#hold on lemme see if its available

[autumnoakes]

hm. its autumn. and that's one of my names. 🤔

[swxxtsxcchxrine]

I feel like i need more emphasis on Miguel's level of nasty because he is just messy. point blank period. imagine he's got you on all fours, your face is stuffed into the sheets of your shared bed, he has your arse in the air all the while his face is stuffed right in your pussy. he's sucking and slurping on your cunt from the back because he knows you like it. maybe too much. one hand is laying comfortably on your bum cheek while the other holds your hands in place on the small of your back to diminish any attempts you have to run away. not that you would anyways. his face moves up and down your slick slit, his tongue prodding at your tight hole. he groans in satisfaction as you push your hips into his face and cry out a silly version of his name. his hand squeezes your cheek in affirmation "that's it, bonita," he praises. his words go straight to your sticky cunny as he slurps loud enough for the neighbours and their mothers to hear. he lifted his head momentarily just to spit on your puckered hole: watching as the fat glob slides down the globe of your arse, not before catching it with a finger and sliding it in. he feels you tight hole squeeze as he stares in awe. he lowers his head back onto your throbbing clit and starts suckling on it, drinking up your sweet juices in tandem. he shakes his head from side to side receiving a high pitched sob from you in return. he brings down his heavy hand to slap your soft bum, hard. he rubs the sore spot as his finger continues to work on your ass. he's moaning and groaning, whining and whimpering into your cunt that he loves too much. "Miguel...you have to stop, i need a break PLEASE!" you plead no avail. infact, he pushes another finger into your tight hole. you silently plead he's not hoping to stuff his hefty cock into your puckered hole. it's already too overwhelming for you. he's still playing with your hot pussy while still at it with your rim. he removes his fingers from your asshole and watches it clench and unclench uncontrollably as your orgasm hits like a truck. he lewdly spreads your cheeks apart, mouth agape, watching your tight holes squeeze around empty air, waiting so patiently to be filled by his pretty, long, thick, heavy, pleasurable, delicious, tasty, mouth watering, eye rolling, name yelling, soul snatching, creaming and screaming, sobbing and rolling around the floor, toe curling, earth shattering, squirting fountains, mood lifting, dopamine giving, life changing, powerful thrust, pretty, dark brown tipped - remember nips match tips - veiny all over, a proper 8-9 inches, he's definitely a grower, he grows while he's inside of you so its the most delicious stretch everr, undeniably good, leg shaking, heart wrenching, name forgetting, drooling, mind dumbing, mind breaking, back arching COCK.

i'll glad be on my knees for THIS man. 🥴like im not even joking brooo ill do jumping jacks on the d just for him he can dump ALL the cum he wants in ME, i'll gladly be the mother of his children. i swear, ill be the perfect little wife for him. he wakes up in the morning to freshly made breakfast and coffee. his clothes are washed, dried and ironed to perfection. his shoes are clean and polished, his shower is already running at the perfect temp. he comes home from work? i'll great him with a fat kiss and a home cooked meal. the recliner is out the tv is on his favourite show, when he's getting ready for bed, its ready made, his clothes for tommorrow are out and im waiting for him in bed. i need him so bad he doesn't understand i'm so upset why isn't he real. like...who am i ever going to find thats gonna compare? will i ever find someone that compares, omg imagine if i don't...☠️☠️☠️☠️ see lemme not God forbid🙏🏾

🫨 (ignore that i just wanted to use the emoji ibr)

[simp4eshal]

Ballroom

Count Vronsky x poc!reader/OC(Arabella Von Jaga) (but she's mostly reader i just felt more comfortable giving her a name)

warnings: obsessive behavior, angst ??, smut, yearning, fluff, lemme know if i forgot something

In the dimly lit study of his opulent manor, Count Vronsky paced restlessly. His eyes burned with an intensity that betrayed his turmoil of emotions. It had been months since he had last laid eyes on her, months of sleepless nights and restless days spent yearning for the touch of her skin, the taste of her lips. His heart ached with a longing so powerful it threatened to consume him whole. She was his obsession, his raison d'être, and he would stop at nothing to make her his. Her name was Arabella, and she was the only thing that mattered in his world.

He paused before a large mirror, running his fingers through his unruly hair, trying to tame the wild beast that had taken over his appearance. His once-handsome face now bore the telltale signs of his all-consuming passion: dark circles ringed his eyes, his skin was pale and sallow, and his muscles were taut with unspent energy. Even his once-elegant attire seemed to reflect his inner turmoil, wrinkled and askew.

He could no longer deny it; he was losing his grip on reality. His thoughts were consumed with her, and his actions had become increasingly desperate. He had tried to fill the void with other women, but it was futile. They were but pale imitations of the one he truly loved. Arabella was his sun, his moon, his stars, and without her, he was nothing but a shadow of his former self.

Determined to take matters into his own hands, Vronsky gathered his most trusted servants and issued a decree. He would hold a grand ball in her honor, an extravaganza the likes of which the kingdom had never seen. The invitations were to be sent out far and wide, to every corner of the land, inviting everyone who was anyone to attend. The catch was that the ball would be by invitation only, and the only invitation that truly mattered would be in Arabella's hands.

For weeks, Vronsky's servants worked tirelessly to prepare the manor for the event, transforming it into a veritable wonderland of opulence and excess. Intricate tapestries hung from the ceilings, gleaming chandeliers cast their warm light across polished marble floors, and towering floral arrangements adorned every available surface. A full orchestra was hired to play throughout the night, their haunting melodies weaving in and out of the revelry.

As the appointed day finally dawned, Vronsky paced anxiously before the grand entrance, his heart hammering in his chest. He had spared no expense, had left no stone unturned, and yet he couldn't help but feel that it wasn't enough. He longed for her to be there, to see the depth of his devotion, to feel the weight of his obsession.

Dusk fell, and the first guests began to arrive, their opulent attire casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the ballroom. Ladies in shimmering gowns and gentlemen in finely tailored suits mingled amidst the fountains of champagne, their laughter and conversation filling the air. The orchestra played on, the music swirling around them like a living thing, weaving a seductive spell that enraptured everyone within earshot.

Vrronsky paced restlessly, his gaze darting about the room, searching for any sign of her. His heart felt as though it were being squeezed in a vise, the anticipation almost unbearable. He had invited every eligible bachelor and bachelorette in the kingdom, hoping that one of them might know where she was, might have heard a rumor or seen her somewhere. But so far, there was no sign of her.

Hours passed, and the ball reached its zenith. The guests, their appetites whetted by the endless feast and flowing champagne, had begun to let loose, dancing wildly to the orchestra's stirring melodies. Vrronsky, however, could not join in their revelry. His focus remained fixed on the grand entrance, willing it to swing open and reveal her.

As midnight approached, he grew desperate. He had to know if she would come, if she would accept his invitation. He spotted a servant hurrying across the ballroom and beckoned him over. The servant, out of breath from running, bowed low. "My lord, a messenger has arrived with a note for you." Vronsky snatched the envelope from the servant's trembling hand, his heart racing. With shaking fingers, he tore it open.

The note was brief, but it was all he needed to hear. In her delicate script, she had accepted his invitation, promising to attend the ball. He read it over and over again, the words losing their meaning as tears of relief and joy streamed down his face. He could feel the weight of his obsession lifting from his shoulders, a lightness in his chest that he hadn't experienced in years.

With renewed vigor, he rejoined the revelry, laughing and dancing with the other guests. He scarcely noticed the envious glances that were directed his way, for he was no longer concerned with the opinions of others. All that mattered was that she was coming, and soon she would be in his arms once more.

As the night wore on, the ball reached its climax. The orchestra struck up a new, haunting melody, and Vronsky could feel a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. He glanced at the grand entrance, willing it to swing open and reveal her. Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd, and all eyes turned towards the entrance. There, framed by the doorway, stood Arabella, resplendent in a gown of shimmering emerald silk that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, revealing the long, dainty column of her neck. She held a single red rose in one hand, its thorns glinting in the candlelight.

Vronsky's heart skipped a beat as he saw her, and he felt a surge of relief wash over him. She had come. She had accepted his invitation. With a graceful smile, she glided across the ballroom, her eyes never leaving his. As she drew closer, he could see the love and devotion reflected in her gaze, and he knew that she felt it too. They met in the center of the room, and without a word, they began to dance.

The music seemed to fade into the background as they moved together, their bodies in perfect sync. Their hands entwined, their fingers interlaced, and Vronsky felt as though he had found his anchor in the world once more. He could feel her heart beating against his chest, and the sensation was intoxicating. She leaned into him, her cheek resting against his shoulder, and he could feel her breath hot against his skin.

The other dancers seemed to fade away, leaving them alone in their own private universe. Time itself seemed to lose all meaning as they moved together, lost in the music and in each other. Their every touch was electric, every movement full of promise and passion. They danced until the orchestra had finished its final song, until the ballroom was empty and the candles had all burned down to stubs.

Finally, with a deep sigh, Vronsky lowered Arabella back onto the parquet floor and stepped back, his heart racing. She looked up at him with a mixture of exhaustion and contentment, her cheeks flushed from the exertion and the heat of their embrace. "Thank you," she breathed, her voice barely audible above the sound of their labored breathing. "That was... that was perfect."

He smiled down at her, his eyes taking in every detail of her face. Her lips were still slightly parted, her eyes shining with a mix of passion and desire. "I love you," he murmured, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. "You are my world, my reason for living."

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, they stood there, lost in each other. Then, slowly, Vronsky bent down and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was tender at first, a gentle exploration of each other's mouths, before growing more passionate. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, and he could feel her respond to his touch, her hips grinding against his.

With a groan, he swept her up into his arms, carrying her across the ballroom and into his private chambers. The candles flickered against the walls, casting soft shadows as he laid her down on the bed. She arched her back as he trailed his fingers down her neck and over her breasts, helpless and full of desire at the same time.

Their kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as they tore off each other's clothes. Vronsky kicked off his shoes and shucked out of his trousers, revealing his aroused length. He positioned himself between her legs, feeling her hot, wet folds against his skin. With a growl, he pushed forward, burying himself inside her. She cried out in pleasure, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as he began to move, driving deep inside her with each thrust.

Her body arched off the bed, meeting his each stroke with a grinding of their hips. Their sweat-slick skin slapped together in a rhythm that grew faster and more frenzied. The air was thick with the scent of their arousal, and the candlelight flickered against the walls, casting shadows that danced across their entwined forms.

As they moved together, lost in the intensity of their passion, Vronsky felt a building pressure deep within him. His thrusts became more urgent, more desperate, as he struggled to find release. He felt her body tense beneath him, her muscles clenching tight around him, and with a hoarse cry, she shuddered violently in his arms. Her inner walls gripped him tight, and he felt himself spill inside her, his climax overwhelming him in a wave of pleasure.

He collapsed on top of her, their sweat-slick bodies sticking together, his weight pinning her down. For a moment, they lay there, catching their breath, their hearts racing. Then, slowly, Vronsky rolled off of her, their entwined limbs separating with reluctance. He looked down at Arabella, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving, and felt a surge of love and possession course through him.

"You are my everything," he murmured, trailing his fingers down her stomach and over her hip. "My reason for living, my reason for breathing. No matter what happens, I will always be yours."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled up at him. "And I will always be yours," she whispered, her voice still husky from their passion. "Forever."

Vronsky felt a shiver of possessiveness run down his spine at her words. He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, and breathed in the sweet, feminine scent that clung to her skin. "You are mine, and I will never let you go," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "No one else will ever have you."

Their eyes locked, and he could see the heat of desire burning in her gaze. She reached up, tracing a finger down the line of his jaw, her touch sending shivers through his body. "I belong to you, Alexei" she whispered, her voice trembling. "I always have, and I always will."

[preservationofnormalcy]

[As I climb the multiple levels of stairs to the ranger tower, I take a moment to stop and reflect. I’m exhausted - after the hike to get here, the relief that I felt upon seeing the tower was tempered by the realization I had several flights of stairs ahead of me. I was in Washington State, flown here by my handlers to talk to seemingly the only Esoteric Ranger that would be available for the next month. Not for the first time, I wondered what it meant that they heavily suggested my interview subjects. The best person for the job, or the best PR face in the department?

I reach the top and stop again, and take a drink of water. A figure sitting inside the room at the top turns and sees me, and gets up to open the door. He is young, in his mid to late twenties, long brown hair done up in a bun, a large scraggly beard over the top of his ranger uniform. He has a look of amusement on his face, a sort of polite smile doing its best to cover up a smirk. His accent is thick, Appalachian, and his demeanor still manages to convey a sort of genial calm.]

S] Meghan, right?

M] Yeah. Hold on, let me…catch my breath.

S] Aint no worry. Take the time you need. I’ll just leave the door propped open. And if it helps, there’s iced tea in here waiting for you.

M] That does help. I’ll just….be a second.

[After a moment, I joined the man in the observation room. A cot, a shelf of supplies, a desk with a radio setup, a laptop on a table. A simple room for an apparently complex job. The tree-eye logo of the Rangers is plastered on many surfaces, well worn.]

M] Sheamus Doyle, right?

S] Yes ma’am.

M] I’m Meghan.

S] Pleasure to meet you. Lemme just….

[He takes a jug of iced tea from a minifridge and pours some into two mismatched cups, sitting at the small table and glancing at his laptop for a moment as I sit across from him.]

S] Pardon me, just watchin’ the ‘squatches.

M] Watching?

[He turns the screen around - a topographic map of the area is displayed, black with white lines, with about a dozen white dots congregating in two places.]

S] We’ve been watching the cryptid migrations. They been odd since….well, since. Ain’t been following their normal routes.

M] Is that what the Rangers do? I’m sure you know I’m here to ask questions, so….I guess that’ll be my first one.

S] A large part of it, yes ma’am. Cryptid watch.

M] I guess that’s the “catch and release” part of the poster I saw.

S] Mhmm. It’s hard work, y’know. Better here’n in the Everglades taggin’ skunk apes though.

M] Let me look at my notes…kind of scrambled after the hike here.

S] Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Everyone’s gotta do a stint in the firewatch, and we pull double duty takin’ notes on the ‘squatches while we’re here.

M] Tell me a little about the Esoteric Rangers.

S] We’re older than the Office is. Bet they ain’t told you that.

M] How so?

S] Office was founded in ‘27, right? E-Rangers were a secret division of the National Park Service, founded –

M] 1916, eleven years earlier.

S] That’s right. Even then they knew weird stuff happens in the forests, so they had a little bit earmarked for people to investigate or protect people from the weird stuff, and the weird stuff from people. When the Office came around later, we got folded into them instead. But by that time, y’know. Eleven years. That’s enough time for a place to develop a sort of….culture.

M] How do you mean?

S] We’re under the jurisdiction of the Office for the Preservation of Normalcy, ma’am, but between you an’ me, the Rangers have our own ways of doing things, our own rules. Was a requirement of the merger.

M] I see. So forested areas are your jurisdiction?

S] Anything that takes place on ‘r around a national park or a nature preserve usually has at least one of us onsite. We have our checklists, our methods for findin’ out what’s going on. Weird shit happens far from civilization.

M] Like what?

S] Reality sorta…gets weak, out here. I heard y’talked to Wren.

M] I did.

S] They’re always on about that noosphere stuff. Out here, with no people, noosphere kinda gets a little…wobbly. It’s like…if enough human minds are the bungee cords holdin’ down a tarp. It’s fine most of the time, but sometimes there’s a wind, you know? The noosphere don’t have the guidance to tell it what to do, so you get…

[He trailed off.]

M] What?

S] I seen weird shit, ma’am. Woodpeckers that move backwards, sealing up holes in trees. Hikers from twenty years ago, missing their faces. Places where the sun never shines, like that old song. Areas that looked like Lucifer’s vacation home, all burned and sulphur-smoke. Deer speakin’ in the voices of dead relatives, antlers shining blue. Gunshots where there shouldn’t be people. Realspace is weak out here. Veil gets thin when there ain’t no one to see it.

M] Is all that true?

S] As true as Mama’s promises.

M] Mmh. Tell me about the….cryptids. What is a cryptid? I know it’s like…unknown creatures, but for you they’re clearly….known, right?

[He sat back after a drink of his tea, giving a wince and a so-so gesture of his hand.]

S] That’s the mundane definition, yeah. The Office’s definition of a cryptid is….a creature whose existence ain’t really evolutionarily plausible, that would raise a lot a’ questions were it known. Jackalopes, you know, no other bunny has antlers, sort of thing. They probably didn’t evolve, per se, so…

M] What about the sasquatch? Wouldn’t it just be seen as a missing link?

[He nods, thinks for a second, looks at his computer, and then jerks his head to the door.]

S] Lemme show you something.

[On the platform outside, bolted onto the railing, is a telescope - or I assume it is. Attached to the long barrel of the device are a lot of wires, a plastic casing that looked like it housed a small electronic assembly, and a revolving series of lenses that look like they can be rotated into the eye ports like an optometrist’s testing machine. He looks into the scope, adjusting the lenses and a few knobs on the side of the device, and locks it into place.]

S] Here, take a look.

[I look into the scope - for a moment, I think there’s something wrong with it. I can see a clearing in the forest, and three….shapes. Smudges on the lenses? No, he’d have seen that. The shapes are blurry blobs from this distance, out of sync from their sharper surroundings. I’m about to take my eyes away from the scope and ask what I’m looking at when I feel him reach over and adjust the lenses again, rotating a new set into place. It’s accompanied by an electric click and a soft whine from the device, and now I can see them clearly. The three blobs were large, humanoid figures, covered head to toe in rusty brown fur. One stands guard in the clearing, while another sits on a stone, grooming the fur of a third, possibly a juvenile. They are...impossible. Majestic creatures, even from this distance.]

S] We call it an Obfuscation Field. They’re sort of always….blurry. In the 30’s we developed techniques to see through it, y’know, but it’s one of those things people can’t find out about.

M] Unbelievable.

S] Somethin’ wrong?

M] It’s just…this whole time, you know?

[He leaned on the railing, taking a vape pen out of his shirt pocket.]

S] Yeah, I heard they kind of threw you into all this. Sink ‘r swim. I wager most people get a slower introduction.

M] Did you?

[He took a hit of his vape pen.]

M] Should you be doing that on the job?

[He gave me an amused look, gesturing around to the forest. I could almost imagine a hypothetical camera comically zooming out to show the remoteness of the tower.]

S] Nah, I grew up in all this. My family’s been practicing “The Work”, so to speak, since they came here four or five generations ago. I never got the hang of witchcraft, myself. You get a dud every other generation, so they say. My sister’s a natural though, she’s interning with the Office in Archival.

M] Some people are sort of…born into knowing this stuff.

S] We call it being “in the community”. At a certain point it all blends together. Your family does folk magic at a certain level, you grow up with your best friend bein’ a lycan, that kinda thing.

M] I feel like I’ve missed out.

S] Ma’am, sometimes it’s more trouble’n it’s worth.

M] Yeah?

S] I love my friends, my family, but….you think I wouldn’t flick a switch, give all this up? Be Sheamus the hipster and not Sheamus the cryptid hunter? Be a hell of a lot more simple. Weird shit attracts more weird shit.

[He took another hit, exhaling a thick cloud. For a moment, shapes in the cloud coalesce - the prominent brow of an ape, a rabbit with antlers. I wonder if he was being modest about his lack of magic.]

M] I’m not really sure.

S] You’re letting it get to you, all of this. So quick, so extreme. I think you need an industrial grade chill pill, ma’am.

M] Maybe I do.

S] I got a guy coming in to bring me supplies tonight. Stay here, watch the sunset, you drive back with him.

M] Are you sure?

S] Hundred percent. Take the evenin’, ma’am. You need it.

(Buy the poster here!)

[riddles-n-games]

TIG Drabble #4-Avery and Jameson

A/N: Hey guys, this story is inspired by the additional photoshoot compilations I found from a little while back. Oh, and enjoy the little surprise at the end.

Breath in.

"Okay, Heiress. Take your stance. Good. Lemme just..." He placed his hands on her waist and adjusted her posture then went around to straighten her back.

One foot in front, one foot back. Equidistant, both facing forward. Make sure they are perfectly aligned in parallel.

Square the shoulders. Tuck in the chin.

"Relax your shoulders." He tapped her shoulder blades until he felt her drop them. She forgot to stop tensing. That was one thing Nash had told her time and time again but she just kept forgetting. It was hard not to. Every time she came here, every time she held a gun, it reminded her of then.

The shooting in the Black Wood, the airplane bomb, Sheffield Grayson... Whenever she heard something near the fireplace when she was alone, her body would freeze or tense. It was clear she developed a trigger reflex. She also avoided the passages. And the nightmares; she hated to be alone at night. She stowed away in Libby's room and if she was feeling bolder, she stayed with Jameson.

It was hard navigating a new relationship while fighting for your sanity and mental stability. But Jameson was supportive through it all and it didn't take her long before she confessed the real truth behind his mother's charges. She'd never seen him more serious or angry than that moment. It was why they were here now.

While Nash and Oren were training her to shoot, Jameson insisted being the one when they weren't available and also started teaching her martial arts and kickboxing. He was rigorous and passionate; she knew he'd been deeply affected. But he was trying and that was enough for her.

Being with Jameson was enough.

"Ok, I know Nash said you were still having some trouble with holding it so I got you one that I used to practice with. It’s a bit smaller too so it should be easier to hold.” He handed her the gun and she turned it over in her hands, taking in every inch, the rust, the scratches and the little dents. He had to have used it a long time. "It's a Col-"

"Colt Python, '95 model." Jameson's brows raised in surprise. Avery shrugged. "I may have been doing a little bit of research since Nash got me started."

"Uh-huh. Well then, you can tell me what kind of pistol that is once we’re done.” Avery turned to the table, locking in on the black glock that was on the edge. She was feeling wary just looking at it but she couldn’t deny the curiosity creeping in. “Now, show me your locked and loaded pose.”

She glanced at him through the safety glasses and pushed them back up before focusing on the target in front of her. Deep breaths. Roll back your shoulders. Your arms should be eye level and most importantly, remember that the gun is an extension of you.

As she was about to pull the trigger, her hands went clammy and started shaking. She tried to wipe away the sweat on her pants. The tremors weren't going away but Avery ignored that and refocused on the target, gripping the revolver tighter than before. She tried tensing her index finger against the trigger but it only started to react and trembled as if it had a mind of its own.

Soon enough, her well-positioned aim was wobbling around the center of the bullseye and the harder she held the gun, the sweatier the handle and looser her hold. She huffed frustratedly and she swiped furiously against her pant leg again. That was when a warm hand wrapped around hers and she looked up, startled, to see Jameson standing beside her. "Allow me."

He didn't make a move until she nodded and gently slid his hand to her wrist then brought his other hand around the handle. His fingers overlapped hers. A little up and to the right, he fixed her aim and with that, her breathing slowed. The tension started to lift.

"Just like that. You're doing great, Heiress," he murmured just as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. She smiled briefly but focused on their entwined hands. He steadied her. The shaking subsided; Jameson must have noticed because he gave her a reassuring squeeze then retracted his hand from hers.

He took hold of her free hand and placed it on the handle where his was previously. As soon as she had a comfortable hold, he let go and slowly unwrapped his other hand from her wrist. Avery looked at him and he nodded at her. "You can do this. I'm right here, Avery."

She nodded back at him and then faced the target again, inhaling sharply and holding her breath. This time her aim was poised and steady. Her finger pulled the trigger.

Breath out.

Bonus:

[delimeful]

carry them home (7)

warnings: illness, arguing, mentioned unwilling disordered eating, stressful situations, threats

-

It was good that Vee was so light, because Janus found himself carrying the changeling all the way back.

At first, he’d thought that perhaps the episode was less severe, since it hadn’t involved the gut-wrenching shrieks that he’d witnessed before, but the theory had fallen flat as the minutes dragged on. Back then, Vee had at least been coherent, talking and standing on his own shortly after the vision had run its course.

Whatever Vee was Seeing this time, it was taking far more out of him.

By the time Janus returned to the campsite, the soothsayer had fallen into a dazed, unresponsive state, staring right through Janus with that strange oil-spill substance still spilling from his eyes.

The other children didn’t react well.

“Put him down this instant!” Ro commanded furiously, the air warping with the force of the heat he was emitting.

Apparently, Vee hadn’t even deigned to inform them of his plan before gallivanting off with their pet hostage. Janus wished he had enough time to be properly annoyed about that little detail, but he sincerely doubted that they’d truly lost the Iron Guard. They could be relentless when they knew they’d caught the scent of a fae, and there were more ways than one to track quarry.

Especially when that quarry kept dripping an easily-followed trail of black ichor.

“The Guard is coming,” he replied, crouching low enough that he could convince his oath that he’d moved Vee down, and thus technically followed the order. “We have to move, or we’ll all be caught. Can Logan walk?”

“Wow! That’s awfully convenient,” Remus chimed in as he advanced, smiling with far too many teeth. “Lemme guess, you’ve got a place for us to head, too? Too bad you brought back our soothsayer all dazed and confused so he can’t check and see if it’s a trap or not.”

Janus resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. The two of them may have looked extremely similar, but they wore their anger in very different ways. Very inconvenient ways, since it would make it that much harder to convince the both of them with words alone. Patton wasn’t even present, probably busy watching over Logan if his condition really was as bad as Vee’s vision had foretold.

“What did you do to him?” Ro half-shouted, staring at Vee with blatant horror. His fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides, but he didn’t get closer, didn’t try to touch Vee or snap him out of his distant-eyed state. Was he afraid to get too close to Janus, or just to anyone?

“He took me to the town to get medicine,” Janus explained shortly, attempting for a moment to tug one of the packets from Vee’s grip to no avail. “We ran into a Guardsman on the way out, and Vee had an episode right in front of him, so they’re no doubt in pursuit. I am under oath to be honest about movements of the Iron Guard and other dangers to you all, and even more vitally, I will face the same danger as you if I’m caught aiding a gaggle of especially undersized fair folk, so can we move past the suspicion in time to make it out of this alive, please.”

Ro was bristling, sparks spiraling off of his skin, but Remus had stalked close enough to squash Vee’s face between his hands, and whatever he noticed there seemed to convince him of something.

“Specs can’t walk,” he said bluntly, ignoring the startled-offended crackle from Ro. “Lean forward, and I’ll take you to him.”

Ro was the one holding the blood oath’s leash, but Janus didn’t have any interest in forcing their hands. He bowed his head and leaned in, ignoring every shrieking instinct that told him to duck away as small, dusty hands planted themselves on either side of his forehead, fingers pressing against his temples firmly enough to make his skull ache.

The discomfort was almost enough to obscure the prickling sensation of something small and gritty being smeared against his skin. He jerked back slightly, and Remus released him, smiling that shark grin again.

“If you betray us, I’ll push a bunch of spores into your brain matter and grow zombie mushrooms out of your skeleton while you’re still alive,” he informed Janus, looking all too thrilled at the prospect.

Janus stared at the kid for a moment, trying and failing to find the appropriate emotional response to this information. “Wonderful. So be it. Are you satisfied? Can we escape a horrible, painful fate now, or would you like to sit here and add more restraints to the only human helping you on this entire continent?”

Remus cackled a little, something unrepentant and near-manic in his gaze. “Someone’s feeling bitchy!”

Janus couldn’t help the face he pulled at that, but neither twin reprimanded him for it, or for rising back to his feet with Vee still safely in his arms.

The sparse camp was already packed up, and they ducked further into the thick brush until a small, thorn-protected space amidst the trees revealed itself.

“Guys! You’re okay!” Patton was inside, and even his clear relief at seeing Vee and the twins unharmed couldn’t hide the way worry still hid in the wrinkles of his forehead.

At his side, Logan lay on his back, wings spread out on either side of him, his breathing heavy and strained. There was the damp shine of sweat on his skin, a raspy quality to each exhale, and despite the rustle of their arrival, he didn’t even twitch. He was in no state to go anywhere.

Janus swore mentally, and knelt to try and set Vee down on his feet, praying that the kid at least had the presence of mind to stay upright.

Vee kept his feet for about ten seconds after Janus let go, and then he was wavering to one side and his legs were crumpling beneath him, and Janus hissed out a swear as he caught the kid’s bony shoulders before he could topple completely.

“Language!” Patton said, but it was half hearted at best, and not a direct command anyhow, so Janus didn’t pay the comment any attention.

He glanced over the lot of them, and knew that there was no way any of the three would be able to haul even one of the two unconscious members without being slowed down far too much.

“Are you going to say we should leave one of them behind?” Remus asked, neck cracking uncannily as he tilted his head at a discomfiting angle. He hadn’t stopped staring at Janus with wide eyes and rigid posture, like a hunting dog straining at the end of a leash. “Are you going to try and make us choose?”

“If you would stop putting words with horrifying implications in my mouth, I would appreciate it oh-so much,” Janus replied, sharper than he should have. He inhaled, closing his eyes briefly, and then shed his coat and wrapped it loosely around Vee’s shoulders. “Help me get him onto my back.”

Remus narrowed his eyes slightly without losing the smile, like he was thinking of refusing just to be contrary, and it was Patton who stepped forward and took Vee’s weight while Janus turned around and crouched.

With a little maneuvering, they managed to get Vee propped up on Janus’s back, and he tied the arms and ends of his coat around his front, creating a sort of makeshift sling. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but Vee remained solidly in place even when Janus took a few testing steps and turns, so it would have to be good enough.

“Alright, pick up whatever you’re not leaving behind,” he instructed, and carefully slid a shoulder under Logan’s shoulders, pushing him up into a sitting position so he could carefully fold his wing closed.

Patton, who apparently traveled light, hovered anxiously for a moment before ducking forward to mirror the action on Logan’s other side. “You’ll be careful with him, right? He may be birdlike, but that doesn’t mean he’s untweetable, okay? We won’t give up, right?”

“I certainly wouldn’t be going to all this trouble if I meant to give up,” Janus told him, keeping his voice as soft as he could manage in the face of the kid’s obvious distress. “Vee got the medicine for him. All we need is a safe place to administer it, and the quicker we move, the faster we can make that happen.”

Patton nodded, those strange square pupils locked on his friend’s limp form. “Okay. Okay, got it.”

Logan’s expression pinched slightly as Janus wrapped an arm under his shoulders and wings, with the other looping around his knees, but he didn’t wake from the jostling. Probably for the best, seeing as Janus wasn’t the most reassuring face for him to see at the moment.

Janus braced as he moved to stand, only to find that Logan was startlingly light for his size. Hollow bones, possibly? He breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he hefted the kid fully into his arms, the task ahead feeling slightly less daunting.

There was a foreboding weakness in his arms, the result of too many skipped meals, but tucking Logan closer to his chest took some of the strain off, and Janus forced his mind away from it. No use in dwelling when there was nothing to be done.

“We’ve got to go. The town was south, so our heading should be any direction other than that. I’d advise sticking close to— no, wait, running water. I’d advise we head away from the river as well, so we don’t get pinned. Other than that, stealth is our best advantage.” He turned to face the three kids that were still on their feet. “Does anyone know how to cover tracks?”

A moment of silence, and then Ro hesitantly held up a flickering hand. “I could start a fire?”

Janus considered it, despite Patton’s unhappy expression at the idea. “Too risky. A single wrong turn, and we’d be in just as much danger.”

That, and he doubted Ro had the control necessary to keep the fire spreading into something catastrophic. The less people they had out for their blood, the better.

“It’s alright,” he said instead. “As long as we move fast and keep moving, it won’t matter if they can find our trail. I imagine Logan will be able to cast something to disguise it once he’s recovered.”

There were the right words. A little of their unease faded, and Janus turned and started off.

“Hey, wait!” Ro called, and Remus appeared at his side between one blink and the next. “Where are we going?”

“Away,” Janus emphasized, and then nodded at the forest ahead. “I can barely see past Logan, let alone pull out or read a map. I’ve given you all my advice, you’re the ones who should lead.”

He tried not to think about what the spores along his temples might do if the Guard caught them, if it seemed for even a moment that he’d betrayed them. No use dwelling, no use dwelling.

Remus was still watching him like a puzzle that needed to be figured out, but Ro had brightened at being put in charge of a task, and Janus followed in his heated-air wake, trying to keep his focus on the here and now.

Logan shifted slightly in his arms, turning his face against Janus’s torso as though attempting to hide from the sunlight. He made a small, raspy chirping sound before settling again, feathery ears at a less harsh angle than before.

He’d outmaneuvered the Guard before, and that was with only his life on the line. With his current burden, there was no other acceptable option than to repeat the feat.

No matter the cost.

[plutoccult]

HAIKYUU X THE OFFICE AU — EPISODE FOUR: OFFICE CHRISTMAS PARTY

pairing: sugawara koushi x female reader

description: it’s the holidays, and that means it’s time for the annual office christmas party where everyone participates in secret santa. much to sugawara’s delight, he has picked your name for secret santa this year and plans to make it count.

word count: 5.6k

also available to read on my ao3 here

author’s note: hello and happy holidays! i will admit i’ve been struggling to stay motivated with this series, but i have to remind myself that i’m mainly writing this for MY enjoyment at the end of the day. i’m the ultimate sugawara warrior and it shall stay that way. anyway, it’s christmastime, so of course i’m writing a christmas episode! i strayed away from parts of the episode quite a bit. this definitely has more focus on sugawara than the reader this time around, but i’m not mad about it. it’s nice to see an angsty, pining suga 🤭 i almost thought this would have to be split into two parts, but i’d rather keep it as one. i also made a playlist for sugawara and the reader a good bit ago, so here’s the link here (i am very much open to song suggestions)! i’m so excited to get closer to my favorite episode ever, and i hope you guys enjoy!

tags: @toorubobatea @cowgirlikets @dragon-slayer5 (ily ty for hyping me up) @femme-lune @kazuchaos @bakagun1312 @beingbrokenfitsus @mumblepingu @daedaep69 @darthferbert @intheewrld @msbyomimi @sukxma @akari-fujikawa

taglist form here

christmas was always the best time of year for the office. the holiday spirit was at its peak, everyone loved being a part of it, especially your boss, ukai. he took christmas more seriously than everyone else, even kiyoko who primarily handled planning the annual office christmas party each year. ukai took it so seriously that he chopped his own tree and brought it to the office building, dragging tanaka along in his shenanigans towards festive greatness.

tanaka huffed and puffed as he let go of the bottom half of the tree, ukai holding the top half. “ukai, i don’t think it’s gonna fit.”

“that’s what she said.” ukai joked, resisting the urge to snicker. it was like he was a child in a grown man’s body. plus, that joke aged like milk. only he found it funny.

“no, like, it’s really not gonna fit.” tanaka said.

“again, that’s what she—”

“WE CAN’T FIT THE GODDAMN TREE THROUGH THE DOOR, UKAI!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, completely frustrated with his boss. you could hear tanaka from your desk inside the office, but it came out muffled, so you couldn’t quite make out what was being said. you assumed it was idiotic activities as always.

“i’ll make it fit.” ukai insisted, the spirit of christmas granting him all the determination he needed.

“lemme guess, you’re gonna say that’s what she said, right?” tanaka let out a sigh.

“don’t make me fire you, tanaka.” ukai threatened.

“should’ve just got a fake tree.” tanaka rolled his eyes. yeah, that definitely would’ve worked just fine, but this was ukai here. the man was crazy. he would never do anything the normal way.

“i guess that would’ve worked…” ukai said as he pondered over how he would get this tree through the door, quickly thinking of his idea of the best way to do it. “alright, on three, we’re gonna shove this through and hope for the best. got it?”

“i guess?” no. tanaka didn’t get it, but he had no choice.

“too bad. one… two… THREE!”

with one big push, ukai and tanaka burst through the doors of the office. the tree toppled to the floor, bringing them along with it. the sound startled just about everyone, having been doing their typical duties. to you, it just felt like any other day, and you didn’t bother to help the two men.

tanaka fell face first into the pile of pine, aggressively coughing as he wiped any pine needles off his face. “i think i swallowed a pine needle.”

“well, merry fucking christmas.” ukai said enthusiastically. he seriously needed to be scolded over his cursing.

“ukai!”

•••

in the first time in, well, ever, suga was actually excited to be doing an interview for the documentary crew. why? because of this year’s secret santa.

“so this year, for the first time ever, i got finally y/n for secret santa. i’m pretty excited about it, and i really wanted to do something special for her, so i got her this teapot. as much coffee as she drinks here, y/n is way more of a tea person—i would know—so with this she can make tea at her desk.” suga said excitedly, showing off your gift for the camera.

“but i also stuffed it with some inside jokes, that’s what makes it so special, you know.” he continued, carefully digging through the teapot to show off said inside jokes. “like, this is my high school volleyball photo. she saw it fall out of my wallet on my first day here, and it really made her laugh. not sure why, but i’m letting her have it now.”

with the biggest grin on his face, suga dug through the teapot for more, pulling out a wasabi packet, but it wasn’t just any ordinary packet of wasabi. this had a story behind it, one that had meaning for suga.

“ooh. this is a wasabi packet. she put this on a hot dog a couple years ago because she thought it was relish.” he explained. “i thought it was really funny, so i kept the other two.”

after telling the wasabi story, suga held up a mini toy of a chili pepper with a kawaii face, but made a squeaking noise when someone squished it. poor sound guy jumped when it almost blasted his eardrums.

“this is actually a toy for dogs or babies or something, i don’t know.” suga shrugged. “but i saw it, it was cute, and it reminded me of awards night, so i thought; why not?”

but the most important gift of all—one that outsold everything in that teapot—was a card suga wrote just for you, detailing his feelings towards you all on paper. “and then, uh, this is a special card i wrote for y/n… because christmas is the time to tell people how you feel.”

oh, the documentary crew was going to eat this up.

•••

kiyoko and yachi were put up with the task of decorating for the party, forcing many of their coworkers to partake. they also had to deal with ukai’s hack job of a christmas tree. the two girls tried their best to salvage it, throwing as many ornaments and tinsel on it as possible, but it was a losing battle. it was just going to be an ugly tree, so they put the rest of their effort into decorating the conference room.

when it seemed like they were done with everything, kiyoko made her rounds, examining each decoration, but by the end, she wasn’t a fan. “i don’t like it.”

“you… don’t?” yachi questioned.

honestly, it was the perfect scene; red and green decorations perfectly put together, all strategically placed, but if kiyoko didn’t like it, then it simply meant that more work needed to be done.

“we need more lights.” kiyoko said. “i need someone tall.”

“count me out.” tsukishima, who sat down while drinking a soda, spoke up. he had been put through enough, he was tired of decorating.

“i wasn’t asking you, tsukki.” kiyoko rolled her eyes.

“only yamaguchi is allowed to call me that.” tsukishima said.

“whatever.” she scoffed. “uh, who’s super tall and buff…?”

kiyoko and yachi share a look. they instantly knew exactly who to find.

“asahi.” they say in unison.

not only were the two girls on the same page, they knew exactly how to rope asahi into this mess, and it was all up to yachi to get the job done. “asahi, help! i’m dying!”

“dying?! who’s dying?!” asahi bolted into the conference room, only to find no one was actually in trouble.

“i’m dying… for you to hang up these lights for us.” yachi said with a grin as she held up a roll of christmas lights.

he didn’t have much choice, so asahi let out a sigh before ultimately giving in. “okay…”

•••

“i found that asahi will do pretty much anything for me because he’s afraid i’ll be a scaredy cat around him again.” yachi spoke confidently to the camera while the party preparations were happening behind her. “he’d probably commit murder for me, who knows?”

asahi, who overheard her, yelled out in defense for himself. “that is NOT true!”

“keep hanging up those lights!” she yelled at asahi, who immediately went back to work, further solidifying her point. “see? he totally would. he’s the best.”

•••

right before the party was about to start, ukai exited his office dressed like santa. you immediately laugh and try to mask it with a cough, but ukai caught you anyways. “something funny, y/n?”

“yeah, you look ridiculous.” you snort, covering your mouth to muffle out your laughter.

“that’s the point. this party is supposed to be fun.” ukai said sassily. “i want everyone to let loose. i want this party to be reminiscent of my frat boy days.”

“you were in a frat? what was it called?” you ask him, intrigued to hear his answer.

“beta schmeta—” yeah, he wasn’t actually in a frat. “whatever. all i’m trying to say is i want everyone to get lit!”

you cringe at ukai’s use of outdated slang. “that is so seven years ago…”

“yeah, and i want it to happen anyway.” he said.

“your way of getting lit is drinking, and we’re not allowed to have liquor in the office, so...” you reply. you were always one to follow rules. well, for the most part, at least. it was hard to have any sort of structure at an office ran by someone like ukai.

“don’t… don’t remind me, dammit.” ukai cursed. “stupid corporate losers. like booze ever killed anybody.”

you always found your boss was painfully stupid at times, and this was definitely one of those times. but even so, you tried to combat it every time, always failing no matter what.

“but booze has killed—” you began to say.

“anyway!” he cut you off, tired of this conversation and ready to party. ukai then waved tanaka over to him so they could get the party started. “tanaka, let’s get this show on the road! announcement, everybody! listen to tanaka because he’s a better at yelling than me, as shown earlier when he yelled in my face!”

“yes, everybody listen up!” tanaka yelled out. “you better have your presents wrapped up and ready to go under the tree because we will not wait for you and you will be disqualified from secret santa! don’t be that guy! nobody likes to be that guy, so don’t be him!”

you let out a groan as you grab your present for secret santa from under your desk, eyeing the camera on your way to put it under the tree.

“please, don’t let this party suck ass.” you whisper to yourself. you hear tsukishima snicker behind you, an “ow!” soon following, assuming it was yamaguchi smacking him on the back of his head.

•••

“i love christmas. christmas is fun. it’s the best time of the year besides my birthday.” ukai said, still dressed like santa, knowing this would be seen on television one day. “why do i love christmas, you may ask? because i get free stuff, and who doesn’t love free stuff?”

•••

everyone gathered around the tree, placing their presents underneath. one could compare it to christmas morning with your family. some may argue that this office is like a family, while some may think otherwise, but regardless, it was nice for everyone to be together in harmony.

after daichi and tanaka argued over who would light up the tree—mainly because daichi didn’t trust him with outlets—tanaka was finally given the rein, or, well, extension cord.

“everybody ready?” he asked, a mix of nods and “uh-huh” in response.

“okay, and…” the tree is lit up, but it’s quite dim. “yikes.”

silence plagued the room. no one expected the lighting of the tree to be so anti-climatic, especially since the office makes such a big deal out of christmas every year. kiyoko practically wanted to die of embarrassment given she was responsible for the decorations, even if yachi was the one who brought in the lights from her apartment.

while no one said a word, you were the one to speak up, praising the tree for kiyoko and yachi’s sake. “well, i think the tree looks quite nice.”

“thanks, y/n, but you don’t have to lie.” yachi frowned.

“no, it’s a lovely tree.” ukai insisted. “let’s do secret santa now, okay? tanaka, pick who gets the first present.”

tanaka walked over to the tree and picked up a random present, reading who its intended for. “and it’s… tsukishima.”

“oh?” once handed the gift, tsukishima ripped away the wrapping paper to unveil a dinosaur plushie. much to everyone’s surprise, he was delighted by the gift. “aw, this is actually really nice.”

“oh, thank god.” nishinoya let out the biggest sigh of relief one could take. “that was from me.”

“wow, thanks, nishinoya.” tsukishima said with a smile. someone may as well pass out from shock now. christmas truly brought all types of miracles.

•••

“that is literally the nicest thing tsukishima will ever say to me!” nishinoya exclaimed. “i’m serious! i’ve officially peaked at life!”

•••

secret santa rolled along smoothly so far. suga ended up getting a card, which contained a twenty dollar bill inside, the limit for this year’s secret santa. kageyama claimed he didn’t know what to get, but suga wasn’t all too phased by it. who doesn��t like free money? besides, he was too eager for it to be your turn. luckily for him, it was happening right now.

“y/n, you’re next.” suga perked up once he heard your name, knowing your present would be from him.

you take the box from tanaka with a grin before opening up your gift. inside was the teapot suga spoke of to the documentary crew earlier, although you weren’t aware of its secret contents inside just yet, especially the card. you show off the teapot to your coworkers, and suga was notably the only one excited to see it in your hands. it made you wonder who your secret santa happened to be…

“wow, thank you very much, santa.” you say slyly. “whoever you are, you did good.”

“there’s a little more to it.” suga leaned over and said to you quietly.

oh. so your inkling of a suspicion was right, after all. now you were itching to see what was inside, but the office had to keep the show rolling, which completely distracted you from the anticipation.

“alright, next. asahi.” tanaka threw the present to asahi, which made ukai freak out.

“jesus, tanaka!” he yelled out. such a reaction instantly gave away that ukai was the one to get a gift for asahi. “easy, easy!”

moving on from ukai’s sudden outburst, asahi unwrapped his gift, shocked to see what was inside. “an ipad?”

yeah, ukai got asahi an ipad. asahi was just as shocked as everyone else, and he was the one to receive such a gift. clearly ukai felt he could bend the rules, but no one was happy about it, and it would surely be known soon enough.

“woah. wow. jeez. somebody really got carried away with the spirit of christmas...” ukai said, acting all nonchalant before he revealed himself as asahi’s secret santa, but everyone figures it out anyway. “that was me, i got a little carried away.”

“i don’t even know what to do with this…” asahi said to himself.

“ukai, you got way more than carried away.” you scolded your boss. “you spent god knows what on that thing! we had a limit!”

“okay, well, who cares?” ukai shrugged. “it doesn't matter what i spent. what matters is that christmas is fun, right?”

“it’s kind of unfair.” you cross your arms, but ukai could care less about your irritation, although everyone else was in agreement with you.

“whatever.” he rolled his eyes. “who’s next?”

“you are, ukai.” tanaka said.

“i am? great.” ukai was handed a small bag, opening it up and finding mittens inside, which he wasn’t happy about whatsoever. “really?”

“i knitted them myself…” yachi said shyly. she knew she should’ve knitted a scarf instead.

“mittens? pft, okay.” ukai then proceeded to walk out, confusing everyone.

“uh… did he just leave?”

•••

“these mittens? pathetic. i gave asahi an ipad for christ’s sake. i spent my hard earned money while yachi just did some fucking knitting.” ukai complained, unbothered by his cursing for the umpteenth time. “censor me, i don’t care!”

•••

left to their own devices, the employees of japan pulp and paper weren’t sure if they should continue secret santa without their boss. thankfully, ukai returned with a solution, although not a great one.

“i got it!” he burst through the office doors as if nothing happened. “we are going to turn secret santa into yankee swap.”

“what’s yankee swap?” suga questioned.

“one person chooses a gift, then the next person can either choose a gift or steal that person's gift. if your gift gets stolen, then you can steal somebody else's gift or choose a new gift.” ukai explained. it was confusing coming out of his mouth, but you were just going to roll with it anyway.

“yuck, why are we doing this?” tsukishima questioned, wanting absolutely no parts of ukai’s typical nonsense.

“because it's better, more special.” ukai replied. “duh.”

tsukishima wasn’t the only one who didn’t like this idea. kiyoko was practically fuming about it, especially since it spawned from ukai’s strong dislike towards yachi’s gift. “it’s mean, ukai. that’s what it is.”

“it’s not mean.” he said. kiyoko couldn’t believe how much of an ass he was being right now.

“yes, it is.” she argued. “you’re only doing this because you hate your present and you’re bitter yachi didn’t ball out for you like you did for asahi, which no one asked you to do, by the way.”

“no, it’s not.” ukai argued back. “just give it a shot.”

“i’d rather not, actually. i’ll be taking my present, which is…” kiyoko picked up a card with her name on it and opened it up. “a gift card for coffee. thanks, takeda. and whoever doesn’t want any part of this nonsense can take their gifts and hang with me in the conference room. yachi and i made sugar cookies and they’re very delicious.”

as kiyoko and yachi went to the conference for some real fun, suga followed, much to ukai’s surprise, including yours, although your boss was more vocal about it. “really, suga?”

“yeah, you guys have fun.” suga said before disappearing into the conference room.

“i’m coming too.” tsukishima stood up, clutching onto his new plushie. he couldn’t believe he and suga were on the same page for once. “for the sugar cookies, obviously.”

“yeah, okay.” suga snickered. well, not totally on the same page.

“shut up, sugawara.” tsukishima scoffed before dragging yamaguchi with him to the conference room.

as you watched suga leave with the others, part of you felt guilty. you wanted to follow him, but at the same time, you didn’t want to seem like a little puppy dog following its owner. besides, you were itching to get that ipad too. the teapot is just a teapot, right? you didn’t think there could be anything that special about it, but you couldn’t be more wrong right now.

•••

“why didn’t you opt out of yankee swap?” one of the crew members asked you, stirring the pot—or teapot—for the sake of the drama with suga.

“i don’t know. i thought it’d be fun.” you lie with a little shrug before revealing the whole truth. “plus, i kind of want to get the ipad. i can binge watch my shows with it while ryo hogs up the tv.”

this was totally ruining the crew’s spicy plans right now.

•••

while ukai’s yankee swap commenced, suga obsessively watched the events unravel from the conference room. he didn’t even try one of kiyoko and yachi’s sugar cookies yet. the man was a mess, hoping and praying that teapot wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. it was meant for you and only you, why would you chance giving it up? suga knew it had to be the ipad. he never hated ukai more than he did right now for buying that stupid thing.

the others sat around quietly playing christmas music, snacking on cookies and chatting in the midst of suga’s lovelorn crisis. kiyoko decided to go talk to him and figure out what was up with him, but she had to do a bit of warming up first.

“hey, suga.” she said, forcing him out of his trance. “who did you get for secret santa?”

“oh, um, i got y/n.” suga replied.

to be honest, kiyoko was shocked that suga was capable was picking out something so sweet, but then again, this was suga. of course he would do that. “aw, cute. i really like that teapot.”

“i put little inside jokes inside the teapot.” he added. “plus, um, a really personal card.”

“saying…?” she raised an eyebrow.

“nothing. it’s not important.” suga shook his head. such a terrible lie.

“i think it is, sugawara.” kiyoko said.

suga hated how kiyoko was catching up to him. why did he have to mention that the card was really personal? it was more than just personal, the poor sap poured his feelings out to you in that card. he read it over a dozen times, making sure there were no spelling or grammar mistakes whatsoever. his brain felt like mush by the time he felt the card had reached its best version. this gift had to be perfect, but it never stood a chance at being that way, it seemed.

he had to get the attention off his back before kiyoko fully got the picture of the gift’s important, and thankfully, he knew exactly where to push her buttons. as suga once said, manipulation at its finest.

“shouldn’t you be worried about tanaka giving up the gift you got him?” he questioned. yeah, he heard a little bit from the grapevine about that.

“how did you know?” kiyoko gasped. she knew someone had to snitch. “yachi, was it you?!”

“no, never!” yachi exclaimed.

“actually, daichi told me.” suga smirked.

“that bitch.” kiyoko cursed. it was one more reason to want to slap the shit out of daichi. “whatever. i don’t care what he does with my gift anyway…”

suga let out a chuckle knowing kiyoko was playing off her crush on tanaka—one that was much more innocent than how he felt about you, an engaged woman—but his laughter quickly faded when he looked back at what was going on outside. “oh no.”

“oh no, what?” kiyoko questioned.

“hinata has the teapot.” suga replied. he then let out a loud groan, one that caught the attention of tsukishima who was trying to figure out why suga was acting more of a weirdo than usual.

“oh god, he’ll break it.” yachi said with a quiet gasp.

“i can’t watch.” suga turned away, covering his face with his hands. this was too painful for him to bear.

“y/n took the ipad.” kiyoko spoke up. as if hearing that made this any better.

“please don’t commentate like it’s a football game, kiyoko.” suga whined.

“sorry…”

tsukishima furrowed his eyebrows as he watched suga wail in agony, then gave a look to the camera. he had a weird feeling about this.

•••

“i’m just going to throw a theory out there.” tsukishima said plainly. “you don’t have to say anything, but i can read your faces. sugawara has feelings for y/n, doesn’t he?”

the documentary crew was unsure how to respond, but tsukishima guessed it right instantly. they knew, one by one, slowly but surely, the whole office would figure it out.

“that’s what i thought.”

•••

yankee swap continued, and it only got worse from there. your teapot was passed around like a hot potato, and it was torturous for suga to watch it all unfold. the sparkling cider kiyoko brought just wasn’t sparkling enough for him to dull this soul-sucking ache in his heart.

“i have to get that teapot back.” suga said. “if y/n doesn’t want it, then no one else should have it…”

it’s true. not even because of the card, but because it was specifically catered for you. outside it was just a teapot, but inside was a plethora of memories from your years of friendship. suga may be hopelessly in love with you, but your friendship meant the world to him at the end of the day.

“that’s…” yamaguchi paused. there was only one way to describe this. “really depressing.”

“it’s cause he has feelings for her.” tsukishima blurted out. everyone turned and looked at him in shock. did he really just say that right now?

“do not!” suga protested.

this was suga’s worst nightmare. was it always obvious? did anyone else know? did you know already? the questions swirled in his head a mile a minute. he was absolutely freaking out. from you giving up the teapot to this fiasco, the holidays simply couldn’t get any worse for suga. he just couldn’t catch a break, it seemed.

“ha, you so do! i figured you out, sugawara. you’re in love with y/n.” tsukishima smirked, almost finding joy in his suffering. actually, he found joy in everyone’s suffering, so this wasn’t much different, but since it was suga, he found it much more thrilling.

“what do you want? money?” suga asked desperately. it was the only solution he could think of so this secret wouldn’t spill anywhere else.

and since he mentioned it, tsukishima wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. “yeah, gimme that twenty kageyama gave you.”

“suga, wait.” kiyoko stopped him. “do you really have feelings for y/n?”

ignoring her question, suga quickly handed the money to tsukishima. kiyoko couldn’t believe it. he really did have feelings for you, and now everyone in the room knew it. “oh my god…”

“this secret doesn’t leave this room.” suga demanded. he bought tsukishima’s silence, but luckily for him, everyone else didn’t need to be convinced with money. at least he hoped so...

now that he got that out of the way, suga checked in to see what was going on at the party, and it seemed like yankee swap had ended. worst of all, your teapot was nowhere in his sight. “wait, they’re dispersing. why are they dispersing?”

“ukai probably did something stupid and ruined the party even more.” tsukishima scoffed.

“who has the teapot? who has it?!” suga asked frantically like a madman.

“i think i see tanaka with it.” yachi said, pointing to him with what seemed like the teapot in his possession. it was worse than hinata having it, honestly, and suga needed it back now.

“NO!”

suga bolted out of the conference room, scanning the office floor to find tanaka. however, you walk up to him, holding the ipad in your hands. “hey! ukai left to get booze. he said screw the rules, i guess.”

“oh, really?” he asked. “great. i’ll need it.”

“yankee swap was kinda chaotic, but look who came out on top?” you say excitedly, showing him your new gift.

“that’s nice.” suga said quickly so he could get back to his mission. “uh, where’s tanaka?”

“break room.” you reply.

“great, thanks.” suga swiftly walked past you, abruptly ending your conversation. you found it a little odd, but ended up shrugging it off and heading back to your desk.

in a flash, suga walked into the break room, finding tanaka right where he needed him. “hey, tanaka. i need to talk to you. it’s about the teapot.”

“nuh-uh.” tanaka shook his head. he knew exactly what suga was up to, but he didn’t quite know the reason why, he just knew suga wanted that teapot. “don’t even, suga. this is mine.”

“really?” suga sighed. he had to get it back, someway, somehow. “look, it has sentimental value, tanaka. can i buy it from you? i’m willing to pay a lot.”

“no. i want it. i'm going to use it.” tanaka held it close to his chest like it was a baby.

“you don't even drink tea.” suga said.

“true.” tanaka shrugged. “but it lowkey looks like i could make a bong out of it.”

oh god. this was definitely way worse than hinata having the teapot.

•••

“to think that my gift for y/n will be used for that…” suga began to say, taking a deep breath, almost overcome with emotion. “it’s just too much for me.”

•••

suga walked out of the break room, absolutely defeated he couldn’t get the teapot back. even worse, he found you showing off your new gift to ryo, crushing him even more. despite the pang in his heart, suga couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.

“this is awesome.” he heard ryo say.

“i know.” you reply. “look at the quality on this thing. i can watch stuff in 4k on this.”

“yeah, i was gonna get you one of these for christmas, but now i don't have to since you got one for free.” he said happily, thrilled at the thought of not having to spend that much money on you. it made suga want to barf. “i'm gonna save a ton of money.”

“so what are you going to get me instead?” you ask him.

“i don't know. probably like, an ugly sweater or something.” ryo shrugged.

you look to the camera in disgust before their attention turned to ukai coming back to the office with bottles of alcohol. as if you needed more of that in your life after what happened last time you drank.

“ho, ho, ho!” ukai greeted everyone, on theme with his silly outfit. “santa has come with spirits, as in booze.”

“we’re really not supposed to serve alcohol, ukai…” takeda said, trying to keep his job by the end of the day.

“no one cares, specs.” ukai scoffed, typical when it came to talking to takeda. “it’s a party and it’s christmas! if i can't throw a good party for my employees, then i’m the worst boss ever, and that contradicts with my world’s best boss awards! so, who wants a drink?”

practically everyone raised their hands instantly.

•••

“if i’ve learned anything from my time at japan pulp and paper, it’s that alcohol solves all your problems.” ukai grinned. what terrible advice, the crew thought. “everyone’s having a good time, and why is that? alcohol. i’m such a good influence!”

•••

despite the whole secret santa fiasco, everyone seemed to be having a good time. at least now you could all have fun, even if it was with the help of alcohol. well, plus the food too. that too always helped.

while christmas music blared and many of your coworkers danced on the office floor, suga found you sitting behind your desk, wondering why you weren’t partaking in the festive shenanigans.

“you know, you don't have to answer calls during a party.” he said cheekily. “just thought you should know.”

“oh, i know.” you say, revealing the teapot to suga, showing that it was now yours once again. “i was just checking out my new teapot here.”

“what?” suga gasped. “but how?”

“well, it ended up with nishinoya after tanaka traded it for kiyoko’s gift, so i didn’t have to do much convincing to get it back.” you explained to him. “i figured, you know, letting it go was really stupid of me because what should matter most is that the gift is from you, so i went to get it back. i hope you’re not mad at me...”

it was a christmas miracle for suga, even if you simply just made a trade with nishinoya. of course he would give it up for the ipad. thank god he did, and thank god you were willing to let go of such a lucrative gift for one made with love instead. words couldn’t describe the relief suga felt right now.

“i’m glad, actually. and not to be totally biased right now, but this is an amazing gift because it comes with bonus gifts.” suga said. “look inside.”

suga’s reassurance put you at ease, and as directed, you look inside the teapot, pulling out his infamous volleyball photo. you had never been so happy to have that teapot. if only you knew before. “oh my god. no way.”

•••

you proudly hold up your teapot for the documentary crew, a huge grin on your face, one that only suga could bring out of you. “yeah, i think i made the right choice.”

•••

you looked through the rest of the contents in the teapot, and while you weren’t looking, suga stole the card he wrote back and shoved it in his pocket. he just couldn’t bring himself to let you read it. maybe someday, but not today. the timing is just wrong.

“is this a chili pepper?” you ask as you hold up the toy.

“yeah, cause you’re banned from chili’s. look, it makes noises.” suga squeezed the chili pepper, accidentally ghosting his fingers over yours, and you jump from the squeaking sound coming out of the chili pepper toy. totally not from his soft touch either.

you felt like an idiot for giving this up before. it helped you learn to not judge a book by its cover. you knew that’s something you learn as a kid, but sometimes you have to learn something all over again as an adult. at least you came to your senses. there was still so much for you to figure out.

“you’ve outdone yourself, suga.” you smile and look into suga’s eyes.

“it’s about time i got you for secret santa.” suga replied. god, why did you have to be so beautiful?

“yeah, it really has.“ you say, holding your gaze before gulping when you think you’ve been staring at him for too long. little did you know, he wouldn’t have minded looking into your eyes a little longer. “merry christmas, suga.”

if suga has learned anything about christmas, it’s that it’s definitely not the time to tell people how you feel. he knew that now, no matter how much it hurt. in his eyes, if you had to take some time to come around to fully accepting the teapot, then you had to take your time accepting a life without ryo, potentially in favor for a life with him instead. the only question now was when? it was only a matter of time before suga will grow impatient.

sometimes suga felt like he was better off shoving his feelings down his throat, and you felt the same way. what you have is beautifully complicated, but suga swore that one day he’d tell you how he felt. it just had to be the perfect time.

“merry christmas, y/n.”

© plutoccult / 310802. please do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my content in or outside of tumblr. reblogs are appreciated <3

[siren-141]

S for Johnny please 🙇‍♀️🤎

I know I'm two days late, I'm so sorry 💀 I got so busy all of a sudden but I have not gotten this out of my head since I started on it two days ago prompt: seduction – what do they say to make you melt? what's guaranteed to seduce them? warnings: unprotected sex, spanking, dirty talk, degradation, cute lil aftercare 18+ only, minors DNI

Soap gets seduced easily. it just takes one look from you, one subtle action for his eyes to darken and he knows what you want. but the way he seduces? the man is an expert in dirty talk – you’ve never heard it better from anyone in your life.

you’re walking around the house, the rest of the boys sitting around cleaning weapons, playing cards, doing anything to pass the time. you see Soap in the living room, sitting in a chair next to Price who’s on the couch sleeping.

“whatcha doin?” you ask him as you walk into the room.

“jus’ waitin’ for this TV to turn on, the damn thing takes forever,” he tossed the remote onto the table in front of him.

“oh, cool,” you smiled. it was quiet for a moment as you tinkered with whatever was on the cabinet across the room. walking over to him, you started your plan. “think I’m gonna go take a nap.”

you kissed him once and he smiled up at you, thumb brushing along your wrist. you kissed him again, smiling as you backed up and walked towards the room. his eyes widened, looking over at Price still asleep on the couch. getting up, he followed you to your assigned room, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

you stood at the edge of your bed, back turned to him as if you weren’t expecting him. as if you hadn’t beckoned him to follow you back.

he knew whenever you kissed him twice like that, that you were already wet – you weren’t considering it anymore, you had decided at that point that you needed him as soon as he was available, and luckily for you (and him), he was available right then and there.

strong arms wrapped around your smaller frame, pressing kisses to your neck as you hummed. you turned around in his arms, chest pressed against him as you looked up. “been needing you all day.”

“yeah? how bad?”

“bad.”

it was enough for him. his hand creeped up, brushing your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake. he grabbed the nape of your neck, holding you still as he leaned down to kiss you. his tongue immediately invaded your mouth, taking control and almost shocking you. you were expecting him to stay in a calm mood, but the way he was pulling moans from you with just a kiss made your panties soak.

“take it off,” his voice was demanding, and your hands scrambled to your waistband to pull your shorts down. before you could though, his grip on the nape of your neck tightened and he turned you around himself, pushing you down onto the edge of the bed.

he ripped your shorts off, dragging them down your legs to your feet and you could hear his belt unbuckle. “been prancin’ around all fuckin’ day with these tiny little shorts on and now you come up to me in front of fuckin’ Price and do that?”

“he- he was asleep though,” you protested, wiggling under his hold.

he spanked you, the slap ringing across the room and you whimpered.

in one motion, he buried himself in you, cock pressing in all the way to the hilt. your moan was pornographic, but cut short by the man behind you pushing your face into the mattress.

“you just want cock so fuckin’ bad, is that it?” he set a brutal pace from the beginning, letting your head up but still pushing you down in between your shoulder blades. “keep those pretty moans down lass, wouldn’t want the whole 141 to fuckin’ hear you.”

the very idea of the rest of the team hearing you and knowing that johnny was the one making you feel this way made you clench down hard around him.

“oh you’d like that wouldn’t you?” he groaned out from you tightening up around him. “you’d like them hearing you moan like a slut around me.”

“please johnny, please lemme cum, ‘m so close,” you pleaded with him, getting closer with each word.

he pistoned harder into you, hand grabbing a fistful of your shirt as he pushed you down more. “maybe I should call them in here and they can watch you, watch you come apart on my cock. watch you take me like the slut you are. then they’ll know that you’re mine.”

the idea of the entire 141 squad watching you be claimed by johnny sent you over the edge, your moan faltering into a high pitched whine as your vision went black, the strong orgasm washing over you. the way you squeezed around his cock was enough for him, thrusting in a few more times before he pushed deep into you, his cum shooting into you in spurts. both of his hands gripped your hips with enough force that you knew there would be marks.

you basically melted into the bed after you came down, the post-orgasm haze clouding your mind for a few minutes. you could feel johnny make patterns on your skin, running his hands over your ass and along your waist to soothe the both of you. pulling out slowly, he leaned over to kiss the side of your head.

“stay here, I’ll be right back,” he said quietly, leaving the room. when he returned, he had a warm cloth in his hand, gently cleaning you and him up.

“that was nice. you’re nice,” you mumbled to him, small smile on your face.

“you deserve it, lovey,” he pressed a kiss to your lips, repositioning you on the bed and pulling the covers over you. “now go take that nap you were planning on.”

you chuckled, forgetting all about the excuse you had made to get him in here in the first place.

[neverchecking]

Um hi I am 🪷 From clouds Page and I wanted to be it on here if it ok

I just wanted to say I really love your work

And I have a huge question It not a requests but a ask

I am autistic high functioning one but it still hard to do things that you don't understand and you have to have yours comer plushy

I have one and even though I am in my Earl 20's I am crying like a baby over my plushy I had snic I was a kid it a cute Pokemon one and it a cute little mew doll and my rabbit and stuff dog. But the got torn up by my sister dog and they are trying to fix it

What would the link boy do

I know sage would try a fix it with touch stuff that the reader would like. Also I just know the gop that is on the itam look so soft and like slim I would beIN playing with it for so long

So my question is how would the boys fix it or think of the reade beIN so over stimulated and can't stop crying and can't cop with out her stuff plushies and would they make a smiler one until the fix it

I know four would quickly get the plushy fix and time with the song of time

And fd is a god he can use powers but the others I am confused on

Sage would be using his hand

Sorry for the long question I am just in a stage of cleaning down and trying to wait for my other plushy.

FROM 🪷Aron p.s I am not good at spelling and my autocorrect is a meany

Hello 🪷anon! Don't worry, I know who you are! Your request is currently a work in progress! You totally can be 🪷anon!

I'm so sorry about what happened to your plushy. I totally understand as I'm nineteen, almost twenty, and have my own comfort plush. I know I would be absolutely devastated if anything happened to her (Her name is Princess and she's a pink poodle :)). I can't imagine what it would be like for someone with Autism. I'm not nearly as educated on the spectrum or what it entails, but I know a disturbance like that can be especially hard. (Please take no offence to what I'm saying, I'm trying not to make this sound as bad as its coming out.)

Now, Time, contrary to how he looks, does know how to sew. He's not exceptional at it, but it's certainly passible. Sure, it's a little wonky, maybe crooked, but it's evident that he put a lot of effort into it. While it's a work in progress however, or after the initial incident, he remains a steady rock for you! If your okay with physical touch during this time, he's holding you to his chest and humming a soft tune under his breath while gently rocking back and forth. If not, he's counting breaths in front of you, tapping off his fingers to help you regulate.

Twilight cannot sew. Point, blank, period. His hands are too clumsy and his movements too rough for the thin, fragile string. However, he knows people who can. If your near Ordon, he's asking Ilia or Uli. If not, he'll take it to a tailor in the nearby village. If your not near a village, he's sucking up his ego and asking Legend. His pelt is always available if you need it, but so are his arms. Lemme tell you, he gives the best hugs. If you don't wanna hug him, that's fine, maybe Wolfie will make you feel better? If you don't want any contact, that's just as okay! Wolfie with sit with you until you feel better!

Sky is tricky because while he can play the harp/lyra/whatever that thing is, I can't say I see him being able to sew. His hands are too used to the thick sturdiness of wood or the gentle plucking of the strings. The repetitive motions confuse him and he just knots the string over and over again. He doesn't wait to ask Legend or Time however, and he'll even use tears to get what he wants. Like Twilight, his sail cloth is always available to you, and he also gives pretty good hugs. If you want your space, he's pulling out his latest project and working on it beside you, hoping the repetitive noises and motions help you ground yourself.

Now, Wars can't sew well either. But he can. He's not going to put your biggest comfort item at risk for that. He's not sucking up to Legend however. No, he'll instead hand over the needed dough to the nearest Tailor or, hell, even Time to get it done as quickly as possible. His scarf is also always available. It's a good way to ground yourself as he'll sit with one end, wrapping and intertwining it around his fingers and urging you to follow.

Legend, my lovely little rat, is the best at sewing hands down. He'll remain by your side, letting you take whatever comfort needed (Physical or otherwise), while he sews your comfort item back to its rightful state. He won't shoot any quips, nor even have a harsh tone with you and anyone who dares to even try and tease you are gifted with a dirty glare.

Wild cannot sew. Period. He'll also bribe Legend with food of some sort or some ancient tech to do it for him while keeping you distracted with food prep. You don't even have to do anything, but sit there and look pretty. If you want physical comfort, sucks for the rest of the chain because they are now on their own for dinner as you become priority number one.

Hyrule can sew! With resources as scarce as they are in his world, he had to learn to preserve what he had. Which included repairing his tunics, pants, boots, etc., etc.. So, he jumps at the opportunity to fix your comfort item. It's done pretty well too! Now, Hyrule probably uses some sort of Fairy magic to calm you, through touch or otherwise, and also hums to keep you grounded.

Four can also sew! He'd fix it up right away! In fact, he'd probably split to speed up the process. One of the colors, probably Vio, would sew the item easily and quickly while the others worked on comforting you. Cuddles? Done. You wanna hear them sing? Give them a song, darling. You just want your space to process your emotions? They're steering the others away. And then, when they combine to give you back the object, Four doesn't leave until he's certain your doing okay again. :)

Wind (This is entirely platonic) cannot sew. But, he's the youngest, so he can use puppy dog eyes and get Legend or Hyrule or Time to bend to his will and do it for him. He is then either distracting you with a game or adventure or small hike, or sitting with you and telling you all sorts of stories about his journey as a pirate.

Sage can sew! He learned after his original Champion's tunic had taken one too many hits and he refused to ask Natura (His Zelda) to fix it, or use the one she was dead set on him using. Of course, he could also use his hand to help, using Recall if the incident is recent enough. If it's not, he's more than happy to fix it himself. He's offering you his hand to take should you want it, using it to pull you into his lap if that's acceptable in the situation. If not, he's sitting with you. He's all too aware of what's it's like to be so...overstimulated, so he's not asking anything. Not humming or singing. Just sitting and acting like an anchor for you.

Fierce Deity can't sew. He can use powers to an extent, but he mostly has to use his scary dog privileges to get a tailor to fix it. He's built like a tank and has a core like a furnace though, so he's perfect for cuddles. If you wanna sob into his chest, he won't do anything but shield you from the view of others. He's another one to offer silent comfort rather than any form of conversation.

Bonus! First can sew! Not badly, nor too well, but it's average. He's humming lowly while fixing the object before giving it to you. He's brushing your knuckles before pressing a kiss to them, tapping your breaths along each bump when he pulls away. His scarf is also available to you. Whatever you need, darling.

I really hope this makes you feel a bit better 🪷anon! I tried using the little bit of knowledge I had to make this as good as it can be. I wish you all the best and wish I could've gotten to this sooner.

With all my love,

Cinder XOXO

[totallyradicalmucky]

Wheatley almost burns the house down: a shortfic

I played portal 1 & 2 recently after being pestered by a friend. cool games that I recommend actually. Made a fic at like 3am after these funny guys stayed in my head after I beat the second game in its entirety.

[Wheatley, antsy as always leaped at the sight of Chell walking into their shared apartment..or more accurately- Chell’s apartment that he lived in ..after Aperture. His optic rotated, just bursting at the seems to tell her something new.]

“OH- It’s you! So gu- no. I’ve been doing some research on *human dating* ..and-! It’s spectacular, so fun. And- You’ll never guess what I’ve got planned! It’s a suprise! C’mon, c’mon guess! ask me! ask me! ask m-

[this goes on more a while]

[Chell smiles a little, opening her mouth to respond]

“I’M GOING TO MAKE A DINNER! That’s it! But you won’t know what I’m making! Haha! It could be ANYTHING! Anything- bloody delicious that is! Mmhmm- Got you where I want you. Got you- there. Hehe. Um. So you….hmmm..Sit there while I do all~ the work!”

[Chell’s face drops in horror as she watches the Android rush off to the kitchen]

[She scrambled about for a moment, already hearing the clanking of pots and pans. The woman grabbed a fire extinguisher from underneath the bathroom sink, turning around to already see smoke coming from the kitchen.]

[Chell makes a dash to Wheatley, who was cooking something unidentifiable in a pot as the food was covered in smoke by now. She points the fire extinguisher at the pot quickly, only hesitating when she hears the android]

“Wait wait- wait! Hey! But you- you can’t be in here! Th-this’ll ruin the surprise! What are you even doing with the uhh..“

[The pot catches fire, causing the smoke detector to go off. The Android yelps in response to the noise, optic shrinking to a small size at the mess he’d made, only to be completely covered up by fire extinguisher foam.]

[The fire alarm beeping stops after a few minutes, Chell waving the smoke away and taking the pot off the stove. All the while Wheatley is given a towel to wipe the foam from his optic. Looking embarrassed from his now stained shirt..despite his lack of facial features.]

“Y’know you uh..you know you really uh..didn’t have to do that because uhh. I had it under control and, well it was all part of the suprise I had for you! Yup, all part of my master..my master-surprise plan. Yup. Bloody genius I am…Um, what are..what’re y’ doing?”

[The Android’s head tilts, getting sidetracked from his own rambling as he watched Chell rifle through the cabinets of their kitchen. He walks a bit closer, ever the nosy core]

“Soo..gonna let me in on what you’re doing there? Lookin for something? Maybe? Possibly? What would this…mm -what’re you looking for? C’mon….let your ol’ pal Wheatley look! Can I see? Can I? Can I-Can I Caaaan i? C’mon! Lemme see!”

*The bot gets even closer, resting his “head” atop the woman as he drums his hands on her back to try and get her attention while she’s kneeled, looking in the cabinet. Squinting in, to try and see where she’s looking, to no avail. He hums, a bit pouty.]

[Chell exhaled a laugh, smiling even more as she triumphantly held up a cool book in the air. Already feeling Wheatley’s attention leaving her to stand up and grab the cook book, the woman chortles as she stands up to watch him.]

[The bot, a bit dumbfounded by the obvious answer to his mistake. Puts a hand on his hip. Turning around, choosing not to face Chell as she smiles at him so smartly..he still holds the cook book in the air. Waving it with each punctuation in his speech.]

“Ah. Now this- this would’ve been very..ah. Very useful. Yknow, should’ve-uh, could’ve thought of that myself. But uh..y’know -clever girl thinking of that so fast. Clever girl…smart too!…I ever say that? Very smart. S. M. A. R. T.”

[He flips through the pages in the cook book rather quickly, glancing at Chell. Then back at the book, squinting at it.]

“So. Uh, do you have any..preferences?”

[Chell snorted. Making the android deflate a little, so she walked over to him, pointing out few favorites before honing in on a somewhat decent one to make (together..of course). Already being able to tell that Wheatley was completely lost on the instructions. She smiled, very much so ready for the long night ahead of them both...and her dinner.]

[monstersandmaw]

TLDR: New fae romance/adventure story in the works, not up anywhere yet so hold your horses, will post/link on here when it is available.

Well, after finishing Season One of my long-running werewolf romance story and thinking I’d probably take things easy on the writing front, I’ve gone and written 8k+ words in a single day and actually plotted the whole effing thing out (seriously wtf I never do that) of a female human x male fae romance story.

(sorry for being extremely boring on the genders again; I am actually working on a part two for the m/m Victorian orc story too!! @severedreamerbeard don’t look at me or I’ll explode)

The new fae story is tropey af, and has ‘childhood best friends to ‘strangers’ as adults’ (it makes more sense in context), a little angst and a little mystery, a healthy father-son relationship, a 25yr old fem protagonist and love interest instead of an 18yr old x 1000yr old fae, a ‘roadtrip’ of sorts, a coup to foil, some danger, an absolute, arrogant loveable(???) ass of an Unseelie Prince who shows up at one point, and lots of adventure and some inhuman-ish shapeshifting too. And wings. Of both feathered and draconic varieties. Just for funsies.

Who’s excited?

If you are, I’m going to post it as a WIP, chapter by chapter in its entirety on Ko-fi first, and then I’ll give it all a full edit and see where I’m at. If you’ve recently supported me on Ko-fi, you should be able to access it (I part with a percentage of each of my Ko-fi earnings to allow that to happen), and if you want to read it (when it goes up - it’s not up there yet so don’t donate now [unless you wanted to anyway]!!) then all you have to do is donate one ko-fi/’cup of tea’ and you should be able to access it.

Oof. that was a bit of a garbled ramble, I’m sorry. Lemme know if you have questions.

[h0n3yk1tt3n]

4 17 22

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

I think for simplicity's sake I'm gonna say.. three. Tales From The Lagniappe, Pink Foam on Play Night, and the newly renamed freshman fic My Kingdom For a Whole Lotta Bullshit. TFTL is still pretty loose, MKFAWLB is still mostly comprised of old ass crumbs from 2018-2020, so here's a snippet for PFOPN

A simulated hand gave him a pat on the shoulder. “That’s your cue, slugger,” the SQUIP almost sang. Jeremy swallowed thickly, voice wavering. “She’ll do whatever I want.” “That’s what I promised.” It sounded so innocently proud of such a horrific feat, like a cat that'd brought a dying bird to the doorstep, the poor creature’s blood staining the concrete as it struggled to cling onto each weak breath it took. But the cat didn't know that its act of affection wouldn't translate the way it thought it would. Or it didn't care; you could never really tell what was going on in the cat's head. 

17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

Oh out of order as fuuuck. The Swamp Fever campaign (ch 14-17) of L2C was closer to being finished than Dead Center (ch 2-5) for a looong time before I finally focused more on finishing the chapters chronologically so they'd be done in time for posting.

22. Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style. (Person sending the ask is free to make suggestions).

Um. Funny story, that's like. Exactly what I'm doing with PFOPN and MKFAWLB lol. Pink Foam is a spiritual rewrite of The Play-centric chapters of my first fic and My Kingdom is going to completely overhaul what I was planning to do for this. (I was debating on whether to add onto this fic like it hasnt been 6yrs since ive touched or to just start over and rewrite the first couple of chapters. For archival purposes, im leaning toward the latter) So. Uh. Lemme see what I've got!

The SQUIP didn’t even need to actively fight Michael to make it difficult to give Jeremy the Red Dew, as his pained writhing was more than enough to make the task near impossible. It might’ve been easier to wrap him in a blanket burrito just to keep his limbs from flailing around, like he were a skittish cat that needed to be held still for a vet. But Michael didn’t have a blanket or some readily available equivalent, and straddling Jeremy wasn’t getting him very far, so the best he could do was try and restrain him from behind. This was more effective at keeping Jeremy still when it was a full body effort, but it didn’t give Michael the freedom to actually get the bottle open, so the victory was hollow.

A recently familiar clickity clack caught Jeremy’s ear, and thankfully Michael’s too, as he was waving a hand trying to flag down a certain popular kid on crutches. The context of Jeremy being locked between Michael’s legs on the ground was clearly lost on Jake, but they couldn’t really complain when he hobbled over to see what all the commotion was about.

“Jake! This is gonna sound weird, but if I hold down Jeremy, can you make him drink this Mountain Dew Red?” Michael tossed the bottle up to Jake, watching him catch it out of the air.

Jake looked between the bottle and the two of them for a moment, then flashed an annoyingly charming smile that anyone attracted to guys would swoon at. “Actually? That doesn’t sound weird at all.”

Thank fuck for chaotic theatre nonsense expanding Jake’s horizons on what constituted ‘weird.’

“Up, up, down, down, left, right, A.”

Jake hissed and winced at some internal pain - one that Jeremy immediately knew the cause of when he felt it too - bringing one hand up to his forehead. He grinned unnaturally wide and unscrewed the bottle's cap with just his thumb and index finger. Carbonation escaped with a fizzy hiss as the lid clicked against the ground and rolled under a prop dresser. Pastel soda foam poured over the lip of the bottle like a baking soda volcano before Jake turned the capsule upside down, letting all the Red Dew come down like a bloody waterfall with several glugs in rapid succession.

[istherewifiinhell]

its not necessarily my goal here to make anyone read or watch turtles. (tho maybe. you might like it) but seeing as in all of idws wisdom. their ultimate edition cuts non laird or eastman issues. lemme just hype for you.

[Mirage 16, Mark Martin, lettering Steve Lavinge... so says the wikia]

Martin's style has a cute newspaper strip look, and the turtles a toonier take on the original mirage no.1 look.

ID from alt: Two panels, a reflection of a child's face in a mug of liquid. They say "No, that's not right, really. It started seven years ago--". The reflection scatters into cosmic abstraction. Bubbless text: Seven Years. My whole life. Seems like they're fading awa--"

Also its available.. legally? at the mirage group site with art in better quality than i've captured here, tho also amusingly, with some errors still in it regarding which turtle is which. and the aesthetic theming of the site give me eye strain...

More caps belowwww

Id from alt: Four panels. The child staring at a bright flash in their hand "--Woops. There goes my cup." Standing holding a teddy bear. "I guess the little things go first. I'm gonna miss my teddy". Standing in a blank panel, bear under one arm, facing away. Bubbleless text: Where was I? Can't seem to --think-- like I useta. Oh yeah-- the time machine... I have a time machine. That's how we got here. Close up of the child facing directly to the viewer. "We're in the future now-- Your future, that is. I guess I shoulda told you that." END

[ID from alt: Leo, one curved sword tucked half hazardly in his belt, standing and pondering a large, stark white cube. He thinks "Now lemme get this straight-- Junkie grabs purse, turtles follow junkie into old abandoned warehouse, turtles recover purse, turtles return to owner via owner's dog... then... A big white cube appears. Okay. I'll buy that." END]

[ID from alt: Four panels, the child greets the turtles in each. A hug we see from behind the turtle, she says "Mike". A wider shot as she hugs another (bo staff on his back), he has on hand on her shoulder and looks to the camera with an question mark. She says "Don". Profile shot as she leans up to kiss ones beak, saying "Leon". His face is scrunched up. Close up we see from behind her, the turtle looks shocked. She says "Raphael" he replies "But-- I'm Mike!" END

1. A small lumpy creature with eye stalks hides behind a trash can. Narration reads "Well, there I was in all my glory. The greatest intellect on earth-- And its most Hideous Mistake!"

2. The being points one finger and proclaims "Yeah, I'm pretty darn smart alright. I was born with a total understanding of my situation-- And a plan!" The turtles stand in silhouette behind. END

[IDs from alt: 1. Four panels, one turtle faces directly to the viewer. "You must be Bobby, huh?. "Say, did you see a-- a thing with these, like, eyes run... through." He gestures to indicate the large eyes. He scowls slightly. Then looks concerned. "Can you talk?" Behind him as he speaks, another turtle seems to get into a fight with a curtain or other piece of fabric.

2. Three panels. First, the lead turtle leaning in now "Look, uh... Bobby... You don't know us but we need to talk about-- Well it's about--" Behind him more chaos unfolds. Second, another turtle whispering in his ear. Third, the other turtles grabbing each other friendly. Each smiling and saying "We just came by to say Welcome to MMMCCC" then "Yo, weclome aboard..." and "... Brother!" The lead turtle adds "Here's your slip--er. It's dry now-- uh-- see ya at the lab." END ID.

[cow-smells]

Party Favors (Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz / reader)

Request:  Can I have one for a Hawk smut where he’s having a little pool party and  the reader is usually always wearing modest/baggy clothing but she wore  a pretty sexy bikini to the party and everybody is shocked cuz she is  hiding a super nice body under all those clothing. Hawk gets a boner  seeing her and has to go inside the house to fix his problem and the  reader goes inside the house and catches him and offers him some help  and he’s shocked because she seems innocent. Basically a version of that  fast time at ridgemont high bikini scene lol  (for: @le-fashionmwah )​  

A/N: there’s been an influx of requests for Hawk smut so I really hope this hits the spot lol. felt really dirty writing this even tho its probs not that bad?? idk. lemme know. also, for some reason i only looked up that scene/movie halfway in to writing this, so i hope this is somewhat what you visioned

Words: 1582

Warnings: nsfw :)

Read on AO3

It had been a couple of months since your family moved to California, and you were loving it.

You befriended the Cobra Kais as soon as you started school and they had invited you to a pool party today at Sam's house.

You were a little bit reluctant to go at first, preferring to keep your weekends to yourself, reading a good book all curled up in one of the over sized hoodies you usually wore; that was, until Hawk came along.

    “Come on,” he whined to you a couple of days earlier. “Miguel's going to be all up in Sam's ass and I'll be bored as hell. You gotta come keep me company.”

You hated to admit it, but you were putty in his hands. You were nursing an ever growing crush on Hawk from the moment you first layed eyes on him; so naturally, you were easily convinced. You were desperate to make a move on him, but you were still new and friendless other then the Cobra Kais; you feared making a wrong move and losing them all.

    That is how you came to find yourself in Sam's back yard, trying to recognize familiar faces. You arrived with Miguel who as per Hawks prediction quickly abandoned you to chase after Sam, leaving you to fend for yourself. You scanned the yard filled with your peers; you couldn't recognize anyone – at least, not by name. Taking your phone out of your hoodie, you tried calling Hawk to no avail. He didn't pick up.

Assuming he wasn't answering because he was driving over (you didn't want to think he might have decided to pass on the party after convincing you to come), you decided to do the only thing there was left to do at a pool party – go for a swim.

    You took a deep breath and took hold of your over sized hoodie, pulling it up and off of you, leaving you in nothing but the new bikini you got just for this (and maybe, just maybe, for Hawk too).

    You didn't notice the many pairs of eyes that were suddenly focused on you.

Embracing the carefree air of the party, you jumped in to the deep end of the pool, letting your body sink for a moment before propelling yourself up to breathe. The cold water woke up your senses, letting you forget about your previous shyness if only a little. You swam to the edge of the pool and pushed yourself up to sit on the ledge.

    “You're the new girl,” a voice suddenly asked. Looking aside, it was a boy you recognized from English class. He allowed himself to take a seat by you. “sit behind me in English, right?”

    “Yeah,” you smile, happy to have been noticed. You two go on with your small talk for a little while until an extremely recognizable figure walked out the house.

    “Hawk!” you called, more eager than you probably should have. You excused yourself from the boy who acted as a pleasant distraction, rising to your feet and making your way over to him, your bikini dripping heavily.

    It took Hawk a heavy moment until he responded, his jaw slightly slacked as you came to stand in front of him.

    “Hi,” he finally said, feeling his mouth dry. Hawk had to train his eyes intensely on yours, lest they venture downwards.

    “Took you long enough,” you tease, nudging his arm playfully. “oh, sorry,” you apologize at seeing the spot you touched become dark with moisture. “I'm wet.”

    Yes, you are, Hawk thought to himself.

A slight gust of wind hits you, and you cross your arms under your chest, trying to preserve your heat.

    Hawk looks aside bashfully, heart pounding at your now even-further pronounced breasts. “I, um,” he mutters, “forgot my bike running. I'll be right back.”

Without a second glance to you, Hawk leaves in a rush.

You see him through a window and to your surprise, he doesn't leave the house. He detours to a bathroom.

You felt confused and slightly offended – what was the rush to leave you like that, after you greeted him so publicly too? Was he... embarrassed to be seen with you?

The negative thoughts began plaguing your mind; there was only one way to settle this, you decided. With that, you entered the house to confront him.

    You're two steps in to the living room when Moon gets an eyeful of you. “Damn, Y/n!” she surveys your scantily clad body with a grin. “You were hiding that under all those layers? Good for you, girl,” she winks. Your quest to Hawk continues with reddened cheeks and a little grin.

    You reach the bathroom you saw Hawk enter and knock, calling his name.

    “What?” Hawk replies, his voice strained and perhaps agitated.

    “I'm coming in,” you declare boldly, turning the door handle and prying it open.

    “No, don't -” Hawk begins, but it's too late. You're already in.

Hawk's face is red, his shirt is tousled – which brings your eyes down to his unbuttoned jeans, and a prominent bulge coming from them.

    Your eyes widen as you realize what you just walked in to. “Oh.”

Hawk looks just about ready to bury himself alive. “Would you get out already?”

You space out for a moment as your brain runs through the course of events. He walked in, saw you, left with a boner.

    Huh.

    “I can leave,” you finally reply. “or,” his eyes lighten in confusion. “I can help you out.”

    “Help – help me out?” Hawk stutters and he scolds himself for acting so timidly, like Eli rather than Hawk. He needed to regain control of the situation.

You shut the bathroom door, making sure to lock it. Walking up close to him, Hawk looks down at you, trying so hard to regain his composure. You sink down to your knees.

    He nearly protests, cowers away, asks what you're doing. But then he doesn't. He's Hawk, and Hawk doesn't back away when the girl he's infatuated with is eye-level with his dick. He stays put. He takes control.

Your hand goes to caress his hardness over his clothes. Hawk one-ups you and pushes his jeans and boxers down, revealing himself to you completely. His hand weaves through your hair, letting him see your expression better.

He's worried, for a moment, that he might have taken things too far, read you incorrectly. A thought that's quick to leave his mind once your tongue is on his tip.

    He thinks his heart might actually beat out of his chest. He would have never, not in his wildest dreams, be able to imagine this scenario happening in real life. Although he wanted you for a while now, he didn't think you returned his feelings. Besides that, you were usually modest, you clothing hiding your body under it and you never flirting with anyone. He'd never peg you for the type to go down on him in a bathroom during a party with half your school year just out the door.

    Hawk groans as you slide your tongue from his tip to his balls, cupping them in your hand. It's nearly overwhelming to him when you spit in your hand and begin to pump his shaft.

Hawks grip on your hair tightens; you take him in your mouth. Hawk can't help the throaty moan that leaves him as you take him as deeply as you can, hollowing your cheeks as you pull away.

His free hand comes behind your head and his fingers find the strings holding up your bikini, which he allows himself to pull on until they sever and the top of your bikini comes loose.

    Finally taking control, Hawk uses his grip on your hair to guide you on and off his dick, making you take him deeply enough you have to relax your throat to accommodate him.

    “You're such a good girl for me,” Hawk groans as he gazes down at you with his dick in your warm mouth. “you take me so well.”

Your heart swells at the compliment, at the clear pleasure you're bringing him.

    Hawks moans rise in volume and his hips rut gently forward while he holds your head in place. Without warning a gust of warm liquid pools in your mouth. Hawk pulls out and before you can think to move he cums, white strands painting your lips and cheeks before dripping down to your bare breasts.

You swallow what made it to your mouth and look at Hawk towering above you. He looked absolutely spent... and content.

Hawk helped you to your feet, this time allowing himself to stare at you to his hearts content. He helped you clean off your face before taking it in his hands and kissing you deeply. You couldn't believe you had managed to do all that before sharing your first kiss.

Breaking apart, Hawk lets his hands skim down your body, his thumbs flicking your nipples playfully before taking hold of your bikini strings and tying them back up behind your neck, leaving your breasts still covered with his cum underneath the fabric.

He finished tying the knot, kissing you once more. “You're my girl now.”

There's a question there, beneath the deceleration, so you nod. Feeling bolder than before, Hawk holds your hand as he leads you back to the pool.

[hiccanna-tidbits]

HICCANNA MONTH WEEK 3, DAY 5 - SCI-FI AU BLADE RUNNER

Next up for Hiccanna Month: Another fic idea that’s been bouncing around in my head like a Windows screensaver since 2015! GOD, I remember watching Blade Runner for the first time alone in my dorm room my freshman year, and just getting OBSESSED--and, of course, the first thing my brain does is start building an overly-detailed Hiccanna/RotBTFD AU longfic that I’ll never have time to write XD Idk, maybe someday???

WELL ANYWAYS. Figured y’all deserved to see the base concept that I get super obsessed with every now and again, even if I never do anything with it XD I’ve read the book the movie’s based off of, too, so some concepts from the book found their way in here as well. I also rewatched the movie for this, and lemme tell you, that shit holds up--like every other cyberpunk dystopia deadass wishes they could be Blade Runner (1982). How they did all those flying cars and futuristic buildings and shit with practical effects and mini-sets is beyond me.

Fic summary under the cut! As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request!

***

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was one of the best Blade Runners in Los Angeles back in the day. Not like he had much choice in his career; he comes from a long line of proud android hunters--strong, ruthless men who will do anything necessary to protect humanity from its own rogue AI creations. Hiccup trained to “retire” replicants since childhood--and with excellent tracking skills, sharp intellect, and ruthless pragmatism, he was very good at his job.

Natural talent or not, blade running wasn’t a job that Hiccup could stomach forever. Eventually the brutality took a toll--it became more and more of a weight to bear, killing beings who looked just a little too human. Hiccup decides to retire early (much to the chagrin of his late father, he’s sure), turning in his pistols and retreating to his high-rise apartment. The perks of a such a dangerous and taxing job were that it didn’t pay half bad, and Hiccup has plenty to support himself for a while. And that’s all that’s really needed--no wife, no girlfriend, no roommates, only one real friend.

Despite his success in his career, Hiccup is a lonely man. He’s never particularly connected with his coworkers, not finding much joy or satisfaction in retiring replicants. The women he tries his luck often as not find him too awkward or sulky or sarcastic--hardly the charming man with a vibrant life that many seek.

Hiccup’s best and only friend is an electric black cat, found in an alleyway after work one day and lured into his building with canned tuna and freeze-dried salmon. He doesn’t know the precise story behind the abandoned cat, but what he’s able to semi-confidently piece together (he is a detective, after all) is that the artificial cat was an attempted scam--pawned off as real, as so many high-quality, convincing electric animals are. Real animals are a rarity, most having died off as the world became choked with trash and pollution that apparently only the human animal could consistently stomach.

The cat could certainly pass as real--at first glance, anyways. In fact, Hiccup is initially shocked, wondering how he stumbled on a real flesh-and-blood feline in a city where practically everything else is artificial. When he gives the loud-meowing cat some dinner, though, he notices the teeth seem to slide in and out of the creature’s jaw as he eats in a way no organic cat’s would. Hiccup suspects this is what gave him away as a fake to whoever adopted him--and whoever must have thrown him out in the street.

Nevertheless, Hiccup knows what it is to be rejected. To be ostracized and excluded because you’re not what people want you to be. And someone needs to fix “Toothless”’s broken tail--which, upon closer inspection, is sparking every so often, too. Certainly a fire hazard if left to wander about the city.

Hiccup’s retirement is going rather well when things get upended. Toothless is good company, Hiccup can afford the nicest games and streaming services money can buy, and he even has time to indulge in a hobby he was always too busy for--tinkering with and fixing broken machinery.

Then one day, over his regular lunch of shrimp-and-beef ramen, his old boss shows up and says he’s needed for one last job.

Hiccup won’t hear of it. He’s done with killing and hurting and destroying things, no matter how much society would have him think it’s not “real” life. It turns out, however, that Hiccup’s boss isn’t letting go of his best Blade Runner so easily.

“Your cat,” he says. “Organic or electric?”

“Electric.”

Hiccup sees no reason to lie. If he claimed Toothless was organic and word got out, everyone and their mother would be trying to steal him.

“So his software is hooked into the Cloud, just like every other electric animal in the city. Their brains were built to share a network.”

Hiccup freezes.

“What I’m saying, Haddock, is that certain...city officials have access to the animal neurological networks in the Cloud. Sure would be a shame if Toothless’ got damaged...or shut down completely.”

And so Hiccup is on the case. There are four replicants total who must be retired, all rogues who got loose on a ship bound for Earth, killed all the human passengers, and hijacked the controls.

“Jack Frost,” the supposed leader, is tough-as-nails combat model built to withstand subzero temperatures and be far more flexible and agile than any human could hope to be. He’s wily and charismatic, as likely to try manipulating or sweet-talking you as shooting you.

“Merida,” another combat model, is the brawn of the group. Aggressive and ruthless, she’s not the sort to back out of a fight until her opponent is beyond dead.

“Rapunzel” has appropriately long blonde hair to match the fairy tale moniker, though she usually keeps it braided back and out of the way. She’s a standard pleasure bot, not an uncommon sight at exoplanet military outposts, but rumor has it she is not to be underestimated, and she’s not as soft as she looks.

“Anna” is another combat bot, although she’s not noted as being brutal like Merida or cunning like Jack. She is, according to her profile under her spinning head on the hologram screen, fairly average in every way.

Nonetheless, Hiccup can’t take his eyes off her. There’s an intriguing--almost playful--glint in her holographic eyes that draws him in.

He manages to track Anna down to a seedy part of town, finding out that she’s been forced to work as an “exotic dancer” of sorts to lay low while still paying the bills. He meets her backstage, claiming he needs to run a “safety inspection” on the premises, but it only takes a short conversation for Anna to see right through his cover. She attacks with superhuman strength, throwing him hard against a wall and making a run for it while the wind is knocked out of him.

Hiccup gives chase through grungy, neon-lit streets, nearly losing her among the raincoats and umbrellas of thick crowds a number of times. He finally corners her near a backalley, out-of-the-way clothing store, in a place where there are no cars or people or power boxes to hide behind. She dives through a display window, the effort of breaking glass slowing her down, and at last Hiccup has his chance.

Something stops him from pulling the trigger.

She turns and looks at him the second before he shoots, and her eyes are filled with blazing, palpable fear. The fear of a clearly sentient creature. Not so different from the fear Hiccup saw in Toothless’ eyes when he first met him, back when Hiccup was just another in a vast world of humans that only wanted to hurt him.

He lowers his gun, and watches as Anna scrambles into the darkness of the closed shop and out of sight. He starts home, feeling sick.

He knows he’ll have to kill her eventually...but not tonight. Not tonight.

He’s almost to his car when a cold, steely grip closes around his arm, yanking him into an alleyway. In the bright neon glow from the adjacent street, he recognizes the round face and tied-back head full of red curls immediately--Merida, the most vicious of the rogue replicants. She saw him shooting at Anna, her comrade and friend, and now he is deeply fucked.

It’s not much of a fight. Within seconds, Merida gains the upper hand--and is, to put it delicately, beating the ever-loving shit out of him. Hiccup makes his peace with the gods, recognizing that tragically, this is indeed an occupational hazard of being a Blade Runner.

She’s just about to land the killing blow when someone intervenes.

Shaken and battered, Hiccup gets to his feet. He leans against a wall, watching a blur of red and orange hair as he gets his breath back.

His rescuer, he realizes, is Anna.

Merida is hard to subdue, blinded by rage and lashing out wildly in her efforts to get back to Hiccup. Anna pleads for her to stop, trying to explain that Hiccup let her go--that he’s not worth killing if he could help them.

Hiccup realizes with a start that she must really believe that. Why else would she save his life?

Finally, the realization that Anna is alive and well--and not bleeding out from a gunshot wound outside some dingy shop--seems to sink in for Merida. She calms down and takes a step back, eyeing Hiccup with distaste.

“He’d better be useful,” she hisses. “Imagine of he really had killed yeh, huh? That’s jest what his lot do.”

She spits on Hiccup before stalking off.

After Merida leaves, Anna admits she followed Hiccup, wanting to know why a Blade Runner spared her. After a rather tense conversation--including but not limited to Anna painfully shoving Hiccup against a wall and conducting an impromptu interrogation--Hiccup admits the truth: He had to take the job to retire her and her friends because someone he loved would be in danger if he didn’t. Someone mechanical.

With a little more prodding, Hiccup admits that the people he used to work for threatened to deactivate Toothless if he didn’t dispose of the four rogue replicants “terrorizing the city.” Anna muses--half to herself--that she may be able to help. No one better to understand an artificial life form than another artificial life form, after all. And Anna has been to dozens of planets in all different types of spacecrafts and interfaced with hundreds of other AIs--if anyone understands AI coding and tampering, it’s her.

Besides, she saved his life. Him, a bounty hunter who got paid for killing beings like her. That has to count for something.

Before they know it, the two are forming a tentative alliance. Anna offers to take a look at Toothless’ software and try to figure out how to disconnect him from the cloud, thus cutting off any outside access to his neural circuits. In return, Hiccup will give her and her friends protection, ceasing his hunt for them for the time being and keeping their locations a secret from other Blade Runners.

With nowhere else for her to really go, Hiccup reluctantly tells Anna she can stay in the spare room of his apartment--only because she might be the only one who can potentially save Toothless, of course. That’s the only reason it’s worth the dangers. Hiccup supposes it’s just as well--easiest to keep her safe (so she can still be around to decode and free his cat) by keeping her close. Emotions can’t factor into this when replicants have none--not like humans do, anyway. Right?

It turns out Hiccup can’t stay nearly as detached as he hoped. The more Anna tries to figure Toothless out--muttering about his wires and his circuit board and his signals as she tinkers with the squirming feline--the more Hiccup tries to figure Anna out. She’s fascinated by the humans on earth--their food, their culture, their art. Their reverence for the biological and their utter disdain for the artificial. He often finds her asking for bites of his food (despite not needing to eat), or watching cars and ships pass out of his high-rise windows. She begs to tag along when he goes undercover in dingy parts of town, fascinated by the bustle of the crowds and the crammed markets with their shouting vendors and ever-flashing neon signs.

Protecting replicants, however, isn’t without its dangers—as Hiccup well suspected. His employers are becoming suspicious of his skills having grown so “rusty” that he misses every shot and he often just “can’t track the bastards down.” But as he grows closer to Anna and meets the rest of her friends, he realizes everything he’s been taught about replicants couldn’t be more wrong. 

They’re intelligent, and they can be kind, emotional, loving, good. Their brains and souls are just as “real” as any human’s. All they want is what anyone wants—to not be treated as lesser for things they can’t help.

As Hiccup’s bond with Anna grows, she opens up to him about the horrors she’s faced. Bloody battles on distant planets. The death of her “sister” Elsa, a replicant made in the same factory as her who was the first living being she ever met. From the same line of Nexus models as Jack, Elsa was built to withstand frigid subzero temperatures...but it wasn’t enough to protect her from being slaughtered by a hoard of newer, even more cold-tolerant models.

Together with the four replicants he’s supposed to be hunting, Hiccup eventually uncovers a horrifying truth--all replicants are programmed to shut down permanently after 4 years. A self-destruct “failsafe” put in because humans were scared of their creations growing and developing in ways they couldn’t predict. Becoming a little too self-aware, and realizing how sick they are of living as second-class citizens. Before he knows it, Hiccup finds himself on a mission more perilous than ever: Find out how to override the programming sending his new friends toward an early doom, all while dodging the wrath of employers who will no doubt think poorly of him for fraternizing with the enemy, to say the least.

And the fact that he’s falling in love with his bounty isn’t going to make things any easier.

[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 

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