#if you find this exact conversation familiar no you dont

[whosnooel]

You can see how I mid way discovered a way to make the face portraits NOT look bad quality.

Then forgot about it in the last one.

[w1shb0n3z]

Alright, so hear me out

(this is another long one. Like. Seriously. It has 2.6k words.)

*yes, I edited this like 5 mins after I posted it just to add some more, oops

Post cannon Labru where Laios tries to help Kabru regain weight

TW: ED, Body Dysmorphia, Fat-phobia, Gender Dysphoria

It turns out to he a huge body image thing. Like Kabru develops a bit of an ED after he gains his weight back and tries to stay "the perfect weight" and major body dysmorphia. But! It's very sweet because hand feeding, of course, and self-acceptance.

I imagine Kabru's blue eyes get brought up when Laios is like "oh, you don't like that about yourself? :( you're so wonderful! What else could you possibly not like! Surely not those eyes ^^" or something

Plus! I'm 98% sure that Laios gains some weight post cannon, so his wrestler build gets softer, which, yay! We love that here! But this comes with its positives and negatives. (Dont he scared by how big the negative paragraph is)

Positive: Kabru has an example of having a healthy relationship with yourself and your body

Negatives (and hold on) TW btw: at a certain point of Kabru's weight gain/ body acceptance journey, where he gets obsessed with keeping "the perfect body" and does everything in his power not to gain anymore, his own twisted view of himself spills over to Laios. He starts to view Laios as a sort of slob or careless person because he gained weight after the dungeon and gained an extra 5-ish pounds while helping Kabru gain. Because Laios can and will encourage Kabru to eat by eating with him with a smile on his face.

What if someone finds out about Kabru's purging?

Yes, Kabru has purged a few times while he was at his lowest. And no, Laios doesn't catch him in the act. He doesn't know until someone tells him about it. Kabru just keeps it to himself with a tinge of guilt. Someone else finds out. I can't decide who yet, but if it were:

Chilchuck - he'd be familiar with his topic because one of his daughters went through the same thing. He keeps secret as per Kabru's request but gives to Kabru straight. He tells him vomiting hat much rots your teeth and only has negative impacts in the future. With Chil being big and tall for his race's standards and him canonically watching his own weight, he talks Kabru through this whole body image thing. Maybe not in the exact way Kabru wants, but in the way he needs

Senshi - he's SO against this. He tries to father Kabru, but his own lack of understanding for why Labru feels this way gets in the way of progress. He urges Kabru to eat and tells Laios what's goin on in hopes of figuring out what all of this is about, accidentally spilling the beans and leading to conflict between Laios and Kabru

Marcille - she doesn't really get the ED thing, but she gets not liking your body (since she never fit in with her "age group" while growing up and wished she physically presented like them). She also tells Kabru that throwing up rots his teeth and says it's bad for your mana and junk. Shes very offput by this whole thing, but she tries. She doesn't tell Laios...on purpose. (Falin also finds out becuase the guilt Marcille has from telling that secret ears her alive)

Falin - my girl does NOT understand. But she's here to empathize. She ends up being huge in Kabru's healing journey. She tries to check in on bim every now and then and uses her own transformation to promote body acceptance

Izutsumi - she doesn't know what to do. She's 17 goddamn it. So when she hears Kabru throwing up she just assumes he's sick, but when she keeps hearing it she gets a little stressed about him. She goes "he's just weird" and mentions it in conversation to someone else, most likely Marcille (which probably led to Marcille finding out in the earlier paragraph)

Mickbell...somehow - is like "dude wtf" and tells Rin about it since he knows there close. He's worried, yeah, but he doesn't think its really his problem. Especially since the two fo them aren't close like that.

Kuro - he finds out and tells Rin as well, he also tells Kabru that he looks fine. He mentions it to Mickbell, yeah, but in a "Will he be okay? :(" way

Rin - devastated. She initially gives Kabru a hard talk...which makes him worse, but hey! She tried. Rin then thinks its becuase of the shame of dying many times and tries to comfort Kabru again. Doesn't work. She tries to get him to eat the things he likes. He eats them, but she can sense the guilt from Kabru. They then have a heart to heart becuase Rin can't stand to see her best friend suffer like this and assures him that he looks fine as often as he needs

Holm - he takes a simular approach as Falin but gets a little more involved. He understands it on paper, but can't image what actually having these issues is like. Yes, he also informs Rin and is the one that told her to try to speak to Kabru in a less...prickly manner about this touchy subject

Daya - She doesnt realise what Kabru was trying to achieve by puking. So she just advises him not to do so and tells Rin about the strange behavior.

How does this affect non-platonic Labru?

Easy!

Well for starters! If they were boning before, they aren't now LMAO

Partly because of Kabru's own body image being trash and his attraction to Laios (temporarily) going to shit after Laios gained some weight to encourage Kabru. Damn that internalized fat-phobia. Neither one of them seems to have a clue what's going on. Let word, seems.

Kabru knows his view of Laios just isn't the same, but he doesn't let it be known that he's aware of this.

Does he feel bad? Yeah. But he only feels bad because he doesn't feel bad. He feels as though he's a shitty boyfriend for harboring such disgust for his partner's figure

Laios catches Kabru stealing glances at himself in the mirror. Staring just a little too long. Laios deduces that Kabru's feeling a little self-conscious after some hard thought.

So, of course, he makes sure to be extra careful about his words. He'd totally be like that one meme (which I can't find) that goes: "damn girl, that ass is wide" "what??" "I didn't want to say fat and trigger your eating disorders :/"

Plus, on the not boning thing, they're busy. You got a king and his advisor, they're not gonna be cranking it up every night! They simply sleep together, in a literal sense most nights anyways, so more sleep isn't anything bad

Additionally, I don't believe Laios has a high sex drive at all. (I personally think he's on the asexual spectrum, maybe because I'm ace, but still)

Kabru won't initiate a thing at the moment, it's up to Laio's sporadic desires to get things going. (It never gets going)

What if Laios discovers Kabru's feelings towards him and the purging?

He's hurt, simply put. He can't understand why Kabru dislikes his body, Laios can't understand why his own body would be such a turn off now.

In the non-platonic vers Laios tries to become "sexy" again. ....He fails horribly and ends up making a fool out if himself. At first he's like, "well monsters do this to attract mates" right after he feels as though he needs to inprove upon himself. Then he goes "no... Kabru isnt a monster, and im not either (unfortunately)"

He pushes that silly thought aside and tries to find out *why* Kabru is turned off by his looks now. His face? No.. His hair? Just got it cut. His figure? ...but why?

Laios goes right up to Kabru and confronts him about it. Kabru being the slippery bitch that he is denies it and goes "lol wtf haha! I luv u bae and there's nothing wrong with u!! ur so sexy and hot haha..."

This, inevitably, confused the shit out of Laios and he asks for honesty. Kabrus actions aren't exactly aligning with his words, and something needs to he done.

[Okay, let's be real here. If Kabru didn't want Laios to know how he felt, Laios' ass would NOT know lmao. This is just for the bit]

Now the purging? Laios is like "dude what? :(" he doesn't understand it. Nope. Not at all. He tires to he supportive, but he really doesn't know what to do with this. It's not like there's a bulimia monster, so he has no real frame of reference.

He's all "but you look fine how you are :(" and "I like the weight on you!" or even "did you know that [this species of monster] finds fat attractive? ,:D"

He means so so well, and Karbu knows it. Laios really is just a dog of a man.

Laios also tries to get Kabru to promise to stop. We know how that went. Karbu agreeing just to do it behind Laios' back because he knows Laios won't find out. He'll cut back on it, yeah, but he has his weak moments.

Eventually, Laios makes sure to only have Kabru serve his favorite meals. That should keep him from puking it up! And Karbu stops after a while. But only because his health is on the decline.

What else?

Two words: hand. feeding.

Kabru throws up? He gets his favorite meals so he won't. Kabru keeps checking his figure? Less mirrors in the caslte and more compliments. Kabru not eating enough or skipping meals? Simple. Laios makes sure he eats.

And how? A little less of Laios sensually slipping a fork full of decedent chocolate cake past Kabru's lips and a little more than a simple "here comes the airplane"

It starts off as Laios seeing Kabru taking smaller bites and being like "oh! Let me show you how to fill your fork! ^^" and then him taking Kabru's fork, impaling a bunch of assorted foods onto said fork, then handing it back to Kabru.

Then it sort of devolved (...evolved?) Into Kabru begrudgingly letting Laios feed him like a toddler while no one else ot looking. My boy Kabru does NOT know how to say no to this autistic man properly.

Laios was like "would it help if I just fed you?" And karbu replied something like "haha! It just might!" And of course Laios did not pick up on that God level sarcasm and went "cool, Let's try it then" and Kabru, wanting to appease Laios said "cool!". Bro was punching air.

(Yes, Laios said stuff like "good job buddy!" "You're doing so well!" "Its tasty, right?" Almost every bite)

In the non-platonic world, Laios would have Karbu sit ever so close to him as he was fed, maybe even in his lap. And of course Karbu would get a peck on the cheek after every bite. And the whole process may or may not turn Laios on. Especially when they're dining on monster. Whoops.

....anything else?

This all ties in with the absurd standards that was set for Karbu and the insecurities he hides within himself.

The whole blue-eye-spawn-of-a-demon thing was already enough for him. But being raised by that moody ass elf was a whole nother thing.

Milsiril, his adoptive elf mom, raises children like she has a monopoly in daycares. She's a serial foster fr. All them damn kids. Raising them like pets becuase you want something to love and depend on you. (I love Milsiril btw)

Anyways.

Kabru was his mom's favorite since his features were unique. Im talkin big bright blue eyes contrasting with rich dark skin, in particular. Plus, he was so sociable! All of his siblings looked up to him in one way or another. He was the star child.

And, you know that thing about elves being twinks, right? When ever Milsiril would check up on Karbu's health, she would use this old elven chart depicting the "average/desirable/suggested" height, weight, and muscle tone for diffrent short-lived races at diffrent ages/stages of life.

Safe to say these charts and texts were based off of elven standards, so everyone was thought to be slimmer, lighter, and more toned than normal. Plus, they're old lol. Instead of updating her charts and buying some from the diffrent cultures and races, she keeps her old one becuase she legit just forgets to replace it and hasn't had any "major problems" while raising her kids with that information so she doesn't think to change it.

What in trying to say is!

Kabru was raised with unrealistic body goals, and when he used to deviate from those arbitrary statistics during childhood he'd be put on diets and stuff.

Also, What if Kabru was transmasc?

Especially when he was a teen, even gaining a little wait made him go nuts. He couldn't get the words "unhealthy" out of his head and started associating it with the word "fat". His mind likes to play tricks on him when he's in the mirror. Exaggerating his figure and making him panic.

So! When he was sick and tired after that weird ass dungeon trip that changed his whole world and he came back to find himself thin as a pin, he tweaked.

He logically hated it because it was unhealthy, but a part of him was satisfied. With the added stress of becoming a Kings advisor, he started to crack under the pressure, manifesting in an obsession with himself. When he started to gain weight back he was brought right back to those check ups he had with Milsiril and those 2, maybe 3 times he was put onto diets in his youth. He really feared he was getting fat and he would just stare into the mirror and feel his flesh beneath his fingertips, searching for some sort of confirmation. All he felt was a bit of a squish, a bit of a give, and that's all he needed.

It was too much for him. His body was wrecked in his eyes. He's supposed to he fit and lean and thin and perfect. How could that be perfect? He looks in the mirror in his private study, wasting the time he could've been spending planning new city infrastructure or working out the kinks in trade. But no. He's here, in his dimly lit room, looking at how imperfect he's become in his eyes. How unhealthy he is his mom's eyes. How disgusting he is in his birth mothers eyes.

He had to fix it. The wound rubs deep, dar past the dermis. And, I guess, much like other wounds that cut a chasm into the skin, you don't really feel it once it severs your nerves. You don't really notice until you see the big, gaping, bleeding, notch where you used to be.

Lol anyways

Whoo boy. He is in hell. He feels like gaining weight makes him look "softer" and more feminine. He hates it, yes. But he tries his best not to let it effect his wardrobe. This whole weight journey really rehydrated his gender dysphoria.

He's used to looking a little androgynous, but with his new weight going to his stomach, hips, and thighs, he just feels as though his silhouette is becoming more girly.

Kabru is found training and working out more. Anything to get his body more boxy again.

He spends more time making sure he looks presentable. Even waking up a little earlier to ensure he vouge cover ready. (Well, I mean, as vouge ready as perpetual business casual can be)

And how does it end?

It takes some time, but Kabru heals. He's 10 pounds heavier than when we were first introduced to him, but he doesn't mind anymore.

It was a long journey full of all sorts of denail and shame, but he got there.

He's still the Light Yagami coded perfect chivalrous boy. He always has been. And Laios loves him all the same. Platonically or not.

Laios was essential in Karbu learning to let go of those impossible ideal and unreachable standards. Laios does not give a fuck afterall, he thinks all human bodies are unintresting beautiful! That dude does not judge. Rember him talking about the orc women in one of the monster tidbit sections? He's about body acceptance and neutrality.

Kabru grew to love his body, not just tolderate it or like it because someone else does. And if it tickles you, he liked the extra pounds Laios gained in the end, too. And if you're here for non-platonic Labru, then Laios may have became a bit of a feeder and has a tiiiiny food kink. Plus, Laios is a huge fan of the squish and Kabru likes how warm Laios is.

I just want to add this in here, also hecuase ive seen it before and i agree, but Laios seems like the type to give dutch ovens. He shows love like a big brother and its horrible (affectionate). This passes Karbu off SO BAD and it's hilarious. He has to sit down and have a very direct and serious talk about "getting too comfortable". And Laios would sit there the entire time like a sad dog and nod along.

Kabru and Laios also wrestle. No debate. They do it to spar, Laios does it for fun, Kabru does it to make Laios shut up. It's great!

Sorry this took so long lmao,, I legit just kept forgetting to write this

This was just word vomit. I've lost the plot somewhere along the way, I fear

[cxsha-sicily]

he broke my heart, so why did i run back?

synopsis: you're biker ex-boyfriend helps you get back home from a party. Do you run back or leave him in the past.

paring: geto suguru x reader

w. fem! reader, biker! geto suguru, fluff, angst, modern AU

i just got back from a late night party and was walking out of the carpark alone when i heard a sudden engine roar. I didn't even bother to look back because i already knew that familiar sound all too well. my ex-boyfriend, Geto sugure

geto drove in-front of me, blocking my path before i could even make the next step. His gaze shifts down to my dead phone. i gave him a glare and he chuckles before flashing his cocky smirk.

"hop on" he says to me, patting his bike.

i didn't have any other options. My phone was dead so i couldnt call my friends to take me home and walking to my house would be a pain. i hopped on the back of the motorcycle.

geto felt his heart skip a few beats when he felt my arms around his waist; holding him tightly. he put his hands over mine and gave him a gentle squeeze before taking off. he felt like he was in paradise as he feels me hugging him from behind. he was always calm around ,e, but he was always shy when it came to his feelings.

he was a huge introvert. He wasn't exactly someone who could hold a conversation. it took him so long to say the big three words to me, and it took him even longer to find the courage to even look into my eyes.

i just hopes he knows that im only holding onto him so that i dont fall. Not because i wanted to. If i had another way to get home then i would use it.

it was quiet during the whole ride. All i could hear was the engine noise and the wind rushing in my ears. i felt the night breeze blowing against my face. His body heat made me comfortable, though it was still cold at night.

when he finally arrived at my house, he turned off his motorcycle and put down the stand, letting me get off his bike. he took off his helmet off and shook his hair a little. It was almost as if he still looks good even after a simple action like this.

i said a quick thank you and hopped off his bike.

he gave a simple smile and a nod in response. He was a man of few words. But as soon as i turned around to walk to my home, he called out to me. I could tell that he really didnt want to part ways, not yet

"Y/N"

he called out my man so suddenly, but it came out softly like honey.

i turned my head. i was shocked that he called me by my first name. he used to call me n/n.

"will you at least sit with for a little, for old times sake?"

he said, He knew he was being selfish. He knew he felt me, but he couldnt help but wonder if he was still the one who made me laugh, smile, cry. He hated how much he missed me and how much he wants to be with me. He felt lonely and cold without me. This is the closest he's been in almost a year.

i thought for a second. Do i really want to sit with him? A man i worked so hard to get over? someone who left me broken and crying in my bed for day on end? before i could think about it, my mouth moved on its own.

"okay"

why would i say that? he left me bent and i had to mold myself back. I promised myself that i wouldnt run back to him.

he let out a silent sigh in relief. He wasnt exactly sure whether i'd say yes or no. To be exact, he wasn't expecting me to said yes. He felt his heart thumping loudly. He gestured to the spot next to him as he patted beside him.

he felt his heart racing again as soon as i sat down next to him. The first time we've had been so close after nearly one year of no contact.

i walked to the spot next to him and started looking at the moon and the stars.

he stares at my side profile for a while. my hair moved in the wind beautifully and he watched me quietly under the dim light from the steetlights. He felt a small smile creep up on his face as he kept admiring my features.

" do you wanna talk or did you want us to sit here in silence"

it didnt matter to him, really. He was more than happy just being next to me. His hand inched closer to mine. the urge to hold my hand was becoming too unbearable. He finally placed his palm on my hand and squeezed it. He knew i would pull away, or snatch my hand away, but he still tried anyways.

i want to pull away, i really did but i couldn't. his hands were just as cold and rough as i imagined them. They matched my soft warm hands.

i was screaming at myself for letting myself get here. Why couldn't i just raincheck this? Why did i have to agree? do i even have it in my to disagree?"

he noticed that i didn't pull my hands away. He took it as a sign. his thumb gently traced small circles on the back of my hand. He tried to keep his cool and act casual, but he knew he was blushing like crazy right now.

"you still remember the first day we met back when we were both in college?"

he asked, trying to start a conversation. His mind couldn't find anything else to talk about, he just knew he wanted to hear my voice.

i nodded my head. How can i forget the day when i met my first love? the first time i laid my eyes on him, i new he was all i wanted.

He smiles when i agreed and the memories of the day came back to the both of us.

the both of us were in the college library. He was working some part time job at the library while i was studying for an upcoming exam. i dropped a bunch of my book all over the floor and he helped to pick them up.

i remember his asking to get lunch together, and the rest was history. Those were the days, when neither of us had a care in the world.

we were together for nearly two years before we broke up. i also remember that day like it was yesterday. I was in our shared apartment, and got a text saying we needed to talk when he got off work. After one hour later, he got off work while i was doing our laundry.

he didn't hug me and he didn't kiss me like he normally did. He sat me down and told me that we needed to breakup. Some girl from his highschool enrolled in our collage and caught his eye. he explained that he didn't hold the same amount of love for me like he loved her.

i guess they were right when they said first loves dont die.

" i also remember the day we broke up"

he held his breath when i mentioned the break up. it was difficult for him, because even though he left me, he still felt like he never stopped loving me. He was devastated knowing that he was the one who put me through it all and ruined me. He didn't deserve my love, and he never will. He let me go because he didn't want to see me hurt

"can i ask you a question?"

[dontbethatguy20]

Ohhh would you be okay with doing a Male reader x Danny Ghostface? sfw or nsfw!

And for (optional of course!) prompts maybe outside the entity realm where the reader knows jed before finding out about ghostface? if you feel up to it i feel a little bit of held at knife-point might be cool!

(i am so sorry if this sent more then once the app glitched and closed a few times and the ask disappeared so i dont know what happened so i also had to rewrite it everytime so it sounds so awkward now :') )

I'm quite the simp for ghostface myself, so I'm gunna have fun with this, I'm so gay for Danny 🤭))

Headlines of Desire

Ghostface (Danny Johnson) x reader

NSFW, minors DNI.

Warnings: knife play, caught at knife point, dubcon, he also has a temper (he has a really bad temper in my head, so I’ll make him one🤷🏽‍♂️)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

\/The story starts below \/

Jed Olsen was a name very familiar to you, mainly couse you worked with him, and was very friendly from the first thing said to each other. To say he made good impressions with everyone he worked with, well, that would be an understatement. You two seemed to speak more than he did with others. Even if he did talk quite often with others, you two just seemed to talk even more and get along. Having a friendly face and conversation seemed to make this work a lot more barely.

Speaking of work, not much long after he started working, 5 months to be exact, murders started to go around, and the both of you started to report on them. Sometimes, you'd even report on them together. But working with him since the murders started to go around, you noticed a change in him, a shift in demeanor. He seemed more restless, excited even. It made you suspicious, but you never pressed further couse what are the chances of someone you working with being something even close to s murderer?

You continue to report on the murders and such, and no one knew the killer, and the kills had no consistency in them, so it was hard to pinpoint. Just whoever it was, they seemed to have fun with it. At this point, it somewhat seemed hopeless on knowing who the killer was, but at the same time, sometimes it just takes a bit, and they slip up and get caught. Just the way this one would be cought would be quite unexpected.

One late night, you got home after working your long shift. Your home is a little generic, but it's a home nonetheless. You go into your bathroom, take a shower, then go to grt dressed. When you want to get dressed, you seem to have heard a noise. Figuring it was nothing you continued, but there it was again, another noise. You only seemed to be able to put on boxers before investing. That's when you were in for a surprise. A hand covered your mouth and a knife to the neck. "Don't scream Y/N," he chuckled lowly.

Obviously, you struggle and try to scream, only for him to have the tip of his knife get closer to your neck, the tip of it touching your skin. "Stop fucking struggling" he barked." You stop struggling soon enoughafter he snapped. All you could wonder is who and why in this moment.

"There you go, finally listening~" I chuckled. After a moment of danny thinking with carful consideration, he spoke, "You know, I've always liked you, so I'll give you a bit of a change here. Consider yourself a very, very lucky man." He said as he started to trail the knife from your neck to your chin, making your breath hitch. He lifted his hand off your mouth only a little, so you could respond, but not too far couse he wasn't afraid to shut you up again.

"One, since I like you so much, you could let me play with you a little while, or two, I end you and play with the lifeless body." He offered.

You weigh your options carefully before speaking. "Um, o-one." You stutter out, fearing your life and not wanting to die. "Now, that's what I like to hear. No struggling and an actual response out of you. You're being a good boy~. Now, how about we start this now, huh? There is no need to wait. Take off that belt of yours." He demanded, seeing if you'd listen.

You end up taking off your belt couse you didn't want anything to happen to you. "Good, good." Danny then took his free hand away from you but kept the knife in his right hand pointed at your neck. "Turn around," he said quickly, and you did as such. "On your knees and take off my pants," he damnds and again, you listened. When you took off his pants, you noticed he had nothing under. He trailed his knife up your cheek, causing a bit of blood. "Now suck." I look down at his length and then back at him with a hesitant expression. "Go on, do it," Danny urged. Still hesitant, you don't do as you're told. He pressed the knife against your cheek harder "do as I fucking tell you" he said in a slightly angered tone. With that, you take his length into your mouth and start to suck while bobbing your head, still looking up at him with that hesitant look. Danny moaned softly, still having his knife to your cheek. "There you go, keep going~" he urged as he started to move his own hips a bit.

Eventually, Danny spoke once more, "up, and around, hands on to the wall behind you," he said as he did a twirling motion with his knife to motion you to turn around. You hesitantly turn and put your hands on the wall. He chuckled lowly, hand pulled down your pants, "You're doing so well~."

He positioned himself behind you, spreading your ass a bit before guiding himself inside all the way, making both of you groan, him from pleasure, you from the new sensation. He started to thrust moderately, placing his knife down your back as he did. He slid the knife down your back, causing you to whimper in pain.

It didn't take long for him to quick his pace a lot as he thrusted inside, letting out groans occasionally. "You're doing so good, being so fucking obedient." He spoke out in a slightly harsh voice. As he kept his knife on your back, he used the other to lean forward and grab ahold of your throat so he could go harder in. "That's it, take it," he said from behind the mask. You kept being obedient and took it, considering being at knife point and all.

This would go for several minutes, an hour or two even, before he could be satisfied, making himself cum twice inside your ass. You were definitely spent after being used as you did. He would pull out, putting on his pants and belt back on. He'd chuckle, slapping your cheek with the side of the knife slightly. "You did well, Y/N," he said, then walked to the window he had come in from the first place. He stood on the window cell and looked back, moving his mask a bit so you could see half his face. He winked, put his mask back on, and dipped. You stood there with your eyes wide, realizing who it actually was, The Ghostface, the man behind the mask. The man you worked with so long to catch the ghostface ended up being him. He was always someone you wanted, but not like this. After this, you never saw him again since you probably reported it, and he left the town of Roseville.

This is my first time making smut, but hopefully, it isn't completely crap. If i made any spelling or grammer mistakes, please tell. Hopfully, you enjoyed it enough))

[voiceofsword]

also!! i really loved your crazyB at a fanmeeting thoughts with the little doodles.. how do you think they’d interact with fans online tho. do you think they would have official crazyB social media accounts and if so is it run by cospro mangement or crazyB themselves (they take turns uploading content). i think they’d definitely know about fanworks but do you think any of them would. accidentally like somebody’s fancam from the official crazyB twitter or smth

YES LMFAO once again splitting these into diff ones. i think it'd be run by cospro management usually with a few exceptions. hear me out

rinne's just straight up banned because he treats the crazyb account like his playhouse. that one edit of him tweeting gonna take my wife to pfchangs is literally him. he rts whatever he wants — rting fancams even though hes not supposed to. swearing out the ass in his replies to Anyone. criticizing ES on main. theyre lucky they dont get sued. he replies to fancams of himself like damn my ass looked good as hell here and immediately gets a phone call from ibara like "i want you at the es building right now immediately."

niki's abt what you would expect — like rinne he'd also treat it like his personal account but more innocent. he spams the feed with food pics, but is hardly ever online to begin with so he doesn't really interact with fans or other tweets unless they happen to be at the exact time he gets on his phone. i think he'd be a lot like his va who basically just posts pics of food he's made with business scattered in between skjfhj

himeru is kind of self explanatory he's good at reading people offline but stan twitter is actually insane i dont know how well hed cope with that. he has a hard enough time with rinne and niki being the way they are now imagine going online and seeing people that are just as unhinged if not more. he tries to make conversation with fans as best as he can and like he Understands internet lingo but cannot stand it so like 5 hours in he's like ok goodnight himeru's had enough. he's too old for this

and finally kohaku is probably the one thats allowed on there the most and does the best job because he has years of being on idol forums and social media under his belt. he probably finds it really fun and likes talking to fans this way more than irl bc hes more familiar with it (especially when compared to the other 3). he's not exactly unprofessional but definitely gives vibes of a more casual social media manager bc he does posts memes, selfies with the other bees occasionally, and replies to basically anything!! it actually shocks the rest of them bc hes far more casual online than he usually is

[crushedsweets]

neeed to hear the context behind ur most recent art. please enlighten us

you guys dont even know how excited i get when someone asks smth like this abt my art or headcanons or au.

i actually wrote liek a fucking essay oh my god im so sorry anon ill have the actual drawing context after the big bolded caps

TW for typical creepypasta story type stuff

anyway ok UNNECESSARY BACKSTORY: liu spent a long time trying to just psychologically recover from everything. he hated jeff and he hated the memory of everything. jeff signature murders would occur every now and again, each time liu would fall into a deep depression. the murders stopped for a while, and everyone believed jeff 'retired' or died. liu was conflicted about it. until Jeff committed his final full-blown 'jeff fashion' murder (janes family) in tuscaloosa alabama. liu had another breakdown and ended up moving to tuscaloosa because he was completely convinced he needed to find jeff again because he could fix it (or die trying and he'd be fine with that too)

nina was always one of those girls obsessed with 'true crime' but like.... the murderers instead of the cases. she was 12 when jeff's first rampage happened and she just fell head over heels in love with this freak. she began to act out, miss school for days, sneaking out to meet older people, etc etc. eventually she did the classic jeff smile cut into her face(she pussied out on making it like jeffs, so she has cleaner, less noticeable scars) . she started getting severely bullied (for being creepy and worshipping a literal murderer) and her parents sent her to live with her grandparents in mississpi. she started stalking liu through social media and whitepages when jeff was presumed dead. but eventually, jeff's final murder happened in alabama(a state away from her) and after turning 18, she ran away to go find jeff convinced he would 'save her' from the life she created for herself. nina got wrapped up in slenderman business because of her constant Tom Foolery. she met her idol

JEFF IS A BAD PERSON IN EVERY SENSE OF THE WORD. he did a beautiful job in using his #1 fangirl and enjoying the worship. she scrambled for pennies to afford an apartment, she'd sleep on the couch if he wanted to use her bed, she's ride her bike hours to go get weed or something from rando drug dealers that give better deals to pretty girls, make him food, do his damn laundry, literally anything and everything bc THATS HER MAAANNNNN (no he isnt.)

jeff DOES NOT GIVE A FUUUCK about everything nina does for him . one day he finds her trying to creepily get into contact with liu (and liu actually responded) and he loses his shit and stabs her and goes on and on about how 'you ruined your own useless fucking life your family is never going to take you back you did this to yourself' etc. he didn't intend to kill her only cuz he knew she'd forgive him and he liked all the shit she gave him

NOW ABOUT THE DRAWING ITSELF:::::

afterwards nina gets patched up from jeff stabbing her, she has some weird 'liu will save me' spiral (not romantically just in a very literal 'he can fix this' way). liu's been on his own spiral since finding out jeffs alive which is the only reason he even gave nina the time of day. eventually she ends up at his house to 'talk about jeff' bc she sent him creepy pics proving she knew jeff yadayadayada.

im not sure the exact conversation i imagined for the drawing, BUT liu eventually says something that sets nina off and she tears at her stitches and breaks down and drips blood all over his kitchen talking about 'I CAN MAKE HIM LOVE ME AGAIN I JUST NEED YOUR HELP PLEAAASEEEE' or something.

liu's a good man, much to his own detriment, and can't help but comfort this kid who's bleeding and crying in his kitchen at the fault of his own brother. he's all too familiar with wanting to repair his relationship with jeff, despite the amount of rage, betrayal, misery, etc he felt at jeffs hands. he doesn't ACTUALLY want to reconnect with jeff, but it's a very deep internal longing for the baby brother he once had that VERY RARELY overshadows his hatred

i want to reaffirm that liu does not feel positively about jeff at all, does not want to see him, and only moved to alabama b/c of a long ass mental health crises and is now too wrapped up in new financial commitments(plus jane) to move again. and now he feels obligated to help nina

he just misses being a big brother :( not so much the jeff part

also none of this at all is shipping at all i am terrified at the idea of people taking anything romantically . even if nina is in 'love' with jeff its purely for the story/horror . ITS ALL REALLY BAD

[definitelynotshouting]

DEFINTELY DONT PUSH YOURSELF TO GET THIS DONE JUST TAKE YOUR TIME AND DONT WORRY ABOUT IT ANYWAY HERES MY PROOF AND

VOTE FOR SCAR WOOOOOOOO🔈🔈🔈

prompt: “Basorexia” <333

Thank you for being so patient while i worked on this!!! I hope the surprise polishing made the wait worth it, friend :D

read this on ao3

just a step from fearless

Between clouds the sun is a bloated bauble, leaking gold over the Shopping District's rooftops and filtering through leaves to splay in dramatic, sweeping brushstrokes against the ground. Golden hour creeps along the grass with mincing footsteps; rough estimation informs him that Grian has the better part of twenty minutes before the horizon swallows every last dreg of light.

In hindsight, a wiser course of action would have been transporting this concrete powder fifteen minutes earlier. By his own admission, however, Grian has never claimed to be wise– and he's paying for it now, with rays so intense he has to squint just to make out the Entity's silhouette. Between that and the sweat rolling into his eyes, it's a miracle he's made it this far without tripping.

Grian glances down to aim a fierce scowl at the shulker box balanced in his arms. "You're a lot of trouble for this high a demand, you know," he says, one foot probing along the cobbled path in front of him. A loose stone here could spell disaster; he doesn't fancy spending his remaining daylight picking up spilled powder. "I'm not even sure why I decided to stock you, actually– goodness knows my life would be easier if I didn't."

Easier, but less profitable– concrete powder is in high demand. Worth it for the diamonds, he reiterates to himself, pressing forward with blind steps. This is the last box he needs to empty, and then he can return to his drafts, put a quill to those ideas scratching at the idle back of his brain. If he can just wring out a few sketches in advance–

A cascade of burbling laughter pierces that thought before he can fully immerse himself in it. Grian swings his head up and around with a sharp, wild snap; ahead of him are two amorphous figures, their features masked by the dying sun. Sight's a moot point, though, when it's Scar's bright voice that sparkles through the air right after– far enough that it remains indistinct, but unmistakable in its exact cadence.

Grian's lips curve at the corners of their own accord, an echo to Scar's hiccuping giggles. Whoever he's with must have cracked an incredible joke– or a mediocre one Scar finds personally funny. That's the beauty of that laugh: Scar wields it with the theatrical precision of a tactical weapon, bulldozing through any semblance of unease and rounding out the corners of a conversation. It's the sort of talent that charms you, erases any tension lingering around your shoulders– and from experience, it's impossible to resist responding in kind. Grian has long since memorized that laugh, tucking it between the chambers of his heart until it winds, soft and feathered, around his ribs.

A few more steps is all it takes for the Entity to rise into position, blotting out what remains of the fading light. Grian stumbles to a halt, blinking back ghost-spots as his eyes adjust. At least now he can give in to the hummingbird curiosity caught within his chest; cursory investigation reveals False, the set of her shoulders casual, relaxed. Something blue and shining tumbles, over and over, between her fingers. A token for TCG? He hasn't gotten the chance to sneak a peek yet.

Grian opens his mouth, tongue poised to call out to her, when his eyes slide over to land on the source of that familiar, soap-bubble voice he'd heard seconds prior.

Framed in gold, Scar glows. Liquid honey strokes the curve of his cheek, gilding the flash of his teeth in a blinding grin as he waves one hand in the nebulous direction of TCG. Whatever they're talking about, it's got Scar animated– he bounces on his toes, the handle of his cane glinting with each subtle motion. Trapped under his arm is that ridiculous construction helmet he's taken to wearing while shaping his theme park; strands of smooth, dark hair fall in gentle wisps around his face where they haven't been pressed flat, escaping the serviceable bun gathered at the nape of his neck. The stark contrast drags Grian's eyes up to the cut of his cheekbones. Silvery scars take on an aureate sheen where they slash over his jaw, lip, and nose, and every inch of him– the buckles on his outfit, the enchanted ripple of his elytra, the diamond refractions of his tools– scintillates.

Struck dumb, Grian can only stare, wide-eyed as his heart leaps uninvited into his dried out throat. From the distance of fifteen blocks, Grian traces the easy tilt of Scar's lips, how his entire body leans forward into the humor of whatever lies in False's low voice. Without his consent, a rich, syrupy ache blossoms underneath his sternum– the raw, tender bite of a fresh tattoo, digging hooks into his skin to stretch him far too thin over the swell of his own heart. Deep in his mind's eye, Grian tilts forward, lungs aching, into the event horizon that is Scar's smile.

For one suspended moment, only the silk impression of Grian's lips sliding against Scar's remains. An amber simulacrum of tongue to chapped cupid's bow, the faint sting of teeth against his bottom lip. Grian's hands fumbling to sink, desperate and grasping, into Scar's soft hair–

Grian drops the shulker.

It lands with an unceremonious crash on Grian's left foot, splitting open to spill stacks upon stacks of cyan concrete powder. In a display of herculean self-restraint, Grian holds in the instinctual, ear-rending shriek that threatens to rise from the back of his throat as lightning bolts all the way up to his ankle; instead, he gulps it back, and molds it into a polite, strangled yelp that doesn't carry outside the immediate radius of the blocks around him. 

A beat. Grian sucks in a long, deliberate breath between his teeth. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale again. Then, with the careful, practiced movements of a man far too used to comical injuries, he extracts his foot, wincing at the firework-bloom of bruised nerves that burst with the motion. Pure luck that he's wearing his good boots; nothing's broken– not even the shulker, whose top spins in lazy, spiteful circles on the ground, rattling absently.

Heat suffuses his face in one concentrated wave. Grian shoots a furtive peek back up at where Scar and False are standing, only to come face to face with empty space. A glimmer of movement tickles at his periphery; Grian whips his head around just in time for Scar's retreating back, muscles bunching beneath rolled-up sleeves, to disappear within the depths of TCG.

Grian stares at the door for a long, indeterminable time. "What on earth did you do to me?" he demands of his concrete powder, swinging to cast a glare that's one part bewildered, one part accusing to the shulker box splayed at his feet.

As expected, the busted shulker doesn't answer. Grian surveys the carnage of cyan between cracks in the path once more, heart beating a rapid tattoo in his throat. "Right," he says at last, "you are absolutely not worth this right now. I'm not– I'll come back and clean you up later." His lips pull back in a righteous grimace. "You’re not even remotely worth the diamonds."

And with that, Grian turns on his smarting heel, pulls a rocket from his belt, and flares his wings into the mellowed sky. If he continues to replay the mirage of that hungry, starving kiss all the way back to his base, well–

That's his business.

[drdemonprince]

Any advice on managing a boss that is very rude and condescending who ALSO thinks that you’re “friends” and expects a sort of familiarity? And making them comfortable is imperative to your job safety?

I am so sorry you are dealing with this. Workplaces like this are so emotionally coercive and exhausting.

My recommendation would be that you do a modified, more smiley version of grey rocking. Grey rocking, for those who don't know, is a strategy for coping with abuse when you can not full get away from the person who is leveraging their power over you. When you have to be around them, you turn into a "grey rock" -- emoting very little, sharing only bare minimum of personal information (only answer what is asked, specifically), not reacting to their nonsense or letting them get the satisfaction of having gotten a rise out of you, agreeing to go along with their ideas in only the most passive of ways, and just generally being maximally boring and unsatisfying to be around, but without doing anything they can point to that is a problem. You're being compliant, agreeable, and totally dull. This often extinguishes the worst of a lot of abusive and attention-seeking behavior. Grey rocking of this kind is especially useful for abusive parents you're stuck living with for a while.

Since you are dealing with an emotionally coercive workplace environment with a boss who has bad boundaries, you want to do a slightly cheerier, oblivious version of grey rocking. I think it's Brene Brown who calls this being "happy and stupid". Plaster a very mild smile on your face and nod along with things and make very mild, brief agreeable comments when forced to -- nothing high energy or intense, which would be far more draining to you to perform, and far more satisfying to the person manipulating you, which you want to avoid. Do not attempt to mind read and only do literally what you are told explicitly to do. If a request is implied, don't try to pick up on it, and just act clueless, but smiley, forcing your shitty boss to articulate the weird performance or action she is trying to exact out of you. Don't apologize or act guilty, just smile and do the minimum while making it seem like youre blandly enjoying it and that it's your best.

Basically, you want to give your boss nothing negative they can point out about you. You do what is asked, you agree, you smile, you don't pull focus, you don't have much to say, you dont create problems, you dont have an attitude and you're a little spacey, but gosh, you sure mean well. Ideally this will make them have warm feelings toward you, but also generally kind of forget you exist, and find interacting with you pleasant but boring, so they can't target you for abuse as much. When you become invisible but liked you can get away with a lot.

Combining an overall mildly pleasant and agreeable demeanor with apparent slight ditziness/obliviousness/literal mindedness means that people will expect less intellectual and emotional heavy lifting from you, hopefully, and lower their standards without having any failing or disagreeableness they can point to as a problem. Don't talk shit at work (except for things like private, secure conversations toward unionizing or collective bargaining or the like), don't get emotionally invested in any outcome, kind of shrug and smile your way through all that you can.

[selfundiagnosed]

I cant watch youtuber commentary videos because to me its what i assume straight women feel when having sex it genuinely enrages me. i cant watch people make commentary videos anymore because its not about getting insight on topics being talked about right now its about watching the same influencer giving their noncritical think pieces to random topics they didnt know about until mere hours before hoping in front of the camera and pressing record. everyday. Damn its so bad. watching them try to deepen the conversation with their twitch chat is comical because its obvious they have NO idea what theyre talkimg about it makes you want to start laughing but maybe crying bc how do hundreds of thousands of people depend on this asshole to say the thing that wont get them canceled? bc lets be real thats why 90% of these people watch these types of videos. they cover all these fucking topics how are they qualified to speak on all these things? 😳 the truth is theyre NOT! their audience just sees them as someone trustworthy to get their opinions from because THEY know how to find the people who *are* knowledgeable on the topics they wanna cover and repeat the exact same things they saw these qualified people type in the replies of the story VERBATIM and just repeat them in front of a webcam and a live chat. All while being an influencer people know they agree with everytime they make a video like this. its so fucking pathetic how do you guys rely on these people to tell you what to think i genuinely cannot watch the same youtuber over and over because the more i see them make these types of videos the clearer it becomes to me that people just watch these people not to think critically but bc they like the person repeating the same jargon they could read themselves. oh, and the person is safe and familiar and a comfort character lmfao. i genuinely dont know if its just like… i was raised to be an ENTP or what… but there has only been one social commentary youtuber i ever watched in my entire life who actually says something constructive about the topics she covers bc A.) she is intelligent B.) the topics she covers are all topics specific to her everyday lived experiences and she doesnt talk about topics that arent at least a little related to the main information she teaches C.) she isnt just cranking out videos for views/$ lmfao shes taking her time she puts her entire mind out on the plate and cuts into it with you the viewer slowly guiding you to the next point and makes sure you eat the course in the most digestible / optimal way to ensure you are FULL. if i have to watch another idiot streamer just talk out of his ass to his twitch chat trying to make sure he’s the all knowing Logic and Semantics King while knowing & saying NOTHING of substance im going to scream. talks to fucking talk and do the littlest amount of work while getting ALLLL the credit from democrat liberals who know the bar is underground with cishet dudes on youtube and literally uproar in applause when some average guy says pronouns! racism bad! its a giant circle jerk and anyone who wants to actually hear something worth digesting has to numb their brains anytime someone who cant sit in silence decides to put on their emotional support twitch streamer who was violently racist on the internet up until 2020. Mmmakes me wanna paint the ceiling red with hint of brain-matter popcorn texture technique:3

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Inspired by this gifset and the consequent conversations with @srapsodia and @dont-touch-the-phlebotinum (oh no)

(this counts as a break, Raps, this counts)

(950 words, no warnings)

~

Geralt strides down the long corridor, utterly lost. He'd known, abstractly, that Jaskier's parents were wealthy, but he hadn't been expecting this.

He should have listened when Jaskier gave his full name as Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. He'd always assumed he was joking about the "viscount" part.

He turns a corner and is confronted with another fucking hallway, lined with enormous oil paintings. The Pankratz family, he assumes. He walks a little slower, taking it all in. It's unsettling to see how far back Jaskier can trace his lineage; Geralt's family tree starts and finishes with himself.

He's about halfway down the corridor when he starts to notice the familial resemblance. A severe looking woman with Jaskier's exact shade of hair, two pairs of startlingly blue eyes looking at him from the faces of twins. The set of his jaw in a man wearing an absurd ermine robe; the shape of his nose in a woman holding a squirming dog.

He pauses right next to a newer looking painting. The man here could be Jaskier with fifty years added to him. The woman beside him in the portrait is startlingly younger, but she looks happy - almost ethereal, with eyes so light they're nearly silver. There's a tiny baby in her lap, with sea-blue eyes and a bonnet pulled so low over its head that all can be seen is a round face peering from a bouquet of ruffles.

The next portrait features a young boy. In the next, he's a teen. In the one beside that he's standing next to a plump, beautiful woman with a wide smile and Geralt realises with a start that he's looking at Jaskier’s parents.

Which means the next painting will inevitably show--

He takes another step along the hallway, and bursts out laughing.

He is… quite sure that the portrait features Jaskier. He looks very young here: perhaps no older than sixteen, sitting beside a cheery looking child that must be his little sister.

Jaskier does not look cheery. He looks miserable.

He looks like a miserable little racoon.

His hair isn't the familiar soft brown colour that Geralt longs to run his hands through, but dark black, cut in an unruly mop around his head. His eyes are barely visible through the thick curtain of his fringe, a hint of blue peeking between the black. What of his eyes are visible are heavily lined in kohl. Jaskier still lines his eyes occasionally - which Geralt equal parts loves and hates - but not quite to the same extent.

He is dressed head to toe in black. Geralt hadn't thought it was possible for him to dress in anything other than bold colours and expensive embroidery; clearly he was wrong.

It's… endearing. It's hilarious, of course, but it's enormously endearing as well. Getting a glimpse into Jaskier's youth like this feels oddly intimate, which itself feels a little painful; he wants more of this intimacy. It's a shame that he's only managed to find it through accident alone.

He's wondering vaguely if he should attempt to sketch the portrait in his notebook to keep for prosperity, when there's a shout from the other end of the hallway.

"Geralt? Geralt!" Thank Melitele: rescue at last. Jaskier runs over, face flushed. "Where have you been, Geralt? I've been looking all--" He spots the portrait. "Oh. Um…"

"This is you?"

"If I say no, will you believe me?"

"I will not."

"Bastard," he sniffs. "It was a phase."

Geralt glances at him with his combed back hair and shimmering blue doublet. "Clearly. How did you get your hair black?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Henna. I had it imported. There are some perks of being a viscount, you know.”

Geralt smirks at him. “It suits you,” he says, sarcastically.

"Oh, like you never had an embarrassing--" Jaskier starts, puffing like an angry pigeon, before suddenly cutting himself off. "Shit. No. Of course not, Geralt, sorry--" He deflates just as quickly as he'd angered. "Fuck. That was stupid."

"It's fine," says Geralt. It is fine; he's sure if he'd had a normal childhood he no doubt would have been pulled into some equally odd obsession. He thinks, for a moment, of Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde. No: there is no doubt that he would have similarly embarrassing skeletons in his own teenage closet.

“Anyway,” Jaskier huffs, talking over his own chagrin. “It could have been significantly worse.”

“Oh?”

“Hmm. I wanted to get a ring through my lip. That’s where my father put his foot down. But you know what I’m like when someone tells me I shouldn’t do something…” Geralt raises his eyebrows, so Jaskier continues- “well, it only makes me want to do it more, obviously.”

“But you don’t have--” Geralt gestures vaguely in the direction of his own lip.

“Very astute. No; I knew if I did it anyway he’d be furious and I’d be in trouble. So I just… got a ring somewhere else.”

That makes Geralt pause. “Somewhere else?”

“Mmhmm. Somewhere they couldn’t see. Hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, of course, but they still don’t know it exists. I’ll count that as a win, even if healing it was a sodding nightmare.”

“Still…?”

“Oh, yes. I wasn’t exactly going to take it out after all that fuss, was I?”

Geralt flounders in this conversational tide. “And…” he manages, tongue thick, “where--”

Jaskier grins at him, wolfishly. “That would be telling,” he says. “You’ll just have to work it out yourself.”

Before Geralt can reply, he turns on his heel, walking back down the corridor. “Come on,” he calls over his shoulder, “the banquet hall is this way, and we’re already dreadfully late.”

Geralt takes one last look at the portrait, suddenly not feeling very amused after all, and chases after him.

[introvert--weeb]

Hello! I dont know if you still do requests, but ill ask just in case.

Can I ask for a tokyo revengers x gn! Reader? (pLEASE MAKE IT PLATONIC)

So basically, reader is this fearless, calm person. Reader isnt particularly strong or sporty nor are they good academically(is thag how u spell it)

Prompt : Reader is Mikey's and Baji's childhood friend.

Reader meets them again in coincidence and tries to cactch up and feels inferior due to their somewhat success? And then reader meets the other members.

Also bonus if mikey and baji is lowkey scared of reader

ALSO BONUS BONUS IF THE OTHER MEMBERS SEES MIKEY AND BAJI AFRAID OF READER

Thank you :]]

Hey!

Of course I can do this!! I love the idea!

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy the end product! Also, I'm so sorry for how long it's taken me to get this out! 😭❤️

--

Mikey, Baji with childhood friend!reader (ft. Toman Captains, Vice Captains)

TW: mentions of feeling inferior, friendly violence (boys getting kicked)

--

There had always been a third. Every great group consisted of a trio, mainly two boys and a girl. And this was no exception.

When Mikey and Baji were young, learning at the Sano Dojo together, they had met a girl. This girl was decent at karate but not on their level. What had started out as teasing the small girl had quickly developed into a friendship. You were the one needed to reign these two boys back in.

You were not known for being strong like Mikey and Baji, and you weren't particularly academically smart. In fact, a word that would best describe you was average. You didn't excel in any area except maybe some people would call you cute. But you feared nothing, not even a fight against someone twice your size. You faced every challenge in your life with a calm mind and calmer attitude.

All throughout your childhood, you would follow the two boys around and cause chaos that only children could get away with. But eventually, you had stopped attending the Dojo. Next thing you knew, you were in middle school and had lost contact with the duo. It was heartbreaking when you thought about it. You were all so close but time had taken its toll on that friendship.

Years had passed since you had seen the two boys. In no time, you were a 3rd year at Mizo Middle and deciding what you wanted for your future. It was too early to come to a decision in your mind but your parents had insisted that the earlier you decided, the better.

School had ended and you were already planning on hanging out at the riverbank to clear your mind. After all, it was a Friday and your homework could wait for now. The walk to the destination was calm enough, having parted from your friends half way due to differing destinations.

Once you had reached the grassy bank, you threw your bag and settled yourself besides it, paying little to no attention to what was happening around you. If you were, you may have noticed a familiar pair of boys relaxing a little way from where you flopped down.

Mikey had noticed you first, asking his friend if he thought you looked familiar. Sure, it had been a couple years but you hadn't changed that much. Your hair was still the same except a little longer, your eyes still held that childlike wonder in them although it had been dulled, and the way your body positioned itself was the exact same. Baji looked over as well and almost instantly knew it was you. The missing part of their trio.

"Hey! Y/N!" Why was someone calling your name? Feeling a. little irritated that your peace was being disturbed, you glared over in the direction of where the voice had come from. However, once you caught sight of two familiar boys, the glare softened and a small smile tugged at your lips. It was them.

Baji and Mikey stood to their feet and made their way over to where you sat, grins pulling at both of their faces. All of you spoke about what had happened over the years. How you were attending Mizo Middle and knew of Takamichi and his small group of friends. Baji explained how he had been held back a year due to his grades but had met a boy named Chifuyu through it. And Mikey explained how he created Toman, a biker gang that consisted of 50 loyal members.

You couldn't help but feel inferior while you listen to the boys explain their lives. They were spending their youth as it should be, having fun and surrounded by people they care about. While you were simply floating through life, taking everything as it comes.

The boys expressed their desire for you to meet the rest of Toman, wanting to introduce you back into their lives. After all, it would be good to have the trio together again.

Mikey had decided to meet everyone at the park the next day. He had taken your number at the river bank so he simply text you the details along with everyone else. Thank God it was a Saturday so you had no obligations to school and the like.

Since you were meeting new people, you decided to at least dress up a bit. So a pair of jeans, a nice t-shirt and sneakers was your go to. Casual yet didn't look like you just rolled out of bed. Once ready, you checked the message again to confirm the location and time within your own mind.

It didn't take you long to reach the park. In fact, you were 10 minutes early so you decided to play a game on your phone to pass the time.

"Waiting long, Y/N?" The familiar voice of Mikey snatched your attention away from the mobile game. Shutting the game and shoving the device back into your pocket, you looked up to find a small group of boys with Mikey and Baji front and center. Once they reached you, the introductions began.

As the day went on, you all decided to sit in the field to properly talk. You sat besides Baji and a boy you now knew as Chifuyu. It was all going great, the conversation was flowing with very little awkward moments. That was until Mikey and Baji had brought up on thing.

"I remember when Y/N couldn't even land a kick properly!" Baji laughed, memories of his childhood friendship coming to light to the group. Mikey chuckled, seeming to also remember.

You couldn't believe that the boys had just said that in front of their friends. Sure, you had a time where you couldn't kick properly but you were new to Karate and hadn't spent as much time as them two practicing. Your gaze turned to the culprits, face calm yet eyes giving a warning that they ignored.

"You want to see how well I can kick now, huh?"

Mikey and Baji couldn't help to feel scared of your calm words. They had forgotten how scary you could get when provoked, obviously omitting that from their fond memories of you. Their facial expressions changed from amused to fearful as their own gazes moved to your face.

In no time, you were chasing the pair as they ran away from you, threats about how you would 'give them firsthand experience at how good you could kick'. Mikey and Baji, although scared of you, couldn't stop the laughter as memories from the past filled their minds. It would always end up like this.

The rest of Toman couldn't believe how scared their leader and First Division Captain was of you. Mikey, the boy who would take on anyone, was scared of a girl that wasn't even part of the gang life? And Baji as well? Chifuyu was the first one to laugh, followed quickly by the rest.

Having proved your point finally, the trio joined back with the group. Draken and the others had taken to teasing the boys over being scared of a kick but they didn't know just how hard it was. Baji and Mikey were wary of what they said from that point on.

[bldofthedrgn]

[four] in every cosmos | han jisung smau

04 - bellatrix

word count - 343

prev | au masterlist | next

a/n : this may be a bit of a confusing chapter but i promise itll all make sense soon ;) also pls dont forget to read the written part T^T

You were nervous, to say the very least. After all those years of being an avid 3racha stan you never imagined that you, y/n l/n, of all people would be hanging out with THE Seo Changbin of 3racha so casually, and waiting for him to arrive was even more excruciatingly painful and anxiety-ridden than figuring out what to wear this morning. 

“Hey! Y/n right?” You heard a familiar voice call out behind you. Wiping off the sweat from your palms, you turn around to greet the taller man.

“Yeah that’s me, nice to meet you! Should we go find a place to sit?” you propose. “Yeah let’s go.” Changbin agrees. 

You hadn’t even realized that you were zoning out, a terrible habit of yours. “Y/n? You okay?” Snapping your head back into Changbin’s direction, you give a soft smile. “Yeah sorry I'm just really nervous.”

“Why would you be nervous? It’s just me.” 

“That is the exact reason I’m nervous. Not to sound like a crazy fan but I’ve been such a big fan for a really long time, so hanging out with you doesn’t even seem real to me right now” you confess bashfully.

“Well thank you, I find that very cute,” he adds with a calm smile, “But I genuinely think you’re a cool person and I want to get to know you and become friends.”

That comment led into a full blown conversation that lasts for what felt like (and was) hours.

When Jisung sees his older friend at the café, he’s all but surprised. What does catch him off guard is seeing him with someone as attractive as you. Jisung, being the introvert he is, decides it’s best to leave Changbin and what he assumed was his date, to their conversation. He figured Changbin would introduce you two soon enough. What he hadn’t realized was that Changbin had seen him and had already started plotting to meddle with fate, though he had not a single clue how he would pull this master scheme off without a hitch.

[imaginewithtearose]

Heyyyy- hello I love your fanfics and headcanons- okay uhh I was wondering if you could make a scenario of Idia Shroud with an s/o that previously overblotted, and just arrived in styx with the other overblot gang, having no idea with what Idia does as a job. what would happen?

Thank you very much! Im alaged that my writing is to your liking. I love this idea!! And you are my first Scenario request.

Lets put the best that i have in this, one scenario with Idia Shroud right one!! Maybe you would like a part two...?

also, warning, spoilers for the chapter 6 ahead!!!

Dangerous Lullaby

The memories of your overbolt still remains in your head. Those horrible words you hear. The screams. And the agonizing pain you felt in your head while your heart was pounding so loud that you feel it in your heart; But the worst, was the sight of your boyfriend. Horrified with your transformation.

“Y/N!!!!!!!”

Screaming your name while trying to reach you before you could even transform. But the ink already covered all your vision, and your conscience was losing against the anger. Nobody helped you before. Why it would change now...?

Well, those images and words always appeared back in form of nightmares that make you jump out of your bed. Even if they were not so frequent, they still affected you.

Ah, but you were so lucky to have a boyfriend like Idia, so attentive and caring, hearing everything that was in your mind and, with Ortho, examining your health. He patted your head and accompanied you until you sleep again, smiling softly and humming a sweet tune.

Ah, how much you wished to have him in this moment; Those strange robots invading your house, destroying everything, and trying to capture you and your friends. You wished your knight in shining armor came to your rescue, before you collapsed and were taken into one of the strange robots arms.

. . .

You woke up in a white strange room, with all of your other friends... Well, some of them.

“Are you hurt?” Azul asked, helping you got up.

“I dont know...”

Your eyes searched for the whole room, only encountering a door and darkness that your eyes adjusted rapidly to it. It was quite the small room, but you could stand up beside the slightly form of Azul. The sound of engines and the feeling of the place moving like a car made you wonder how far of the NRC you were now.

“Where are we?"

Your question was answered by the beastman on the other side of the room

“You should been asking, where are we going? Tsk, you didnt hear any of the conversation before this...”

That... didn't answered the question at all; Thanks, Leona. Homever, something else did it. The engines stopping and a robotic voice announcing that they have arrived their destiny.

The door opened and the white light that came from that opening iluminated you all. Slowly, you were the first one to go out and follow the slightly iluminated hall. Symbols and blue lights that were familiar to you, as you leaned on the wall to walk further.

Into the distance, a sweet melody called your attention. A song you knew very well, and a voice that you recognize. Your steps became more sonorous and fast, searching the source of the familiar sound, only to find...

“ Oh, so you have woken up. ”

Your boyfriend being accompanied by the same exact robots that have taken you and your friends.

He was unrecognizable. The uniform he wore was like a militar one, or a scientific coat. His eyes didn't have any shine on them, and his usual smile disappeared into his blue cold lips. Only his flaming blue hair shined into the halls, moving slowly while he walked towards you and the others that were as shocked as you are.

“Idia...”

“Welcome, everyone, to the headquarters of the S.T.Y.X, im the person in command right now... Idia Shroud...”

You couldn't move a single muscle at the view of the person you trusted the most, being the one who captured you. He slowly approached you, and with a gloved hand, caressed your cheek like this was nothing.

“Welcome, y/n, this might not be the best situation... But im gonna make sure you are comfortable... Here, in the Land of Grief... T-Tough it sounds bad, but its not so bad, sweetie...”

Idia noticed your fear in how much your body was trembling. Maybe because of the prolonged eye contact, or by the fact that your friends were surrounded by robots that will take them against their will, again; Even if you tried to look away to them, because of the screams and complains that slowly faded in the halls of the unknown headquarters, Idia forced with his hand to make you look at him, a big smile in his face.

“Dont worry, your cell will be different and more comfortable, i will take you there, y/n.. i-i dont have another option, you know?... But.. i p-promise to be gentle with you on the experiments...”

Experiments? Cell? No no... No... This wasn't right! Even though you can imagine your boyfriend doing something like this, you refused to believe it.

But, he takes your arm and links it with his, in a forcing way, and takes you away, accompanied with Ortho. Your tears began to fall from your cheeks and he offered you a small paper tissue.

“ Trust me... Y/n, i will be honest with you...”

But you only walked slowly, hoping to not see the end of that hall. Even if Idia was humming that sweet lullaby to calm you, now it only made everything worse.

It was a danger alarm in your ears.

What will happen from now on...?

Hope you liked this scenario!! I was so inspired writing this!! Im thinking about a part two to this, what do you think?? Ask again if you would like to see a full continuation of this!!

[beomglocks]

mr. choi ; c.sb

summary : your new neighbor comes over to introduce himself.

pairing : dilf neighbor!soobin x (legal)!reader

warnings & other : slight SMUT, dont read if youre uncomfortable with age gaps, sexual tension, noninnocent (?) touching, there’s like one curse, happy valentines day

w/c : 1.7k

after hours of locking yourself in your bedroom you finally decide to come out and grab a snack from the kitchen. you vaguely remember the sound of the doorbell being rung and distinct chatter coming from the living room following but you frankly weren't interested in whoever had arrived.

by now though, the chatter had died down to simple conversation and the occasional obnoxious laugh from your mom specifically. you stretch, walking out of your bedroom and completely forgetting that you had a guest.

you barely even walk past the living room when you see a man sitting on the love seat with a simple black tee shirt and slacks on, his jacket draped over the couch's back. his legs are spread open, strawberry hair messy, and head leaning against his veiny hand, listening to your mom drone on about something your older sibling did in their youth.

"oh," you say out loud. suddenly all eyes are on you and you can't help but shrink at the mans lingering gaze on your body. you're suddenly self conscious about the fact that you're wearing booty shorts and a white shirt that was a bit more on the translucent side, that and the fact that you were wearing no bra.

"oh mr. choi, this is my daughter y/n!"

he doesn't answer right away, subtly dragging his eyes down your body as if undressing you while you stand awkwardly at the entrance of the living room. "hello y/n," he says simply, staring back into your eyes.

your body gets hot and you feel a familiar wetness start to accumulate just above your thighs. the way he said your name just felt so right. his voice seemed gravelly as if he'd been yelling all day and just now had a chance to rest his voice with quiet conversation.

you completely forget your snack already finding something even more satisfying right in front of you.

you sit on the accent chair across from him, eyeing him down just as he did you. he smirks, amused by how completely unsubtle your arousal is.

"mr. choi just moved to our neighborhood and i thought it would be a good idea to introduce ourselves as neighbors," your mom explains. you nod, smiling at him.

"choi soobin," he starts. "i worked at a company in another city but was promoted so i had to move here for the new position. the neighborhood is nice, the people too," he says looking at you. you give him a bright smile, "im glad you like it."

soobin leans back in the chair, eyeing you once more, specifically choosing to linger his gaze on your chest. "so soobin-" his deep chuckle cuts you off and you look at him expectantly.

"im sorry... it's just that since i work at a company im used to people calling me mr. choi or... sir," he says, narrowing his eyes at you. "wow you must be at a high position!" your mom excitedly gapes and you have to wonder what her real intentions were when inviting soobin over.

"im quite respected," he says simply, still looking at you as if he's waiting for something. you give him a coy smile, deciding to tease him a little, "well sir, that's an interesting take away."

he smirks, letting out what seems to be a satisfied sigh. he turns to your mom, "is it alright if i have a glass of wine or something? my throat is a little dry from barking out orders all day."

your mom obligates to his request, attracted to the idea that this man was a hardworking businessman. you knew your mom would go find the most aged wine for him because she liked to show out for guests. especially guests that looked as fine as soobin. you also knew it would take her a while to find said wine, keeping it locked away for special occasions.

"y/n keep our guest company," she told you. you happily accepted that offer. yeah, you’ll keep him company alright.

now that you were alone with soobin you wasted no time in playing into his apparent attraction towards you. you open your legs slightly to lean forward on your hands which were situated between them. you saw his eyes flit down to your breast which were squished together due to your actions.

"so sir," you say innocently as if you aren't giving him a little show. "do you have a wife or children?" he shifts in his seat a bit, widening his legs in the process. you swear you can see a slight bulge in his pants if you squint. oh, so he's big.

he laughs at your question, "i don't have a wife, im divorced and yes i do have a son." your eyes widen only slightly. frankly, the thought of him having a son doesn't bother you in the slightest. you decide to ask him how old his son is for conversation purposes.

he hums lowly, "he's 18....how old are you?" you're surprised your mom hadn't told him your age. she probably thought it wasn't information she deemed was necessary for him to know.

"im legal," you say with a smile. he smiles at that and you swear your pussy twitches. he's so attractive and he's barely done a thing! you stare at his crotch while his leg bounces and you can only shamelessly imagine yourself bouncing on his cock.

you wonder how big is. he looks tall as hell so that gives you some ideas. his legs look to take up almost half his body. god, what would it look like grabbing onto his thighs as he fucks himself into your mouth? you can imagine the tears running down your face and runny nose as you look up at him and he looks down at you with the exact same expression he holds right n-

"that's good to know," his voice cuts through your dirty thoughts. he doesn't even address how you were blatantly staring at his crotch because at this point he doesn't even care. he knows you want him but he'll wait for you to say it. even if you don’t say it today, he knows you’ll say it eventually.

you move your hands and squeeze your legs together. you can already feel yourself dripping at just the thought of this man across from you. he's so close yet so far and the sexual tension is killing you.

you get up from your spot, casually walking up to where he sits. he stares at you curiously wondering what you plan to do. you choose to sit right next to him on the couch. just close enough that if your mom walked through at any moment you could recoil and it wouldn't look suspicious at all.

you don't say a word and you place your hand lightly on his knee, slowly moving it up to his upper thigh. "what are you doing babygirl?"

babygirl? fuck. just the pet name coming from his mouth alone has your breath going shaky. you rub your thighs together in anticipation. "nothing sir," you smile.

his hand is suddenly placed atop of yours and he drags it just above his growing erection. "look at what you're doing baby," he moves his head close your ear.

"you came down here dressed like a little slut, i bet you wanted the attention right?" he asks. "as soon as you saw me you probably couldn't wait to have me fuck the shit out you."

the words he mumbles in your ear have you unconsciously palming his dick through his slacks. "sir.." you whimper. he hums, holding back a moan as you continue palming him at your own accord. his hand is now at your upper thighs slowly inching up.

he placed two of his cold fingers pressing onto your pussy through your shorts. "you're so wet that i can feel it through your shorts. did i do this?" he chuckles, now rubbing up and down slowly. you nod, looking up at him through your lashes. "yes it was all you, sir. all you."

he suddenly pulls away completely from you with a light smile. he also removes your hand from him and leans forward on his knees, his upper body effectively covering his boner. you're confused about his actions and kind of annoyed until you hear your mom call from the hallway, "mr. choi i hope you like this flavor, it's one of my finest!"

"im sure anything you have tastes delicious!" he answers, glancing at you. you shy away from his eyes as your mom walks into the kitchen. since the kitchen is too close to the living room to do anything he whispers to you, "shy now?" he laughs a little bit. "you're too cute y/n."

you wish he'd called you a cute petname right then but you'll take what you can get. he places his hand on your knee and you shiver, remembering his fingers on you just seconds ago.

he removes them once your mom walks into the living room with two glasses of wine, one for him and one for her. they talk for a little while more, and you occasionally chime in but really you're too distracted by soobin. the heat he's radiating is too much to handle plus you're still sitting close enough to see that he's still hard.

it gets late and so the night ends for you three. "my son is probably wondering where i am by now, i should go," he says standing up. your mom agrees and you escort him to the front door while she takes the glasses back to the kitchen.

soobin notices your disappointment at not having finished what you both started on the couch earlier but he leans down to whisper in your ear. his voice sends shivers through your whole body and his hot breath tickles your neck and ear. "don't look so dejected babygirl, this isn't the last time we'll see each other." he kisses your cheek as he ascends back up when your mom meets you both at the door.

"say hello to your son for me! oh and next time bring him over so he can meet y/n," your mom suggests just as he walks out the door. he turns around to look at you both and you can tell he isn't too fond of that idea but he still answers with a polite smile.

"maybe! well i had a nice time maam, i'll be seeing you two around," and with that, he leaves and you simply cannot wait for the next time you'll see mr. choi.

[manonblaqkbeak]

Friendship Rekindled

Hello, back for Day 10--single parents. This is the second part of a mini series during canon week. this is continuing off from Day 1--desperately in love. there’s going to be two more parts and i cant wait to get them out there!

i think this could be considered a little angsty, given some of the conversation topics that happen.

cw: brief mention of death and blood loss. mention of an abusive parent. (if i miss any, pls dont hesitate to let me know!)

enjoy! :)

2.9k words (my longest fic yet i believe)

It was nice to be finally out of the house, Aelin decided as she walked up to the nursery, her five month old daughter, Olive, strapped to her chest. After being cooped up for what felt like the last five months, Aelin had decided to liven up her apartment with some plants.

Hardy, un-killable plants, that is. Being a single mother didn't leave her much time to look after other things, so she needed some plants that required minimal water, but also had to be pretty to look at.

It was also a plus that there was a cafe attached to the nursery, and she heard that they served the best scones with homemade strawberry jam and cream in Orynth. All her life she had never come here, but she needed somewhere new to visit. And to reacquaint herself with her home town. Not long after Rowan and Lyria's wedding, Aelin had transferred to Rifthold for work, and had used the miles apart to quietly disappear from their lives.

That was four years ago now, and come back home to be closer to her parents. Aelin had never known her grandparents, and Aelin didn't want to deny her parents the privilege of knowing Olive, so she had transferred back just before she went on maternity leave. Aelin was happy to be back, especially since she hadn't seen Rowan or Lyria. The last she heard was from Elide, who got it from Lorcan, that a year after marriage, they were expecting. She was happy for them, she truly was, but that didn't stop the stab of pain she felt when she heard the news. She had dreamt of her being in Lyria's position for a few weeks after she heard the news, but forced herself to stop. To move on.

Aelin had, in a way. She would always love Rowan, but she needed to move on. It was wrong to consider her daughter a distraction, but she did provide the perfect one. Aelin briefly removed her lemon printed bucket-hat (Aelin wore a matching one) to kiss her head, her golden hair sparse, laughing her perfect baby laugh.

Aelin finally entered the nursery, tugging her nappy bag higher on her shoulder as she took in the hundreds of plants. She had no idea where to start, but started her browse. She slowly walked through the fern section, stopping every now and then to let Olive touch one, making the cute hand grabbing motion when she saw one she liked.

Aelin heard the laughter of a young child behind her, and then a deep and familiar one accompany it.

Aelin froze. It couldn't be. Surely the Gods weren't that cruel. Months she had been here, for the first time in ages she had decided to do something for herself, only to be met by that damned laughter.

Slowly she turned, her sandals making the gravel underneath crunch. She saw a flash of silver and a broad body.

Turning around had been a mistake, because when she did, so did the silver-haired man.

And for the first time in four years, turquoise eyes landed on pine-green ones.

Rowan blinked, and then blinked again as he took her in. His eyes widened as he noticed Olive strapped to her body, her face on display as she took in her surroundings. Her baby had the chocolate brown eyes of her father, but it was clear to anyone that knew Aelin that Olive was hers. Her daughter had Aelin's nose and hair colour, and would likely grow to have more of Aelin's features as the years went by.

Behind Rowan, his cousin Enda was holding the hand of a brown-haired boy. It was difficult to tell his exact age, but he looked to be about three. If Rowan was here with his son, then it was a good chance that Lyria would be here, too. The woman was a flower enthusiast, and was practically a walking encyclopedia when it came to flowers. Any questions anyone had, they went to Lyria.

Aelin really did not want to be here. Did not want to have that conversation of why the hell she had left and dropped all communication with them after the wedding.

Aelin hated it, but she adverted her gaze and started to leave. She would have to come here another day—maybe after she called the office to make sure that there was no silver-haired man in attendance.

“Aelin,” Rowan said, his voice raspy from surprise. Gods, she missed his deep voice and the rolling purr of his accent.

Aelin pretended that she didn't hear and made a beeline for the exit. Rowan called her again, and then a third time. Just as she reached the gate, his warm hand landed on her shoulder gently. His hands were still calloused, his hands always doing some type of manual labour work. She wondered briefly if he was still an auto mechanic.

Turning around, Aelin noted the shock in his dark eyes. She gave him a weak smile, not sure what to say.

“What are you—I mean, how are you? Where have you been?”

“I'm good,” Aelin answered after a moment, not really sure how else to respond. “I've been around. What about you?” Somehow, these questions didn't feel like the right ones to ask. Before Rowan could say anything, Olive made herself known, making grunting sounds that meant she wanted attention, so Aelin kissed her hand and said to Rowan, “This is Olive.”

Rowan's eyes dropped down to Olive. “Is she yours?”

Aelin snorted, a sound she hadn't made in so long. It was something she often did around Rowan—or used to, that is. “No, I bought her from the store. Yes, she's mine.”

Rowan's eyes dropped lower, to her ring finger—her empty ring finger. There had never been a ring there. Aelin's traitorous eyes drifted to Rowan's and her heart stopped when she noticed that his ring finger was bare as well—that there was no tan line to suggest that he had only recently removed it.

“I'm doing this on my own,” Aelin found herself saying after a moment.

“As am I,” Rowan said. Aelin cocked her head to the side, annoyed at herself for being curious. “Lyria...Lyria passed away three years ago.”

Aelin's heart shot up to her throat, choking her. Years ago, Aelin had horribly wished that the ring Rowan had purchased was secretly for her and was heartbroken when it wasn't.  In her loneliest moments, she had wished that Rowan and Lyria would break up and somehow find his way to her in Rifthold; but never, never-ever in a million years would she ever have wanted this to happen.

Why the hell hadn't Elide told her? Or anyone else for that matter?

Aelin found her voice after long minutes of just staring at him, processing his words. “Rowan, I am so rutting sorry. I had no idea. Are you...are you okay?”

“I have my good and bad days”. He pointed to the brown-haired boy with Enda, who were both busy inspecting each leaf and flower petal in front of them. “That's Egan, he's a plant lover like his mother.”

Aelin couldn't really see him, but she still said, “He's adorable.”

“He is, and a little terror,” Rowan said, a small smile on his tanned face. After a moment, he turned back to her, and asked, “Are you...doing anything? I'd like to talk, it's been a long time since we have.”

She should say no, but she ended up saying yes.

Taking a deep breath, she followed Rowan back inside the nursery and to the cafe.

X X X X X X

It was turning out to be an ordinary Saturday when Rowan had needed to get out of the house, so he asked Egan if he wanted to go to the nursery and his son had enthusiastically agreed, asking if Uncle Enda could join them. Thankfully, his cousin was free and more than happy to spend time with his nephew.

Never in a million years did he think he would run into Aelin. He had heard the rumours that she transferred back to the publishing house and that was it; there was no mention of her being pregnant. But when Rowan looked up and spotted Aelin, and his eyes immediately dropped to the baby strapped to her chest, his heart had stopped.

He had once wished to have that life with Aelin, exploring the world with their child, one that had Aelin's hair and his eyes; but Rowan never told Aelin how he felt because he knew how badly her last relationship ended, and he didn't want to put any unnecessary stress on her if she didn't feel the same way. Didn't want there to be any chance to ruin their friendship.

And so, he had moved on. Had started dating Lyria and came to love her, but not the same way as he loved Aelin. And when Rowan proposed, he had only done it because his parents were getting older and wanted him to get married, wanted him to have a grandchild.

It was cruel irony that they had both died before Lyria had even given birth.

He was bastard, and he hated himself. Lyria was kind, sweet and gentle—and deserved someone better than him, should have been with a man that truly wanted to marry her for her and not because of family pressures. But he never stopped himself from their relationship moving forward.

But he was doing better, thanks to therapy, because while he may have been a bastard, he didn't want his son to know that. Maybe it made him a bastard to hide this part of himself to his son, but his son was gentle like his mother and Rowan loathed the idea of Egan growing up to hate him.

And as Rowan asked Enda to take Egan home, Rowan could see that Enda thought that this lunch was a bad idea—Rowan had confessed his secrets to his cousin long ago, how he loved Aelin even when he was married to Lyria. How he had wanted that life with her instead.

Rowan knew that he was going to be on the end of a scolding conversation when he got back to his house, but he told Enda that it was going to be okay and that he was fine and could handle this.

Enda sighed heavily through his nose and muttered a 'good luck' under his breath. Rowan planted a kiss of Egan's head and told him that he would be home soon. His son was too excited to spend time with his Uncle to really notice.

When Rowan returned to Aelin's side, they soon found a nice spot in the cafe that was away from others.

It was...painfully awkward for a good while. They only spoke to order their food—scones with jam and cream with a side dish of seasonal fruits for Aelin, and a steak sandwich with fries for Rowan—and then lapsed back into silence.

They ate in silence, too, and Rowan wondered if maybe this was a tremendously bad idea when Aelin said, softly but not weakly, “What happened to Lyria?”

Taking a deep breath, Rowan swirled his fries in the mustard on his plate. He hated this part. “She passed away not long after giving birth. She hemorrhaged and bleed out too quickly for anything to be done. Egan never really got to meet her.”

“I'm sorry,” Aelin said, doing her best to speak over the lump in her throat, “that's horrible. I'm so sorry.”

Years later and Rowan still never really knew what to say to that. Needing to distract himself, he asked, “So, what's your story?”

Before she could say anything, Olive started crying, and without a seconds hesitation, Aelin started feeding her. Some people stared in disapproval and Aelin stared right back, unflinching. He knew that if someone said something, she would spit back. It never made sense to Rowan how people frowned upon breastfeeding. A small smile made its way to Rowan's mouth at the steely look in her stunning eyes. That was the Aelin he knew and loved.

When the strangers turned back around, Aelin looked back at him, the steel in her eyes softening. “I briefly dated my high school boyfriend, Sam, for a while back in Rifthold, and well...the condom broke and Olive made her appearance.” Not the most elegant way to describe the situation, but Aelin figured she had years to think of a better way to explain Olive's appearance if her daughter ever asked.

“And he wants no part of it?” He had no right to ask, but the question left his mouth before he could stop it.

Aelin sighed, and finished feeding Olive and cleaning themselves up before responding. “It's complicated...Sam's father, Arobynn, is a cruel man. He's manipulative and sadistic, but knows how to turn on the charm when it suits him. Sam has been scared of him his entire life, and didn't want Olive to know the fear that he did. So, every month Sam sends money, but he's not on the birth certificate—he doesn't want there to be any paper trails leading to Olive's existence. I had to convince him that it was safer to transfer me the money than to send it through the mail. I send him pictures from time to time, but whether he saves them, I have no idea.” Not to mention the miserable length of the conversation of sending money electronically. Sam was so damned paranoid that Arobynn checked his accounts that Aelin had almost told him not to bother to send anything when he relented. Aelin could provide Olive well enough on her own, but it was helpful to have that extra bit of cash—baby things were expensive as hell.

Aelin bit her lip. She hadn't meant to divulge that much, no one knew that, not even her best friends,  but she didn't regret it. It felt...like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

“That's awful, Aelin, I'm sorry to hear that.”

“I just...” She probably shouldn't ask, but out of everyone she knew, none of them were single parents. “Has Egan ever asked about his mother? What do you say to that?”

“He's asked a few times, and I've told him that she passed away when he was little, but I don't think he fully understands what I'm talking about.” Those conversations were the hardest that he ever had to go through, and he knew it would be worst when Egan grew and fully understood what death meant.

“I have no idea what I'll tell Olive when she's older and asks about her dad,” Aelin admitted. “It's not like he's gone, but he is absent and I just...what if she grows up to think he hates her? I think that would kill me if she ever thought that.”

Without thinking, Rowan reached over and too her hand in his. Her hand was soft in his, and he swiped his thumb against her knuckles. “You have a good few years to worry about that. Who knows,” he added, “maybe Sam will be able to get out from his father's shadows and you three can be a family.”

A small smile made its way to Aelin's face. She was more beautiful then he remembered, and he wasn't sure if he should feel guilty for thinking that.

“I like the sound of that, but I'm not going to get my hopes up. I'd like to think that I can do this on my own.”

“You can, but if you'd like...if you ever need help with something, if you need someone to look after Olive, I could do that for you.”

Silver lined Aelin's eyes as she watched him. “Are you sure? I wouldn't want to intrude.”

“That's what friends are for, aren't they? To help?” And as a single parent himself, he knew how hard it could be raising a child in this hectic world.

Aelin's smile grew. “Okay, I'll keep that in mind. And if we're friends, could you help me find some plants? I'm sick of looking at my boring walls.”

“Okay, I know the perfect ones for you to get—ones that are practically impossible to kill.”

“I'm going to ignore that implication that I can't look after a plant.” Although it was true.

Rowan snorted. “Because you can't. I remember that poor aloe Vera plant that you slaughtered.”

Aelin narrowed her eyes, but he could see just a hint of mirth behind the glare. “I did not slaughter that plant, it just didn't like me!”

Rowan laughed and it was the most freeing sound he made in a long time. After he calmed down, he said, “Come on, let's finish here and I'll help you to liven up your place.”

“Fine, but I better not hear anything about my poor gardening skills or I'll let down your tires.” And she would, he knew, but Rowan just smiled even more.

“It's a deal.”

The conversation moved much more smoothly and Rowan realised how much he missed her. And Aelin realised how much she missed him, too.

Maybe things wouldn't be too bad after-all. It would be nice to have Rowan in her life again, even as a friend, even if she still loved him and knew it could never be, not after everything.

[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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