and you’ve been carrying it around under your arm aimlessly while mentally checking off the squadrons as they return, counting the numbers you lost today while everybody else hugs and whoops and claps each other on the back.

It’s not as bad as you were expecting it was going to be, not as bad as it seemed just an hour earlier when you were listening to Dameron bellow out evasive flight maneuvers a millisecond before he enacted them and you adjusted your firing at the TIEs accordingly.  You used to think you were quick with how rapidly you could suit up and fly out, drop in to assist and engage, but on the other side, it felt like your reinforcements lollygagged for ages before arriving.  You were left to defend against an entire fleet in one stupid ship, more lines of TIEs sinking like flies from launch decks every second.

“Gold-Ten,” you hear again, and you blink a few times, needing to focus your vision before you can find his gaze.

Dameron’s palm, previously hovering a few inches above your shoulder, suddenly drops to spread along the curve of it and you take a deep breath, almost wanting to shudder at the feeling of something touching you.  You channel all your focus into it, feel his fingers branch out strong along the tight muscles in your neck, giving you an anchor you automatically lean into.

You and him are no strangers to touching.  Before today it was mostly reserved to poking and prodding and flicking and light slapping in an effort to piss each other off, but now… you can’t even think about it right now, your body will just fucking glitch out on you.  After everything that just happened, you cannot think about where else that hand has been recently, not right now.

“You did… you did really fucking good today,” he tells you quietly, slowly trailing his hand down the length of your entire arm until he catches your wrist and a few of your fingers in his loose grip.  “Seriously.  That was… we were…”

His touch is so present, so reassuring.  Grounding, when all your mind wants is to just float away.  You glance down at where his fingers are gently tangled with yours and you feel your hand tighten just slightly, the smallest squeeze while he blinks down at you.

“We almost died, like… every single second,” you barely manage to croak, not really having the words to express it right now.  You always need at least an hour or two after missions like this to just sit in one place and regroup.  Usually you find yourself wandering back to your room to lay on the bed and stare up at the ceiling while you consider your own mortality, but Dameron interrupted you this time before you could process it by yourself.  “We…”  Your voice sounds absolutely shredded.  “W-We shouldn’t even be alive right now.”

“I know,” he nods in soft agreement, taking a small step closer to you.  “But we are alive.  Hey.”  He dips his head as soon as your gaze starts to drift, catching your eyes once more and drawing your attention back to the present with a squeeze of your hand.  “We’re alive, right?  Be alive with me.”

You take a big breath in and close your eyes, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs once more, but this time, it’s… restorative.  A wonderful, beautiful reminder of your existence.  You’re alive.  Usually the word just feels like a synonym for persevering.  Pushing onwards despite trials and tribulations, not looking back.  But the way he says it, especially with his hand in yours and a quiet invitation to tag along, it sounds… breathtaking.  Full of light, and hope.  It suddenly leaves the dim shadows and slides into a completely different category of feelings, feelings you’d never imagine being able to conjure so quickly after such a close brush with death.  Alive—it slots right in next to words like colorful, radiant, sunshine, and butterflies.  Enchanting words, ones you’d like to hear again and again.

Your eyes slowly open and there he is, the man you were sure was going to accompany you to the afterlife.  You were stuck with Poe Dameron in one of the closest calls you can remember, and strangely, his presence was nothing if not… a comfort.  For the first time in your life, you were grateful he was there.

You open your mouth, suddenly feeling the needy, unfounded urge to tell him that.  “I’m gla—”

“Dameron!”  You hear a series of voices call from somewhere to your left, and he immediately drops your hand to whip his body around and place himself directly between you and the approaching onlookers, using his large frame to hide you from their sight.

“What’s up, Briggs?”  Dameron projects to one pilot in particular that seems to be leading the group, his back oddly close to you in this position.  Your fingers still feel tingly from where he was holding onto them.

A chorus of congratulatory, “Nice flying, Captain!” and the like can be heard floating through the air from beyond his shoulders, before the leader speaks loudly over them.  “Hey—me, Seven, Six, and Twelve were gonna grab some drinks in the mess hall with a few of the Blue girls,” he tells Dameron, slowing to a stop as soon as he sees you standing awkwardly behind him.  “Oh hey, Goldie.”

You lift a hand and clear the remainder of the dissociation from your throat, not knowing him well enough beyond the squadron he and his group fly with.  “Greenies.”

“Anyways, I guess they wanted to know if you’d come too.  These idiots are convinced they’re never gonna give us the time of day unless you—”

“Uh—fine, whatever, just give me a few minutes alright?”  Dameron quickly assures him with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

A few of them take turns giving him heavy claps on the shoulder and acclamatory words before the group eventually disperses, and he waits a few more seconds for their attention to fully scatter in another direction before turning back to you.

Shit, he’s standing really close.  Why is he so close to you?  You take a step back and blink up at him, the noises of the landing deck gradually amplifying back up to normal volume as you retreat back into your own space.  Since when did he have that effect on you?  You suddenly feel wide awake, and the chorus of happy chaos surrounding you is something you’re finally able to take in.  You knew it was happening before, but it was like it just existed outside of the creeping numbness.  Now, the knot of internal turmoil has untied itself a bit and you feel your surroundings start to fight for your direct attention.

Dameron continues to look at you the same exact way, though.  Like you’re still the only one here.

You look down at his half-suited figure and blink at the helmet loosely held in one of his hands.  Hey.  Hey, that’s yours—

“Give me that,” you hiss, suddenly snatching it from his fingertips.  “You have people waiting.”

The cutting words serve to snap him out of whatever spell he’s under.  Dameron quickly lifts his head and looks around a few times with sharp eyes, before hooking your elbow and twisting you into a complete 180 until your back faces most of the excitement.  You resist, immediately trying to push him off you and worried he’s going to confront you about… things, but he’s determined.

He doesn’t say anything to you at all, though.  His fingers quickly grasp the baggy fabric of your jumpsuit even as you sputter and start to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, and you glance down just in time to see him yanking the gaping velcro closed at your crotch.

Your cheeks instantly start burning as he tugs and smooths the fabric down until it’s seamless once more, especially when his eyes flick up to yours without moving his head.  Fuck, you’re instantly hot with some wicked emotion, a mixture of embarrassment and outrage and… something else.  Maker, you almost wish you were numb and disoriented again, if only so you could avoid feeling whatever the fuck this is.

You quite suddenly shove your helmet back into his stomach with an infuriated sound even as he doubles over with a shocked whoosh of air, changing your mind about returning it to the ship yourself before storming off without another word.

*** 

Okay, so you’ve done some thinking, and.  Well.  Fuck him, that’s what you’ve decided.

No—not… fuck him.  But like, fuck him.  You know.  In the negative sense of the word.  The bad fuck.

There’s a full tray of food sitting in front of you but you’ve so far been unable to touch it.  Mostly you’re just wondering why the fuck you’re even here.  Well, you know why you’re here—you should eat, it’s dinnertime and this is the mess hall.  You’ve been known to skip out on meals after heavy missions, secluding yourself away and just wallowing for a bit, but you… strangely didn’t feel like doing that today.  You don’t want to self-isolate when you feel okay enough to avoid it, not again.  So you’re here, because the clock says your tummy should want food, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at it.

No, you’re looking at him.  Glaring, actually.

Across the mess hall and beyond the transparisteel divider that separates the cafeteria from the bar area, Dameron is all eyebrows and smiles and side nudges and winks right now.  You can’t hear him—the sound won’t travel this far, but you can see him situated in the middle of a rowdy group of pilots.  He laughs in that disgustingly charming way of his, where his stupidly cute nose scrunches up all cute and stupid and you want to just ask the Maker why he’s doing this shit to you.  What have you done to deserve this torture?  Sure, you may have willingly agreed to it, even… conceived and propositioned the idea, and sure, absolutely nothing is stopping you from forfeiting and walking away at this exact second, but does that make it okay?  No, you’ve decided.  It’s not okay.  He’s not allowed to… to make you feel like this, so fuck him.  In the bad way.

“Just fuck him already,” a voice suddenly grumbles as someone plops down into the seat to your right, plastic trays of food clattering loudly on the table and snapping you out of your reverie.  Gold-Sixteen blocks your view as he silently drops into the seat in front of you and wraps his green lekku around his neck a few times before immediately beginning to shovel food into his mouth, while Gold-Three opens her box of blue milk next to you and continues.  “The Blues never fucking shut up about it, it’s getting annoying.”

“Don’t listen to her, Dime,” Gold-Eleven tells you, quickly occupying the seat on your left and biting into a crunchy piece of fruit, talking loudly over the chatter even as he chomps.  “Rossi just knows her pool is up tomorrow, she doesn’t want to lose any of her precious credits.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Gold-Three immediately snaps, leaning forward and around you to point the prongs of her fork at Eleven threateningly.  “Zhang’s pool starts on Sunday.”

“Oh fuck off, you guys are betting on this now?”  You groan, shoving your plate away with a flick of your fingers now that you’re certain you’ve completely lost your appetite.  Sixteen immediately snatches up one of your bread rolls while Zhang swipes your juice and Rossi goes for a packet of glockaw sauce.

“You’re the one who announced it in front of everybody, we’re just being active spectators,” Rossi returns, ripping the packet and pouring the sauce on her vegetables with a shrug.  “How the fuck do you bet against fucking each other though, that’s my question?  It’s a paradox, wouldn’t you both just lose at the same time?”

“Dameron and I aren’t going to fuck,” you tell her very slowly and clearly, starting to get a headache.  Why is it impossible to avoid this conversation topic, even with an entire Resistance base to roam around in?  “Ever.  The bet never had anything to do with fucking each other, it’s about not fucking other people.”

“Literally what is the difference?”  You hear Rossi ask with her mouth full, but Zhang speaks over her.

“Somebody should probably tell Nine that, she’s the bookie,” he tosses out carelessly, dropping the core of his piece of fruit to his tray before wiping his hands on his jumpsuit.  You bury your face in your hands and let out a loud, exhausted sound into your palms, not knowing which response serves to aggravate your already emotionally overloaded ass even more.  Nine is the bookie, of fucking course she is.  “But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of it actually goes outside of Gold, so.”

“I’ve heard the Blues talking about it, but that’s it,” Rossi chimes in while chewing some of her veggies.  “Maybe some Reds.  Point is everybody else thinks it’s already happening, honestly.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper, using your knuckles to rub at the backs of your eyes until bright spots appear.  Where are stress headaches localized?  Are those the ones right under your brow bone?  Because stars, you feel it.  “Fucking… why?  Why do people think that me and Dameron are…?”

Nobody at the table immediately responds, and you drop your hands after a moment to look at each of their astounded faces in turn.

“You fucking serious, bitch?”  Rossi blurts first, her voice completely deadpan, and you growl in vexation.

“Have I not been vocal enough about my severe dislik—”

“And yet you kicked Nine out of your room to let him bunk with you,” Zhang immediately suggests.

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

“Spend your off-days together,” Zhang continues.

“You’re both really weird about how long it takes the other person to shower,” Rossi tacks onto the list Zhang is now making on his fingers and you shake your head frantically.

“No—no, that’s so that we know neither one of us is cheating,” you try to explain, and you already know it sounds unconvincing without needing the two quick, lofty and sarcastic nods on either side of you.  “Showers and off-days are prime masturb—no, you know what?  No.  I’m tired of the assumptions, I don’t owe anyone shit.  This is super fucking uncool of you guys, you know that?  It’s insane that this is what counts as gossip in the Resistance nowada—”

“There’s only so much bad news people can take, Ten,” Gold-Sixteen grunts down at his almost finished plate, and all three of you snap your gazes across the table at him.  The forest-tinted twi’lek doesn’t speak much, it’s uncommon to hear his voice without distortion over the comms, but you blink as his sharp teeth continue to form words without looking at you.  “Quit being so sensitive.  Rather bet on this shit than which system is getting demolished next.”

And with that, Sixteen excuses himself with a silent nod, having gobbled down his full plate while you, Three, and Eleven were bickering.  You feel your cheeks flare with anger and shame—you didn’t deserve that, you immediately reassure yourself, but the hidden self-doubt the comment sows just further contributes to your upset.  You want to call out to his back that just because the First Order exists doesn’t mean you have to put up with your own fucking squadron turning you and your mortal enemy into glorified race fathiers, but he’s already leaving the mess hall while Rossi and Zhang have moved on to other topics, both of them continuing to grab more food from your tray as they talk.

You have a tough shell.  But today was… a lot.  You bite your lip down at the table against the sudden wave of emotion, blinking quickly to clear the weakness watering your vision.

See, this—this right here is why you use last names.  These people aren’t your friends.  Betting on who you fuck for laughs, using you as a source of entertainment without your consent just because they’re in the middle of a war, and then guilting you into feeling like you’re the one acting like a stuck up bitch about it?  You’re fighting in the same fucking war—you’re on the front lines just like everybody else and nobody gets to lecture you on the devastation of battle.  You almost died today.  You fought tooth and fucking nail to stay alive and by all accounts, you shouldn’t even be sitting here right now, much less dealing with this childish shit.  This is your squadron.  These people are supposed to be the ones closest to you out of everyone, the ones you’ve been flying into chaos in formation with for years, and yet not a single damn person has even mentioned your performance to you today, all anyone can ever seem to talk about is—ugh.

Unfortunately, your unobstructed view also allows you to look at the source of your bad mood once more, immediately noticing the way more people have crowded around him now, and the headache continues to throb painfully behind your eyeballs.  You were in the same ship, does nobody realize that?  You were gunning, he was flying—you were offense, he was defense—that’s the only fucking difference, and yet, it’s like that side of the mess hall is just completely lit up with hearty laughter and music playing from someone’s holopad and congratulatory drinks being passed around, while yours is… well.

You continue to fume inwardly, struggling somewhere between bitter and hurt, and you can see your reflection through the transparisteel giving him a death glare, wondering how many of the people surrounding him have made bets with Nine.  How many of his little entourage have their money wagered on Dameron getting in your pants by a specific dat—

You stop short while staring at his handsome face, an infuriating, horrifying thought suddenly striking you.  No… no, he wouldn’t…

“Does he know?”  You immediately interrupt the chitchat between Three and Eleven to ask with a deadly edge in your voice, tipping your forehead at pretty boy.  Ooh, you can already feel it burning.  It would be so fucking typical.  Oooooh, Maker, if he’s heard even a fucking whisper about this outside wagering going on amongst the pilots, you will fucking smother his ass in his sleep tonight.  How could he not know?  With as many friends as he has?  If you’re just being made aware of it, then it’s a given that somebody has to have told him by now, which just means that it’s all the more possible—shit, even more likely—that he’s… participating, too.  You do your best to keep your voice even, but you can hear the quiet fury shaking in it.  “The bet about when me and him are gonna fuck, does he know about it?”

“Who—Dameron?”  Zhang turns his head.  “No, I don’t think s—”

“Yeah,” Rossi says at the exact same time, and your blood instantly turns ice cold as Zhang leans around you to blink at her stupidly.

“No.  Yeah?  What?”  He says, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, remember?”  Rossi confirms with a shrug.  “Nine was mad as all shit, came at me in the rec room a few weeks ag—fucking Maker, Eleven, you were there.”

“Oh,” Zhang suddenly exhales, “yeah, that’s right.  Oh, yeah, Dime, he knows.”

You’re—fuck, you’re about to rampage.  You’re burning a fucking hole through Dameron while he converses animatedly with his numerous buddies, waving an open hand and shaking his head at someone with a smile and then gesturing broadly to this side of the transparisteel.  His pool is probably up soon, you figure.  That’s why he came onto you so strong earlier today.  He was going to get two weeks of your pay, plus whatever he must’ve offered up to Nine that says he’d get it to happen within a certain amount of time.  Perfect, your old roomie and the arch nemesis you stupidly agreed to trade her for, two asshole peas in an asshole pod.

“—she thought I was the one who told him—”  You know Rossi is still talking but you’re not actually hearing any of it.  Nobody has any fucking idea.  Nobody has any idea what he did to you today, how unbelievably close you were to… to actually…  “—was all just for fun, but then he had a few choice words for her and told his squad that if any of them had made a—”  You don’t know why you’re so surprised honestly, you should’ve expected…

Wait.

“Wait,” you suddenly blurt, and while she shuts up immediately, your mind starts whirling even faster.  Dameron had some… what?  “Wait.  Explain.  You’re saying he didn’t…”  You slowly shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows and trying to piece it together.  “He didn’t… place a bet with her, or anything?”

“What?  No,” Rossi shakes her head a lot more forcefully than you, getting frustrated.  “No, fucking—didn’t you hear anything I just said, Ten?  He got all high and mighty for some stupid reason, totally reamed her ass out for it.”

“But…”  You blink, stunned.  “But… why?  Why would he…?”

Rossi shrugs.  “Fuck if I know.  All she said was that he ordered Black not to throw in, made her lose a fuckton of money from it.  Had no idea Dameron would be so touchy about his sex life, honestly.”

He… he isn’t.  He isn’t touchy about his sex life—you feel like he never shuts up about it.

Rossi continues talking, but you’re not listening again.  You stare stupidly at yourself in the clear transparisteel as Dameron’s voice comes back to you, repeating something you specifically remember him saying earlier today.  Something you thought was just a careless jab at the time, aimed blindly at one of your comrades with nothing more than the intent to piss you off.

…I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half… 

You blink beyond your own reflection to focus on him once more, still lost in his own little world, not paying a single lick of attention to you while you’re essentially having a fucking crisis over here.  You didn’t think the insult had any real substance to it at all.  You just naturally assumed that was the result of him wanting to lash out at anything or anyone remotely close to you, if only to get a reaction, so you never gave him one or paid it any mind.  

This is why he said that about Nine?  Because he knew she had organized this fucked up betting pool behind your back?

Stars, you need to get out of here, all these rumors are fucking with your head.  Your assumptions and the hairpin turnarounds are giving you worse whiplash than Dameron’s… well, admittedly spectacular flying today.  You were wrong about wanting to avoid isolating—in fact, that suddenly sounds like a phenomenal idea.

So, you just get up and leave right in the middle of Rossi’s sentence, needing some time alone.  Neither of them call out to you as you quickly walk around the table and through the barrier towards the exit, thank the Maker, and you’re just about to retreat with no interruptions until suddenly two Greenies step in front of you and block your path.

You halt immediately, looking up at them with a furrowed brow.  “What now?”  You grunt, not having the patience to even wait for a response before attempting to squeeze around them.

“Hey, so you really saved our asses out there today, Goldie,” the one on the left quickly sidesteps in front of you and rushes to say, and you settle your weight back on your heels with a huff.

“What are you talking about?”  You glance back and forth between them, not recalling a time you’ve ever spoken to either one, before jerking your head to gesture over your shoulder.  “Go congratulate trophy boy over there, he was the one flying.”

“We did,” the one on the right tips sideways to look at Dameron behind your shoulder, likely still laughing and joking with someone about something, something super fucking dumb probably.  “Well, uh.  We tried.”

“What?”  You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples.  “The fuck is that supposed to mean?  I don’t have the time.”

“He won’t take any credit, just keeps saying that all he did was steer you around,” the other one shrugs as his companion straightens and looks down at you once more.  “Wouldn’t accept any drinks we offer him, nothing.  So we thought we’d buy you one instead.  Unless you’re… leaving?”

It takes you a few seconds to process that, even as he allows the open invitation to hang in the air.  You can’t stop the way your torso automatically twists around to study your copilot from across the mess hall in baffled silence, suddenly realizing that they’re… they’re right.  Dameron has no congratulatory drinks sitting in front of him even though more and more people have made their way into the bar.  He’s just sitting there grinning and nodding along to something someone else is saying, completely and blissfully unaware of the extent to which he’s fucked with you in the past twenty minutes.  The past… whole day.  Month and a half.  Or… fuck, how long have you known him?  Two years?

But then Dameron’s gaze gradually drifts this way, before suddenly locking with yours.  His eyes flick behind you to look at the two Greenies blocking your exit, and then back to the way you’re staring at him, wide-eyed and startled.

He suddenly stands up and starts to take a few steps towards you, and the sheer abruptness of the movement causes you to react immediately.  You stumble your way backwards through the two pilots, feeling a few hands reach out to steady you through the awkward fumbling, but you slap them away and announce loud enough for Dameron to hear beyond them that you’re taking a shower, and you don’t give a fuck how long it’s gonna be this time.

***

The knob squeaks as you turn the water on.  Usually you’d step back and wait the grueling five minutes or longer it takes for it to heat up with your arms crossed over your naked chest, but this time you move directly under the freezing spray, hoping to use the ice cold to shock your system.

You're finally alone.

Technically solitude doesn’t really exist within this base.  You’ve heard of others that are a little nicer, having a little more room for the ranks, but not here.  Housing assignments, showers and restrooms, mess and recreation halls—they’re all communal.  Everyone is given rotating shifts, so while that means there’s never any true quiet to be found, it also means that showers are spread out well throughout the day and night.

But, at least for this moment, there’s nobody else around.  At least in here, in the tiled chamber with multiple shower heads stationed around you—you’re sure there are a few girls lingering in the locker room and the entry area beyond it, but for right now, you’re blissfully by yourself.

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

You know you should be basking in the isolation.  You should be thrilled at the rarity of only hearing your own flipflops slap against the floor as you turn around and drench your hair with the icy spray, but the lack of an immediate distraction for your focus allows it to wander to things you don’t want it to.

Explosions, mostly.  Lighting up like fireworks in front of your eyes even as they flutter closed and let water drip down them.  Constant, never-ending.  Some of them small—TIEs you shot down, allies drawing fire away from you and then subsequently getting overwhelmed, zipping through dense debris from deadly collisions so quick that you had trouble distinguishing friend from foe.  Some of them were massive—star destroyers splitting apart, warp drives overloading, enormous casualty counts.  You don’t know how many lives you took today, not directly.

The beginning was the worst—when you were still slightly disoriented, when you were panicked and screaming into the comms for assistance.  Then the closest stationed tandem showed up first—Red-Two and Eight, you think it was.  Doesn’t matter now.  They took some heat off you before the cavalry arrived, but you remember Dameron barking out your name the second their left thruster got nicked and they started spiraling, a ferociously deep, “With me!” cutting through the white noise.  It was enough to snap you back, forcing you to instantly flick your eyes away and focus dead ahead without witnessing their demise.

It wouldn’t have normally been necessary.  You’ve been flying with the Resistance for years, you’ve seen way too much bloodshed by now.  But you’ve never been the catalyst of it—you’ve always been able to confront threats accompanied by your squadron, right between Nine and Eleven, the flight controls rumbling steady under your palms.  You’ve never faced down an entire fleet in one single ship.  You’ve never had to rely so directly on the skills of another pilot in order to stay alive.

The water slowly heats to a lukewarm while you reach for the shampoo.

Surprisingly, for as much as the two of you clash in normal interactions, it was like everything eventually became… synchronized.  Spectacularly so.  Dameron started off the enemy confrontation by calling out his flight patterns to give you a chance to adjust your firing in real time, but then at some point, it just stopped being necessary.  There was a moment where you both were able to suddenly… get it.  Get each other.  He didn’t have to say anything after that—you could predict each other without second guessing, react instantaneously, and work your way through the littered battlefield accordingly.  You never thought it would be possible to collaborate so well with someone you’ve spent ages despising.  Sure, you’d both die if you didn’t—shit, you’d probably still both die regardless—but this kind of teamwork extended beyond the need to survive.  It doesn’t matter how much you want to stay alive when reading someone else’s mind is physically impossible, but for some reason…  You have no idea why, but it apparently came naturally between you.  It fell to pure instinct, pure reaction, and remarkably, his would somehow match yours perfectly, every single time.

You lather the shampoo in your hair, remembering how his voice changed over the course of the mission.  How it gradually shifted from panicked roars and barked orders into ecstatic cheers and genuine praise after landing a difficult shot, how he just couldn’t seem to stop whooping.  

You smile softly as the tepid water rinses away the dirt and sweat from your body, until the temperature is brought up to a gentle, comfortable warmth raining down you and echoing in the empty shower room.

And, your first name.  Dameron kept calling you that, the whole time.  The one you’re now absolutely certain you’ve never personally given to him.  The one he would’ve had to have listened for specifically.  Remembered, or at least asked the right person about.  But why?  It’s not… it makes no sense, he doesn’t give a shit.  He’s notorious for not giving a shit.  He can’t even be bothered to remember the names of the girls he’s actually with—so why did he go to the trouble to figure out yours?  You’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side the same way he is to you, right?

Right?

Your mind starts recollecting more recent events, trying to work through and process it by yourself.  He was… singing your praises today.  He was openly giving you credit for the win while you pouted in the corner and assumed the absolute worst of him.  As much as you’re frustrated that nobody else seemed to give voice to your contributions, you’re even more surprised that he was the one who did.

And then even earlier.  Gold-Nine, holding wagers with members of your squad (and others, apparently) about when you’re going to fuck him.  Dameron, tearing her a new one for it, forbidding Black Squadron from throwing in and not attempting to hide his disdain for her from you.  He… he defended you.  Stood up for you when your own squad was being a bunch of dicks behind your back.  And nobody ever fucking mentioned it to you.  What did Rossi say—a few weeks ago?  He’s known all this time and only today, only after you… openly showed more interest in him than you ever have, after you worked up enough nerve to try in your own little way to flirt back this time instead of responding to his casual comments with contempt and disgust, only today is when he decided to make a real move on you.

…Your mind is completely blank and yet you still feel yourself start to heat up just a bit at even alluding to the events that took place earlier.  The way his fingers felt—

Steam begins to fill the open concept chamber while you shake your head against the train of thought and reach for the soap, beginning to circle the bar along your arms and shoulders with a sigh.  This is already the longest shower you’ve taken in almost two months, and your body slowly relaxes under the mist and heat as you take forever cleaning yourself, slowly and hypnotically rubbing the soap along your skin.

The second you let your eyelids dip shut at the feeling, you immediately shiver at a flash of Dameron dragging his finger out of his mouth and blinking dark eyes at you through the transparisteel.

Fuck.  The soap slips from your hand and you quickly catch it against your body before it falls to the ground completely, suddenly feeling the need to breathe in the misty air a bit harder.  Shower, you’re in the shower.  Come on.

The dirt and grime is scrubbed from your face and you tilt your head to move the bar of soap across your neck.  As it lathers, you can’t help but remember the way his lips felt against the skin right there, the scratch of his beard.  You keep working the soap against that same spot for a while, not knowing if you’re trying to wash away the sensation or simulate it, until you gradually slow and make it lighter, softer—yes, that’s closer to how it felt, that’s—

Soon the water is boiling hot and you’re trying not to boil along with it, remembering everything he said against this spot, the filth he whispered to you here.  Your pussy starts to throb between your legs as the memories play out in your mind, how close he got you to shattering bliss without even really working for it.  If you put it all together collectively, you don’t think he actually touched you for more than a minute or two total today.  Mostly he just talked to you, but stars, he hit buttons you didn’t even think you had, had you a split second away from cumming harder than Maker knows while his finger rested just above your clit and provided no stimulation whatsoever.

Fuck, you enjoyed it.  You did, you’ll admit it when there’s no one else here but you.  You enjoyed the fuck out of it.  You wish he’d do it again.  Force you to lose, force you to cum so you can at least blame him for it, remove your responsibility from the equation and allow you to put just one more thing on his shoulders, to taste ecstacy instead of expecting you to bear the weight of pretending you don’t need it any longer.  He was doing you a favor, you realize that now.  Your body is staging a fucking coup and you wish you could’ve called mercy before it got to this agonizing point.  He turns you on, you fucking admit it.  He inspires violent emotions in you—jealousy, arousal, anger, temptation—thoughts you don’t want to have and consolidating it all into various forms of hatred makes the finer details easier to ignore.  Your perception of him has always been skewed by your iron will, but he all but took a fucking sledgehammer to it today, dented it beyond all recognition.  You want him, you want to him to take it all away, you want him to fuck you—in the… fuck, in the good way.

You don’t have a thought beyond that.  Your hand quickly falls down the length of your body to wash your private parts, biting your lip as your hips slowly start to rock into it.  You’re getting clean, you’re getting clean, this is how you clean yourself, this is… yes, as long as you keep the bar of soap pressed between your palm and the top of your curls like this, you’re cleaning yourself and you can just… ease your finger down just a little bit and—

Flipflops suddenly echo from the twisting hallway leading to the tiled freshers, and you immediately snatch your hand back up again, not needing to turn around to know another girl is walking into the room.  A knob somewhere to your right eventually makes a dull squeak as you quickly finish washing up and turn your showerhead off, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself.

Maker, you feel like your pussy is plotting your demise.  Fuck, you can’t believe you almost cheated in the fucking showers just now where literally anyone could walk in, you thought you would’ve had more self-control than that.  You make your way into the changing rooms and grab your pajamas, starting to tug them on without fully drying your body and having only one thought in mind.  

Dameron will probably be celebrating late tonight.  You can tuck in early, scurry back to your room and cheat there.

Well, no, not cheating, because you clearly remember making a very compelling argument about wet dreams earlier today.  Maker, a freebie, the word has never sounded so enticing.  What you’d say amounts to a… bye-week orgasm basically, since you know he’s already lost at least one match against his own body and you’re meant to be competing on the same level.  It’s only fair to let you persevere through the toughest part of the challenge if he was allowed to throw a game early on and still stay in the competition.  Maybe he threw multiple games, you never got a straight answer concerning that, so it’s still under review.  He could’ve thrown… three games, even.  Or four.

You dress as quickly as possible and then nearly bolt through the entrance area to the restrooms with all the sinks and stalls.  The balled up dirty clothes and wet towel in your arms allow you to hide the way your nipples are stiff and tender against your thin pajamas, and you can’t wait to climb into your bunk and take everything off under the covers.  You’ll be able to cum, at least once.  It’ll relieve so much stress, get rid of this nightmare headache, rip through your body like lightning and paralyze it until you can start over from square one and think like yourself again.

And, you’re just about to power walk your ass back to your quarters when a body nearly slams into yours as soon as you step foot outside the door, your shoulder jerking back just in time to avoid a collision.

A mechanic, you think.  You’re not exactly sure, you don’t hang out with too many of them—he’s Chiss and his glowing red eyes don’t even land on you as you gasp and sidestep him at the last second, but it’s not him that catches the majority of your attention.  He just exited the men’s room at the same time you left the women’s, and the door takes a moment to swing shut behind him.

You freeze.  It can’t be more than a few seconds—but it feels like everything slows down and it lasts a fucking eternity.

Dameron is standing at a sink in the far corner of the room, naked except for a towel identical to the one in your arms wrapped loosely around his waist.  He cradles the base of his own throat with one hand and gently drags a razor down the smooth contour of it with the other, his chin tilted up high and regal while his eyelids dip low to concentrate on his movements.  He glances down and holds the foamy blade under the running faucet, tapping it twice against porcelain before the door slides him out of frame.

I can shave, a low, silky murmur slowly fills your ears, heat swelling low and hot in your tummy.  Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.

You feel like your body is just a collection of rigid knots all tied together, and the one between your legs is the tightest it’s ever been.  Stars, on another day you’d say it feels like a bad cramp, even though you know your injection makes your period rare and like clockwork.  Regardless, the split second image makes you shudder and clamp up painfully, and you just stand there and stare at the closed door for a second, trying not to shake.

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

Realistically, you know it could have absolutely nothing to do with you.  It’s his face—you’re not self-centered enough to have completely lost your concept of autonomy.  He can do whatever he wants to his body, and that includes facial hair, full stop.  You also know that he’s not being… obvious about it, no matter how much it feels that way to you.  He’s using the sink and mirror at the very end of the room, not any of the ones nearest to the door—but even if he was, it’s not like he could’ve planned for you to walk out at the exact moment the metal hinge was angled wide open.  He couldn’t possibly have intended for this, for you to see him doing this.  He wasn’t making a show, didn’t even notice you standing there.  You blame literally everything on him, or at least you always try your absolute best to—but this one…

It sends a hard shudder down your spine and you clutch the fabric in your arms tighter, trying not to drop it.  Fuck.  This is torture.  Fuck him.  Good and bad—both ways, all the ways he can be fucked, fuck him.  Your head is spinning, you’re sweating fresh out of the shower, you need to cum.  Maybe if you hurry, you can get that precious orgasm before he’s finished, because if Dameron is able to intercept you before you can tend to this, you’re… you’re not sure how you’re going to say no to him.

You don’t even think you want to anymore.  

You feel like you’re just… holding onto it on principle now.  Too stubborn and hardheaded to want change.  Too stuck in your own ways to recognize how much everything already has changed.

Somehow, you end up making your way back to your room, but the whole thing is a blur.  Your flipflops plap against your heels as you navigate through hallways as quick as you can, emptier than you’ve seen them in months.  You know most of the pilots are probably out celebrating in either the mess hall or rec room, but the thought doesn’t really presently register.  Almost nothing registers besides your continuous forward motion and the way you feel yourself throb with every step, aching for something you are going to get tonight.  Fuck, you are so attached to this orgasm now, it’s not going anywhere and neither are you.  You deserve this, you deserve some relief.  Come hell or highwater, it’s happening tonight.

As soon as you step into your room and slap your hand blindly against the wall panel to close the door behind you, you’re carelessly dropping the bundle of fabric to the floor and then shrugging out of your pajamas in the cool pitch darkness, having exactly one mission in mind.  You don’t bother with lights, with brushing your hair, with literally anything besides clamoring up the ladder to your top bunk and wiggling under the thin bedsheet, making sure to pull it up to your chin before your legs butterfly open.  The tip of your finger wets itself on your tongue and then you’re dropping it down and sliding it against your poor clit, the pleasure arcing and flaring so sharp and sensitive even from your touch that you have to give it just a second.

…No, no you don’t.  You don’t have to give it fucking anything.  You keep moving your finger hard and quick even as your hips naturally want to jerk away from it, shoving yourself through the sensitivity with gritted teeth and a ferocious will.

Fuck, how long do you think you have?  Was Dameron shaving pre or post-shower?  You can’t remember, all you know is he had a towel around his waist.  And that thin gold chain hanging down his neck.  Was his hair wet?  Fuck, why can’t you remember?  His chin and jaw were smooth as silk, you know that much.  Post-shower, then.  Probably.  Probably?

His chin and jaw were smooth as silk.  You keep getting stuck on that no matter how chaotically your thoughts whirl; they fling out in different directions at different velocities but all somehow manage to go in a perfect circle and end up at the same place you started.  His chin, his jaw, his mouth, his neck, his chin, his mouth, his jaw, his mouth, his mouth, his mouth—

You feel yourself start to clamp down and you speed up, chasing it.  The pleasure starts burning deep inside you, the fire slowly licking down your thighs and rising up into your abdomen, and then—

And then a series of quiet beeps from the hallway practically blare like alarm bells to your frantic mind.

You immediately stop moving your finger, snapping your legs tight together and flat to the mattress as soon as the door to your room shifts open and fluorescent light spills inside, and you feel like you could actually fucking cry right now.

All this edging is just a form of self-flagellation at this point.  You lay there and try not to make a sound, try not to tremble hard enough to shake the whole bunk with it, but even your breathing feels like it’s going to give you away.  Dameron, shirtless with his towel draped over his shoulder, slowly steps into the room and then pauses almost immediately, making your heart stutter for a second at what so blatantly caught his attention.

One quick glance down towards his feet confirms the simultaneous hope and fear—you left everything on the floor.  The towel, the dirty clothes, and your pajamas are strewn about haphazardly right where he needs to walk.

You know what it must look like to him.  A trail of clothes leading directly to an occupied bed isn’t exactly subtle, even though you didn’t necessarily intend it that way.  Still, what can you say?  Your hand is shoved in between your legs right now and you’re in your birthday suit under this thin sheet, what the fuck can you say to him?  Sorry Dameron, got too caught up with how stupid wet you get me that I left those there on accident on my way to cheat, but totally not because I lowkey want your help doing it.  Convincing, that’ll go over great.

Dameron slowly lifts his head to look at you.  Or, at least you think he does—the light from the open door behind him casts his body in a dark silhouette, but you know your face is perfectly illuminated for him right now.  Blinking down at him from the top bunk with your brows pulled up in the middle, wide-eyed and desperate and caught red-handed.  Fuck, you don’t know if he can see the way your knees are clamped tight together and your hand rests perfectly still against your pussy like this from the angle he’s at, but you know it has to be super fucking obvious either way.  You’re breaking the rules, you’re touching yourself, and you both know it.  You can’t lie, you can’t even sit up without confirming his very valid suspicion.  He can call the game at any point, but…

You watch his head fall back down to study the mess you left for him once more.  Fuck, are you positive that was an accident?  Normally you wouldn’t second guess anything about your own understanding of the interactions that occur between you and him, but—you’ve never done that before.  You’ve lived with roommates on this base for years, you don’t just… get naked before getting into bed, that’s bad form.  How are you going to get up in the morning without having your pajamas shoved near your feet while you sleep?  Wrap this thin bedsheet around yourself and scamper down the ladder until you can snatch them up from the floor, and then what?  Climb all the way back up just to wiggle the clothes on underneath the blanket before going back down again?  Maker, you fucked up, your pussy is plotting your fucking demise.

But then everything inside you pulls taut as Dameron suddenly decides to move.  Slowly, he leans down to catch your orange jumpsuit closest to his feet with a few fingers, before he stands upright and carefully begins folding the fabric without saying a single word to you.  Electricity buzzes through you as he very obviously takes his time with it, using nearly his whole armspan to lengthen and fold the sleeves while his chest and chin meet for support.  When he’s eventually satisfied with it, he takes a few steps toward the empty desk on your side of the room and then sets the neat rectangle of fabric atop it where you usually keep it.

You bite your lip and you can’t help it—you start to move your finger as he goes back to sort the pajamas you wore for barely two seconds from your dirty clothes, folding and putting away whatever is clean and then tossing the rest into the shared laundry basket that gets collected every week.  Somehow it makes you feel even more naked, seeing all your clothes be returned to their proper places, realizing that this is your base state now, this is what you’re going to wear tonight.  Nothing.  You left everything on the floor and trapped yourself up here, he’s simply shifting a pawn forward two spaces in kind now that you’ve made your first move.

You can feel yourself pulse threateningly against your own fingertip while he collects your wet towel and drapes it over your closet door to dry, and your breath comes louder through your nose while you bite back the noises you want to make, the way your movements so desperately want to speed up.  Your hand working the way you want it to under the white sheets would be too much, too revealing, but you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to care.

But then of course, the asshole has to go and put away his towel and clothes, and you endure through the whole thing while pressing back and forth against your clit so hard and slow that your toes curl and pull the sheet tucked under your chin taut.  After that’s done, he makes his way over to the portshade above his desk and slowly slides it open a few inches, the light of three moons outside gradually filling the room.  However, when Dameron goes back to press a button on the wall panel and close the door to the hallway, you immediately see how much softer it is in here, how the artificial fluorescents have thankfully disappeared and the room illuminates more than it blinds, glows more than it beams.  He presses one more button as the lock inside the paneling slides into place.

You bite your bottom lip and try your best to hide the pleasure you’re building for yourself while he makes his way back to his desk, quietly swiping the radio off it and lowering the volume knob completely before he flips it on.  The noise slowly amplifies until you’re able to catch two distinct voices conversing in Huttese—it’s the only lingua franca that still broadcasts on this old technology in this part of the galaxy, but he’s already flipping through the stations in search of something specific.

If you were thinking straight, you may have actually recognized this for what it is, but you’re having trouble even processing the details of your general surroundings right now, your mind is lagging and too slow at reading between the lines.  Dameron’s doing exactly what he said he would do.  He laid it all out earlier for you in the x-wing, telling you exactly what he wanted plain as day, and now he’s checking the whole list off one by one.  The shade is open and the room is lit just enough to make him out, the door is locked, and he’s finding something to listen to.  Something quiet, and easy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that there’s a much more obvious reason why he shaved his beard—you never told him the truth about how much you liked it.  You never tell him the truth.  You allow—even encourage him to think the sharp things you say to him are exactly how you feel.  He did it because he believed you.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight.  Your thoughts are scattered and the only thing they can agree upon is how good this feels, even as your breathing starts to grow heavier, grow louder underneath the sound of the radio.  The thought stays right beneath your consciousness, tugging at your preoccupied mind.  You work your finger with just a little more verve now that he’s flipping through the stations, knowing he’s distracted by spinning the dial through intermittent white noise while different voices and songs fill the room for just a second at a time.

Your bed, his voice suddenly echoes through your thoughts, originating from your subconscious but almost sounding like it’s coming from the radio in your delirious mind.  I want you comfortable.

Fuck, the understanding finally clicks the second he flips to a slower song and you start to burn at the thought of what’s next.  The silent promise that his actions allude to.  You have the realization way too late but at least it still comes at all with the state you’re in.  Your hand slows down immediately, not even needing to consciously consider the choice between achieving orgasm through your finger or his mouth.  Still, it’s hard to stop touching yourself completely when it feels so fucking good to your deprived body.

Fuck, it’s barely been a few seconds since your realization and yet you immediately bristle in distress at how fucking long he’s taking.

So you open your mouth.  You’re desperate and needy and on the verge of something, and it comes out without thought.  You don’t think it’s loud enough for him to hear, but his head immediately lifts and looks unseeingly at the wall in front of him for a second, as if he’s questioning if he imagined it.  A soft melody plays on a bluesy guitar while you hiccup and wait, but he doesn’t move.

And then you say it again, higher and tighter in your throat, pitched up to an impatient, girlish whine.  “Poe…”

The radio is tossed onto the bottom bunk as soon as he spins around and walks towards the ladder, but it’s like your finger has a mind of its own the moment he disappears underneath your line of sight.  Your legs spasm against the mattress and you bite your lip, not caring about the frantic way your hand begins moving under the sheet as his muted footsteps climb up the rungs.

Your eyes snap to his as soon as you can see him beyond the railing at your feet, heaving himself up until everything above his waist is above you, too.  His pauses there and his lashes quickly dip to the shameless movements between your legs as you work yourself towards that approaching bliss, and then flick back to the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him so torn, wanting so badly to wait for it but not being able to right now.

Slowly, he begins to move forward, crawling his way up the mattress and over your body, noticeably careful with where he places his limbs.  You’re not hard to dodge, though—you’re like a rigid stick of desperation under him, knees and ankles still clamped tight together and your arms streamlined as close to your body as possible with tension as you keep rubbing your clit.  Not to mention the sheet is thin and shows your figure almost perfectly with how tight you’ve hooked it under your chin, only leaving the finest details to the imagination.

But then there starts to be a little strain against the fabric, an unspoken question he’s still bothering to ask even though you could’ve told him to fuck off ages ago.  Poe could yank the sheet down and flip your shit over and destroy you right now if he wanted—fuck, like you want him to do—but his face slowly appears in front of yours instead and his dark eyes search your features for answers.  The length of his chain dangles from his muscular neck and glows against his golden skin, his whole upper body stretched long and bare over you.

From the gradually increasing tightness pulling on the fabric, you expect the sheet to rip down your body as soon as you lift your chin and let that resistance go, but instead… stars, it’s slow.  Why is he going so fucking slow??  The bedsheet barely flutters down to your collarbone before he’s able to stop tugging on it so hard, and then he just gently inches the hem down from that point on.

Fuck—your eyes drop to his lips as he eventually reveals your shoulders and sternum to the room, and then lower to your cleavage while you let out a hushed whimper, praying he understands the extent of how vulnerable you’re allowing yourself to be.  You don’t do this often—and you definitely don’t do it with someone like him.  He’s the one who said you needed this, isn't he?  So why the fuck is he dragging out the anticipation?  Pretending like he doesn’t see the way you’re begging for help in the middle of another warzone that’s breaking out for the second time today?

Poe’s head drops down to give the contour of your neck a long drag of his tongue, slow and hot and wet, the sheet eventually dropping beneath your nipples and exposing them to the cool air.  You bite your lip and keep working yourself under the fabric even as it’s led down the length of your tummy, and you just get wetter and wetter feeling him mouth at your skin as the radio continues to play soft from the bottom bunk.  He follows the skin as it’s revealed, licking down from your collarbone and working with the increasing rate of your breathing.  His lips never feel like they vary in pressure, even as your chest heaves up and down and your lungs work hard for air.

His open mouth slowly drags down the curve of your breast and it makes your blood burn fire through your veins.  You nearly choke when your nipple is enveloped in soft heat, his tongue quickly fluttering up under the stiff peak and giving it to you so gently, contrasting so light and vernal with how brilliant and neon bright the need between your legs is.  Your hand starts to work quicker, and fuck—you can hear it now, your desperate movements audible over the shallow breaths and the sound of one song gradually fading into another below you.  You’re just too fucking wet and your pussy is smushed with how tight your legs are pressed together—the noise is unavoidable, and Poe’s knees are planted too close to either side of your thighs to spread them really at all.

Fuck, you knock against the resistance regardless to let him know what you want, but he doesn’t budge and it makes you just about lose your damn mind.  Does he have to make everything so fucking difficult?  You couldn’t close your legs earlier and now you can’t open them, and it’s like he’s able to take perfect advantage of each opposing position to prolong your torture.

But then his tongue leaves you even as his jaw opens just slightly, and that’s the only warning you get before his teeth graze your nipple with a sudden arc of sensation and you flare up all at once.

It’s a miracle and a curse that you’re able to stop at the very last second, your hand jerking away from your pussy and flexing into a fucking death claw on your thigh at how close you were, and you don’t know why.  Why did the fuck did you stop?  There’s nothing standing in your way right now, you’ve consciously given yourself express permission to cum, but still.  It must just be learned instinct at this point—hammered into your muscle memory for weeks on end to not allow the pleasure no matter what, especially when you’re this fucking close to it.

Nonetheless you garble out nonsense and cinch inwards on yourself to fight it off now that you’ve apparently decided against it.  There’s nothing worse than a half-assed orgasm, and you have to quickly summon the conviction behind your split second reaction before it’s too late and your body takes the pleasure any way it can get it.

Poe’s mouth releases your nipple at the way your whole spine suddenly hunches in and he drops his forehead to your chest, breathing heavy down the slope of your breast as you tremble and grapple for your sanity.

“Did you just cum?”  Is the first thing he says to you, his voice is so ragged and stony it’s practically gravel crunching as he speaks.

“N-n-no,” you quickly stammer at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe correctly.  Inhale, exhale—fuck, which one is inhale again, which one comes first?  Maker, does he need to call a fucking medic?  “Huhhhhalmost?”

Poe takes a deep breath and slowly releases it with a bassy and warm mmmm rumbling against your skin, so coarse but pleased enough to sound like melted chocolate dripping down your body.  The noise sends a violent shudder through you and it’s almost enough to knock you back to that edge again, even without your fingers assisting it.  

His head dips and the sheet pulls down even more, just below your belly button now, and you let out a quiet gasp in anticipation, nearly on the verge of begging him to keep moving downwards.  But when Poe’s eyes close and his mouth suddenly moves back up to open over your other nipple instead, your patience snaps.  

Fuck him, bad way.  This is your orgasm, you’re done waiting.

“I’m gonna cum,” you snarl furiously down at him, shoving your hand between your legs even as Poe’s lips quirk against your skin.  It’s not a warning, it’s a threat.  If he’s gonna be like this, he doesn’t get to share it with you.  It’s your orgasm, you’ll give it to yourself if he doesn’t give a shit about it.  “Thought you wanted it, guess not.”

You immediately feel his teeth again in response to your admittedly slightly bitchy comment and this time he lets your nipple roll just a bit between them, making you jerk at the sensation and quickly find your clit again.  Oh, you’re soaking fucking wet, you’re wet everywhere.  Slick and swollen and burning, and it’s not going to take much at all.  The sheet sticks to your overheated body and you can’t tell the difference between your sweat, his saliva, or wetness from between your legs—it all just feels damp and slippery as you gradually lose your bearings under his mouth.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna cum,” you breathe once more, possibly nothing more than a mindless reiteration but most likely just one last veiled plea for him to give you what you both want.  As if he can tell, Poe quickly lifts his mouth and suddenly the sheet is ripped the rest of the way down your naked body completely, sharp and frustrated, and then his lips brush against your elbow as it twitches, nipping the sensitive skin there.

“Brat,” he growls quietly against your forearm as he keeps dragging his lips down further, following the path it makes along your tummy.  “Just likes making shit difficult.”

“You’re the one—” you hiccup, trying to sound angry but just melting into a puddle at the tip of his tongue slowly trailing down your frantically moving wrist, “—you’re the… the o-one who… who…?”

But you’re already sprinting towards that edge, feeling him drop even lower and his hot breath fan against your fingers, and at this point you’re too far gone.  Poe gently kisses at your closed thighs, in perfect position and ready for you, but you can’t stop yourself anymore unless he makes you stop, and the longer he waits down there without grabbing your hand to replace it with something better the more you don’t give a shit about whether or not it’s going to happen.  You can feel the orgasm rising, you can feel your toes flex and everything start to lock down for the approaching tsunami.  You’re going to get it this time, you’re going to cum, you’re going to—

“This is—” you rasp, “—this is a f-free, a fffff-ffreeeeb—”

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

And then there’s a moment.  A suspended moment that seems to go on forever, where you’re launched directly over that cliff and yet you still seem to be gaining altitude.  Where’s the drop?  You’re already cumming—you can feel it, there’s absolutely no fucking going back now, but it’s like your sheer desperation has so much momentum that your body tricks itself into believing there’s nothing to land on, no gravity to immediately rip you straight down to your demise.

You choke out his name and your back arches with it and that must be the signal, because Poe finally pulls your hand away and lets his chin dip, and then his jaw falls open and allows you just enough time to catch the glimmer of his pink tongue before it slides wet and slow through your swollen folds.

Heat.  It sears through your whole body with a wracked shudder, the slick glide over your clit as his eyes flutter closed, and within the very first second of feeling his mouth on you, you’re instantly cumming inside it.

There.  There’s the drop.

The burning erupts into molten chaos, crumpling your whole body on impact like an accordion, but he sinks all his weight down on your legs and forces you to endure it with everything below your waist pinned to the mattress.  It’s fucking mayhem.  You feel like your voice actually rips itself in half with the ragged cry of blinding relief, so enormous and soul wrenching in power that you couldn’t even hope to muffle it.  You can’t move your hips through it, you can’t stutter up to ride it out—you have to experience the whole thing with your lower body completely still while his tongue takes slow, gentle licks at your throbbing clit, only able to sit your shoulders up and slam them back down and grab his head as you endure.

You cum hard.  Fucking hard.  It’s daunting and explosive and utterly devastating in the havoc it wreaks, and just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, it’s just so slow.  Creeping along and obliterating everything in its path, taking an eternity to pass because of how fucking big it is.

When you’re finally able to float back down into your own body again, the first thing you notice is how tight his hold is.  Poe’s arms are wrapped around your thighs to keep them pressed tight together and you can feel the wetness all the way down to your fucking knees as they tremble against each other.  Stars, what did he do to you?  You feel like you actually wet yourself, there’s way too much dampness on the mattress underneath you to feel anywhere close to normal for you.

His mouth eventually leaves you but his head doesn’t move, nothing else moves.  Even his hot breath feels like rough stimulation to your throbbing pussy.

And then Poe shifts and adjusts his body just enough, catching the backs of your knees and slowly spreading your legs up and apart like you wanted to do ages ago.  They feel like jelly, wobbly and unsteady even as his thumbs hook right under your knees and easily support most of their weight.  Your pussy is soon exposed completely, and his shoulders move down just before his head drops to lick the collection of wetness right from your entrance.  Fuck, he couldn’t get it from the previous angle your legs were at, just your clit at the very top—but this is deep and personal and you know he’s probably getting mouthfuls of how hard he just made you cum, using the tip of his tongue to scoop your arousal up and swallowing it quietly before going back for more.

“Poe,” you whisper, and he rumbles low in his throat in response without stopping.  This isn’t for you, this isn’t for your benefit right now.  Your pleasure receptors aren’t concentrated right here, just the physical evidence of them being overloaded just a few moments ago, but he stays for longer than necessary.  He keeps his mouth here far longer than you need to push past the throbbing sensitivity and start to crave the sensation again, forcing you to bite your lip to stop yourself from telling him to move back up just a couple inches.

So you seek it out instead, the lower part of your body clearly not listening to a damn thing your mind tells it right now.  Your hips drop and his velvet tongue catches your clit at the apex of its repetitive motion, and you gasp and rock upwards again as Poe groans and immediately rises with you to chase it.  He attaches to the swollen flesh and sucks at it gently for you, following your lead, letting your wet fingers comb his hair back from his face and clutch a good fistful of it as you plant your feet and slowly grind up into his mouth.

Fuck.  He was right.  You needed this.  Everything about it is heaven—endorphins pour off you in waves as you roll your hips against his face, and he lets you do it.  He’s not just pliant, he’s willing.  His tongue works diligently, his eyes close and he moans into your pussy, allowing you to tug his hair and fit to his mouth exactly how you want.

Oh, everything burns.  Everything smolders and sparks, because he’s always been so withholding and now he’s just going for it.  He’s reading your mind better than he did during the battle today, not necessarily submissive in his approach but… servicing.  Accommodating.  Finally giving in and putting real effort into helping you chase after another shot of ecstasy without being so stingy about it like before.

As soon as you feel another familiar swell of something deep down, your mouth is suddenly dropping open.

“How many—” your ragged voice comes out without thinking, and it takes so fucking long to actually attach the train of thought to its conduit of translation.  You swallow thickly and flex your fingers in his hair, tugging at him to ground yourself, trying to anchor yourself to the very thing that’s about to fling you into oblivion again.  “—fuck, how many times did you… how many fr-freebies do I—do I…”

Poe eases his chin back just enough to respond, and the slick sound his tongue makes leaving your clit makes you shudder and miss the wretched words at first.  “Mm.  Just the one.”

And then his tongue is already sliding back through your pussy by the time your eyes pop open in immediate panic, and your clit is in his mouth again as soon as yours drops to frantically contest.

But the words aren’t coming, it feels too fucking amazing.  Your jaw goes slack and your fingers tighten in his hair.  Maker almighty, the orgasm swells up so sharp and quick that you have to fucking kick him at the very last second to get away from it.  Thankfully Poe’s mouth abruptly leaves you with his oof of shock at your audacity, lifting his head as you snap your legs together and grit your teeth through your miserable retreat from ecstasy.  You don’t even notice the way your knee almost knocks into his jaw with it—you just focus on shamefully easing your way back down again from the platform overlooking bliss like you’re too afraid of the high-dive.  After a second, you actually have to turn on your side and rock yourself like a child as Poe slowly sits up with a grimace, lifting his arm to rub at his ribcage where your heel slammed into him.

You peek an eye open to watch him do it and oh no, it’s not a good plan.  He’s so… fucking hot.  Fuck.  He’s unbelievably good-looking—his hair curls and frames such handsome features, his body is lovely and warm and seeing his chest bare and up close like this makes you want to reach out and slowly drag your hand down the smooth curve of his side.  But then your gaze catches on the dark sweatpants tented shamelessly between his legs and how he’s glistening with perspiration, too, and how he tugs at the fabric covering his crotch and sighs softly, blinking down at you slow and intoxicated with lust.

You have to close your eyes and bury your face into the pillow because your body is latching onto anything to keep you within inches of that edge.  The mere sight of him is enough to make you worry for yourself.  You take deep breaths and do your best to tune his existence out entirely.  Just you, just you in your bed, trying desperately not to cum without even touching yourself.  You’re naked and curled up and there's no one here to look down at you with deep brown eyes, no one else breathing and especially not equally as loud as you are.  Just you, just you.

And, just when you think you might finally get to the point where you’re not teetering anymore, where you’re at least mostly certain that moving around and looking at things and just existing in general isn’t going to make you completely unravel hands-free at any moment, he has to fucking… go and be himself.

You peek up to see him staring down at you, dark and intimate and devouring, before his hand gently brushes down the curve of your hip.  “Maker, you are so fucking hot right now.  Was that a close one, pretty baby?”

Your hand snaps out to grab his wrist with a whimper and you don’t know if your intent is to stop him or just hang on for dear life, but your grip is weak and you shake and Poe takes the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass while you do absolutely fuck all to stop him.

“Mmmm.  Open your legs,” he murmurs, releasing your flesh just to give it a soft smack.  “You’re only making it worse like this.”

“What?  W-What do you—” you stammer, but Poe drags his hand down your thigh to catch one of your knees and pull it up without waiting for your babbled reply.  Both knees go with him, your pelvis wound too tight and frozen to do anything but rotate your whole entire body on your tailbone.

“You’re just adding more pressure by keeping them closed,” he explains, wiggling his fingers in between your knees to try and get enough of a grip to pry them apart.  “C’mon—open your legs, let yourself breathe.”

“Nnnnnnstop talking,” you groan, trying to slap at him, but he’s strong enough to force the movement regardless, levering your knees apart and then pushing them tight to the mattress.  And, though he would normally be right about it, you’re fighting your mind to get away from the orgasm just as much as you are your body.  The sudden exposure and the positioning and the way he automatically drops his gaze down at your needy pussy with his cock still hidden in his pants like that only serves to displace the cause instead of eliminating the effect.  Closing the door and opening a window, shifting the stimulation somewhere else but allowing it to throb steady and aching regardless.

“Much better,” he sighs lowly, digging his fingers into the sore muscles inside your thighs and you just keep your hands loosely attached to his wrists as he works.  “Fuck me, baby’s got such a pretty pussy doesn’t she?”

“Poe,” you wheeze up at him, hearing him rumble at the sight of your cunt contracting around nothing, probably shining and glistening with your desperation for him.  By this point, you’re worrying again.  You have no doubt whatsoever that he could talk you into cumming just like this, with your hands trembling and clutching at his wrists.  If he keeps murmuring filth while holding your legs open and staring at your pussy like this, you have no doubt you’ll find a way to get there somehow.

Thankfully, he seems to understand.  He goes quiet and just keeps massaging your sore muscles while you try not to writhe underneath him.  Stars, it’s like he’s genuinely doing what he can to take it easy on you and you’re still all kinds of fucked up about it, still frantic and desperate while all he’s doing is just squeezing your legs.

“Calm down,” he gruffs, but you can’t.  “You’re working yourself up, don’t—”

“Stop talki—” your ragged growl is cut off by your own hiccup as you quickly find the strength to shove at his hands, knowing they’re at least mostly to blame for your prolonged tightrope walk.  You can’t fucking think when he’s touching you, you become too hyper-aware of your own body, it feels too good in a way that’s hard to describe and impossible to explain.  Poe’s palms immediately listen and raise in front of him in surrender, his back lifting to give you space while you hide your face from him with shaky hands and gasp.  It’s pathetic and your legs are still held wide open and your fingers tremble hard enough to resemble a malfunction.

You just.  You need a hard reset.  You need that thirty seconds of complete idle, of figuring shit out on your own without an electric current running through you before you can start working properly again.  It can’t be rushed, it’s necessary when most people just want to power down and then right back up again.  The wires connecting your parts are all criss-crossed and tangled and sparks are lighting up at the slightest stimulus, you just need to experience absolutely nothing for thir—

“I’m sorry,” Poe murmurs, still staying in his own space but the gravelly voice shooting a bolt of lightning down your spine.  Thirty seconds, of course he couldn’t give you thirty fucking seconds.  “Fuck, you’re so hot, I’m sorry—”

“Please stop talking,” you beg him, your fingers curling against your face, “Maker, I—I don’t want to cum—”

“Fuck, I know, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucki—”

You go to kick him again and even though it collides wrong and does nothing more than get your message across, the jostle is enough to knock you back from the approaching oblivion just slightly.  It serves to wake you up way more than it remotely hurts him, the equivalent of someone just smacking a piece of machinery and fixing the problem temporarily.

You heave an enormous breath and blink your eyes open behind your fingers, immediately locking with his.  Poe’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip but he’s mercifully silent, even when you drop your shaky hands down to your spread thighs and stay equally silent another full minute while you make the effort to right yourself.  After awhile though, you realize he must be taking cues from you, waiting for you to speak.

Only, you suddenly don’t know what to say.  You’re at a complete loss, looking up at him through your eyelashes in uncertainty now.  Something you’ve never been around him, even as your pussy is wide open for him to look at.  He hasn’t recently, though, you don’t think.  He’s just keeping his eyes on your face, watching you bite your lip and blink up at him while your mind whirls, the only sound that can be heard is the radio continuing to lull from the bottom bunk.

You wish he’d say something.  How come he’s choosing right now to listen to what you tell him to do?  You don’t… you don’t know what to say to him.  Why can’t you figure out something?  You fidget but then suddenly feel your expression lose all its struggle and just look… innocent.  Needing his help.

“Do you want me to leave?”  Poe eventually asks after another moment, tentative of breaking the silence, and you frantically shake your head before he’s even finished speaking.  Fuck, something drops in your stomach at how desperate you’re probably coming off right now, but you’re so lost and you know that’s at least one question you know the immediate answer to.

Poe tilts his head thoughtfully, slowly reaching a hand towards your thigh without removing his eyes from yours.  “Want me to make you cum again?”

You shake your head again, wide-eyed and worried.  He immediately pulls his hand back and blinks slowly at you.

“You want to be edged more?”  He asks lowly, and you shake your head vehemently for the third time.  Poe sighs and sits back, planting his palms to his thighs and pulling at the fabric of his pants in budding frustration, clearly tired of playing twenty questions.  “Well what do you want, baby?  You wanna just hang out?  That’s fine, I don’t care, but you gotta tell me.”

Fuck, he’s right, what do you want?  The only thing that’s standing in your way of feeling better, you soon realize.

“Want you to cum first,” you mumble, cheeks warming at how childish you sound.

“Not a fucking chance,” Poe immediately scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest.  “And pouting at me isn’t gonna help.”

“Why not?”  You breathe, dipping your gaze down his body.  “I can use my mouth.”

“I don’t—” he stops short, suddenly registering what you said and switching gears.  “You can—?”  Poe narrows his eyebrows and looks suspicious.  “You’ll let me… cum in it?”

“Okay,” you whisper in breathless agreement, sitting up and reaching for him, but Poe groans and pushes you back down on the mattress with a flattened palm against your shoulder like you just aced a test he was hoping you’d fail.

“Fuck whoever’s idea this was,” he grits darkly to himself while you arch up against his hold, wanting him to grab your tits but knowing it’s not a good idea right now.  “Maker, I’m so fucking hard—fuck whoever’s idea this was, making me turn that down—”

“You said,” you pant, licking your dry lips and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to control yourself, “before, you said that you’re… you’re not doing this for a bet, right?  So why not?”  Your voice goes softer when you flutter your gaze back at him, even though the accusation feels like it should be sharper if anything, since it comes from a very real place of distrust.  “Were you just… lying to me about that?”

“Fuck, come on,” Poe groans, his voice starting to waver as he shakes his head and squints one eye at you, exasperated.  “You don’t get it.  You can’t think of a single fucking reason I don’t wanna blow my load just yet?  Really?”

The sentence coupled with his rock solid hold on you skitters a thrill through your body and you automatically reach up to run your hand along his forearm.  He looks down at the caress and then back to your face and fuck, even you feel like you’re sending mixed signals right now.

“You could… fuck me,” you whisper, and Poe’s dark eyebrows pull up as his gaze falls down your naked body, nodding and digging his teeth into his bottom lip.  An agreement backed by so much unspoken desire that it looks like it almost hurts him just to hear you say it out loud.  “And we can just… see who cums first.”

“Yeah?”  He croaks, his eyes pinned between your open legs.  “Just say fuck it all and race for last place?  Okay.”

Your heart pounds, having just enough wherewithal to preemptively establish a safety net for yourself.  “And—and we can’t finish at the same time or we both lose.”

“Fuck,” Poe groans, reaching down to catch the hem of his sweatpants with his thumb and lifting his hips until his cock is exposed to the dim room.  “We can’t stop once we start, then, we’ll have to see it through.”

Except you don’t catch any of the last part because, uh.  Well, to sum up.  May the Maker have mercy on you all.

Just like that, the only thought in your mind is… you get it.  Okay, you get it.  He told you before that girls were only interested in him for his cock, and it actually… stars, it makes so much fucking sense now, you totally get it.  You thought maybe he was just boasting as a form of overcompensation at first—or, to put it another way you’ve probably used in conversation with him before, talking big talk but walking small walk.  Only now, you’re… humbled.  By a fucking dick, you’re humbled.

You haven’t seen more than a few of them in this context, so you know you’re not necessarily qualified to give an informed opinion, but heavens it’s a sight.  It’s thick and swollen and just a shade darker than his complexion and everything inside you rockets to attention as soon as he wraps his hand around it.  It’s big.  It fills his whole palm without much room to spare.  Far larger than what you’re used to, and you know that no matter how he fucks you with it, you’re gonna feel it tomorrow.  Next weekend, probably.

Your eyes must betray you, because Poe suddenly loosens his grip and breathes your name softly, causing you to flick your eyes back up to his.  You didn’t realize you were staring so openly.

“I’ll go slow,” he reassures you quietly, voice gentle and knowing.  The complete lack of sarcasm or aggression in his tone is enough to snap you back to yourself, knowing that can’t possibly be right.  He’s talking to you like he did when you stumbled your ass out of the x-wing today, when you were barely responsive and lost in dumb shock.  He doesn’t have to… be nice to you right now, like you’re still only moments away from losing it.  It’s offensive.

“I can handle it,” you harumph, widening your legs while Poe immediately suppresses a grin.

“'Course you can,” he sighs with the slightest note of fondness creeping into his voice, dropping his hips as he lines up at your entrance.  “And I’ll go slow anyways.”

You open your mouth to respond but at the first push of his head inside, you inhale sharply and your palm immediately shoots out to press against his chest on complete instinct.  The stab of pain is impossible to mask from your features and Poe instantly stops with a shaky breath, watching how your jaw drops at the intrusion and your face contorts.

“Ahh.  Shit…” he whispers as his head tips down, dark eyes clamping shut and his hold on you tightening.  “What—shit, what the fuck…”

“Keep going,” you growl out, even though you know you’re just making it more difficult on yourself.  You can take Poe’s cock, you can take it, he has absolutely nothing to brag about, it’s completely normal-sized—

His hips inch forwards and you gasp at the excruciating arc of sensation, slapping at him harder.

“Keep going,” you babble while locking your elbows and shoving him back, “fuck, keep going, keep going—”

“Baby,” Poe groans, wrenching one of your hands from his chest and bringing your wrist up to his mouth to kiss and breathe hot air on it, “baby, you gotta let me—”

He moves a little more and you cry out, jerking your hand back from his lips and knocking it hard against his chest before you even realize it.  Oh shit, you can’t handle it, you haven’t been fucked in so long—

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, trying to be nicer by flattening your palm but then immediately digging your nails in, “fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been awhile since I—”

“Shit, I can tell,” he pants brokenly, his fingers dropping back down to flex hard on your hip.  “Hoooolyfuck, I can te—ah, fuck, it’s alright, it’s alright, just—nnnnnnshit, okay, just relax, don’t tense up too muuuh… much—”

His cock pushes deeper even as he keeps rambling through it and you feel yourself being rearranged to make room for the slow movement, giving way to a rich pleasure even as the discomfort increases.

Poe stops once more when your hands shove up against him, somehow simultaneously shakier and firmer than all the other times put together and a little more than half of him inside you at this point.  You’re so slick and hot between your legs that there’s no resistance besides the stretch, nothing to stop him from slamming home besides your weak hands trembling at his collarbone, but everything about the way he stays completely frozen for ages says he’s controlled and patient.

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

When your body is finally able to come to terms with the sensation and you blink up at him, Poe isn’t looking at you anymore.  He’s staring directly over your head at the wall, tangible regret manifesting itself in seething frustration marring his expression.  His eyebrows furrow and he scowls but all of it is silent and directed at himself, as if he’s asking why the fuck he actually agreed to do this.  You know then that it must be really fucking wet.  You know then that you must be just blazing hot and tighter than sin and as if in rhythmic agreement, his cock jumps inside you with each pounding rush of blood through it.  You can see the sweat beading at his hairline as he continues to ignore you for the moment, choosing instead to silently lament at the wall like it did something to mortally betray him.

You could… make this a sprint, something devious suddenly whispers to you.  He’s struggling through the pleasure and you can outlast.  From the severity of that look alone, you can put an end to it before it even starts.

Admittedly, you don’t even let the devil finish his damn sentence before you decide to take your own initiative.  You clamp down around him as hard as you can and Poe whips his attention down to you and punches out a curse that sounds like you wrenched the word from his throat before he was anywhere near ready for it.  It comes from somewhere high and defenseless in register and then quickly falls down into a growly pit as his hips automatically lurch forwards the rest of the way inside, hard, smacking into yours as you squeeze wickedly around him.

You keep squeezing through the sudden upward shove of bliss, you keep tightening up even though you’re making agonizing noises and your eyes clamp shut and it hurts.  But stars, it feels good, why does it feel so good when it hurts so bad?  It makes your throat scrape and your face twist up, but you can hear his cursing getting louder and more desperate so you still don’t relax your viselike hold around him.

“Stop it—” he snarls down at you rabidly, “—oh fuck, stop or you’ll make us both cu—”

Shit, he’s right.  You know he’s never been more right about anything as soon as his hips stutter and kick up to a full blown gallop in the middle of his furious scolding, and the sudden build of ecstasy is so fast and intense that you sob his name, not being able to loosen your muscles anymore as soon as it overtakes you.  But it’s like a closed circuit, you’re both recycling the same pleasure without knowing how to shut it off.  The harder you bear down on him, the faster his hips work, the vicious cycle compounding and circling and manifesting in the perfect typhoon within just a few tumultuous seconds.

But then suddenly he rips himself out of you with a gasp and it’s not a moment too soon, because both of you have to scramble and grab onto things to brace yourselves through the worst of it.  You choose the mattress and he chooses the railing, and through the searing discomfort and settling of the chaos that’s becoming more and more familiar to you as this exhausting day passes, you know you fucked up.  You underestimate his self control, time and time again.  But, exactly like earlier today, you feel a thrill skitter up your spine at how he’s going to respond to your brazen treachery in the face of a newly established truce.

“Fuck,” he jerks his head to spit the obscenity at you, sounding more pissed off than you’ve ever heard him, the shredded anger in his voice starting to burn through you.  “Fuckfuckfuuuuck—you make me so mad.  You make me so mad.  I wish I could fuck you right now, on Maker, I’d ruin you.  I’d wreck your shit until you learn and you’d deserve every single fucking second of it, you—”

He stops short and growls jagged sharp in frustration, but you can’t help yourself.

“Say it,” you whimper on a dare, feeling your heart pound.  The words quiver with an inexplicable sort of excitement as you dig your fingers into the mattress, wanting to hear his voice snarl the mysterious profanity.  “Say it.  ‘You…’—what?  Say it.”

Shock suddenly paints his previously tense expression blank, even though his pupils blow out and his chest heaves.  Your voice is too breathless, it’s too needy to sound nearly as antagonistic as you want.  

And then Maker, it’s as if the sheer control he’s clinging to serves to spark his vexation even more.  Mad that you would ask for something so enticing at a moment like this.  Your heart thunders as Poe nearly flashes up close to you and points a threatening finger at you.

“You’re not going to get what you want from me,” he snaps, quiet and furious.  “Not tonight.  I don’t give a shit, I told you I’d slow fuck you and now I’m gonna do it until you act right.”

“You’re an asshole—” you move to lift up onto your elbows, but his hand suddenly plants against your clavicle and shoves you back down flat on the mattress.

“Not even ten minutes after I make you cum and you’ve already got a fucking attitude problem again,” he shoots back, positioning his cock at your entrance with his other hand once more, and Maker you’re drowning between your legs.  His sharp rebuttal and the firm hold on the upper part of your chest makes it that much wetter, knowing you can’t do much more than lift your legs the way you need when he eases his way back inside.  

“P-Poe—” you gasp breathlessly, but it's like he doesn’t hear you.

His expression tenses and he shudders out a low growl.  “Fuck.  Tight little baby.  Rude little baby, just wants everything her way but doesn’t know how to behave herself.”

You have to bite your lip hard to hold back a whine when he’s completely sheathed and his hips connect to yours, and… shit.  You already feel it.  You already feel that simmering starting to take hold deep down once more, that monstrous second orgasm you’ve been fighting now digging its claws into you and licking the base of your spine with fire.  And, as if he can tell, his demeanor instantly changes.

“Uh, oh,” Poe murmurs quietly, equal parts lilting and baiting, slowly dragging his cock out and then starting up the laziest pace you’ve ever experienced with his hand still planted high on your sternum right below your collarbone.  “Can you feel it coming?  Fuck, I can,” he shudders.  “Already.  Fuck, you’re so wet, you’re so wet—wish you had let me eat you out mor—”

“You can’t c—umm,” you hiccup, grasping his wrist and writhing through the building ecstasy, and you don’t know who you’re talking to at this point.  Your other palm slaps at his shoulder with increasing urgency—fuck, he’s been fucking you for barely ten seconds and you’re already struggling to hold everything back.  Only, his hand quickly grabs yours and pins it to the mattress, his face dropping closer as he rolls his hips achingly slow.  You feel his back working with the steady pace, you see his neck flex as his cock drags so thick inside you, and then your gaze starts to lose focus a bit.  It slides up his throat as lazily as he’s augmenting your pleasure, following the contour of his smooth skin until it reaches his face.

And mercy, Poe’s tongue comes out to wet his lips and a dark curl hangs down his forehead, concentrating hard on fucking you steadily without giving into the same creeping euphoria you’re feeling, and you have to turn away and bite back a whimper at the metal railing when the image starts to burn you alive.

“No,” Poe gruffs and his hand slides up a few inches to frame your jaw, twisting until you face him directly once more.  “Right here, you stay right here with me.”

Your eyebrows pull up weakly and your eyes flick across his stunning features, the way he’s so present, so focused and determined while you’re starting to drift.  His skin is so smooth, so golden when his jawline used to be dark, and—

“I—” you choke, starting to lose it, “—I-I…”

“What is it, baby?”  Poe growls, staring down at you with unwavering, intense concentration.  “Tell me.  You gonna cum?”

“I…” you whimper, blinking at him slowly, “I… liked your… b-beard…”

Poe’s eyes, previously hardened and steadfast, suddenly go a bit dumb, a bit dazed.  After a second, his eyebrows lose all strain, his gaze turns warmer and he rolls his hips deeper—

But the swell begins to become the only thing you can comprehend—that and the fact that you should be fighting it.  You should be revolting against it, but now he’s looking so softly down at you and you can’t remember what could possibly be so bad about letting him take away all this ache and desperation again.  Let him continue to take it away, over and over and over until it’s nowhere to be found at all.

And then Poe leans down and kisses you.  And it’s… nothing like you’d expect.

It’s gentle.  It’s tender.  It goes on forever while he rocks into your soaking wet cunt, easing his throbbing cock in and out of you with such a smooth, repetitive motion that sends sparks of ecstasy down your spine at the apex of each thrust.  

You handle it silently.  At first.  You don’t audibly react to any of it, you force your voice to at least keep quiet if you can’t hide the pleasure from your face or body, but then true to fucking form, he has to go and ruin it all.  Poe uses his knees to scoot up just the slightest bit, and then his moan breaks through the absence of the desperate sounds you’ve been holding back as his tongue slowly slides into your mouth.

Your pussy flares, contracting painfully around his cock as it hits a spot that makes your legs shake against his sides.  Your eyes roll back as his soft tongue dips into your mouth and everything just gets tighter, and tighter.  Poe moans again and his hips push a little bit harder into yours on the next thrust, and it’s almost like a domino effect, except that doesn’t do it justice.  It doesn’t topple one by one, it doesn’t take any time at all for the beginning to reach the finish—it’s a house of cards, the whole thing collapses and crashes down in on itself all at once.

You cum.

You lose.  Fair and square.

You make a long, anguished whine into his mouth as you just start spasming, clutching hard at his shoulders and drenching his cock with it, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum so slow and fucking helpless around him.  Oh Maker, it’s fucking devastating, it feels even more destructive and powerful than the first one.  You pull and shove and claw at him equally, mouth slack as Poe tightens his hold and keeps tasting your whimpering cries, fitting his hips snug to yours as he slowly pushes you down through the debilitating ecstasy.  You sob in euphoric defeat and a low, bone-shattering groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest in response, grinding his cock into you and holding it deep as your pussy convulses.

All those weeks of holding out, just to lose.  You had a freebie, he gave you an orgasm already and it was like a massive dose of spice to your deprived system—all it did was make your body want it more.  Even worse, your orgasm doesn’t immediately inspire one in Poe like a part of you hoped it would, if only so you could reasonably contest the validity of the outcome.  He’s able to ride out every twitch and flex as you shudder your way through it, continuing to lazily slide his tongue into your mouth while it’s held open and slack.  He tastes like you.  He tastes hot and slick and everything about your body feels the same way, damp and unbearably warm from your nape to your elbows to your cunt to the backs of your knees.

You lay there for what feels like a lifetime afterwards, powerless to the way your thighs tremble violently against his hips and letting the tip of his tongue slowly trace the bottom edge of your teeth while he firmly keeps his cock buried inside you.  It pulses thickly and you know he wants to cum, you can feel the tension pulling at his shoulders as he keeps perfectly still.  But then Poe shuffles his arms up until they’re braced around your head, using himself to box you in completely without moving his lips from yours.  His teeth close on your bottom lip as he inches his hard cock out long and aching from your sensitive channel, and then groans and goes back to the same exact dragging pace from before.

Your expression furrows, even as he keeps kissing you and the movement lights up your oversensitive nerves.  Fuck, you want him to speed up, it’s all the more shattering and viseral when he takes his time.  What is he doing?  What is he waiting for?

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, demanding a quicker pace.  You don’t know why he isn’t just letting loose on you now, giving into his body’s need to cum.  He’s aching for it, still rock hard inside of you.  “Come on, I already l-lost, just fuck m—”

“Told you before,” Poe whispers back, refusing to speed up.  He keeps his pace dragging and steadfast, no matter how much you work to entice him.  “Never… fuck.  Never gave a fuck about that stupid bet.  Suffer though.”

The complete lack of harshness in his tone sears through your nerve endings even though what he said wasn’t exactly nice.  You never thought hearing him tell you to suck it up could be delivered in a way that inspires so much arousal in you, but then his tongue is in your mouth again as his hips work slow and easy, and your eyes roll back at how… overwhelming it feels.  So intimate.  You’re completely surrounded by him, his forearms propped next to your head and his mouth on yours, and… Maker, there it is again.  Your body is so deprived that it’s already gearing up to go again.  He’s being lazy and you can’t fucking stand how it’s breaking you down.  Gradually, with incredible stamina and a patience you never expected from him.  When you first feel that pull, part of you still wants to pick up the other end and start a tug-of-war with the sensation.  You’ve been fighting for so long that your body almost doesn’t know any different, its automatic reaction is to resist.

A distraction, that’s what you need.  That’s what guys do to stop themselves from cumming too soon, right?  Fuck, think of something, think of…

—Poe, you can't think of anything but Poe.  Fuck.  His cock sinking deep, the way he tastes, how his fingers thread into the damp hair at your crown so you can feel him that much more, how you can hook his biceps with both hands and swirl your tongue around his while he fucks you open.  Your hips roll up with the pace and almost immediately stutter back down again, not sure if you can handle the wicked shot of oversensitivity—but then Poe groans and shifts up until his thighs are under your ass and he can curl you in more, lift your feet a bit more and make you feel smaller.  And—stars, the next thrust in is enough to nearly make you bite him on complete accident, an unexpected sound ripped from your throat as he keeps that specific angle.

Poe keeps going.  He keeps kissing you, keeps rocking into you.  He lets you claw at him, lets you grapple helplessly while his cock shreds molten hot euphoria deep inside you, and then everything tightens up again.

“Ah, fuck,” Poe breaks away and curses a whole few seconds before you descend into mindless chaos once more, garbling out broken syllables with the absense of his mouth keeping yours occupied.  Your voice crescendos and breaks at the same time you do, the pleasure arcing through you over and over and wringing you out repeatedly around his throbbing cock.  Poe’s lips quickly move forward and give your whole cheek an open kiss while your expression crumples with it.  Teeth drag down your skin as he moans hot air across your skin, his hips slowing to a complete stop with an obscenely slick sound.

You throb and clench around him and his lips are suddenly on yours again, his tongue sinking deep and dominating.  Your mouth is slack and all you can do is squeeze him through the bliss, scrape your fingernails down his back and hope it leaves a mark.

Eventually the tremors pass and you’re dead in the aftermath, you don’t have energy.  Your body is starting to acclimate to the slow orgasms and just let them steamroll you flat, fully accepting now that you can cum but still putting everything you have into it like every single one might be your last for a while.  You come back to yourself enough to feel Poe’s cock solid and achingly hard inside you, and your bottom lip is being tugged between his teeth.

And then he eases out and goes back to fucking you.  Same speed, same control.  

Your eyes nearly fucking cross.  “P-Poe—”

He immediately makes a noise of disapproval with his mouth closed, a nuh-uh but kept tight in his throat.  He doesn’t want to hear it, he’s not even letting you finish your thought.

You can’t take it, though, you didn’t think he was capable of this.  This is torturous in an entirely different way, overstimulating and shattering you with every thrust.

So, you think back to the one thing that got him to nearly snap earlier, the one time you really got to see that fire you love playing with.  Only now, you need that fire, you need him to take everything out on you.  Your floor muscles clamp down without warning and squeeze him as tight as possible, squeeze squeeze squeeze until you feel his hips stutter to a halt once more.  Your breath catches—fuck, is this gonna work?—but then Poe breaks away from your lips to drop his head and sink his teeth into your neck.

You nearly squeal at how careless he is about it—an animal that bites you lazily even though it sends sharp agony rocketing through you.  Again, your attempt at sabotage backfires spectacularly as a subsequent flare of pleasure swells up, and oh, that’s what you want, you want him to be mean—

“Please,” you whimper, hooking your ankles behind his back and locking down hard enough to make your toes curl.  Poe groans as you grab a fistful of his hair and tug at the way your skin pinches between his teeth—you know you’re gonna have a bite mark for a few days and it thrills you.  “Fuck, please, Poe—please just fuck me, please, I want you to fuck me until it hurts, fuck me the way we both nee—”

“You and me almost died today,” Poe grits into your neck, cutting off your desperate whimpers with a short growl.  “Maker, it was so close, I don’t think anybody has any f-fucking…”  His hips pull out and then spear deep and you choke, tightening and tightening.  “But—shit, we didn’t, we lived and now—oh fuck, now baby’s finally letting me fuck her and I’m not cutting it short, no matter how pretty she sounds asking.”

His words sound slurred against your neck and you can’t tell if it’s his delivery or your perception that’s lagging.  But when you feel Poe inch his cock out and start to slowly fuck you through the tightness, you let out a weak little whine and feel yourself drifting… somewhere else.  

Things subtly lose their clarity, your eyelashes dip and you stop talking because words won’t come.  You can’t tell if you’re staring at the ceiling or your eyelids or the back of your head, but Poe’s voice abruptly breaking through the silence makes you realize you don’t have a concept for time anymore.  You couldn’t tell him how long you’ve been floating, but you almost don’t understand what he’s saying at all and it takes you a remarkable delay to fully comprehend.  But judging from what he says, it sounds like it hasn’t been long.

“Shit, are you cumming again?”  He suddenly gasps into the crook of your neck and grinds his hips achingly hard into yours,  “O-Oh—fuck yeah, you are—baby’s cumming again—”

“P-Poe?”  You stutter and smack your hand against something, him maybe, not knowing literally anything else.  Not knowing what he’s talking about, not knowing where you are, not knowing your own name, “Poe—oh m-my… God—”

“Whhh—W-What—?”  You hear him breathe a split second before everything compresses down tight, and then it all shoves forward at once.  All of the buildup makes itself known the very moment it becomes too much to control, like a flash flood but the downpour happened miles away.  You think you might actually squeak this time, helplessly cry out like it hurts because stars, it does.  It hurts so fucking good, it spiders pure plasma through your entire body with rhythmic jolts and wipes your mind completely vacant.  Your shoulders shoot you up and knock your chin into something and you think you might be crying?  You don’t know anymore.  Your spine comes back down to the mattress like the damp fitted sheet covering it is made of pure ice—your body is overheated and you keep tensing and jerking back up until Poe forcefully pins you tight against it, growling filth under his breath as he slow fucks you through it.

You feel his hand dropping down between your bodies and you sob pitifully at the ceiling when the tip of his calloused finger brushes your clit.

***

You lose count.

It’s just… constant, there isn’t a point in keeping track anymore even if there happened to be the ability—which, nope.  Not even close.

He ruins you slowly.  Meticulously, with nothing more than steady, unwavering determination.  Every structure you built, he takes apart by hand instead of bulldozing it the way you beg him to when you find the words.  You’re certain you find them—you must find them at some point, but they’re interspaced between babbled gibberish and breathy whispers of his name.

Even though it’s slow—Maker, it’s so slow—you’ve never been so fucking exhausted.  He makes you give him everything and then he drains the reserves, the hidden ones you weren’t even aware existed.  He never goes fast enough; in fact, you think he’s actually slowed down over the unknown amount of time it’s been since you first called out his name and asked for this.  If you were in a frame of mind to notice, you’d probably realize he’s trying harder and harder to not cum, but in your wild headspace, it just feels like a prolonged punishment for you.  It still feels like he’s depriving you for his own pleasure, even though he’s actually depriving himself for yours.  But you always do manage to find some way to read things wrong with him.

Eventually, he begins to waver.  He stops talking so much, stops chastising you when you plead with him.  He hasn’t looked at you since he first kissed you—he’s either hidden his face in your neck or closed his eyes as his soft tongue slides across your bottom lip before dipping inside.

But then there comes a point where even you realize he’s struggling not to let go now, and in your faded traces of sanity, you hear your broken voice cut through the sounds of the soft radio.

“Y-Y-You—” you gasp, trembling under him, “—youneedtocum.  You need to—”

“No,” Poe grits against your chin, sounding shaky and weak no matter how sharp he makes his consonants.  “Fuck, not yet, I—I-I don’t want to yet.”

“Oh no,” you wheeze out, feeling the swell begin again, the familiar flicker of warning you get as his cock slowly rocks into you.  Maker, the pleasure is getting raw and painful even as your pussy is drowning his cock with it, allowing him to glide slow and deep into your sensitive channel and letting the sheer tightness of it be the only resistance your body puts up.  You can feel the wetness on your cheeks though, the tears of frustration gathering as your body prepares itself for yet another wave of attack.  “Oh no, ohhhhhnononononono—”

“I don’t want—” Poe gasps, his hips stuttering just a bit and one of his hands coming down to smack the pillow next to your head as he chokes, “—don’t want this to… e-end yet, I—”

Your next orgasm suddenly slams through you and Poe immediately rips himself out of you before it’s too late.  He shushes you frantically while you sob in distress and writhe side to side through the contractions solo this time, having nothing to clamp down on, not even able to grind up into him because he keeps his leaking cock elevated far beyond your reach.

Oh, that’s it.  That is it.

“Fuck me!”  You wail up at him, water blurring your vision and tears streaming down your cheeks, “Stop fucking around and just fuck me, you asshole!  Fuck me and fuck me hard Dameron or I swear to every fucking star in the sk—”

You don’t get too far.  He’s immediately scrambling over top of you and a strong hand is clamping down tight over your mouth, muffling your high-pitched cries against his palm.  Your legs are shoved apart and one is caught under his arm and wedged back as far as it can go.  His head drops to your neck, and then he snarls a ragged, “Brat—“ under your ear before ramming his cock back inside you.

Stars.  Stars light up, it’s so much—the angle, the force, the speed, the sound his hips make as they start ruthlessly colliding with yours.  Your eyes screw shut and you dig your nails into the meat of his back, but he doesn’t slow down—he speeds up—

“Fuck, you still think that throwing your little fucking fits works on me?”  He hisses, drilling into your g-spot with such blinding hard precision that you can’t do anything more than just claw at his chest, gasping for air that just won’t come into your lungs.  “Huh?  Think you can just be a little bitch to me about it and it’s gonna change anything?  You still don’t have any fucking idea, do you?  Look at me—” he snarls, grabbing your face and shaking it to get you to respond, “—look at what you fucking do to me—”

But you can’t.  You already came countless times and he’s lurching you up the bed with every single rabid thrust into your blindingly sensitive cunt, fucking you into the railing and then the wall behind it.  You still feel his fingers grasping at your jaw, forcing you to address him, to look at him, and you can’t seem to focus your vision on his blurry features even when your eyes flutter open.  You’re too dumb with grinding pleasure to see anything besides blurs and stars, to say literally anything back to him.  But that’s not what he cares about.

“Oh fuck yes, there it is,” his voice whines, pitching up something vulnerable as his hips ram you into the corner hard and unyielding, “fuck, there’s those pretty eyes, that’s what I wanted, baby, that’s all I wanted—th-that’s—fuck, that’s—”

They must cross, or roll back, or something, because suddenly you can’t see him at all anymore.  You don’t know what happens—but you know it’s wet.  You know it bursts forth something fierce and you shriek his name with a hoarse and shredded voice like he steals the last part of your whole fucking soul with it.  Fuck, you’re not even there for most of it, you might actually black out.  

In your conscious moments, you can feel his whole body flexing over and over again on top of you.  He empties his load deep inside you and takes a fucking eternity doing it, so many breathless praises leaving his mouth so quickly that they slur together and you can’t understand any of it even if you could hear him.  All you can do is feel your cunt tighten and convulse in tandem with the throbbing of his cock, rhythmically working the cum out of him until Poe stops stuttering his hips, until he finally trails off into nothing but labored gasps and slumps down on top of you in exhaustion.

You both lay there for a while, dead weight breathing.

You want to hold him, your cum-struck mind quietly provides in the comedown.  You want to feel his body now that you can finally think straight and take a moment to enjoy this blissful relief.  He fucked you so good and you want to touch him, you want to run your fingers through his hair and massage the tight muscles at the base of his neck.

But then you just start giggling.

It’s stupid.  It’s so fucking stupid.  You smack your hand over your mouth but the garbled noise easily floats beyond it, completely elated and having absolutely no explanation at all.

Poe quickly pulls his head back to look at you and you try to twist sideways under him to hide it, but you can’t stop—like a complete loon, you snort and start to laugh harder at the ridiculous sound.  Oh, you don’t just float, you’re the air itself, so light with endorphins that you close your eyes and get lost in the fit until water wets the outside corners.

After a moment, a hand gently grasps your wrist and slowly pulls it down until he can see the way your mouth opens as you giggle, hear it unobstructed and let the sound bubble up at him and fill the room.  And you blink your eyes open just in time to see him slowly break into the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen him bestow a person.

And… you’ve seen him grin a million times.  He’s almost always smiling, as long as you’re not right in front of him.  He smiles at his squadmates, he smiles at girls, he smiles at complete strangers, and you always thought it was pretty.  Always knew that he could light up a room with it, you always knew he could get anything he wanted with it, but this… this isn’t that kind of smile.  That one is practiced and alluring.  It wasn’t fake, necessarily, but that smile’s purpose always had more to do with making anyone who happens to witness it feel a certain way than it did about signifying his own emotional state.

This one is… goofy.  Amazed, and uncoordinated.  Thunderstruck in a way, except the clouds all part at the same time and let you see a rainbow.  It makes you feel… alive.  Colorful.  Radiant.  Sunshine.  Butterflies.

Poe quickly drops his lips to catch yours and you moan happily, sliding your tongue into his mouth this time.  You both adjust, you arch into him as he pushes your damp hair back and makes a deep noise of satisfaction, letting you explore while he wraps his arms around you and finds a way to make this atrocious position comfortable.  Every part of you is smushed up against him and there’s absolutely no space to be found, and you’ve never been happier.

“We made a mess,” he groans against your lips, rocking his hips into you with a disgustingly slick sound as if to illustrate, and his cock is soft but it’s still so thick that it stays buried inside your sloppy entrance.  “Shit, I—I think I might be bleeding.”

“What?”  You ask breathily, and he heaves himself up with his elbows just enough to reveal his chest.  You both tuck your chins unattractively to look and you don’t immediately see any blood, but your claw marks are clearly red and visible scraping down his pectorals.  “Oh.  Pfft.  You’re fine.”

He drops back down with a huff and your head is tilted at the perfect angle catch on the tiny droplets of blood decorating the marks criss-crossing his shoulder blades.  Oops.

But he’s already kissing up your neck and over the curve of your jaw and making out with you again like he can’t get enough of it, and you forget.  You forget everything.  You forget every disagreement, every gripe with him you’ve ever had.  It’s all wiped away and replaced with giddy, childish adoration.  Resetting completely and starting off on the rightest foot imaginable.

“Let’s go to my bed,” he murmurs, and you make a tight noise of disapproval.  No.  This is good, this is how you want to stay.  The railing is digging into your lower back and he’s heavy but you’re perfect like this, this is perfect.  “Baby,” Poe pants against your lips in exasperation when you quickly clutch the back of his neck and keep him glued to you, “mmph—you got everything all wet—”

This time you make a low hum of agreement and drag your hand down the bare curve of his spine to his ass to give it a squeeze.  A testament to how hard and raw he fucked you.  Poe shudders hard enough for you to feel his body tremble but you just kiss him harder, pulling him down onto you more.

“You’re gonna have to give me, just like—I don’t know, at least an hour or two,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to make it easier to peel himself from your body and groaning when his cock finally slips out.  “Come on, let’s hang out in my bed.”

You’re so boneless when he pulls you to sit upright, you roll a little bit and Poe has to catch you, and you laugh again.  Maker, you’re a complete mess and absolutely delighted about it.  Your attempts at grumbling and complaining don’t hold any sway when you’re still trying not to giggle, and Poe is able to pull you to the top of the ladder and make his way down first.

As soon as he’s out of sight and calling up to you, you weakly slide into position with a groan and feel yourself leaking at the movement.  “Gah—look what you did.  I’m all… gooey.”

“I know, s’the hottest fucking thing,” he says under his breath from the floor, before beckoning you by tapping on the closest rung a few times.  “Come on, be careful.”

You do as he says, easing your naked body down one step at a time with wobbly legs.  It’s clumsy and you whine the whole way through, wordlessly grousing and mumbling.

“Oh, I just know it,” he comments on the sound, “nice clean sheets, I’ll get the violin.”

Normally, you probably would’ve snarked something back down at him, but you’re still so loopy and shaky-legged that you just start laughing again.  The fact that he’s absolutely right and you’re being ridiculous about something like moving beds suddenly strikes you as incredibly fucking funny for some reason.  You don’t realize his hands are hovering inches away from your hips until your legs buckle and Poe quickly supports your weight.

“Maker,” Poe chuckles before giving you a firm yank, and then catching you before you can tumble down the ladder in your naked, teary-eyed mania, “let’s go, giggles.”

He carries you a few steps to the mattress and plops you down on top of the comforter, letting you take up the whole bed while he sits on the end and puts your feet on his lap.  Poe grimaces for a second and then shuffles until the radio is pulled out from under him, and you can hear the soft sound of it playing once again.  You bury your face into his pillow, inhaling the warm scent lingering there while he tosses it carelessly to the side and rubs your shins for a little bit, watching you stretch out naked on his mattress.  

“I’m not giving you two weeks of pay,” you suddenly grunt, and he just grins down at you, not arguing.  Not saying anything.  Sitting in comfortable silence with you when you’re expecting him to bicker.  So you stay like that for a long time, breathing deep and relaxing, until Poe’s hands leave you for a second…

… to pull a bag of chips out.

Maker, at the first squeaky sound of the wrapping assaulting your eardrums, you want to roll your eyes.  You want to tease him about how fucking typical it is.  Like clockwork, you could probably set your watch to his middle of the night cravings.  You don’t know why you thought fucking him would change any of that.

You want to give him shit for it.  You even open your mouth, the snark on the very tip of your tongue.  But then your stomach growls as soon as he rips the thin plastic apart.

Poe’s eyes shoot to yours and neither one of you move, but apparently your tummy doesn’t get the memo.  It takes forever to trail off into silence again, and he blinks.  Fuck, you know you should’ve forced yourself to eat at least something earlier.  Warmth floods your cheeks and you scramble for something to say, but there’s no way to play it off.

“Would you like some chips?”  Poe suddenly asks with a boyish grin, raising his eyebrows and tipping the open bag freely in your direction.

The corners of your mouth pull downwards even as the inside of it waters.  You wouldn’t call it stubbornness necessarily as much as it is a… a desire to stick to consistency.  After the unbelievably hard time you always give him about midnight snacking, you’re hesitant to partake.

Though, the chips rustle against each other and sound absolutely fucking delicious as Poe shakes the bag and bounces his eyebrows, and you know what?  Fuck it.

You snatch it without thinking, cradling the precious food to your chest as you dig your whole hand in and shove a bunch into your mouth at once.  You catch him smiling again, but he doesn’t comment.

You both take turns, and by take turns you obviously mean you take turns stealing the bag from each other instead of just setting it equidistant between you and openly agreeing to share it, but it works for you.  It seems appropriate.  And then it’s quiet again, just munching and crinkling, except for the radio continuing to play from its place in his lap.  You have to work to listen over the loud crunching vibrating through your skull, but when you finally manage to stop chewing and catch a few bars, you suddenly find yourself trying not to smile again.  Fuck, it’s been years since you’ve heard this song, you love this s—

“Fuck, I love this song,” Poe promptly exclaims with his mouth full, licking the tips of his fingers before scrambling to pick the radio up and twist the volume knob without using his wet fingertips.  He starts humming over the melody, loud enough to almost drown it out completely, because of course he does.  The one damn time you actually want to listen to his radio and he still finds some way to mildly irritate you.

But this irritation is almost… fun.  You want to laugh just as much as you want to yell at him.

“Hey, who sings this song?”  You immediately ask over the sound of him clearly not knowing the lyrics, already ready with it.  Oh, the round is in the chamber, your finger is on the trigger, you are ready, and Poe’s eyes sparkle as he seems to stop and think about it.

“Mm, not sure,” he eventually shrugs, just before you rush, “Let’s keep it that—”

And then he’s slapping a hand on your leg and belting out the chorus while you scoff, giggling.  He ruined the punchline on purpose and is now getting chip dust all over you, but you know any complaint you make will be drowned out by his suspended notes and backing track, so you just roll your eyes and swipe the bag of chips from him while he continues to serenade you.

“My ears are bleeding,” you mutter under your breath.

He has a nice voice, you think.

[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​ 

[spilledkauffie]

Din w/o His Helmet HCs

🎶 oh, look at those eyes 🎶

Just a few scenarios that came to mind about seeing him without the helmet. 

Accidentally:

You couldn’t quite remember what Din had told you. Were you supposed to meet him in the bay or stay in the cockpit? You couldn’t remember, so you set out to find him, figuring it would be harmless and you’d just ask where he needed you.

Little did you know he was occupied with polishing up the inside of his helmet, as the last fight managed to throw sand up it and stick to the inner lens, of which he was now attending to.

Dropping down to the bay of the ship, you lifted your head and called his name walking in his direction. You accidentally saw his face as his eyes briefly met yours. You barely got a good look, but it was enough for you to remember.

Spinning on your heels, you turned away from him. Completely in shock, you didn’t know what to say except “I’m sorry! I didn’t know-“ with a few “I should have-“‘s

“You didn’t know,” was all he said when he approached you with his helmet back on. You looked up at the dark slits in his helmet, unsure of how he really meant it, but he put a hand on your shoulder compassionately and repeated a little softer, “you didn’t know, it’s okay.”

Since that moment, you’ve never forgotten what he looks like and occasionally find yourself staring at him with a hint of a bit of lust. He’ll notice as ask “what?” making you blush to yourself and answer with a stuttering “nothing!” However, he’s caught on.

“You’re still thinking about that one time,” he asks, not shy by any means. “W-what time?” was all you could respond. “You know,” he continues, “that one time, you came down and I wasn’t aware that you were there and I didn’t have it on.” He taps his helmet to try and lighten the tone, but with the way Din was describing the encounter you felt yourself blushing. He was making it sound oddly sensual to you, a scandal.

With his permission:

It had been a long time coming, but he’d agreed that it was time for you to see him, actually see him. Of course, you’d never forced him and you made sure to double check that this was what he wanted, he didn’t need to do this to prove anything to you. Once that was agreed upon and he still felt the need for you to see him, you respected his wishes. 

He was sitting across from you, as you slowly reach for his helmet. You handle it with as much care as you possibly can, gently and tenderly holding it in your hands. You keep your eyes on the helmet even as you brought it to your lap, instead of instantly staring at him, you knew he was nervous.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, a soft smile appeared on your lips as you lifted your head. Calmly, you opened your eyes and met his for the first time. Your smile spread to the corners of your lips as you softly bit the inside of you bottom lip. His brown eyes were anxiously looking at you.

“Hi, Din” you almost whispered. His lips parted in a slight quiver, hearing you address him by his name and face to face was a new experience for him. He tried to breathe a little calmer, and saw you hug his helmet closer to you, making him timidly smile. “Hi,” was all he could answer, and that was enough. You giggled from all the anticipation that had been building between you two.

He didn’t quite know how to respond, so he smiled a little more. You leaned forward, reaching a hand to his cheek, you touched him as gently as you possibly could. Following your touch, he leaned forward a little, you pressed your forehead against his. Trailing your hand down his jawline, your thumb barely brushed against his lower lip.

Lifting your head, you meet his soft eyes, “you are stunning,” you say with a smirk that makes him turn a bit more bashful.

He takes it off in front of you:

As a way of showing you how much he loves you, Din decides to show you the most personal thing he can, his face, but it doesn’t exactly go as he planned.

You’re busy taking care of (more like playing with) Grogu, when Din comes up behind you, addressing you by name, he says, “there’s something I want to show you.” Being obviously pre-occupied with Grogu’s cuteness you give him a look over the shoulder and ask, “sure, what is it, Love?” with a kind tone.

“You- you have to really look at it though, okay?” he says, starting to sound a little more anxious than you’re used to. You quirk your lip, “can you show it to me here, or do we have to go somewhere else?” 

“Here is…fine, if that’s where you want to see it,” he manages, starting to fidget. “Okay, then why don’t you get it and bring it,” you suggest lovingly, as you turn back to Grogu, whose cooing had been slightly distracting you while Din talked, “we’ll wait here.”

Unsure of exactly how to go about the situation, Din watches you with the child for a while. He’s utterly in love with how well the two of you have bonded and adores seeing you together, so he thinks it’s perfect to show you both at the same time. Slowly removing his helmet, he waits for a few moments, getting used to it himself. 

“Okay, ready,” he says nervously. “You haven’t even left yet,” you answer, not turning, but instead petting Grogu’s ears. “Well, it’s ready,” Din tries again. “Are you just messing with me?” you ask, aware that he never left to get anything to show you. “No, I’m not,” Din sighs. 

“Somehow I don’t believe you-” was interrupted with a slightly more demanding “could you just turn around,” from Din. With an “okay, alright,” from you, you pick Grogu up and turn. Only to be left speechless. Covering your mouth with your free hand, Grogu coos and hums with excitement at seeing his face.

“Din- is this- this is what you were showing me?” you ask softly, acquiring a timid “yeah,” from him. Reaching his little hands forward, you walk Grogu over to Din. The two of you can’t stop your smiling as you look at him.

Placing your hands on his chest, the Beskar a little cold, you take in everything, his dark curls, his brown eyes; meanwhile, the child has managed his way into Din’s arm. Snuggling up close to him Grogu giggles a little. “Thank you,” you say quietly to Din, and he knows he’s found his family.

[yanderecandystore]

PLEASE i need more of your among us concept, it was so good!

Hi!! How are you doing? I saw a lot of people want more of these, so I wanted to gain some time to be able to come up with more stuff about Yandere Among Us.

So, I hope you didn't wait too long. How about we continue where we left off?

But this time with an proper begining.

TW/Tags: Everyone is fighting // more characters because I hate myself! // Shy boy is a really suspicious boy // not as much as yandere tendencies, but maybe the start of them?? // All characters have real names, but calling each other by colors is a formal military way in this universe, ya know? // Mentions of blood and possibly (just maybe) scent kink 👀 // It may low-key not be like the original game but I tried ;-;

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

"- You're pretty sus, not gonna lie." Ch - 1 [Yandere!Among Us x Reader - Short Fanfiction]:

(Ch - 2)

"- And then I told her:' Yo, your chicken is dry as hell!' And then she beat me with a stick." You were currently talking with your best pal, Cyan! You two were in the cafeteria taking a snack-break, while everyone was trying to repair the ship by doing their own assigned tasks.

"- H-Heh, that's so you [Y/N]." Cyan said, although their tone was extremely off, like they didn't know what to say. They haven't eaten anything since the day began, and you were starting to worry if they were okay or not.

"- Buddy, are you okay? You haven't touched any of the snacks I brought you, you haven't even eaten a single marshmallow yet, and I thought these were your favorites!" You told them while shoving more potato chips down your mouth.

To you, the situation was mildly confusing, but to "Cyan" it was an absolute nightmare! How are they supposed to keep this up?? You're going to end up blowing their cover, they just know it!

They started to consider making you their next meal, yet if they did it right now everyone would be suspicious of them, since "they" have been with you ever since you two went to do tasks.

Stars help them, because things can go wrong any minute now! They were sweating under the suit out of nervousness and because of how hot and wet the suit was.

They didn't have time to clean the blood inside of the suit, so it was basically really, really sticky inside it.

They were disassociating until you've put your hand on top of theirs.

"- Cyan, what's wrong?!" You sound so worried, so loud yet concerned. For someone that was floating through space using asteroids to move around, your voice is so- Different, from the empty void out there. They aren't accustomed to this feeling yet.

"- I-I am! Don't worry about it, I, I think I just had a really long day, that's all." They lied through their teeth hoping that you would fall for it. But of course, you're way too stubborn to fall for that.

"- Are you sure tho? I- I could call White to see if you're sick, or maybe-" You were interrupted by the Cyan's scream while they suddenly stood up.

"- No! No, please- You-" Stars, they're terrible at this, aren't they?? They just need to shush you for now, they can't let you call someone else! The more people around them the more anxious they'll be and they will obviously be exposed to-

"- Look, [Y/N]-" -They tried to calm themselves, everything is fine, they just need to think of a way to make your worries go away- "- I'm fine, I promise, okay?" They said while putting their hands on your cheeks forcing you to look at their space suit's helmet.

You feel flustered by the sudden movement. Not only were you caught off guard by their sudden reaction, but-

This- this little thing that they did? Was starting to blossom a lot of unwanted flowers inside your heart.

' God, take a grip [Y/N]! You can't be all flustered in a time like this!' You think to yourself while shaking your head to wipe the lovey-dovey thoughts out of your mind.

You just can't help it though! You guess that ever since your team has been stuck in space- No, ever since you first met Cyan in the facility on Earth and were introduced to your team as their new crewmate, you have found yourself having a crush on Cyan. You hate to admit this, but yeah, they were always kinda… Cute, to you.

Ah well, Cyan was always the rascal, the flirty over the top one. The one that was always playing around yet also keeping their head strong when facing a conflict. Always so radiant yet so down to earth. Oh well, here you go, simping again, oh geez...

You try to wake yourself from your fantasy world, this is not the time [Y/N]!

"- Okay-y then! I-I'm really sorry if I was bothering you!" You try to speak up yet you stutter all the way, making you feel embarrassed at how silly you're acting right now.

And while you're dealing with your inner struggles, Cyan is looking at you really confused (not that you would be able to see it because of their helmet). There is something really strange about the way you talk to them that is making them wonder what your previous relationship with this "Cyan" human was all about, and wondering if they can keep it up with this charade if they observe you and learn more about, well, "how to be themselves" around everyone else.

Actually, this may work perfectly! By getting small clues out of you, they'll be able to decipher how to properly imitate humans!

But, they're still oblivious to human emotions, so this may take more time than expected, luckily you two can spend a lot of time alone-

"- Yooooo, look over there y'all!" You two heard someone shouting while coming into the cafeteria. Oh God, really?-

Of course it was Red, who else would be making fun of you two?

Well, he is not mean, he is just- ARGH!! He keeps picking on you for liking them, and it frustrates you so much when he comes looking all smug-

If your face could, it would turn itself into a tomato and probably pop off of your body and roll away from the embarrassment.

Wow… Okay, that was a little exaggerated, but still!-

"- How is my favorite couple doing on this pleasant evening?" He said while coming forward. His words making you turn on your defensive mode instantly:

"- We're not dating you know! I told you this nineteen times, Geez, stop being an ass…" Yep, really subtle how your cheeks lighten up at the idea of being a couple with Cyan.

And while the rest of the crew is now appearing into vision and coming forward to the cafeteria, Cyan is losing their grip ever so slightly- They can't handle this! It's- It's literally too many of you!

They can't take out every single one of you at once! This is terrible!

They need- They need to calm down and take this suit off. The heat is starting to take over their head.

"- So, how's it been for you two? Ya know, beside all the smooching-" Red says as he looks directly at you awaiting your delicious response, which was a little pouty face, so it meant that his job was done for today "- Have you guys finished your tasks?"

"- Oh! Well, we didn't manage to complete everything, the lights turned off out of nowhere and we couldn't see anything!" You tell him honestly. You're still kinda sad about it, it sucks to finish the day without completing everything you needed to.

Everyone's gathering around and sitting at the main table, it's time for a dinner meeting and assignment of tasks for tomorrow before everyone goes to sleep. God, you already miss your bed so much!

"- Ha! I knew it wasn't just in one room!... But yeah honestly me too, I couldn't finish my task because of the blackout. All that I needed to do was to swipe the card though!" Red said, while stealing one of your snacks, which earned a little "hey" coming from you, he was only joking though, as he returns the snack back to you before he can eat any.

"- Well, don't worry, tomorrow we can finish it!" Said Yellow, trying to lighten up the mood by being positive.

"- I sure do hope so-" Orange was about to say when Blue came in and interrupted all of you.

"- But what if we can't do any of them tomorrow?" Their voice echoed through the cafeteria. Everyone was silent as Blue's words caused a new feeling to arise inside the crew's hearts. Despair.

As no one was saying anything, they continued-

"- You guys seriously haven't noticed our situation yet, have you? We're floating through space because or engines have been broken by the asteroids outside, we can't even navigate this spaceship-"

"- We're trying to fix this-" Pink started, but failed to continue.

"- And while we keep "trying" and not actually doing anything, we are all in danger! Even the facility has stopped communicating with us-"

"- Blue! That 's enough!" White had interrupted his rant. His yelling was starting to get hold of Yellow's feelings, she was always sensitive to yelling and loud noises in general. Truth is, that the most positive person in your group was truly the most negative one in this scenario, yet she wanted to keep everyone together, to keep bringing hope inside everyone, even though she herself didn't truly believed in that hope.

"- W-We-" Yellow tried to speak through her sobbing, trying to hold enough strength to control her bottled up emotions from spitting out.

"- Come on, take deep breaths, I know you can do this-" Black tried to comfort her, like he would to everyone aboard.

"- We-We are all going to die here-e." She whispered in between sobs. Her breathing became more frantic and more desperate for air.

It's the eight time this week someone had a breakdown while everyone was present.

"- Blue, seat down." White asked, yet her normally stern voice made it sounded more like a command, which Blue absolutely despised.

"- I'm-" Blue started, yet, stopped themselves. Wanting to say something towards their distressed crewmate yet deciding to go away and miss tonight's meeting. Again.

"- This is stupid." They said before leaving.

"- Blue come back this instant-" White tried to call them, they didn't even look back.

"- … Didn't even apologise…" Brown said, trying to keep his cool even though he couldn't stand Blue's antics ever since the ship was stuck in space.

"- D-Damnit!" Orange punched the table with her wrists. God, she hated every single second spent in this hellish place. She only retracted her anger when she noticed Yellow flinching from the sound.

"- I'm- I'm so sorry Yellow-"

"- It's fine! D-Don't worry about it!" She said while trying to keep her own little charade going on. But after a month, no one believes her at this point.

"- Yellow I can lead you back to your room! Do you want to company?" Said Pink, their voice sounding just as sweet and cute as their personality. The only one helping everyone stay sane by simply being there and saying "Hi!" every "morning".

"- I would like it." Yellow had calmed herself down enough so she could at least say a couple of words. She said her good nights and followed Pink back into her room.

"- It's another meeting wasted." Green said while packing their things.

"- Well, it could be worse, right? Good night everyone!" Said Purple not really caring about anything at this point.

"- Oh, come on everyone! Shouldn't we discuss our tasks for tomorrow?" Red asked, if not begged for them to come back. How has this happened? How has all your crew started to fall apart so easily?

"- Don't worry Red, we can do that tomorrow morning." Black said while comforting White who was having a headache because of the endless fights inside the spaceship.

This was the third time just this week that your meetings were interrupted by arguing. This is only the second time Blue has actually been the cause of it though.

"- Maybe they miss their family?" Lime asked while referring to Blue.

"- We all do." Brown said while standing up and going to his own bedroom. Muttering something through his teeth that no one could understand.

The whole situation happened so fast, you couldn't even understand what just happened!

"- Are, are we-"

"- Yes [Y/N], you're all dismissed." White answered already knowing what you were going to ask.

"- Oh…. Do you want some?" You asked motioning the snacks up to her, which surprised her yet she appreciated the gesture.

"- Thank you…." She whispered. You nod your head and decide to give her some space. You knew that you didn't need to worry too much about it, as Black was there to help her feel better.

If Black wasn't in this ship, she would have already fallen apart. All of you would.

"- Well, I guess dinner has ended sooner than expected!" Red tried to joke to lighten up your mood, to which you give a little chuckle. God, today is a really terrible day isn't it?

"- Uhn, hey, you're okay? You have been quiet throughout the whole meeting." Red asked Cyan.

Oh. Oh no, please no.

"- Uhn? Yeah? I… did?" They're so dead.

"- Yeah, it was… Pretty odd. Last time Blue yelled you had put them in their place, and it was pretty cool of you to stand for Yellow like that". Red said remembering that day. He didn't have anything against Blue, as he knew Blue is trying their best like everyone else. Yet he didn't like how Blue started to act like an ass lately, especially not even apologising towards Yellow or even the whole crew for that matter.

Cyan was sweating like crazy. They were panicking at the beginning of the meeting because of the amount of humans surrounding them, but when they noticed how easily humans let their distrust control them, they decided to let them speak and see what would happen. Seeing them argue with each other made them feel calmer and safer.

' I won't die!' They thought.

But now? They're raising suspicion again, by literally not doing anything??! How is this possible-

"- Well, it is true but, I don't know Red, Cyan has been pretty tired all day, and besides, Blue doesn't listen to us anymore, so it wouldn't matter anyway." You tried to reason. Yes, Cyan was acting a little different, being a little more shy than their normal self but come on now, everyone has their bad days! Maybe today they are not feeling really well….

You looked up at them, trying to show sympathy to your friend who you still thought was having some personal issues of their own.

"- Yeah! Exactly… Today has been pretty crazy! I think I just need some sleep.". Yeah, really crazy! Their body had hit an spaceship filled with free food, and then they had to disguise themselves as one of the humans inside so they could easily take one by one. But now? They're regretting each second of it! Stars, the anxiety eating them from inside is worse than being all alone in space.

Well, if they ever get out alive, they'll at least have some cool story to tell their own kind about…. If there is anyone waiting for them to return, that is.

"- Oh… That sucks buddy, but you got an point, I guess we all need to relax, and hey! Tomorrow is a new day right?" Red smiled at you two, offering a little bit of positive before you two went inside your rooms. Well, he offered a little bit of positive and a hug, to which you had gladly taken.

Although, Cyan was at first really confused about this gesture, so they stayed a little further away from the sign of affection.

"- Oh come on! Stop being a dork, come over here already!" Red said as he pulled Cyan into the tight hug. It was comforting but you couldn't lie that you felt sandwiched between the two, you tried to warn Red that you couldn't breathe, and Cyan was still panicking but now for a different reason.

Because of the helmet, their sense of smell has been limited considerably, yet by being so near to your bodies, they realized they could still take in your scent. Or maybe it was all the blood inside the suit? Who knows, they just knew that the idea of a next meal was absolutely mouthwatering, and they weren't even hungry! Maybe the idea of having a whole place filled with eleven people was starting to make them salivate uncontrollably, as a child having to wait until they can pick their next candy from the jar.

Maybe they could basket in your scent until they actually feel the need to consume another crewmate.

Red was the first to break the hug, but not before fussing your hair.

"- Well, that's my goodbye for today! I need to restore some energy before I can give you two more hugs!" He entered the door behind him, which lead to his room. An oddly well organized bedroom which was only a couple of steps before your own bedroom.

And after your bedroom, there was Cyan's bedroom.

He gave his last goodbyes before closing the door. You can't help but appreciate that dork, the endless bickering between you two was pretty fun in your opinion.

While turning your back you noticed that was Cyan looking straight at you this whole time, which caused you to squeak in surprise. God, they were way too close! And your hair is a mess!

"- Sooooo… I guess we're alone now, right?" You asked timidly, trying your best to make small talk which still came off pretty awkwardly. You avoided their gaze while trying to come up with what else to say.

"- Yes. Yes we are." Cyan said, their tone was unnaturally dark for their nature, yet when you noticed them approaching you closer, you realized what you said.

"- Oh! No, I didn't mean it like-" You tried to explain the the misunderstanding, thinking that Cyan was about to flirt back with you, even though your comment was purely without malice! You swear it!

"- No making out in the halls, ya love birds!" Red opened his door and screamed, with his smug little face.

"- Geez get a room you two!" Said Pink from the other side of the corridor, their voice being really faint because of the distance between you.

"- We were not, okay?!" You yelled hoping Pink would hear it.

"- Shhhh! Some of us are trying to sleep here!" Orange banged on her door while scolding all of you. Even though she herself was making a lot of noise.

"- S-Sorry!" You responded.

Cyan distanced themselves from you, fuck, every single one of them was hearing you two. Were they all listening to your whole conversation? How were they supposed to kill anyone if everyone is this spaceship is an gossip addict? Always listening for the next tea to be spilled.

While looking at your face they recognized that same hue popping off of your cheeks. Are you perhaps sick? Actually, now they have mentioned it- What would happen if they ate a sick human?

"- Your face is red." They mentioned nonchalantly.

"- Sigh… Yeah." You sigh defeated. What's the point of hiding something that is in your face?! Even if it's fainted, everyone can tell at this point. The only person you aren't sure if they know it yet is, well, Cyan themselves.

"- …"

"- …" An awkward silent start emerging from you two, until they ask:

"- Is it because of me?" Did they, I don't know, brought some sort of sickness aboard with them? Are you passing out? Should they be concerned that your meat could be possibly damaged because of this sickness?

Although their tone is really vague, you still interpreted the question as one of their flirtatious jokes. Truth is that Cyan loves going around flirting with everyone, even with you! And they know that this makes you flustered, so you can't tell if they do it because it's fun for them or if-

Or if they like you….. A little bit.

"- Oh no! You won't fool me this time, I know what you're up to!" You say dramatically, trying to change the conversation to have a more silly tone, yet your whole attempt was dismissed, because as soon as you said that, Cyan started shaking anxiously.

You knew? You knew?! Oh stars, they're done for! They're so dead now!

"- W-What?!" They scream, please don't hurt them, they were only hungry and trying to survive!

"- … Uhn, Cyan? I'm joking." You tell your really skittish friend. Geez they really were acting weird! Normally they would have returned your joke but they are acting so easily terrified!

Did something happen in electrical while you were away?

"- Cyan… Are you hurt? You never told me what happened when the blackout happened." You once again ask them if they were okay. What if… They are scared because of something that happened in electrical? What if… They saw something?

"- What? Oh, I'm- I'm sorry! I didn't mean to freak you out like that." They laugh realizing that you were only "joking" with them. Honestly, your jokes are going to be the death of them.

"- Are you okay tho-"

"- Yes, for the fifth time, I'm doing fine [Y/N]." They… Growled? What? Their sudden anger made you take some steps back, what just happened??

They didn't realize how their tone had come off, they needed to be more careful if they wanted to keep your trust. You… You look so distressed! Did they scared you that bad? If not, than why are you distancing yourself? Why are your eyes so… Watery?

"- I-I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to…." And why were they apologising? Why does your frightened face cause such an intense feeling inside them? They were supposed to harvest your fear as an way to easily control the situation, but instead they can't help but pity your current state.

"- I've been, really stressed out, I didn't mean to yell." They say, half true, half lie. I mean, their first day is already being so strange and stressful, anyone would've expected them to end up blowing up at some point.

"- No! No, don't worry about it, I, sigh… Honestly I'm pretty stressed out myself. I guess I was so worried about you that I ended up bothering you with my questions." You say while guilt starts to form inside you. You haven't given them enough space, maybe you been pestering them too much.

To be honest, everyone was so on edge that you should have expected something like this happening, even from someone as chill as Cyan. Before you even considered finding a way to comfort them so you two could talk about it, Cyan was faster than you and had managed to trap you in their arms.

"- Hey, it's fine. Don't worry too much, I'm glad you're worried but I can reassure you, everything is okay."

It's an little awkward long hug, but you don't really mind, it's not as suffocating as Red's was. Oddly enough, Cyan wasn't being dishonest, but that fact only brought more confusion inside their mind.

"- Well… Goodnight Cyan, I'll see you tomorrow, kay?"

"- Yeah, sure…"

After some time spent looking at the ceiling waiting to see if everyone else had gone to sleep, Cyan had gotten out of their bed and started to unzip the space suit frantically.

Putting it on wasn't so hard, but getting out of it feels ten times worse now that they're sweating and tainted with the blood from the suit's previous owner. They don't need oxygen, but the feeling of suffocation inside that thing was starting to get over their heads. They needed something to cool down, anything!

So that's when the ventilation came into mind. The cold air coming from it was pleasant but not nearly enough for them, so they opened the top and got inside.

The cold air mixed with the cool metal touching their skin felt amazing compared to the heat and blood inside the suit. They need to remember to not only clean the suit, but to clean themselves very soon.

Without the helmet, their senses are so much better. They can hear and smell better, the vibrations passing through the ship helping them understand where they are and where they're going, as technically, they're kinda blind.

But who needs a great sight when they can easily smell and hear their prey from kilometers away? Speaking of which, the vents sure do help them a lot in that regard, as they can hear the soft breathing of all of your crewmates sleeping.

The smell of flesh is absolutely incredible! Just the thought makes their mouth water, maybe they deserve a little "midnight snack".

"- Eeny. meeny. miney. You!" They were deciding which one of your group should be the next, and the answer seemed pretty obvious, why not go to the nearest person?

It could lead to some issues with the other crewmates, but when they smelled your scent the need to enter your bedroom was way more important than considering the dangers of acting without thinking.

While entering your room as quietly as possible, they took a look around until they found your sleeping body almost falling from the bed. This is their chance!

Coming near you, savoring in your heavenly smell and dreaming what your taste is like, they-!... They stopped themselves from doing anything.

Your face is going to hit the floor if you continue to slowly slip from your bed.

You speak in your sleep sometimes. Not actual phrases, just occasional words. It's funny actually.

They poked your face multiple times out of curiosity. Were you awake or just dreaming? It seems like it's the latter.

You're still falling in slow motion. There is both the need to see what will happen next, and help you get back into bed.

They could just watch and see what happens. Besides, it is too dark for you to see them anyway.

Hmm… What should they do? Maybe they're wasting too much time by being here. They need to make a decision, it's to either kill you or to go back to their room.

After a couple of minutes of observing, another option has appeared, and they chose that one over the other options. They helped you get back into bed, hopefully you won't slip out again.

Maybe they should stay, just to guarantee you don't fall.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[idek20000]

I used a promt generator to find some random KanKiba thingys and I'm gonna share some that I like :)

1. They meet when Kankuro sees Kiba walk into a street sign

2. Kankuro being a batista at a coffee shop and always screwing up Kiba's name on purpose

(He'd write it as Kyba or somethin else stupid 😭)

3. Kiba and Kankuro were separated for several years for reasons they couldn't help. They finally find each other and have a heartfelt reunion

(This one makes perfect sense ^)

4. Kankuro taking Kiba out for Valentine's Day to cheer them up after their original plans with someone else fell through. As Kankuro tries their best to make Kiba happy and succeeds after only a few attempts, Kiba realizes they would have rather been with Kankuro anyways

(Ok, that was too cute-)

5. Kankuro and Kiba's child coming to sleep with them after having a bad dream

(YEESSSSSSS ^)

6. Kiba is a prince or princess, falling for Kankuro, the castle gardener who tends to the foliage surrounding Kiba's balcony

(🥺 I feel the need to write this-)

7. Kankuro letting Kiba warm their cold hands under their shirt

(I can picture this ^)

Kiba: [touches Kankuro's stomach on purpose to make him cold]

Kankuro: yOU MOTHERFU-

8. Kiba is playing a video game/reading a book/watching a show and is talking about how they ship two of the characters together because of [insert cute reason here], and then Kankuro says 'that sounds like you and me right there'

9. Kankuro and Kiba remembering their first kiss… and they have very different takes on it

(Would probably go down like this)

Kiba: It was nice

Kankuro: It sucked, your kissing game was WEAK

Kiba: IT WAS MY FIRST KISS

Kankuro: Yeah, I could tell

10. Kiba and Kankuro sharing a soft smile across a crowded room

(A w)

11. Kankuro being careful (or not at all careful) taking off Kiba's shirt because Kiba is extremely ticklish

(He would not be careful at A L L)

12. Kiba not letting Kankuro out of bed by cuddling them

(Kankuro's so much bigger than him that I could just see him pickin up Kiba and throwin him-)

13. Kiba hurt their ankle and is laid up with a cast and crutches. Kankuro is sitting next to them, doodling little hearts on their cast to cheer them up

(This is just 👌)

14. Kiba lends their sweater to Kankuro. When Kankuro is home, they realize they still have Kiba's sweater and find Kiba's iPod. Out of curiosity, Kankuro looks through Kiba's music and finds a playlist titled with Kankuro's name

(Someone please just try to tell me 'Chug Jug With You' wouldn't be in that Playlist cuz we all know it would-)

15. Them exploring each others' bodies, but not in a sexual way. Finding their different birthmarks, looking over each others' scars and sharing the stories behind them, running their hands over one another and just appreciating the feeling of the other person next to them

16. Kankuro booping Kiba's nose with their finger

(I feel like he'd do this all the TIME-)

17. Kankuro having to comfort Kiba because Kiba just encountered a very large, unpleasant bug outside that scared them

(Probably one of Shino's lol)

18. Kiba and Kankuro play Twister. Things get embarrassing and awkward fast

Kiba: Why's your hand on my ass?

Kankuro: Well it's not my fault that your ASS is on YELLOW

19. Kiba absolutely loves the taste of the chap stick/lip balm Kankuro uses, so they keep stealing kisses from Kankuro

20. Kankuro getting to go back in time and change something bad that happened in their past with Kiba

(Ngl, that shit hurted)

21. Kankuro and Kiba go to a fair/amusement park and Kankuro wants to go on the roller coaster and Kiba agrees. Later, Kiba regrets their decision and ends up clinging onto Kankuro for dear life

(Kiba would already KNOW that he's scared to death but wanted to look cool in front of everyone)

22. Kiba pressing their forehead against Kankuro's forehead to check if they have a fever

23. Kiba and Kankuro each other. Kankuro makes a spectacular drawing and Kiba's drawing does turn out to be that good. However, Kankuro keeps Kiba's drawing and treasures it

(This could also lowkey work as a father-son moment between Sai and Inojin)

24. Kiba likes stealing Kankuro 's phone to change Kankuro 's phone wallpaper into something stupid (like unattractive pictures of Kankuro 's face or doing something like picking their nose). Kiba is doing another routine swipe of Kankuro 's phone, but doesn't have the heart to change it because this time because Kankuro 's phone wallpaper is a cute picture of the two of them (like their first date together, or the only picture they have together)

(This is just precious)

25. Kankuro wants to use their laptop on the couch, but Kiba always occupies the space in their lap

26. Kankuro : guess what

Kiba: what

Kankuro : i love you

Kiba: O:

(This is too accurate)

27. Kankuro and Kiba sleeping on top of each other (in the bed, couch, where ever you prefer) when Kiba flops down on the floor

28. Kiba and Kankuro as a superhero/sidekick duo, but Kiba is constantly messing up and getting in Kankuro's way during their crime-fighting missions

(He really would)

28. Kiba calming Kankuro down when they have a bad dream

(Probably would be about his parents)

29. Kankuro and Kiba trying to hide their relationship. However, it turns out everyone knows they're dating

(Shikamaru and Temari would definitely be the first ones to find out)

30. Kankuro is about to leave for work. Kiba asks them if they've forgotten anything, and Kankuro gives them a kiss. Kiba turns red and opens their hand to reveal Kankuro's keys/wallet/etc., saying 'I meant this, but thanks.'

Ok that's it. I'll probably write an incorrect quote next so see you then!

[kamakrazeewarboyz]

Time for some clone ocs!!

First up we have the republic commando Phantom Sqaud

Leading man is Corpse, who’s also the demolitions expert and loves making things go boom. He’s also rly good at crafting his own improvised explosive devices out of whatever material is available, and even though he’s the lead man 9/10 he prefers to stand back and take out enemies at a distance instead of close quarters bc of an incident that earned him both his scar and his namesake (he got shot point blank in the head by a droid, and his squad thought he was dead until they got him back on the transport ship and he gasped awake). He’s the coarse, grumpy one of the squad but deep down he loves his brothers and would both sell them to Satan for one corn chip and also fight the sun with his bare hands to keep them safe

Shriek is the resident know it all- he loves learning and picking up on new things so he’s always listening to holotapes and sometimes reading books when he can + wastes time during quiet moments scouring the holonet for info on whatever new subject has caught his interest. He’s basically like a human encyclopedia, so if any of the others need a question answered or a translator, they know they can turn to him. He was blinded during a mission and given two cybernetic eyes, and he can see pretty okay with them but there’s something a bit ‘off’ about cybernetic vision vs natural vision so he relies more on his sense of sound and has honed in pretty acute hearing bc of it

Bone-Shaker, or as he squadmates like to call him, Bones, is the team muscle. He’s got a thing for taking out droids with his bare hands or his vibroblade in up close combat, but when he’s got to take them out from a distance he LOVES being the one with the biggest blaster whooping and hollering while he shoots them down. He can be kinda crude and intimidating at first but he’s actually a super big softy with a giant soft spot for his brothers, and he’s SUPER touchy feely. No one in Phantom Squad is ever touch starved bc they know at the end of a long day Bones is gonna pull them all into a giant cuddle pile and not let them go

Wraith is basically like the team infiltrator and stealth guy, and he doubles as the team sniper when it’s needed. He’s rly light on his feet and super good at sneak into places and around people undetected, so he’s usually the go to recon or stealth retrieval guy. He’s soft spoken and doesn’t actually talk a lot unless he feels like he rly needs to do he’ll usually use hand gestures or gentle touches to get his brothers attention, but he’s also got a great sense of humor and cracks up a lot at Bones’ jokes or Shriek’s deadpan puns, esp when they’re (lovingly) picking on Corpse

And now the Shadow Company boys! I’ve given them their own battalion to fit into and their own Jedi general who has yet to be drawn, but they’re situated inside of the 323rd battalion under Jedi knight Daven Uuthus, a female Nautolan

Puncture is pretty much the company tattoo artist, he was always rly into art and doodling when he was younger and once he was deployed all the different systems shadow company was sent to opened him up to a whole new world of art and ways to create it. He got rly interested in tattooing specifically when he saw other clones starting to get them to individualize themselves, and even more so once he started to notice all sorts of different tattooing techniques across the galaxy. He learned a lot of tips and tricks from locals on different planets he visited and tried them out himself when he could find willing brothers, and eventually grew so good at his craft he made a name for himself as the go to guy if you want a badass tattoo

Clapback is the human embodiment of sass. Like he’s SO. SASSY. He will hit you with zingers so fast you’ll be roasted like a chunk of meat before you even realize what’s happening. He and his batchmate Hammerhead have an ongoing brotherly rivalry (all out of love of course but that doesn’t stop them from being savage) which is how Clapback got his name, bc everytime Hammerhead would come up with something to throw at him he’d throw it right back and twice as ruthless. He’s a good source of levity along with Hammerhead during hard times, but he’s also super caring and always there to help and comfort a brother or friend in need

Hammerhead is the slightly less feral but still equally chaotic one out of him and Clapback. He gets put into Shadow Company w/ Clapback after the first battle of Geonosis (which neither one of them took part in but were deployed rly soon after) and promoted to sergeant before the war ends, and while he’s got a goofy side he can also be very serious and in the moment when the time calls for it, and rly good to have at your back in the middle of a fight. He’s also great at tactical improvision

Triple- or Trip- is the “”long suffering”” third batchmate to Hammerhead and Clapback. He gets roped with the ‘responsible sibling’ role all the time even though he’s just as good at spreading chaos as the others, but he’s usually more level headed and better at controlling his impulses (and his mouth) than the other two. He becomes a special ops trooper, but Shadow Company works with spec ops troopers often, so he still gets to see his close brothers maybe more than he’d like (which is a JOKE bc this dummy is so soft for them it’s like a neon sign above his head, he just likes to pretend he doesn’t care)

And last but not least Lollipop!! He’s the Ultimate Babie of the company, and also one of the newer troopers, coming in a little over halfway through the war so he’s v shiny. He got his name from the time he and a few other troopers stumbled upon abandoned farmland and a couple of eopies took major interest in him and wouldn’t leave him alone, ‘licking him like a lollipop’ as one of the other troopers said which ended up sticking, though he mostly goes by Lolly. He’s easily the biggest softy in the company and he’s also crazy good at map reading and geography so once he’s in he’s looked to a lot as their backup guide to make sure they’re getting to where they’re going alright

[allthingsfern]

More info about my reason for choosing my Sony a7r3

So, @mirzans​, replied to my “From my own experience switching from Nikon DSLR to Sony mirrorless,“ asking about why I did not choose a Nikon Z camera, which is a great question and something I should have explained/added to my post: context. It is important to know when I bought my a7r3 and what my choices were.

Here goes.

I bought my Sony a7r3 back in December of 2017, on the 26th, to be exact. Sony, at the time, was the mirrorless full frame leader and neither Nikon nor Canon had yet released their equivalent mirrorless cameras. After much research, I wound up deciding between the D850 or a7r3. BTW, there were a couple of Fujis I liked, but none was full frame; yes I strongly considered the Fujifilm GFX 50S, which was almost twice as much as the D850 and the a7r3 but had 50 mp (the D850: 45.7mp; a7r3: 42.4). However, from my research, it was rated as a good camera, but more for a studio setting, and did not autofocus as highly rated as either of my 2 final choices, plus the a7r3 was celebrated for its uniquely accurate, for that time, eye recognition focus. So, when I walked into Mike’s Camera, I knew it was either the D850 or the a7r3. Let me add that in 2017, Sony was making big (mostly) positive news with its a7r3. The previous 2 a7r models were promising, but had issues like overheating and horrendous battery life, but the a7r3 had improved on those issues and was then highly recommended. At about the same time that year, Nikon’s D850 was being celebrated as a great improvement of the already superb D800.

A little background about my camera ownership history may be useful here, too, so all y’all understand why I was looking at Nikon and Fuji, and not Canon or any other brand, well, except Sony.

In 2012, I bought my D50 used form a friend. It was already 5 years old at the time. I owned 2 SLRs before that, in the mid 70s and early 90s. Both were cheap, no-name cameras and my photography sucked shit through a brick, but not because of my cameras. I just never bothered to really learn photography, thinking it was just a matter of liking the way something looked and then taking a picture of it.

Oy vey.

However, I owned my baby, my D50, for 4 years. Then I bought a new Nikon D3500 w/ a used 24-200mm lens (sorry, I cannot recall which one, but it was highly recommended by Ken Rockwell and was a great lens)  a lower end starter Nikon DSLR and a used Fuji X100s. I absolutely loved both cameras. Since I figured that I was going to be trading up to a more complex model and I would, in effect, have to learn a new camera system, I knew I wanted to stick with Nikon and Fuji. And yes, Canon and other makes are good to great as well, but I figured I would stick with what I knew.

Except for the Sony. But really, since I needed to learn a new system, I figured I would go to the camera store and give them a feel, then make up my mind.

Now, to a certain degree, the D850 was slightly ahead because earlier in 2017 I got to use a D800 for a photo shoot for work. It was set up for me (the studio was ready for me, all I had to do was point and shoot; it was a special project that I got permission to do the photography for and, sadly, the portraits never were used) and let me tell you, as soon as I grabbed that D800, the ergonomics, the familiar feel, were perfect. That was one sexy camera, at least to me. Still is.

However, when i walked into Mike’s and held the even heftier d850, it also felt good, familiar, but as soon as I held the a7r3, even before I raised it to my face and looked through the viewfinder, I knew it was the one for me. It felt right and was lighter, and with the advanced eye focus, my decision was made immediately. And as I mentioned in my previous post, my camera guy soon realized I knew the specs and was looking at the 2 best choices for me, so he just left me alone and only was there to provide support, if I requested any.

Now, I believe that things are meant to happen, that time and Life give us signs that we are going in the right direction. And when I bought that first a7r3, I wanted the recently released 24-105mm f/4 G Sony lens. If I recall, it had just started shipping in late November, early December, so it was hard to get. And Mike’s had just one, that was pre-ordered, but the person who ordered it did not pick it up, and since it was sitting in the store (and not paid for) for about 2 weeks and was hard to get, my camera guy decided to sell it to me.

Talk about meant to be.

And yes, for any of you who know me who are reading this, I did get all teary eyed and freaked out a bit. I was able to drop so much money on camera equipment because a friend had recently died and left me enough money to pay off half my student loans, my almost $40K in credit card debt, and buy the cameras. (I did not mention I have 2 a7r3 bodies and a lens for each one: the 24-105mm f/4 and the Zeiss 55mm f1.8 made for Sony.) To me, the whole changing lenses thing is crazy making and as a professional photographer friend of mine said (my coworker who was the staff photographer and was always willing to talk about camera gear and was very supportive), I should have a zoom and a prime, and since I could afford the 2 bodies, I should just fucking get them. No regrets.

And to add to the “meant to be” coincidences of that day I bought my first a7r3 and the 24-105mm, while I was paying for the camera and my camera guy was explaining several perks and deals and things Mike’s Camera offered, he mentioned that there was a Sony mirrorless workshop, given by a Sony expert, coming up on January 19, 2018 at the store. That was when I knew my camera purchase was the right thing to do, since that was the anniversary of my friend’s death and I already planned to visit their grave site that day, but the workshop was at night and I could do both.

And fuck, yes, again I got all teary eyed there at the counter of Mike’s Camera.

Finally, you know that friend of mine who was the staff photographer at work, the one who was so supportive and helpful? And, BTW, who actually has a degree in photography? Well, after about a year of my buying my a7r3, I showed him some photos I took handheld at 1/30 sec in very low light w/ high ISO. He was so impressed with the quality of the images, that he ordered an a7r3 and a couple lenses for work. I think he got the 24-70mm GM and the 70-200mm GM, both f/2.8 and both with stabilization, and either the 85mm or 135mm GM. He wound up using the a7r3 for events and outdoor shoots and kept the D800 for studio portraits. That D800 is such a cool camera. But then again, I have another friend who owns a Canon 5D (also a pro photographer) and it is awesome, too.

Anyway, sorry I shared so much, @mirzans. Guess you can tell I just love this shit.

[dokoni-mo]

Far Away, Together || Darth Vader x Reader (Chapter 2)

(A/N: Hello hello again! Welcome back to my fic!! This is chapter 2 of this series, and the first chapter can be found ||here|| if you want a refresher/need to catch up! Thank you all who decided to give my previous chapter some love. I hope that y’all enjoy this one just as much as the last :) )

WARNINGS: cursing, some bullying, otherwise none

Key: (F/N) = first name, (L/N) = last name

Word Count: ~3700

Edit: Link to Chapter Three: [x]

You only saw him with passing glances for the next few days. 

He would come to your department, walk around like he owned the place (which, to be fair, he did), peering over the shoulders of other mechanics or officers that interested him or he found to have useful info. You would know he would walk in when you heard the woosh of the doors opening, followed by his heavy, mechanical footsteps alongside his breath. If you preened your ears hard enough, you could sometimes make out his voice above the sound of clanking metal, sparks flying, and the murmur of other worker’s voices. 

He hadn’t come by personally to you within those days. When he came in, you would always pause your work, push your goggles up your forehead, and look over at him. Most of the time, he would either carry on walking, or pretend not to see you (you assumed, at least). When this happened, you would let out a small sigh then resume your work. You didn't know whether those sighs were out of relief, or out of disappointment. 

When he did meet your gaze, however, it would often cause him to pause for a brief moment or walk a touch slower. When the dark pools of his mask would meet yours, your nerves would send a brief, painless shock through your veins as a way to say, “Hey, (F/N)! Get your head out of your ass and acknowledge Darth Vader.” 

As a returning message, you would either flash him a small smile, give a small salute, shrug subtly, or give a small thumbs up. If you were really feeling adventurous, you would even do a combination of two or three of those. These little gestures would get you a little gesture in return, oftentimes a nod. 

You had only made a modicum of progress to the overall repair of the TIE Advanced over those days. The only thing that you had fully completed was the welding of some obvious pieces of metal that needed it. You were now working on rewiring the main computer of the craft, a challenge that you had found very tricky the further you delved into the task. 

Even as you gave all your focus to repairing Lord Vader’s TIE, you would still notice the small changes around you. The other mechanics would watch you as you worked, sometimes even mingling in little groups and whisper about you like you were back in secondary school. This, you could deal with. Let them gossip like some stuck-up teenagers, who gives a shit? However, in extreme cases, you would break from your work to retrieve a new tool from your bench, only to find it missing. 

With this, you would sigh defeatedly. After your two-second self-pity party, you would lug over to the stations of the other mechanics, asking them if they had seen your tool. 

They would always say no. 

Today was one of those extreme cases. However, it was more extreme today. 

Were you proud of yourself today? Yes, you were a little bit, for a change. Today you had finally gotten the computer to turn on for, get this, a whopping five seconds! This was a major improvement over the zero seconds that it turned on when you first received the craft. Seeing as though you had only looked at the wiring only immediately inside the control station of the craft, you realized that you would have to go in deeper into the TIE to completely fix the computer. This would require a special wrench that you had. 

Stepping out of the inside of the craft, you headed to your workbench to retrieve the tool. You sighed. 

How unexpected. It was gone. Why did you even bother trying, again? 

You took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose with one hand and placing the other one firmly on your hip. You had already awoken that day with a headache, and you sure as hell didn’t need another one. 

After collecting your thoughts and composing yourself, you took a look around at the stations of your peers. One of them surely had to be using your wrench. And sure enough, someone was. Of course, they had not asked permission, But you quickly decided on not causing a huge scene. Do your job, don’t get in the way, (F/N).

Clenching one of your fists, you made your way over to the station of the wrench-thief. You knew this mechanic decently well; well enough to know his last name. Mechanic Cage. He was only slightly taller than you, skinny, and had a douche-bag voice. Pompous asshole. 

Cage was kneeling by the side of a broken-down speederbike when you walked up to him, his right side facing towards you. When you were within conversation distance between the two of you, you stopped and placed your hand on your hip, letting the other dangle to your side. Your go-to confident-yet-casual battle stance. 

“Cage,” you spoke out, looking down at your fellow mechanic, “Have you seen my wrench? The one we use for computer repairs?” 

The skinny mechanic only gave you a side-glance of acknowledgement and a smirk as he listened to you talk. 

“No,” he responded, his voice soaking with sarcasm and amusement, “Haven’t seen it at all, (L/N).”

This was a blatant lie. You knew this because he was using the damn thing right in front of you, twisting the tool away right in front of your face. This son of a bitch  you thought to yourself. He was toying with you. You relished in your annoyance only for a brief moment. You had work to do. 

“Cage,” you said shortly, “You’re using my wrench right now.” 

“Oh, am I?” the little shit responded. 

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Yes, you are. Can I please have it back? It’s important.” 

Cage stood up at this, holding the wrench tightly in his fist. He looked down at you, a smear of venom in his eyes. You challenged him right back, looking straight back up at him with an expression that could only be described as please for the love of God shut up and give me my shit back. 

“Why should I, (L/N)?” he asked, his shoulders tense, “You have plenty of wrenches at your station already.”

“Yes, I do, but I need that one, Cage. I can’t go farther in my work without it.” 

“Oh, my, I am so sorry!” Cage cried sarcastically. The feigned sweetness in his voice made its way to the back of your throat, making you frown. “My apologies for assuming that the great mechanic (L/N) could make do without it.” 

What? Did this kid mistake death-sticks for his breakfast ration? 

“I have no idea what you’re talking-” you had tried to say, only to be cut off by Cage’s finger poking your shoulder hard enough to make it fall backwards. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, (L/N). Don’t think just because you were assigned to Lord Vader’s ship you’re suddenly better than all of us. We all see how you walk around now like you’re hot shit. We all got jobs here fair and square, just like you did. Our officers are insane to give you that job anyway, newbie. It should’ve been one of us who have been here for years, not some little girl who played with the teddy-bears on Endor.” 

Your brow furrowed in confusion. Talk about someone who woke up on the other side of the bed that morning. Sure, you knew that Cage was a lowkey douche, but damn. You wanted to shove his shoulder right back. You wanted to cause a scene. It wasn’t your fault that the officers decided to give you Lord Vader’s TIE. Even you thought that it had been a mistake. Who was Cage to remind you of this?

You tamped your anger down deep inside you. Letting yourself let it out would only cause trouble. Do your job, don’t get in the way.

“Look, Cage, can I please just have my wrench? Just give it back and I’ll leave you alone, alright? We never have to speak again.” You pleaded with him, letting your tired voice slip out of your throat. Why did you feel like crying?

“Running away, eh?” Cage spat back, flexing his lip in disgust, “Whatever. Sorry to knock you off your high-horse, Princess.” 

With that, Cage threw your wrench to the ground. You watched it as it bounced a few times, then spun and skidded across the floor a few more feet. Why did you feel like crying even harder? 

Biting your lower lip, you mumbled out a quiet, hasty thank you before turning and walking over to your wrench. Keeping your chin lowered, you allowed your eyes to wander. Peering at the other mechanics, you noticed that they were lumped into one of three groups. Group one: those who paid no mind to what just happened. Group two: those who saw and looked at you, but offered no sympathy. Group three: those who saw and were now whispering or giggling quietly with the others. How great. 

Now standing over the wrench you had gone on this epic quest for, you let out a sigh as you knelt down and picked it up. You remained in your crouching position for a moment, turning the tool over in your soft hands over and over, staring as the metal reflected the blinding lights of the hangar.

You contemplated breaking down and crying right there, but you weren’t sure why. Yes, people who you thought you could at least be friendly with were being mean to you, but since when did you care? You didn’t know these people’s first names, nor where they were from or even the color of their eyes. Why do you suddenly care about how they treated you? How they saw you? 

Your rhetorical questions were answered with another question, of which surprised you when it shot through your brain. 

Why weren’t they more like Lord Vader? 

You considered that maybe you had been the one to mistake your breakfast rations for death-sticks that morning, not Cage. What did you just think? Lord Vader was notorious for being cold-hearted, mean, and unforgiving. A perfect example of the might of the Empire. 

Yet, when he had met you that night… 

You closed your eyes and frowned. No. You were wrong. You were just not thinking straight because of your headache. 

You finally rose from your kneeling position, your knees cracking in excitement to return to a more comfortable position. As you rose, you let your eyes wander again. This time, they fell upon one of the windows that lined your workplace. Immediately, your cheeks turned pink. 

Speak of the goddamned devil. 

There he was, standing in the window, watching. His frame nearly encapsulated the whole thing, reminding you of his size once more. The face of his mask was pointed in on the hangar, seemingly looking right at you. His cape was draped over his shoulders, allowing him to assume his all-too-famous silhouette. 

After a brief pause of your movements, you realized that you must look like an idiot standing in the middle of the hangar staring at the sith lord. Thinking of something quick, you decided that a combination of a small, half-hearted smile and a diminutive wave. He gave you no gesture back. 

Letting your smile drop, you carried the wrench back to your station. As you walked back into the TIE Advanced, you glanced over to see if Lord Vader was still in the window. He wasn’t. Gone, without a trace. 

As you resumed your work, you couldn’t help but wonder if Lord Vader had seen your encounter with Cage. 

~~~

You decided to stay up and work again that night. 

As soon as the last officer had left the hangar, you couldn’t help your giddy smile show as you threw off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor below you. You hated that thing. Always got in the way of your work. 

You had made some good progress since your scuffle with Cage earlier. You had gotten the computer to turn on for about three minutes now! Wow, this will totally keep Darth Vader from dying instantly in the middle of space. 

Although it was a small amount of time, you thought that it might be just enough for you to run a diagnostic. 

When you fiddled with the wires again and heard the computer come online, you quickly tapped a few buttons to tell it to run a diagnostic. When you got a beep of confirmation, you smiled and whispered a quiet YES! as a celebration. Oh boy, tonight was an extra-ration night for sure. 

Seeing as there was nothing you could do in the meantime, you allowed yourself a brief moment of rest while the ship searched for any internal problems. You stepped over to the circular opening that Lord Vader had cut into the ship and sat down, your legs dangling over the edge of the circle. Letting out a content sigh, you relaxed your shoulders and closed your eyes, letting your head roll back for a brief moment of relaxation. 

As you let yourself relax, you also had let your mind wonder, a brief moment of meditation so-to-speak.

I wonder what this damn computer is gonna spew back at me. I hope nothing too bad, this ship is already in bad shape as it is. What should I do tomorrow? What was with Cage today? Did I take one of his rations by accident? Lord Vader hasn’t come by yet. Maybe I should apologize to Cage. I miss Endor. Will Lord Vader come by tonight? I wonder what mom and dad would say about Cage if they were here. Did I weld that together? Am I doing a good job? Did Lord Vader see…

Lord Vader. 

Your moment, of course, was quickly interrupted. The sound of the door to the hangar opening, mechanical footsteps, and all too familiar breathing filled your ears, acting as one of the rudest alarm clocks you had ever had the displeasure of experiencing. 

You were frozen for a moment. You didn’t know how to conduct yourself. Should I jump down? Should I pretend to work? Should I pretend I didn’t hear him? Should I just stay still? Should I-

“Miss (L/N).” 

Your gaze shot up, your eyes widening a tad as you looked upon the sith. Sitting atop of his TIE allowed you to be at more his height, but you still felt small by comparison. His hands were wrapped around his belt, his shoulders gently rising and falling in sync with his mechanical breath as he stood, looking unquestionably right at you.

You had to gulp before you could choke out anything. 

“My Lord!” You decided to say, pushing yourself up to raise from your seated position. You quickly stopped, however, as he raised his hand to you. 

“You may skip the formalities for tonight, Miss (L/N).” He rumbled out, allowing his hand to meet his belt once again. “You know why I am here.” 

“Yes… Yes, of course.” you responded. You cleared your throat before speaking again.

“Since our last meeting, my Lord, I have made good progress. I have welded together any bits of metal that were in obvious need of repair, as well as replace some of the plates that I could do easily. I have also gotten the central computer to come back online for a short while. I’m running a diagnostic of the ship as we speak.” 

“Good.” He said, “I commend your efforts, (F/N) (L/N).” 

The small sentence of praise from him sent a shiver up your spine. A compliment? A real compliment that you could tell was real and not back-handed or sarcastic? Unbelievable. Want it even more unbelievable, (F/N)? It came from Darth Vader. Should you go to the medical bay in the morning? 

“Thank you, my Lord.” You decided to say, your voice small and quiet and your gaze faltering.

You were relieved when you heard the ding of the computer go off behind you. You were relieved that the diagnostic was actually able to finish, but even more relieved that you had something to busy yourself with that wasn’t having a championship staring match with Lord Vader. You mumbled out a quiet pardon before turning, retrieving your datapad to read the report the computer relayed back to you. 

He let you poke at the blue light for a moment before speaking again. “Anything of note you wish to add with your findings?” 

“I… I won’t know what the problems really are until the morning, my Lord.” you responded, weary to look up from the blue rectangle before you. 

He said nothing in response. It made you want to scream. How he would stand before you, watch you, speak to you made your body react with shivers, an increased heartbeat, and muddled thoughts. It was as if he had consumed your entire being, making you think of nothing but him and his ship. 

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t like it, deep down.

It was an awkward while of you proding in your datapad and him steadily breathing before either one of you spoke again. It was him who broke the silence. He was the braver one, after all. 

“Tell me, Miss (F/N). Do you enjoy your job here?” 

Literally everything about that you didn’t expect. 

He wanted to know about you? Why? Was this some sort of test? Mandatory survey? And Miss (F/N)? First name only? This had to be some sort of dream. You hadn’t been referred to as first name only in so long, it sounded so foregin to you. 

You looked back up to the sith lord. His stance had not changed one bit. 

“It’s…” You said slowly. You had to take a moment to think about the continuation of your sentence.

You really had to think about how you would respond.

You could play it safe. Say that you absolutely love it, (F/N). Yes, my Lord, I love my job AND the empire! We are legion!! 

As quickly as that thought came, it left. That would be a lie. You didn’t love this job at all. 

You thought deeper. You thought about the few acquaintances you had. You thought about the rations they gave you just to keep you alive and working. You thought about the uniform you hated and how hideous it made you feel at night. You thought about how you loved to fix things. You thought about the interactions you had with Cage. You thought about Endor. You thought about your parents. You thought about life before the Empire. You thought about home…

“It’s… acceptable.” You said eventually, resting your gaze on Lord Vader’s mask again. Your eyes were soft as you looked at him. They said everything that you had meant by those two words. He recognized that look of dealing with what you have, and missing what you had long ago. He would never admit this out loud, but deep, deep down in the bones he had left, he felt a twinge of an old feeling he had, long, long ago. 

“I... understand.” Darth Vader said flatly, his deep voice rattling your frame. 

You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t help but smile at the dark lord’s response.

For some odd reason, you did truly believe that he understood.

~~~

Probably the second rudest alarm clock you had ever had to experience came the next morning. 

The sound of a firm, hard, jolting knock woke you out of your sleep, making you gasp. When the knock came again, you hastily rubbed your eyes with one hand and shoved the blanket that adorned your cot off your body with the other. 

“C-Coming!” You called out sleepily, your voice thick and heavy with sleep. 

Breathing deep, you made your way over to the door of your quarters, slapping the button on the side of the doorframe to open the sheet of metal separating you from the outside.

“Miss (L/N).” a familiar voice said, forcing you to un-squint your eyes and look up at it’s source. You quickly assumed an attention stance as your brain processed who the voice belonged to. It was the officer from a few days ago, the one who had given you the assignment for Lord Vader’s TIE. He looked just the same as before, datapad in his hand and everything. 

“Y-Yes sir! How can I help you?” You asked, trying to force the sleep out of your voice. 

“Well, Miss (L/N),  now that I have your attention,” the officer said, “I have come here to give you your promotion.” 

“Pro...motion?” you echoed. Were you still asleep?

“Yes, promotion, Miss (L/N). Your new position, effective immediately. You will no longer be working in your respective hangar. We have moved your assignment and tools into your new workspace for you to start there this morning.” 

“I’m… My apologies, sir, but I’m not sure I understand…Could you tell me exactly what my new position is? This may be some sort of mistake and-”

“There is no mistake here, Miss (L/N),” the officer interjected, folding his hands behind his back, “You are repositioned, effective immediately. You now seem to be Lord Vader’s personal mechanic.”

Fucking what?

“Do not look so shocked, Miss (L/N),” the officer continued, a hint of amusement in his voice, “It is only natural that you receive this position. Lord Vader has expressed his interest in you personally, saying he will accept no one else for the role. Your new station will be Lord Vader’s private hangar just past the area of his quarters. You are to begin work there every morning from now on. You will be one of the few people allowed in and out of that area, so do be careful of keeping your privileges in line. You should be happy, Miss (L/N), you have proven to be a valuable asset to the Empire.”

TAGS: @spaghetti-666​ , @soullesstaco​ , @arsonistvoyager , @robin-obsessed , @glitter-rian​

[katewaliss]

! write with me or fight with me!

you either die by my sword or the most painful head canons imaginable! *merida vc* choose yer fate

just kidding!

 hey there gaymers, i am crissy! i am 22, live in pst, go by she/her pronouns and honestly would very much like a distraction from life -- preferably in the form of 1x1 and rp in general. i am currently doing online school plus trying/failing at adulting, being a crazy pink haired college student living on microwave dimsum with my crazy fluffy demon cat, but that still leaves me with a lot of time and what better way to spend that time then crying and dying, am i right, boys? 

so without further ado ( adieu? idk gusundheit ) here are a list of discomboblulated plot things that have been floating around in my head that i might be fun to do ( plot fragments, ideas, ocs, fcs i like, settings, genres etc )! i’d prefer a message if u liked any of these in the inbox or dm form, my tumblr ims are open and my discord user is mr. worldwide#2918 ( pitbull supremacy ) but if ur shy i will message u and be annoying! 

lastly: i prefer hcing in the dms to replies, however i will do replies/ask memes slowly, i don’t really like making blogs and prefer google docs/discord and i ask ( gently and respectfully ) that minors do not interact.

thank u and happy hunger games! xx

COLLEGE TOTALLY SPIES -- i was really obsessed with this picture right here and i thought that the picture would be a good premise for a little four person group based on totally spies. i was thinking that these three college students/young adults some friends maybe not some enemies or just on completely different ends of the social agenda get bonded together when they accidentally end up roped in a top secret spy organization that is fronted by a record store. the details and flesh of the plot i think would be cute to figure out all together maybe in a google doc or a big discord so we can make the rp to perfect world building specifications. right now i have two spots open! 

my friend lexi over at comradc has taken the cool goth asian girl and is using lyrica okano

i am playing the freckly backwards hat lesbian in the red polo named aj mccallis and i think im using diana silvers ( not sure might switch to tati rodriguez )

we also have the cute blond girl w the dyed hair who is giving me kind of like sydney sweeney energies, blonde girl maybe like lalisa manoban/jinsoul,

and we have the rad black girl with the bandids who i would only accept black fcs for for such as diamond white, ryan destiny, salem mitchell, 

i’d prefer if this stayed kind of sapphic and female and enby friendly. we can def make make npcs and characters but i’d prefer if the characters looked like they do in the picture ( minus the white girls who can be racebent as long as there are vibes ) mostly bc i want the poc people to stay the correct poc! but yeah! if u like this message me specifically!!!!! seperately and hit me w a role ud like maybe an fc an idea anything < 3 im working on a google doc and discord sever

- i really want to play a himbo skater boy evan mock like its my dream i know nothing abt him other than he probably goes by something like mouth or juice or tris or dex or dante but !!!! he has buzzed hair he buzzes designs into, does stick n pokes, hates cops, will kiss anyone, likes to mosh at house shows, smokes a lot and sounds like crush from finding nemo, probably ur parents worst nightmare if im honest rodrick heffley energy -- adopt him for any plot

- i also really am obsessed with simay barlas who is my mascot rn -- i want to play her in some sort of dark academia setting with like gossip girl blair waldorf energies lu from elite and have her be really mean and cold and pretentious and play the cello and probably have secrets and be uptight idk the name mallory is resonating hard w me ( we could even do a gossip girl the secret history type group if people liked that ) 

-ok i also really really want to play streak aka silas montgomery who is like very like sidekick best friend to the golden boy main character, does a kick ass goat impression, class clown, relentlessly hits on like the most difficult person in school, does crazy things for laughs and attention, just wants to make people happy, only wears hawaiian shirts, finger guns, is going nowhere in life, his dad is probably the dean at whatever prestigious school also he is very very depressed and drinks often! love u! a I Feel Like Im The Worst So I Always Act Like Im The Best electra heart baby PINTEREST

also yes his hair is pink reg verse he did it on a dare but hp verse he did a potion wrong and it never came out

SOMEONE DO A LADY HANNIBAL WILL GRAHAM RP KILLING EVE RP W ME! i made this will graham adjacent gal for a genderbent hannigram rp her name is bisexual disaster enida johnson and sometimes goes by needy or will bc her middle name is willamena! has basically all the will things wears flannels is a mess but has a bunch of cats instead of dogs in her woods log cabin and im using crystal reed bc it fits perfect in my head idk if u like her hmu hit me w a lady hannibal PINTEREST

other stuff

ok i really want to do a princess and knight plot but with knight zendaya and princess anya taylor joy ???? ALKHALKSHALK LITERALLY HELLO literally modern or like dnd style i do not care but know i love dnd! we could make it like them goin on some skyrim quests like hi

speaking of dnd and skyrim if anyone wants to do like anything based in dnd stuff or skyrim stuff i am DOWN

jennifers body plot!!!! maybe set in college!!!!! sounds spicy i will do a f/f or m/m version leggo leggo 

UNTIL DAWN UNTIL DAWN!!!! i wanted to do a little like 6 person or mumu until dawn thing where everyone either makes new characters or characters based on the existing six! i made a girl adjacent josh character named riley PINTEREST who i love very much ( fc might change im thinking maybe medallion rahimi ) pls hmu if ur down

i looooooove breakfast at tiffanys!!!! like i really love breakfast at tiffanys we love a call girl broody author ship and i want to play a mishti rahman holly golightly type character so so bad 

pygmalion plot!!! basically like an author and the main character of their book comes to life and the book character is probably from a different period of time or realm so doesnt know how to do modern 2020 stuff like microwaves and the tv! and then maybe they get sucked into the characters book world thats written by the author and have to navigate that! enchanted! w the kdrama! energy!

GOSSIP GIRL PLOT ENERGIES

any sort of the secret history murder society until dawn ahs horror type setting i am on a kick rn 

i still really want a deaf sailor and siren plot bc that is so spicy or even like anything involving sirens like maybe one thats like vegetarian and doesnt like to eat humans so it ariel rescues one and keeps it safe!! or like only men are susceptible to the sirens song but aha! i am a woman! Romance!

anything in the realm of percy jackson i love mythology lets go i kind of want a echo narcisuss plot and i want it to hurt me so bad 

i will do harry potter stuff but only if its completely removed from the current canon like years in the future no existing families also maybe beauxbatons salem and drumstrang plots bc thats what matters

iiiiiiiii really like anime so i will do anything kakegurui, soul eater, ohshc

i kind of like grew up on the hunger games so i will gladly take any hunger games plots like young effie and haymitch is spicy or like a career tribute and one of the weaker poorer distracts enemies to lovers leggo

i have a kind of oc that had their parents die in a factory gas leak that was the governments fault and it turned them into a vigilante assasin that is slowly picking off bootlicker government people one by one pretending to be one of them until bam! gets attached to the rich asshole son or daughter of the head hauncho or one of the higher ups ... drama

rich little celebrity fussy wussy being held captive by the mafia and the tired stoic mafia guard but they fall in love 

i kind of like any plot that involves one person that is really loud or angry or dramatic or whiny and the other one is kind of sweet and gentle or does not talk much idk make brain happy 

speaking of!

no nonsense law student studying abroad in a european country and an artist there falls in love w them and is all romantic and gush and is like ur my muse!!! and they are like Go awAy and they explore the city together and themelseves its nice!

i want to be an avan jogia super villain idk why i need to but i do 

not to be a disney adult bc i am not but anastasia princesses dont kiss kitchen boys 

rival cheer captians? best friends brother? pop princess celebrity singer and like antiestablishment really angry rockstar in a publicity relationship? broody detective and sunshiney diner person that works at the diner they eat at everyday?

idk i will think of more hmu these can all be made f/f or m/m if they arent 

[mudwingprince]

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 (here)

Disclaimer!:

two things

1. Please dont ship us, everything that happens in these are completely platonic :)

2. Everything thought or said about certain characters (*cough* isol) is not meant or actually thought, i love all of my friends dearly and would never say anything bad about them in a malicious manner

and onto the story we goooooo

tw: symptoms of clinical anxiety, illness (poison)

Even after a couple hours, the rain hadn’t subdued at all. My fur was wet. Gross. At least when we leave the tree there will be mud. I’ve always liked mud, that’s probably why my parents named me that. Where were my parents, anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before… Did my parents even name me themselves?

I stared out into the forest, the soft sound of rain pattering down on the leaves kept me calm, but alert. Isol could be out there, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I flicked my tail. It was heavy due to the rain. I blinked. It was a while since I saw rain. It was kind of nice. I glanced at Radi0, making sure he was still there. Yep. Still sleeping. I put my claw to my forehead and brushed my fur tuft to the side. Still there. We’re safe. Why am I afraid? I shouldn’t be. As soon as Radi0 wakes up we’d leave. We need to get as far away from here as possible. I need to find a way to hide our scents. Radi0’s is most important. He was human. He would have the strongest scent. The rain would make it harder for Isol to find us though, and it will wash away our trail. But we were here for so long, there’s no way that the scent wouldn’t stay. I picked up a nearby stick and started scratching at the dirt. It was like that for a while, the harsh crackle from the on-going fire and the soft pitter-patter of the rain. I started poking at a rock, I just needed to wait.

It felt like hours despite only being a couple minutes before Radi0 stirred in his sleep. He pushed himself up with a small grunt, his normally spiky hair had deflated. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked. And then rubbed at his eyes again, tense.

“Did you forget we left?” I asked, my voice low as I kept poking the rock. He let out a nervous laugh.

“Kind of,” He muttered. A pause.

“I grabbed berries?” I said, pushing the berries towards him. He hesitantly took them.

“Are… they poisonous?” Radi0 asked.

“Oh yeah, I would definitely poison you,” I said jokingly, “It’s not like we just saved each other from our homicidal friend.” Radi0 blinked at me. “What? I tried them first, they’re safe. We haven’t eaten in a couple days, I could survive without food but you can’t, so I thought you might like them.” Radi0 looked at the berries suspiciously, as if they would magically grow legs and walk away. Then he carefully put one in his mouth.

“How… long has it been since we last ate?” Radi0 asked, handing a berry to me. I tossed it and caught it between my teeth.

“A couple days?” I replied, and then shrugged. “It's kind of hard to tell when we were in that other place.”

“We should probably give it a name…” Radi0 said, eating another berry. “‘That Other Place’ doesn’t really seem fitting, and it might get confusing, there’s no way we’re going back there any time soon and we’re probably not going to stay here, so there’s bound to be a lot more ‘other places.’”

“Yeah, I was hoping we could get moving soon, I don’t want Isol to find our trail,” I muttered, picking the stick up again and fidgeting with it. “Do you have any names in mind?”

“N-No…” He said. A pause. “Were you really scared by a leaf?”

“Oh my god,” I said, covering my face. “I thought it was a giant bug that landed on me! No one will leave me alone because of it!” I laughed and started ripping the bark off of the stick. “It was really embarrassing.” I looked out to the forest again, picking at the bark. Then I looked at Radi0. He was holding two berries, looking at them in a somewhat disgusted way.

“Are you going to eat those?” I asked, he blinked at me.

“Yeah,” he replied hesitantly. “Why? Do you want one?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, honestly, I just didn’t want them to go to waste,” I shrugged, and directed my gaze back out to the forest. A droplet of rain fell onto my nose and I shook my head.

“Did you get any more sleep?”

“Huh?” I asked, tilting my head.

“You said you had a nightmare,” Radi0 said, putting another berry in his mouth. It seemed forced.

“Oh, uh, I just… wasn’t tired,” I lied. “We should, uh, get going.” I pushed myself up, reaching my talon down to help Radi0 up. He grabbed my talon and I pulled him off of the ground. We started walking through the rain in the opposite direction that we came from. We walked in silence for a while. I made sure to step in every puddle that we found, while Radi0 trudged along, slightly behind me. It didn’t ease the growing worry that Isol was out there somewhere, trying to find us, trying to kill us. She was our friend. They were my friend. I placed a claw on my forehead again. I’m safe with this. We’re safe with this. I can’t let Radi0 get hurt. If he dies, that’s it. There’s no coming back for him, unlike me. I need to protect him. I’ll be fine if I die. I’ll always come back as long as I have the c-

“Are you okay?”

I blinked, confused, then I nodded. Of course I was fine. I couldn’t not be fine. I had to protect him, and if I wasn’t okay, I wouldn’t be able to.

“Yeah, why?”

“You seem worried,” Radi0 said. “Do you want to talk about anything?”

“Nah,” I replied, dragging my hand away from my face. “I’m always worried anyway.” That only seemed to get Radi0 even more concerned. Ah, here you go again, Mud, fucking things up like always. “I-It’s not a bad thing though, I just need to keep everything in check, it’s nothing!” Radi0 looked at me as if I had lost my mind. I sighed. “It’s fine, really. Sure it can be stressful at times, but I’ve done it my entire life and I’m used to it,” I smiled at Radi0, then actually looked at him. He was pale and he had heavy bags under his eyes, his normally proud stance was huddled over. His hair was still deflated from earlier and he was clutching his stomach tightly.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” I asked, putting a talon on his shoulder. He looked at me, and hesitated before shaking his head. “W-What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t really know…” He muttered, rubbing his temples, “I think I’m just tired…?” I blinked at him. This didn’t really look like ‘just tired,’ it looked like a lot more than that. He looked… ill…

“Uh, how bad do you feel though?” I asked, lifting my talon from his shoulder. He let out a small, hoarse laugh.

“R-Really bad,” Radi0 sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “I just want to sleep and forget about all of this…” I knew how it felt to want to sleep everything off. I want to forget about all of this. Forget about Isol, forget about running away, forget about dying again, forget about it all. A bright flash lit the sky followed by a loud crash. I jumped at the sudden strike of light and loud boom frantically looking around, just in case Isol was preparing to pounce at the distraction.

“Do you think that you could make it a little longer?” I asked. “Just until the rain dies down a little?” He blinked at me and thought about it for a second, then nodded. I gave him a small smile, trying to be comforting, but probably failing. He was just fine yesterday, how could he have caught something already? Did the stress really lower his immune system that much?

“Okay,” I said, flicking my heavy, rain drenched tail, “But if you feel anything different then say something, okay?” He nodded and we continued walking at a slower pace. The rain dripped through the leaves of the thick forest, falling onto our heads and dampening our hair and fur even more. I tried not to think of much as we walked but I’ve never been one to be able to clear my mind. It was always racing, thinking about all of the bad things that have happened and all of the bad things to come. Isol is here. They’re looking for us. She’s looking for me. I was the one who managed to trick her. They thought I was dead. They really want me dead. She’s in the bushes. I know she is. She’s going to kill me. I’m dead. I’m going to die. At thirteen. I have so much to live for, this can’t happen. No, I have the c-

“H-Hey Mud?” I blinked and turned towards Radi0. “Is it okay if we stop, just for a little while?” I nodded at him and then looked around, searching for a good place to rest, just for the rest of the day… or until Radi0 was feeling a bit better…

All that I could see for miles were trees. Radi0 wouldn’t be able to climb them in the state that he’s in. The trees were tall and had large, sturdy leaves, leaves that hardly budged when the rain fell down on them. I thought for a moment, the vines that decorated the trees also seemed pretty sturdy, along with the thick branches. I started to walk towards one of the trees and grabbed a vine that was hanging down. Radi0 looked at me, confused and scared. I gave him a thumbs up as I tried hopping onto the vine. I slipped off easily and fell to the ground with a surprised squeak, soaked in mud and rain water. I stood up and shook myself off. Yeah, this would work!

“I’m going to climb this tree,” I said, pointing to the closest one. “Please don’t go anywhere, I’m not really up for searching for a sick teen right now.”

“I’m not-” Radi0 began to protest, his voice raspy, but before he could say anything else, I started climbing up the tree. The branches were slippery, so it was hard to get a foothold, and I stumbled trying to get to a somewhat-dry branch. There was finally a thick enough branch to hold the both of us, so I started working. First step, find a sturdy (and big) enough leaf.

This shouldn’t be that tricky, I thought as I looked around, standing on the branch. I reached up to grab a large leaf that hung above my head and I tried to pull it off of the tree. I let out a small, frustrated laugh as the leaf didn’t budge. I tried pulling it off again, this time with more force. Still nothing.

Really? I thought to myself, aggravated at the stubbornness of the leaf. It was kind of like me, frustrating and stubborn. Then I had an idea. I had claws, sharp claws nonetheless, why didn’t I think of that before? I walked towards the stem of the leaf and started sawing away at it. After five minutes of frustrated scratching, the leaf finally fell off.

“Yes,” I muttered, holding out the ‘s’. I grabbed the leaf and held it over the edge of the branch to show Radi0. “I GOT A LEAF!” I called down to him. He stood up from where he was leaning on the tree and looked at me.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked.

“SOMETHING!” I called back, and then returned to working on my strange contraption. Second step, find a vine that wouldn’t snap under the weight of two people. Maybe this one would be easier to find. I looked around again, there was a vine hanging from a nearby tree. I reached for it and tugged. It was good that it was sturdy, but it was also bad that it was that sturdy. Why did everything in this forest have to be so needlessly sturdy? I tugged on it again, trying not to fall off the tree in the process. If only there was a closer vine… I tugged again, this time harder, and the vine came loose, wrapping me up as I fell back onto the branch. I untangled myself and grabbed the leaf. Finally, step three, figure out how to make an ‘elevator’ out of this.

I had literally no clue how.

[sinkix]

《What your fav Haikyuu!! Character says about you│Nekoma Edition》

Yo-hoo! Here’s another part to this potential(?) series! I hope you enjoy the possible call-outs in some of these lmao. Writers block been kicking my ass recently but I had a lot of fun writing these. Enjoy <3

You can find the Karasuno ver. here 

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Kuroo:

Have a hand fetish and will not say no to choking.

Daddy kink™

Will not accept anything below 6 inches.

More of a dog person but would love to own a black cat.

You drool over tattoos.

Your grades are mostly B’s but you know in your heart you deserve that A, and tbh you probably do. Chase ur goals bby.

Halloween is likely your favourite holiday.

You have to resist not to carve a dick into the pumpkin EvEry GodDAmN YeAr.

You either study for 6 hours consecutively or cannot study at all and you get very frustrated at this.

Have the potential to be a good leader and command the room but probably don’t put it to use as much as you should.

Your playlist parkours from sad 3am crying into your pillow songs to aggressive punk music you could rob a store to.

You like bad boys who hang around bars and look like they would put out a cigarette on your forearm and call you a slut. Just stating facts sweaty xoxo.

Either dress very feminine and girly with a ‘smol girl uwu’ aesthetic or a hardass punk who would kick your ass for a can of beer no in between and tbh both are equally hot.

You’re a big softie at heart either way and just want to be held and told everything will be okay.

Ur a hoe for when people stroke your hair or caress your chin it’s your ultimate weakness.

Watched Rick & Morty.

Twice.

Sleeves rolled up veiny forearms and donning a silver watch are your muse and something you fantasise about frequently.

Most of your memes are shitty top text bottom texts that are somehow funny and I don’t understand why lmao.

You call someone ‘bro’ even if it’s someone you’re immensely attracted to.

Did someone say ties? No it’s just ur dirty ass thoughts thinking about that hot business dudes attire from across the street and how you wish they were tied around ur wrists.

Probably had a crush on Jeff the Killer as a tween and are relentlessly haunted by your old Wattpad library. 

Tbh any dark-haired dude with bedhead that screams rugged and probably not good for you is something that draws you like a moth to a flame.

You often question why every person you’ve fallen for has been a Scorpio and curse that tendency of yours.

Dw man they’re hot so I feel u.

Kenma:

Went through a ‘I’m not like other __’ phase and it’s something that you think about a lot and wish you didn’t.

Watched dan & phil as a kid.

Any mention of Pokemon has you turning into a rabid beast you get way too excited.

It’s cute though dw bby.

Pretty antisocial but interesting to talk to.

Your family often question how you’re able to sleep in till 3pm and judge you heavily for it.

Nocturnal night owl gang rise up.

Frequently have bags under your eyes but somehow manage to pull it off.

Listen to ASMR on the down-low and will never admit it to a single soul.

Frequently go on BL binges and have many related book marks.

You pray that someone will never find your laptop bc holy fuck the amount of smut on that.

You wear scarves & beanies even when it isn’t that cold outside.

100% went through a scene hair phase/attempted to.

You dye your hair a lot or REALLY want to.

You have a voice kink low-key so anyone with a pleasant/soothing sounding voice just gets u goin’.

Cats are your favourite animal and you either do or want to own several.

Would name them after video game/anime characters u fuckin nerd lol.

Speaking of cats ,you fantasise heavily about cat-boys and have a folder dedicated to them.

Oversized hoodies are your vibe and always ball the sleeve hems in your fist as a comfort mechanism.

Shopping centres are your worst nightmare and trigger your claustrophobia or social anxiety and honestly I feel that spiritually.

Have a cute sticky note collection.

You like a lot of music consisting of guitar and slow/soothing beats.

You also fw EDM/ techno on occasions.

Honestly wouldn’t wanna anger you since you have a seething temper when pushed far enough.

It’s the kinda temper that’s eerily quiet but no less terrifying, like the other person can tell you are graphically plotting their demise.

You love sleeping to the sound of rainfall and often play those nature ambience videos while you sleep.

Never tidy your sheets and it’s just a big scrunched up heap of fabric in the centre of your mattress most of the time.

Make your fucking bed.

Lev:

Your ships are chaotic and shamelessly controversial.

Would do something just for the sake of creating mayhem lmao.

You were the fucker who stuck their chewing gum under the desk, I see you.

Your brain never stops whirring it’s a constant hurricane of crackhead energy and you have no idea how to turn it off. 

Would eat a stick of pencil lead for $2

You don’t help your situation with the amount of coffee/energy drinks you consume.

The class clown who cries themselves to sleep.

Such a wholesome dumbass but somehow kinda intimidating??? 

Even if you’re not confident you can do something you’ll try anyway and honestly I respect that about you.

You !! use!!! a lot??!! of!! random punctuation!!! so you always??!?!? seem!!111!! excited!!!!!11!?

Every time you’ve ever tried to make a sandcastle it has failed.

You tried to eat the sand once but we don’t talk bout that.

You would  also pick up slugs and snails and chase your friends around with them.

Can never tell whether people are laughing with you or at you and while you don’t let it show it high-key bothers you when you’re laying alone in your room at night.

Not one to hold grudges, you carry a ‘shit happens’ mentality which is v good but it sometimes leads to people taking advantage of it or walking all over you.

Your meme collection is both questionable and horrifying.

Like how many cursed images and heavily distorted pictures does one person need.

Never organise the files on your PC/laptop so it looks like a complete dumpster fire.

The one at sleepovers who persistently woke everyone else up with their snickering and refusal to sleep till dawn.

For the love of Asahi charge your damn phone.

I see that red bar and ‘12%’

Charge it now.

Bought a plant one time, gave it a name and talked to it frequently.

It died not long after bc u forgot to fucking water it.

No one better ever make you responsible for a pet.

Type of person that when someone asks you to tag along on an endeavour no matter how stupid it is you will agree.

2am skydiving in france? hell yeah.

Midnight shopping spree and spending over half your pay check? count you in.

Exploring an abandoned hospital and performing an Ouija board to summon the demons of hell? you’re damn right you’ll be there.

I hope you have a mum friend by your side bc if not how are you still alive.

You sometimes put the milk in before the cereal and it’s something I’ll never forgive you for.

Yaku:

Very responsible and usually make the right decisions.

You do have moments where you act like a complete dumbass though.

Like u go from 50 year old to 5 year old in the blink of an eye.

A hopeless romantic but it’s a side you don’t often reveal.

Prefer strawberry milk over any other flavour.

You’re the type of person to shower twice a day w/o fail.

Where that stank smell coming from? Not you clearly bc your skin is basically 90% The Body Shop’s rose scented soap at this point.

You get stomach aches a lot and you can’t figure out why.

Probably an allergy to everyone’s bs.

Really good at dirty talk even though you don’t seem the type so people are always taken aback.

You have to be really in the mood though otherwise it falls flatter than Oikawa’s ass, use your skill wisely.

You often call people clowns when you know you’re secretly the biggest one going.

Honk honk, hoe.

You send messages in one paragraph rather than multiple texts unless you are REALLY excited.

People underestimate you at times then are shocked when they realise you are capable of being a fire-breathing dragon from the flaming pits of hell.

You like spicy chicken wings.

Such a petty little shit at times lmao.

Enjoy the view from the top of mountains so you either hike a lot or really want to.

Way more of a cat person since it’s just much more convenient for you.

Usually pretty cheerful or calm and people are drawn to your stable/friendly aura.

Went through a phase of drinking mountain dew and your body still feels the awful effects

Fav element is probably air.

You’re 5′6″ or shorter.

Box dyed your hair brunette several times and can never get the pigment out to this day.

Yamamoto:

Whenever you smell something weird in the room you always internally freak out and think it’s you.

Head-butting walls is your hobby.

You fell off your bike as a kid and still have the scar on your knee.

Probably have tons of ear piercings.

Would tame a pigeon and call it Larry.

You get frequent nosebleeds and can never tell if it’s a medical issue or your extreme simping for fictional men/women.

Hopefully the latter.

You constantly chew your pen/pencil in class so you never lend them to anyone out of embarrassment.

I really hope no one ever lends you stationery bc 30 minutes later it’ll look like it was mauled by a rabid rottweiler.

You really want to own a dog and would call it something intimidating like Banshee or Diablo.

You bleached your hair that one time and it almost fell out so now you’re forced to stay at least 10 metres away from all at-home hair dye products.

You tried your best though bby so A for effort, even if it did look like dehydrated ramen afterwards.

Your grades are mostly C’s and you’re barely passing bc you just don’t care about your classes lol.

Still though you’re actually pretty smart so put it to good use you lazy oaf, channel that crackhead energy into something good.

Your phone screen has several cracks in it from when you dropped it on the bathroom floor while shitting and you’ll always be angry at yourself for that.

You have some really weird quirks but you make it work.

Actually a v chill person but you just kinda attract chaos/trouble wherever you go.

Carry a lighter with you even when you don’t need one.

Shy texter but once people see you irl you are the complete opposite, you just dk how to text without coming across as awkward.

One of those people that’s unintentionally funny and always get confused when you make someone laugh but it makes you feel good regardless.

Have a cool necklace collection and own at least one dog-tag/army style pendant.

Should really consider buying a rabbit you would look so cute w/ one.

You have really nice legs and people should compliment them more.

Either severely dehydrated or overly hydrated to the point you are peeing pure tap water so for the love of god please learn moderation, your kidneys and bladder will thank you for it.

Inuoka:

Your favourite character would be Hinata but you like people taller than you so your love for Inuoka spawned.

You really enjoy using the double spiderman meme.

Cannot correctly verbalise your feelings without creating a minimum of 10 misunderstandings but once people are used to it it’s kinda endearing.

You usually wake up in a good mood and people can never fathom how or why.

You either stay up till 5am or you wake up at that time no in between.

A morning person bc you love the sunrise.

Change your lock-screen very regularly bc you get bored.

Your humour consists solely of poop jokes.

When you don’t understand a joke you laugh anyway and hope they don’t ask you if you actually get it.

Happened once and you’re still traumatised from the cricket silence that fell upon the room.

Really like the taste of lemonade and drink it more often than you should.

Often think about what you would look like with a shaved head.

More of an extrovert but def have occasional introvert tendencies where you wanna be left tf alone.

Never allowed to pick up anything in stores bc the last time you did you sniffed a scented candle and it shattered to the floor.

Constantly have spontaneous ideas of what to change about your appearance.

You use a lot of hand gestures like thumbs up and peace signs.

‘Dude’ and ‘lmao’ is 90% of your vernacular.

Your nails are a disaster, some are down to the nub while others are pretty grown out bc you only bite a select few please sort it out.

Look really good in red.

Your laptop has way too many tabs open from random google searches of words you didn’t know the meaning to.

You read a lot of books but for like 10 minutes at a time bc you have the attention span of a walnut.

You are the type of person to nuke your AO3 tags with things that aren’t even relevant purely bc you found them funny.

Your Tumblr drafts are a nightmare, you have like 100+ in the works yet keep starting new projects why do you do this.

Happy sunshine but you have a LOT of mood swings like that shit comes out of nowhere.

Cry pretty often but no one ever sees and it’s usually because of said mood swings.

You always smile and pick yourself up again though which I commend you for.

TYPES IN CAPITALS IN SITUATIONS THAT DO NOT REQUIRE SAID PUNCTUATION SO YOU SEEM LIKE YOU’RE YELLING ALL THE TIME.