#than the trainer star

[jrueships]

plz tell us more ABT gg!

u guys don't know how happy i am to get this ask, man!! ive been ROOTING for good things to come with gg !! a little quietly at the beginning bcs i didn't want to add more pressure onto the lil guy, but man. im so glad things are going well for him!!! he's had a.. challenging start, to say, for a career in the NBA... at least regarding public opinion, anyways.

I'm a fan of UNC basketball, that's how I heard abt GG in the first place. For necessary background, UNC is a Big basketball school that hailed Michael Jordan, hence how i'm a fan bcs Chicago duh. GG isnt from North Carolina, but he IS from SOUTH carolina (remember this), so UNC was definitely trying to recruit him using homefield advantage and big name BCS GG was hyped to be a big FUTURE talent. Keyword being future. The main conflicts in GG's basketball journey were: going into college a year early.. and going into the NBA a year early. Basically, in his 'freshman' year of college.. he was actually (supposed to be) a HIGHSCHOOL senior. AND NOW.. in his first year in the nba.. he's actually supposed to be a FRESHMAN in COLLEGE. Going into things early isn't new in the nba.. but to do it twice? It can double the average challenges.

UNC was one of the mainstream stems from that 1st conflict. Short summary, GG originally committed to NORTH carolina for 79 days. Took the pictures, all that. UNC was stoked to have him as a player whose talents they could help mold. GG was projected, at one point in HIGHSCHOOL to be # 1! Which makes it sound silly for UNC to have work in PROGRESS plans for GG and not INSTANT stardom set up. But we have to keep in mind the FIRST CONFLICT: GG reclassified from highschool early. All these projections & hype are very preemptive. NOW IF HES A HIGHSCHOOL SENIOR who did FOUR years of lower school.. and the hype has CONTINUED throughout those 4 years.. then the narrative maybe wouldve been different in terms of training. Gg's skills would be more trusted than trained since he has the stability in years and evidence of backing claims. Projections would turn into points. But he didn't. And that's fine!! That's more than fine for UNC because they have basketball history! They have proven tools and methods to help turn the number 23 into the name MICHAEL JORDAN. UNC FANS and UNC itself were excited to have GG on as a future eventual sophomore star at the LEAST! They were excited to show GG how to sharpen his young skills using their own very skillful roster!

And then GG decommited for a college closer to where he's from (South Carolina). Now you would think UNC would be mad because they view it as 'betrayal' to their 'great rival south', but... they don't. Because south carolina is. Not their great rival. At least not as much anymore. It used to be, there's OLD history, but.. now it's just history because UNCs been creating NEW history. It's UNC versus DUKE now. It's UNC entering bigger basketball, and South? It's not really doing that.

UNC fans are mad not because of the name of the school, but the game of it. South Carolina simply does not have the same depth, training, resources, and stardom as UNC. That's why they're not really rivals anymore.. UNC's outgrown South in terms of basketball skill. The decommital wasn't exactly an insult of namebrand, but of pure, raw skill.

GG went to South because it wasn't as skilled. That's what all the UNC people who are hurt about it say. I don't personally share the same hurt, but i can see the reason. Kids can choose big schools that can nuture them into an eventual big name later on, which means you can risk your pick in the draft being lower from so many big fish sharing the same ocean, but it can help you seem more solid and safe as an option so you WILL eventually be picked (talking abt like maxey and keldon going to Kentucky. Didn't get picked too high, but still got picked anyways), or go to a small school with a smaller pool so you have all the room to show off your talent.. with the risk of showing off your weaknesses as well from the bigger burden of being the star backbone. Stand out more, get stung more. And GG got... he got stung pretty bad.

I don't care what future prospects do, tbh. Im not the kind of guy who's like 'LOOK AT THIS 9FT TALL 9 YEAR OLD!! IMAGINE HIM IN THE 20XX DRAFT!!!' like girl. i could be dead by the time he becomes a teen or smthin. Im not gonna worry abt some child bcs. Like. Im normal lol. They have their own worries, and i have my own worries. Sadly, not a lot of people think like that... especially people who like college sports. Idk if it's a variation of that one person who keeps visiting their old highschool 'stomping grounds' or What. But they feel like a certain entitlement to their college and who enters it. GG going to a smaller basketball 'pool' (talent terms) school was a lowblow to their 'UNC COLLEGE PRIDE' or whatever. 5 star talent is decommitting from a 5 star talent college to a . A 1 star. Oh my gosh, you woulda thought these grown men considered it a stabbing from their own son. Their wouldve been next Michael jordan just walked out to go to community college, in dramatized words.

' but GG IS from SOUTH carolina! He's not from North! It makes sense, at least, for him to want to stay at his hometown even though it's smaller! Like ant! ' but unlike ant.. he only did 3 years of highschool. Ant did 4, built up both SOLID and big hype, then denied big schools for his home team Straight Up. When GG wanted to stay closer to home, it showed less loyalty and more selfishness .. to the press anyways.. BECAUSE he's ONLY done 3 years! Only has 3 years of resume! To UNC, gg should be GRATEFUL to even be CONSIDERED by them RIGHT now. If he had 4 years and KEPT UP a STRONG hype, then it'd be reversed. But it's not. GG is too young, UNC is too stacked, and South is too desperate.

GG goes to South Carolina. He even filmed a little tiktok with his friends poking fun at his decommitment from big UNC to South. It was a little light thing that quickly got deleted, but on social media.. nothing is light and nothing is ever Really deleted. You can still find the video and you can still find the insulted UNC fans under it. It's just more evidence of how young he is and how naive he is to burdens regarding business. So anyways, he goes to South Carolina... and he doesn't do what he was hyped to do. It was too much pressure, too much scarcity of help. The coach, who's close to GG bcs hes the best thing they have to a 'star', despite how young he is.. They're that bare bones, sees how all these minutes are doing more harm to GG's stock than help like college minutes for any player is supposed to, and tries sitting him out more as a solution. Tries writing plays that'll set GG up for maybe an assist but not a point, definitely not points because he just hasn't been getting them and if the NBA didn't see it back then during smaller scale highschool.. they definitely see it in college. They definitely see it in a SMALL basketball college, when there isnt a lot of other teammates to stare at or depend on. Big Scale UNC fans CERTAINLY see it after GG politely then not-so politely turned down their 'token of kindness' for.. what's shaping up to be a big mistake.

GG does not take very well to that. ONE OF the ups on why he chose this school of namebrand UNC (im not saying it's the ONLY reason, like some angered Unc fans may, but im also not saying it Not one to be considered . Im just bringing general observations that are either heavily backed or confirmed by fact) is for those HEAVY minutes. He was hyped to be their star, but he's not getting those deep save the game minutes he expected. He was supposed to get all the plays, and now he's getting some. So he does what ANY kid does nowadays and rants his frustrations out on social media

that doesn't go well. He can't be a kid, not according to college, not when you set yourself up to be the leader of a team. When you take on big tasks, you take on big blame as well. That goes double in sports. It's a bit harsh, if you ask me, but no one's asking.

So now he has all this doubt in his head. And his dad isn't an athlete, he's a pastor, so he's telling GG to have faith and to have faith and faith and faith, but what if it's FAKE? what if UNC was right in telling him he can't shoulder this alone. What if everyone was right. What if he's selfish. So he enters the draft and it's SPECULATED that he didn't do well.

People are saying the person who dropped it then dropped so low in the draft because of it is him. People in the nba and out of it. I'm not saying it's true or it's not, we don't know, but i do know that having a rumor like THIS on you? When you're so young?? Is not good. At all. Combine that with his less than positive living to the solo hype at South? And you get this.

GG crying at his own draft party because of how poorly he's doing.

Just looking at the photo alone just fuckin. Splits the heart for me. He's a KID!! he's a KID! i don't know if it just hits harder for me bcs ive BEEN to draft parties where the draft never happened, or maybe because we're like one year apart in youth, like im not that 'discontented nothing better to do in my life' adult yet like a lot of his long-term haters have been.. but like. That sucks. That's awful to see. His coach, the same person GG openly criticized on social media, being in his ear CONSOLING him.. keeping him from bawling in front of all these people.. telling him he could always come back to college and give it another year and GG doesn't even know if he should do that or not is.. it's painful!! GG set this party up BANKING off the Hope, the FAITH that the hype he had back in HIGHSCHOOL, those THREE years.. was STRONG enough to get him drafted not top 10 but at least first ROUND?? And that sounds stupid now, it sounds silly, it sounds grandiose, and it is. It has to be because he WAS the projected #1 pick at some point. He WAS a lottery pick. And now he doesn't even know if he's gonna be picked at all because of what? Because he had faith? Because he betted on himself? He listened to his dad?? He's a kid??????

That's what a Lot of people wanted for him. They CRAVED it. They WANTED him to fail BECAUSE he's young and because he's made mistakes and because it happens. It's unfair for other possibilities. Famous failure is different than mere familiar failure. It just tastes better.

I care about GG because I think some people, who have no business to, care about him Too much. I'm just happy he's managed to do what makes him happy because not everyone can, so it's a blessing that he can and I love that for him. I don't care about GG bcs he 'proved the haters wrong blahblah blah', because he really didn't. He went in young, took the harder option, and got his draft history hurt because of it. Shit happens. He's clearly learning, he's clearly improving, and he's clearly happy.

And i like when people are happy. Idk, maybe im just sick :)

#this is a bit of a 'LEAVE THAT LITTLE GUY ALONE!!!' vent but u dont know how much i MEAN this like #fuckin grown men talking abt how badly they wanna see a kid meet his downfall!!! #hes just trying to navigate this weird scary talent space and they dont care for context! #they just care for cruelty!!! #'oh but hes a brat! hes a little brat! he needs to be broken by consequences' DO U KNOW HIM??? PERSONALLY?????? #man just hatred is insane man. it's insane #there were so many routes gg couldve gone on #yea he COULDVE done all 4 years hs instead of graduate early and then gone to unc so he could play more as the star #than the trainer star #but he didnt and it's done with. we can still consider the consequences like dont be upset with benchtime. ur time will come #but we dont have to stew in them #im just glad hes happy #thats it man im just here for the happiness i love it #BIG DAY FOR PEOPLE WHO LOVE LOVE!!!!!!!!! AS I SAID! #ty for this ask i love gg i wish him the best always and so glad hes on a team i like #ted asks #ted longer #gg

[astrocassette]

trainersona time wahoo!!!! milo is from an AU of this world that doesn't have pokemon as a franchise, so they're dropped into the pokemon world with no prior knowledge. after a few months of adjusting and learning galarian, they find they enjoy casual training and split their time between that and working at a quilt shop in nimbasa :]

#pokemon #pkmn #pokemon oc #trainersona #pokemon trainersona #pokemon trainer oc #i came up w a whole extensive storyline for them that idk if i'll ever fully flesh out + polish #but i might draw/write more of them in the future and i would LOVE to talk abt them more :] #they're buds w the subway twins + a couple of the depot agents who found + helped them after they woke up on the nimbasa subway #after a few years in the pkmn world they also start learning kantonese + then go to hoenn and a lil bit of johto to sightsee #i'm currently working on a rough storyline where they + emmet end up in hisui w a celebi to look for ingo after he disappears #anyways they do have more pokemon than these but ettie julian and peridot are the ones they take everywhere w them #star scribbles #pkmn interdimensional subway isekai

[mutalune]

my clone culture headcanon is that they have almost no traditional mandalorian ties, they picked up almost nothing culturally/linguistically from the mandalorian trainers, but the one thing they DID get were endearments/affectionate and-or comforting words/etc.

b/c 1) that was the only way the trainers could somewhat express affection for their favorites without getting dinged for being too attached to them since no one there actually spoke mando’a 2) kaminoans would be Unhappy if the clones expressed affection openly so secret language words were the only way to safely verbalize caring and loving, so they picked up on those few kind words VERY quickly

(The way I see it working is that the trainers had favorites, would occasionally say something like “chin up, hang in there, good job kiddo,” and said favorites picked up those terms without actually ever getting Direct Translations of what they mean. So they get the words and some context but have to jumble it together themselves and pronunciation and meaning change the further away it spreads from the original favorites - because all of this is spread in private, quietly, until it grows its own legs in different iterations with different battalions imho

like they know adding -‘ika to a name is affectionate and feels like a diminutive but they don’t know what it means exactly and sometimes plug it into names in grammatically odd ways, so instead of “Trap’ika” you get “Trapper’ika” which sounds more like “Trapperka” when you’re talking fast.)

(i’m just a fan of gentle soft pet names and showing affection quietly and how love finds a way and how the clones can take what little scraps they were given and make it their own)

#starlight fandom #star wars #clone troopers #clone trooper culture #mandalorian culture #the clones didn’t get much of anything they had to take and mold what little they did receive #the few kind words they received would be hoarded and built upon I feel that strongly #and I’m v much a ‘I don’t see them getting much of mandalorian culture even if the trainers had tried to teach them’ #which I don’t think they would #but even if they did I think the clones would have enough ‘the galaxy doesn’t care about us we are our own people’ that they #would create so much of their own beliefs and culture based on their circumstances rather than what little they were fed by others #all of the posts about clones picking up Jedi beliefs make me feral tbh because the thought of them choosing Jedi compassion - #after being bred for war is very chef’s kiss to me #(I also hope this doesn’t come across anti-mandalorian that’s not what I’m aiming for at all) #(I just don’t think the clones are mandalorian and I don’t think most of them would want to be) #(I also don’t think the clones would ever be a ‘one size fits all’ in these beliefs like there’s probs at least a dozen of them who do want #mandalorian culture and a handful that would want to be more traditional and a handful that would want to melt beskar down for scrap) #(I just find it unlikely that there would be one overarching clone culture after they left kamino I think there would be a base/foundation #but they’d develop in different directions and different dialects and different beliefs almost immediately due to 1) war 2) separation #3) sped up aging that means their development is fast tracked - a month in war is like aging 10yrs for them I bet) #anyway I’ll shut up now this is my personal headcanon supported not at all by canon I just like playing in the sandbox :)

[icantspellthings]

Hmm

#i would genuinely rather barry date some weird gym rat personal trainer girl than a pop star who is a taylor groupie #like I pointedly dislike t*ylor sw*ft and anyone who is buddies buddies with her #have a pr relationship if you want but god pick a better match pls... #and we all fucking know the twt stans are so mean towards him bcs he's dating their precious pop girly or whatever the fuck #i wish he wasn't so mainstream now #like get the bag king but also can the normies pls not perceive him? #all the pictures comming out is making me bitter lmfao #gnawing on wood crawling on the floor r #he's probably flying on their private jets too lmao go queen kill the earth! #“hiding” it in the tags bcs im a pussy lol #sabr*na is probably a nice girl but ugh #anyways I just needed to get this out of my system lol #mouthy mint #🫤

[wild-battlebond]

this has also been said a billion times before about showcases, but the fact that victory is determined solely by audience votes introduces so much bias into the equation… that’s not to say that formal judging is inherently bias-less, but at least contest judges are evaluating appeals against an implied list of qualifications (how much the appeal shows off the trainer’s pokémon, whether or not the moves used detract from the pokémon, etc) while showcase audiences just pick whatever’s the flashiest and shiniest

#im still on the same ep… i didn’t get a chance to finish it yesterday #also ik i was saying that i like how performers perform alongside their pkmn #but while watching the ep i also realized that can wind up making the trainer the star of the show more than the pokémon… #like bonnie points out how shauna looks like a fairy during her performance but… #not the appearance of her pokémon. #which i guess is part of the very obvious idol influence of showcases… but still. #pokémon #pokéani #x&y #xy060 #fiftytenpost #xy liveblog 23

[sad-drake-lyrics]

this just came up in my facebook memories from when SwSh came out and i am losing it 😂🤣

(yes i am both a serious pokémon nerd & a basic bitch 💅💕)

#pokémon #pokémon sword and shield #pokémon swsh #pokémon trainer #basic bitch #jeffrey star #funny #i’m smarter than you #hotter than you #and better than you #gpoy #never talk to me or my pokémon again #if you c ghosts

[recycledraccoon]

What if....

Damien and Danyal Al Ghul are twins. Danyal takes heavily after Bruce but Damien is a perfect mix of their parents, and he came out of the artificial womb first, so Damien is decided to be the heir.

Growing up in the League is hard, but Damien excels in a way that Danyal doesn't, because for all the potential Danyal has, he hates the killing and there is a rebellious streak evident even as young as they are. A rebellious streak is a...very dangerous thing to have. Grandfather won't kill Danyal, for as ruthless as he is he doesn't kill his own lineage. But that is not to say that the additional "training" Danyal goes through is merciful.

Damien and Danyal love each other, not just as brothers but also in the way partners do when they don't even have to blink to anticipate the others actions in the midst of action. Which is why Damien, not even yet six, can see the way Danyal is being broken down under the burden of their joint legacy.

So many times, in so many of the universes in which he exists, Danyal Al Ghul is or is seemingly killed, of which is the catalyst for his escape from the League of Assassins, and his brother is left behind thinking him truly dead.

In this universe, when the Demon Twins are out on a training mission (an assassination of a target so easy it's beneath the League for anything other than the simplest of first training missions) a massive earthquake occurs.

They are alive at the end, but both their communication devices are beyond repair. Damien is more roughed up than Danyal at the end, but both are dirty and bloodied.

This is an unprecedented opportunity, of which Damien knows deep down he will never get again.

He loves his brother deeply, but Danyal is weak, always hesitating before the kill, hands shaking. Damien loves his brother and fighting side by side, but he values more the quiet moments when Danyal is looking at star maps and trying to match them up with the sky above their home or making snarky comments about their trainers under his breath. (After when they can't hear Damien doesn't laugh but Danyal always knows he agrees and is amused.)

Grandfather's and Mother's additional training to bring Danyal up to Damien's level is making Danyal go quiet and emotionless and Damien is selfish.

(Damien convinces his twin brother to leave the League of Assassins.)

Damien drags himself to the rendezvous point and returns home alone, reporting the target dead and his brother lost under rock in the quake, body unable to be recovered. He is colder, furious at the world and himself. He pushes and pushes and PUSHES himself. He is the last remaining of a set and he will prove himself perfect to carry the title of Heir perfectly and without reproach. He is more loyal day by day, the guilt his selfishness and betrayal of his family a deep sting he can't ignore.

Talia does search, but so many bodies were lost or unidentified inside mass graves. She grieves and then refocuses on her remaining son without looking back. Grandfather laments the loss, but cares little for the spare in the long run.

Meanwhile, Danyal hid himself long enough to sneak onto one of many transports filled with foreign aid. He is small and sneakier than any average stowaway, and remains undetected all the way to the US.

He doesn't go to Gotham to find his father, but picks a direction at random and leaves, until eventually he's picked up and put in the system. Bouncing around until one day, not long after he turns seven, the Dr.'s Fenton and their young daughter are visiting in their search to adopt their second child. (A combination of genetics and radiation from their earliest experiments in college leaving the pair with low fertility rates and very high risks if they ever did get pregnant. The two get procedures early on and adopt Jazz when she is still fairly young, but wait until she is a bit older before adopting again.)

Danyal Al Ghul had an older twin brother.

Daniel Fenton doesn't think he could handle having an older brother again, but an older sister is acceptable.

Danyal left to go full civilian, and when Damien had sent him off decided he would carry that knowledge to his grave if he must. He tells no one, and does not even mention ever having a twin when he goes to live with their Father in Gotham. If Mother did not tell Father of the deceased son, then neither will Damien.

Danyal Al Ghul is dead, and Damien will keep it that way.

.

.

.

.

(The greatest secret is this: The two have never lost contact. It is very easy, during a natural disaster, to steal a pair of burner phones, each with one number only on them and prepaid with enough stolen funds to last years. Danny smuggles his with him in one piece, Damien smuggles his in pieces, ready to be hidden and repaired when necessary. He checks it scarcely, but every few months is enough to make sure his twin is alive. When he goes to live with Father in Gotham, they communicate a bit more frequently. This remains his most fiercely protected secret.)

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #danny and damian are twins #oops this was in my drafts for a hot minute might as well post it now while I'm NOT on mobile for once

[kqizen]

personal trainer gojo

short drabble ☆

nsfw ⚠️ mdni (creepy satoru is in the building)

——————————————————————————

personal!trainer gojo who smirks when he sees you in your tight workout clothes

“you sure that’s your size?” the man asks, watching as you drop your bags on the floor. you roll your eyes, all too familiar with his behavior. satoru smirks, shrugging his shoulders indifferently. “i ain’t sayin’ shit if your pants rip.”

personal!trainer gojo who secretly takes pictures of your ass when you warm up

personal!trainer gojo who brushes himself against ass when you do squats

personal!trainer gojo who makes you do intense exercises so that he can see your boobs bounce

personal!trainer gojo who presses his hard cock against your body when you’re distracted

personal!trainer gojo who has his eyes on your juicy cameltoe more often than not

personal!trainer gojo who strokes his cock when your back is turned

precum beads on the head of his dick as he watches you. satoru thanks his lucky stars that you dress like such a slut around him. slowly, he slips his hand into his pants, desperately stroking his cock to the sight of your glistening body. “fuck, fuck,” he whimpers quietly, his hips bucking up into his hand. his breath catches in his throat as globs of cum gush into his pants. lord knows he feels like a damn pervert.

personal!trainer gojo who is a big fan of sexualizing your yoga poses

“just like that, good fuckin’ girl.” satoru coos, unable to hide his grin. he has you on your back, your legs pinned over your head. it’s hard to breathe, but you try to hold out for a few more seconds. satoru subtly rubs his dick against your clothed pussy, getting off to the sight of your juicy cameltoe.

personal!trainer gojo who stays quiet when your boobs slip out of your workout bra

personal!trainer gojo who spanks your ass and praises you at the end of the session

personal!trainer gojo who invites you to grab coffee with him

personal!trainer gojo who lets you ride him in the backseat of his car

your mouth drops open into an o shape as satoru drills into your pussy, the filthy sound of being pounded filling the car. his hands rest on your hips, forcing you to remain motionless as he fucks his needy cock inside you. “fuck, that’s it princess, scream f’me.” he pleads desperately, spanking your ass as you bounce on him. he captures your hard nipple in his mouth, sucking slowly as his tongue swirls around it.

with one last thrust into your dripping cunt, he throws his head back in ecstasy. his blue eyes roll into the back of his head as he empties his heavy balls into your pussy, ribbons of white painting your walls. his glassy eyes bore into yours, a charming smirk playing on his lips. “you down for more?”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk anime #jjk manga #jjk season 2 #jjk s2 #jjk scenarios #jjk x y/n #jjk gojo #jjk satoru #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satorugojo #satoru smut #satoru x reader #anime #manga #anime and manga #shibuya

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊◜ a kiribaku x reader scenario that’s lived in my head for awhile now! it’s not really a formalized…anything. just fleeting thoughts. ♡ ✿ tangled hearts modern au masterlist ✿ ｡‧˚ʚ wc; ~2.6k ɞ˚‧｡

Thinking about a modern day AU with Kirishima and Bakugo settling down in the countryside for a quiet life away from the hustle of the city. They’re in their early 30s, married and happily tucked away in their own little paradise - until they meet you.

Bakugo works with his parent’s fashion agency as the director of the design department, and is a designer himself. He went to the highest credible fashion institute in Tokyo and graduated top of his class - as expected.

Kirishima is a personal trainer and owner of the local gym. He took a few business classes after high school and general fitness courses to learn all about it. He loves getting to help people and knows almost every single person in town. He also volunteers with the local fire company.

It was the ideal place for them, not too big and not too cramped. Bakugo had his own garden that he cherished while Kirishima loved the backyard for home exercising. Their home was spaced out from their neighbors and gave them the perfect amount of privacy.

The town is only an hour and change outside the city, still remaining close for friends and family by train. Bakugo mostly worked from home and only went into the city office for important meetings and press conferences. He preferred to work in his own space while designing instead of in a buzzing office where anyone could bother him - especially his parents.

Their morning routine was simple: Bakugo would wake up anytime between 6 and 6:30am, rolling out of bed to start breakfast and coffee. By the time he’s done cooking, Kirishima stumbles into the kitchen with his eyes half closed, sleepily making his way over to kiss his husband good morning. They’d sit at the table together and casually talk about their plans for the day or in silence as they enjoyed each others company.

That was all disrupted the morning Kirishima spotted you outside the gym, waiting for it to open. He didn’t recognize you like he did everyone else in town - that immediately caught his attention. Once inside, you introduced yourself and told him how you moved from the city for a new job. The two of you got to talking longer than anticipated and ended up bonding over you being new to town. Kirishima signs you up for his yoga classes the following week, excited to see you mesh with his regulars.

Bakugo’s on his lunch break later in the day at the local market to pick up his usual fresh vegetables and fruits when he spots you browsing the aisle behind him. He peeks over his glasses to see his design logo on the small tag at the hem of your tshirt. He simply smiles to himself, proud to see a garment of his in the wild, and finishes his own shopping.

───

A few weeks go by of getting to know Kirishima as you attend his classes. You’d stop and talk with him afterwards each time, slowly developing a friendship. One day after class, he casually mentions to you that his husband is a great cook and how his food rivals any five star restaurant from the city. On a whim, he invites you to dinner with him and Bakugo at their home - you agree happily. You didn’t have any friends in the area, what’s the harm in meeting people?

You arrive at their cozy home and are greeted heartily by Kirishima at the door as he puts a hand on your back and welcomes you inside. Bakugo turns his attention from the stove to the door, nodding in your direction as he continues cooking. You can’t help but think he looks…familiar.

Their place is gorgeous, tidy and clean, yet homey. There were pictures of their family and friends hung up all over alongside some simple art pieces and knick knacks. You could already tell who decorated versus who didn’t - Kirishima is definitely not the type to decorate so eloquently.

You’re gazing at one of the pictures when the realization smacks you in the face.

He’s responsible for half the clothes in your closet.

Kirishima is married to the Katsuki Bakugo of the fashion world? And you’re in his house for dinner that he’s serving to you?!

The thought makes you dizzy as your face flushes, desperately trying to hide your sudden excitement. And you chose to wear one of the dresses he designed for a collaboration years ago. What are the chances? Kirishima never told you what his husband’s name was, just that he was married.

“Y/N, I want you to meet my husband, Katsuki!” Kirishima excitedly says as he’s walking you to the kitchen. “Kat, this is Y/N. She’s the one I told ya about from my yoga class!”

The two of you lock eyes for a moment before Bakugo looks you up and down, calculating his first impression of you. He wasn’t about to tell you that he’s seen you around town before, he had to play it cool and not make it seem like he already knew you existed.

“Nice ta meet ya,” he greets before returning his attention to the stove. “Dinners just about ready. Ei, can you set the table?”

You all sit down for dinner, and it’s absolutely delicious. Kirishima was not joking about Bakugo’s cooking, every single thing you ate was delightful. You honestly don’t know if you’ve had a better meal than his.

“This is absolutely amazing, Ba-”

“Jus’ call me Katsuki.”

Him cutting you off to correct his name before you even finished saying it made your heart skip a beat.

“Oh, sure. Katsuki, this is honestly one of the best meals I’ve ever had,” you repeat, picking at that last of your vegetables on your plate. “I saw a garden outside. Do you grow them yourself?”

Bakugo grins, glowing at your compliments. “Yep. Anythin’ not in season I grab from market.”

Kirishima watches the two of you interact, happy that he was right about the three of you getting along seamlessly.

You shuffle in your seat at the next pause in your conversation before deciding to ask the burning question on your mind.

“So, Katsuki…what do you do for work?”

He laughs, motioning to your sundress. “Ya don’t have to beat around the bush about it. I can spot my work from a mile away.”

That broke the ice and allowed you to relax, knowing he didn't think you were trying to impress him by wearing his own design. The night went on, way past dinner, where the three of you talked about any and everything. It felt as if they’d already known you their whole lives, the conversation never feeling forced and flowing naturally.

“Shit, I’m sorry for staying so late!” You exclaim while looking at your phone. “Didn’t mean to keep you guys up.”

“Don’t apologize, y/n! You’re welcome here anytime,” Kirishima assured, slinging his arm around Bakugo on the couch. “We’d love to have ya over for dinner again soon!”

You’re about to head out the door when Bakugo gets up from the couch and stops you. “It’s dark, lemme walk you back to your place.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you insist, but he wasn’t having it. He was already changing out of his slippers and into a pair of sneakers. He held the door open for you as you waved to Kirishima, thanking him again for having you over and that you’ll see him for class in the morning.

You and Bakugo are walking down the dimly lit street toward your apartment complex, hands in his pockets, when he strikes up another conversation about your dress.

“You didn’t need to act so shy about the dress,” he comments. “Looks good on ya.”

You can feel your cheeks get hot again, praying he can't see your reaction in the street lights. "T-thanks! I love your work. I actually have a lot of the clothes you’ve designed…what are the odds?” You trail off at the end out of nervousness, playing with the fabric of the dress.

“Yeah? Good to know.”

The two of you approach your building and he says a simple ‘good night’ as he waves, turning to head home.

There’s a weird feeling in your chest, one that you haven’t felt in a long time. A warmth that floods your body with…you can’t pinpoint it. It makes you sweat, but comforts you at the same time.

Little did you know that the boys were feeling the exact same way.

───

Months go by as the three of you become inseparable - dinners, movie nights, shopping at the market, going into the city together, meeting their friends, walking around town at sunset, picnics in the park, you name it. Kirishima and Bakugo never knew they could feel so comfortable with someone so quickly - it was as if the three of you were meant to find each other.

While the two of them are lying in bed one night, Kirishima decides to open up about his feelings. He rolls over to face Bakugo, his usual pointy hair fluffed around his face against the pillow.

“Kats, I got a question for ya. It’s kinda…weird?” He starts, fiddling with the hem of the comforter. “Do you…uhh, shit. Do you have any feelings toward Y/N?”

Bakugo flips to his side to face him. “What do y’mean?”

“Oh don’t be like that. I think she’s…really cute,” he admits, his cheeks turning rosy. “I enjoy having her around.”

Bakugo grumbles in embarrassment, pulling the comforter up to cover his face. He feels like a high school boy all over again - he just didn’t want to admit it.

They’d both fallen for you simultaneously without even saying a word. Neither of them knew why, they’ve been together for over a decade now - since their college days. No one has ever made their hearts race in sync like you do.

“I’ll take that reaction as an agreement,” Kirishima teases, poking Bakugo’s forehead through the covers. He groans again as he throws the blanket off his face.

“It’s been confusin’ the shit outta me. I love you, Ei and that doesn’t change shit, but goddamn. She’s fuckin’ gorgeous,” Bakugo admits, face and ears burning hot.

“Aw, you’re so cute when you have a crush!” He scoots closer to Bakugo and kisses him on the forehead. “Haven’t seen that side of ya since college.”

Bakugo bats at him playfully, pushing him away as he whines, “Shut the fuck up!”

“So…what do we do about it?” Kirishima’s question hangs in the air between them, heavy…but alluring.

───

The next few times you hang out with the boys, you can tell that things feel a little more…intense? If that was the right word, the feeling was foreign. You found yourself becoming more physical with the two of them, and each time gave you butterflies. You weren’t quite sure what was going on until that fateful night.

It was a dreary night, the remnants of the storm passing through the town. The rain was no longer a torrential downpour and had tapered off into a sprinkle, enough to allow you to walk home safely. You’re heading for the door as Bakugo catches up to you, umbrella in hand.

“Y’know the drill, I’m not lettin’ ya walk home alone. Especially when it’s still raining.”

“Kat, you hate the rain, it’s fine,” you argue, but know it’s pointless. Bakugo waves at Kirishima and you notice Kirishima’s smile is extra wide tonight…and did he wink?

He closes the door behind the two of you and opens the umbrella on the porch, slinging an arm around your shoulders to huddle you under its protection.

The walk to your apartment is silent, an unknown tension lingering in the air. The subtle flexing of Bakugo’s fingers on your shoulder is driving you wild, a simple touch was enough to ignite the fire in your gut. Reaching your apartment complex, you stop to thank him for walking you home like always, but something else spills from your lips instead.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Bakugo’s taken aback by your question, confused where this has come from. “What? No, not at all. Why?”

“I…just don’t wanna make you two uncomfortable,” you whisper, eyes cast to the ground. “I really like you two…and don’t want to come between y-”

The umbrella clatters to the ground as Bakugo throws it to the side, letting the rain pelt against the both of you as one hand pulls you into him by the waist and the other under your chin.

“That’s right where we want ya,” he speaks against your lips. He hesitates, tilting his head back and looking directly in your eyes. “Tell me to back off, and I will. We can act like-”

This time, you cut him off by putting a hand on the back of his head and one on his chest, pulling him to meet your lips. The world stops around you as the rain trickles down your faces and vaguely into your kiss. You tangle your arms around each other’s bodies, illuminated by the soft street lights as your clothes become heavier with rainwater. After what feels like ages, you part, catching the breath you’ve stolen from each other’s lungs.

No words are spoken as Bakugo takes your hand, tugging you back down the road toward their place. You giggle and begin to run with excitement, skipping through the rain with him all the way back. Throwing open the front door, you both take a step inside, soaking wet from the rain. Kirishima glances over from the couch, shocked to see you return with Bakugo.

“Woah! What happened to you two?” he asks, concerned yet intrigued. He then notices you’re holding hands, and it clicks.

You’re stripping the wet clothes from your body faster than you can chicken out of doing so, letting them plop on the floor of the foyer until you’re left in your bra and underwear. Bakugo follows suit and trails behind you as you make your way over to Kirishima on the couch. You take a deep breath before placing a hand on each of his shoulders, sliding into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. He places his hands on your waist anxiously, scared you’ll shatter under his touch.

“It’s okay, Eiji,” you coo, leaning down to his ear. “You can touch me.”

You turn back to Bakugo as he’s sitting next the two of you on the couch, reaching a hand out to stroke his cheek. “Katsuki can, too.”

That’s all the permission they need to devour you all night long - over and over again like a drug they couldn’t get enough of. Brief naps in between, each time better than the last. Hands tangled in hair, lips kissing skin in sinful places, and noises only the three of you could orchestrate together.

That was the night their lives changed forever, thanks to you. Things were easy and simple between the three of you - you blended into their routines perfectly as the weeks progressed. Waking up between the two of them each morning was heavenly, especially when they fought over who got to cuddle you through the night. Bakugo usually won that fight until he would go make breakfast, then Kirishima would tuck you under his arm and hold you close.

Everything was so easy between you three, you were the missing puzzle piece in their lives that they didn’t know was absent.

You were theirs, and they were yours - simple as that. They wouldn’t trade their newfound goddess for the world.

i immediately think of @pastelbakugou & @kweenkatsuki-fics when it comes to kiribaku x reader, thank you for being my inspirations! 💜

next entry: delicate (isn’t it?)

#☆.tangledhearts #katsuki bakugo #eijiro kirishima #kiribaku #kiribaku x reader #kiribaku fluff #bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader #bakugo imagine #kirishima imagine #kiribaku imagine

[starlightandsunshine]

I am apparently in the mood to choose violence and post Star Wars takes that would probably get me lynched if I had more followers.

But hey: the clones shouldn’t be Mando. I’m tired of Mando clones and I think they should be allowed to pick and choose what they want their culture to be based off what they say and what has meaning for them.

They hear the Mando trainers talking about colours having meaning so they take that. But they make their own meanings

White is family and home bc their armour is white and kamino is white and everything growing up was white and so white means each other

Cream and brown are peace and compassion bc those are the colours the Jedi wear and that is what the Jedi stand for

Blue and green are protection and defence because those are lightsabre colours and that is what they are used for

Orange is ferocity bc Shaak Ti’s skin is orange and she is calm and kind but the first thing she did was stop decommissioning and she has has never stopped being fierce in their defence

Purple is determination because the only purple lightsabre they’ve seen belongs to Mace Windu and he is never anything but determined to save as many people as possible

Like stop making everything about the clones Mando and start making them associate things with what they know and holds meaning for them. Fives calls the Jedi the clones best friends so let the clones assign meaning to things they associate with the Jedi bc the Jedi didn’t hesitate to love and trust them and offered nothing but compassion and friendship

Let death be about the ocean bc they come from a water planet

Let fighting be about fighting for something not about winning against something bc their generals always talk in terms of protection and saving innocents rather than making it about victory and winning battles

Let winning the war not be about winning but about making peace and let their thoughts about after not be about “protecting the generals” but about being able to learn and grow and discover what it means not to have to fight

I’m just so tired of clone culture being all about Mandalorians and fandom Mandos that have little basis in canon and even less association with the clones when there is so much else you can do with them with just a little thought

#Star Wars #clones #tcw #sw tcw #please no more Mando clones #I begging you to come up with something else #let Sabine have mandalorian storylines and meanings #let the clones have something that belongs to them

[fic-over-cannon]

A Soft Touch (pt. 1)

jason todd x f!reader (implied)

summary: when the pit brought jason back, it heightened all of his senses. he learns to live with that.

tags: mild body horror, sensory overload, mentions of offscreen violence, implied future relationship

rated teen | wc: 1.9k

a/n: dedicated to @jasonsmirrorball my beloved, who was just as excited about this version of jason as i was. part one is mostly a retrospective about how super senses would have impacted jason. the romance part of this story (and nsfw) will be in part 2 coming soon!

link to part 2, ao3 link

The Red Hood’s helmet isn’t just a precaution against an exposed secret identity or another piece of armour. It’s a necessity. It filters out sound, keeps out pungent smells and the associated tastes, controls light, and can restrict range of vision. For a regular person the helmet would be sensory deprivation of the worst kind. For Jason, it is the lifeline that keeps him alive to fight another day.

If anyone had asked Jason’s opinion before throwing him into the Lazarus Pit (not that he was in a fit state to respond, mind you) he would have told them that trusting a puddle of primordial green goo to know the limitations of the human body was incredibly stupid. Having come out of the experience irrevocably altered, he would point to his own body as an example of how much the pit didn’t know about humanity. Every scar he received before death had been removed (notably, the scars from after death were left untouched). He was over six feet tall when childhood malnutrition should have left him a good five inches shorter. His strength, rather than the result of packed on muscle and a good diet was definitely being supplemented by something unnatural. For a body built like a fridge, he was ridiculously light on his feet and agile. The physics of him just don’t make sense. Yet despite all of these changes, undoubtedly the worst was how all five of his senses had been heightened.

The Lazarus Pit burned through Jason Todd and woke him up screaming. It was the feel of it that was the worst sensation, the one that brought him up to consciousness first. The rough weave of his training pants grating against his skin like wire, clinging to his raw flesh with the dampness of the pit. Green water, oddly viscous and acrid, drenching his skin and burning like a grease fire. It drips down his nose and throat, the taste of tar and blood seared into his tongue, the scent of burnt hair and flesh imprinted into his nose. It drips into his eyes and brands them. The dark cave only lit by the green glow of the pool now so bright like it holds the light of one hundred stars. Burning and drowning and being flayed alive, Jason has no care for noise save that it deafens him. For those first few moments of awakening, Jason may as well have been truly deaf for the thunderous roar of nothingness in his ears. A rubber band snaps and at once his hearing is another ice pick to the brain. Voices that should have been a whisper ring through his skull and reverberate. The footsteps of shadows several floors away staccato through him. It is a living hell made worse by a screaming that won’t shut up. It is only when a slap cracks across his face (it feels like all the skin on his cheek has sloughed off) and the scream trails off to pitiful whines does Jason dimly recognize that the screaming was him. Two pairs of hands under his arms haul him to standing and it hurts oh it hurts. Iron meat hooks digging and clawing their way into him until he is too pinned to slip away. That is the start to the illustrious second life of Jason Todd, newly gifted.

As much training is dedicated to making Jason a better warrior, twice that is given over to training him to survive his own senses. It is rough, brutal work, dictated by trainers that have never felt the pit’s bite. It destroys whatever sanity he might have had left after his rebirth and he is grateful. He is remade with control, no longer a pitiful broken mind tied to a falling star, bracing to burn up on impact. He no longer aches at the feel of fabric on his skin, can smile and hold a conversation without wanting to claw the other person’s heart out for beating too loudly, can drink wine and not taste every molecule. He is so very grateful. But it is not enough. Talia warns him, in what might be her first true act of uncomplicated kindness to him, that those who have survived the pit don’t do well in places where life is concentrated.

Returning to Gotham is not the triumph he pictured. Within minutes of touching down he is on a safe house floor convulsing from sensory overload. The city, with its people and the machinery that houses them, is too much of everything. There are so many voices overlaid with construction and traffic, the chemical rot of the harbour suffocating him, sewage and putrid fish thick on his tongue, fluorescent lights tearing through the soft space of his eyelids. Gunshots and sirens and the tang of old blood. It takes every one of his years of training to stop seizing. It takes iron will like he hadn’t known since the early days to come back to himself. It takes days before he can control himself enough to come face to face with the shadows Talia sent with him. His first order: to bring him a motorcycle helmet. The helmet is black and stinks of cigarette smoke, visor slightly scratched. It is the most powerful relief Jason has ever known. His plans are delayed by months as he figures out the specifications for the Red Hood’s helmet. Design after design prototyped and discarded. The helmet helps, but Jason refuses to let it become his crutch. He practices, minutes at first and then hours, retraining himself to be able to exist outside the confines of the helmet.

He fails in his revenge against Batman and the Replacement, the insidious demands of his heightened senses unraveling all his patience and planning. Sends him into a murderous frenzy that nearly ends in another dead Robin. Ribs broken and face beaten in by his own father, all Jason can concentrate on is the sensation of drying blood flaking on his skin. Delirious, he thinks, so this is what they meant about the killing rage the pit hands out. It is only by the thinnest of chances that nobody dies at all and that his senses remain a secret.

Reconciliation is hard earned. He never quite gets around to telling anyone about his new ‘gifts’. Let’s them think him much more observant and tactically sound then he really is. Learns to identify the joyful thwip of Dick’s grappling gun, the steady drumming of Tim’s fingers on a keyboard. Jason memorizes the smell of Alfred’s hugs, a mixture of silver polish and baked goods. Starts to categorize all the different ways Bruce’s eyes on him feel physically.

Life doesn’t stop when his revenge does either. Jason rents an apartment as his semi-permanent safe house. Consciously decides to make it a home and learns the art of the DIY renovation. Blackout curtains go up first, followed by a soft blue on the walls (Jason may be sensitive to light now but he still can’t stand total darkness). Sound proofing comes next. He’s had a few close calls when the upstairs neighbour blasted music a little too loud and had had to restrain himself from killing them. The lumpy mattress gets replaced with memory foam and new sheets at a ridiculously high silk thread count he can’t quite believe he shelled out for. Through trial and error he finds a laundry detergent that doesn’t make him nauseous and celebrates with all the loads he’d put off. He finds joy in cooking again, running through all the recipes Alfred had taught him and appreciating them more for the new way the flavours tasted on his tongue. To his chagrin, he also discovers he hates the lingering smell of cooked food in his apartment after he’s done eating. A range hood fixes that problem but causes a new one with the rattle of the fan. Sound cancelling headphones quickly become his new best friend. Piece by piece his little oasis comes together.

Eventually Jason learns to share his little home. Stilted conversations in door frames turn into invitations for a drink turn into semi-regular dinners. Family movie nights start happening before Jason realizes it, all of the Robins, former and current, curled up in his living room. In the top kitchen cupboard on the left, a shelf gets dedicated to popcorn seasonings. Extra throw blankets get added to the sofa after Tim makes a remark about never making it through a movie night because the blankets are too comfy. Dick will show up cheerfully demanding a brotherly talk but Jason has realized that with the strategic application of cereal he can avoid talking about his own emotions. Alfred visits regularly, brings his own tea and a new recipe for the two of them to try together. Alfred never leaves without remarking on how well Jason keeps his home (and Jason never fails to flush at the compliment). Strangely enough it is when Bruce comes knocking that Jason feels the most sure footed in his apartment. Invites Bruce in politely and goes through the motions of hosting. It baffles Bruce a little, to see the Red Hood so domestic but it soothes the part of him that sat up all night with Jaylad when he was sickly. Bruce, in his own way, makes it clear that Jason will always be part of the family no matter where he chooses to live.

This latest point of reconciliation couldn’t have been timed any better. Only a few days later Damian turns up on the doorstep of the Wayne Manor. Bruce brings him by the apartment to introduce Damian to Jason, hoping that the two most recent additions will at least get along better than Damian and Tim’s first shaky interaction. It goes a little too well. Damian, unused to the sensory nightmare that is Gotham, takes two steps into Jason’s apartment and demands to stay with his big brother. Jason, intimately aware of how uncomfortable the transition from the orderly League compound to Gotham was, is only too happy to see Damian too. It takes a whispered fight of yes, I knew him, and no, I didn’t know who his father was before Bruce eventually has to concede that Damian will at least be spending some time in Jason’s home. The split transition makes establishing a life in Gotham much easier for Damian than it was for Jason. Jason can at least recognizes the signs of sensory overload, can guide Damian through it without the cruel methods of his former instructors. In caring for Damian, Jason comes to realize that he deserved worlds better than the torture disguised as teaching that he received. In preparing Damian to be a part of society, he realizes that he wants more out of life than being a controlled weapon too.

Jason waits, and he plans. After all, if he could design and execute a months’ long campaign to take over the Gotham underworld, surely he’s capable of getting a social life. He picks his first target with care, intending only to get used to being around people outside of scripted settings and his helmet. He chooses a small library two blocks from the apartment with an attached coffee shop, sets himself little goals for each day with the option to bail as soon as it becomes too much. In the span of two weeks he’s ready to move from using the library to sitting in the coffee shop. It’s a daunting task. The smell of the coffee beans, the hiss of the milk frother, and the quiet rumble of conversation prove to be too much for him on his first attempt. It’s as he’s leaving that a bright laugh floats above the din and stirs his curiosity. The next day has him right back at the coffee shop staring up at the chalk board menu. Sweat is starting to bead on his forehead and he could swear he can feel the vibrations of the coffee grinder on his skin. He is just about getting ready to leave when he hears the laugh again. Turns around and the owner of it is standing right behind him (how did she get so close without him noticing?!) beaming up at him.

And oh.

#jason todd imagine #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fic #sunnie writes 🌻 #jason todd

[yukipri]

Clone File: Morbs (YukiPri OC)

Basic info:

Name: Morbs Number Designation: CC-4413 Generation: 1 (0.9) Rank/Title: Chief Mortician of the GAR, Kamino Chief Mortuary Trainer (former) GAR Affiliation: Entire GAR, primarily stationed with the 212th Attack Battalion Character status: YukiPri Original Character

Disclaimer: Morbs' story will likely make more sense if you've read The Prime Override, as he's introduced with context in this fic. He will also make more sense if you've read about the other 2 clone medics mentioned in this file, Ashe and Stabber.

Backstory beneath cut!

Overview:

Clone morticians are specialists even among medics. Every clone medic knows the basics of how to care for the deceased, but in war, priority must always go to the living. As such, it is common to find only one clone mortician per star destroyer or permanent GAR base, with greater numbers stationed in Tipoca City or various Republic medical centers.

Morbs, or CC-4413, is considered the Chief of this group of medical specialists. He is the originator of the division, and was assigned to develop both the position and the training curriculum of clone morticians in tandem with Ashe’s primary medical training.

Prior to the start of the Clone Wars and through the early war period, Morbs oversaw the Tipoca City Primary Clone Morgue, which processed all clone bodies. There, he managed biopsies, distribution of cadavers, and the care and processing of all of the bodies of his deceased brothers. He also trained other clone morticians who had completed general medical training prerequisites and were approved by Ashe, as well as future Chief Medical Officers who were required to have completed hands-on training time in the morgue to earn their certifications.

Morbs would have been content to remain in this morgue for life, but as the main body of the GAR prepared for deployment, it became clear that the number of bodies being processed on Kamino would plummet. Morbs was reassigned to the front lines, where his expertise would see more active use, leaving his morgue behind in the hands of his assistants. He primarily travels with the 212th Attack Battalion, but frequently visits medical centers and goes where he is needed.

Background:

Morbs was one of five Generation 0.9 CCs selected by Nala Se to begin the development of the clone medical track. While all subsequent medics are CTs, the Generation 0.9 CCs underwent manual age acceleration, putting them physically ahead of their Generation 1 peers in chronological age. Morbs and his fellow CCs were test subjects used to establish the start of the medical specialization path before their younger brothers were of age to begin that training.

As CCs, they are overqualified for the general medical training that Nala Se is building, and Nala Se quickly turns to using them for other experiments as well. Their unique position as the first experimental medical clones gives Nala Se more oversight over them than any other clones, with far less supervision as well. They are “her” clones to test as she pleases.

In the depths of her labs, Nala Se conducts experiments that she had been banned from conducting on standard troopers by the contract with the Prime Clone, Jango Fett. Morbs later learns that these tests would be considered “torture,” and are illegal in the Republic. He and his brothers are tested for the physical limits that clones can reach, including tolerance for exposure to various stimulants such as heat or chemicals, as well as sensory limits such as their maximum threshold for pain. She also experiments with the potential for building up tolerance and even immunity to various drugs and poisons. She takes all of the data she gains and incorporates them into the medical training for the clones—thus, ensuring that her tests still fall under the scope of “developing medical training.”

Two of the five CCs perish as a result of these experiments. Ashe is ordered to decommission the third when he fails to meet Nala Se’s standards. This leaves Morbs and Ashe as the only survivors of their initial group. They cannot speak of their experiences to anyone else, as Nala Se is the only other witness. Not even Kote knows what they experienced. Between the two of them though, they can never forget that their senior medical positions were earned with blood.

Morbs has always been a quiet but keen observer, and knew from early on that Ashe has reasons for wanting to be in the medical track, and that this is a path that he’s chosen and is motivated to push through. Morbs is brought into the Ghosts’ plans relatively early, and having had the most first-hand experience seeing just what Ashe’s position entails, he wishes he could do more to help his brother. However, Morbs is also realistic, and knows that he doesn’t have the same passion and dedication driving him. He does what he can, but he can’t see himself being the medics’ leader that Ashe is. He feels guilty for not being able to offer to take Ashe’s place, when he’s the only one in a position who could. He tries to make up for it by loyally following him, and doing what he can as a supporter.

In addition to not having the drive, Morbs also feels he is cursed with misfortune. While he excels as a medic and not even Nala Se can find anything lacking in his record, most of the patients that Morbs touches seem to end up dead for reasons unrelated to his skills as a medic.

He’s assigned to oversee a group of cadets, who end up having a fatal genetic mutation that gives them all heart attacks while he’s on observation. The wing with patients that he oversees collapses due to an architectural problem, and they all die. He’s conducting a surgery, when the power goes out, and he’s unable to save his patient with the tools he has available. He tends to some brothers, who leave his exam room fine, but are killed in a training accident a few hours later. He’s assigned to take over a simple check up, and finds his patient already dead before he enters the room.

Every additional incident makes him increasingly uncomfortable with working with living patients. He knows he has the skills, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because most of his patients end up dead anyway. Statistically, it’s not impossible, but after a certain point it’s certainly improbable, and yet it continues to happen. Clones are rarely superstitious, as they have no cultural basis for it, but Morbs feels that there’s something absurdly wrong with the amount of death that seems to follow him everywhere.

He only feels that he’s safe for his brothers when working with those already dead. He can’t kill them if they’re dead before they’re even assigned to him. When Nala Se announces that a new mortuary sub-track will be added to the primary medical track, Morbs dives for it because he can’t think of a better position for himself. If death follows him, he might as well embrace it.

As he and Ashe are given more access to resources including those from outside of Kamino to help them develop their respective training curriculums, Morbs finds himself increasingly interested in not just the practical aspects of death, but also the more cultural and spiritual elements as well. It’s sparked by his own unluckiness and wondering if others have experienced the same, but is fed by his curiosity when he realizes that most nat-born cultures have different ways of processing death and grief that are deeply engrained in how they handle their dead. Nat-born lives are for the most part extremely foreign and utterly irrelevant to anything clones will likely ever experience, but death is almost universal. Morbs finds this fascinating.

The clones are brusquely told that they “march on,” when they die, as Mandalorians do. But why? Where do they march to, with whom? What is waiting there? If that is the inevitable eventual fate of all of them, regardless of Ashe’s or Kote’s efforts, shouldn’t it perhaps be Morbs’ job as the Chief Mortician to at least consider what happens after?

While Morbs has no answers for the afterlife, he certainly has many thoughts, which he shares with the silent cadavers who he works with. It seems like they can hear him, he thinks, for all that none of his words are spoken out loud.

While sitting in on a Ghosts meeting as they develop code words for their growing underground organization, Morbs mentions off-hand that their brothers who are dead, but aren’t, are, “Marching on to join Kote.”

It’s not his fault that their overseers failed to really explain what “marching on” means, nor really instill any true understanding of “glory” either. So if they choose to define it for themselves, with “marching on” meaning to join their other brothers (who may or may not be dead), and “glory” as fighting for their brothers, something tangible that they actually understand and care for…well. They are, after all, supposed to die for the glory of the Republic anyway. No one will question the language.

While most of Morbs’ brothers are exceedingly practical, and must be, Morbs finds his niche in thinking about the not practical. If having ways of respecting and mourning the dead helps all other sentients, why shouldn’t it help them too? Morbs experiments with how he thinks their dead should be treated, and the bodies in his morgue are, as always, his silent audience.

He grows to consider the dead bodies in the morgue “his men” in “his army.” After all, those who are also marked dead, but are actually just with the Ghosts, are also allowed to “consider serving” despite being equally dead on record. And are not the bodies that he repurposes to hide the missing bodies, the dead whose organs and limbs save the lives of their living brothers, not also serving their brothers? Just because they were unlucky, like Morbs, doesn’t mean that they aren’t still being helpful, aren’t still actively saving their brothers. Because that’s all what any of them want to do: help each other.

Morbs assigns himself their Commander, as he is in charge of them, cares for them, and directs their “campaigns.” The rows of cold lockers that house their bodies are “barracks.” He talks to them, praises their missions, and grieves for them when they finally march on to their second deaths via cremation, only after which they are truly gone.

While none of Morbs’ students go to quite the same level as Morbs himself in humanizing their deceased brothers, he makes sure that all of them leave his morgue with a firm understanding that even when dead, their brothers are still their brothers. Pieces of his ideology and treatment of bodies linger in all of the medics who handle their dead.

Morbs treats the dead as his men because he wants them to be able to live on just a bit longer, but admittedly that’s not all. It’s something that also helps with his guilt over not being able to assist Ashe in his decommissionings. He can’t stop those deaths any more than Ashe can, and he can’t even share in the pain of murdering them. But he can promise them, and can promise Ashe, that once their bodies leave Ashe’s blood-stained hands, that Morbs will welcome them gently to his morgue. That they’ll be treated tenderly, with humanity, and that their existences won’t mean nothing. That if they’re capable of it, Morbs will do whatever he can to ensure that they too can serve Kote before their bodies are gone.

Morbs likes to think it offers Ashe some comfort.

General Info:

Most clones have only ever heard of Morbs, who is extremely elusive. Even after deployment, he rarely leaves the morgue wing attached to medical. Whereas Ashe feels a complicated mixture of self-loathing and knowing that he’s unwelcome in other spaces because all other clones loathe him too, Morbs is simple. He likes being with his men, they’re his favorite group of clones. The living get plenty of attention amongst each other. He just is happier with his own men, and prioritizes giving them his own attention.

He’s eccentric and more than a little creepy, but his reputation means that many of his brothers are very curious about him. He has a strict “no one alive past this line” rule at the entrance of the morgue, with very few exceptions, so not even those who try to catch a glimpse of him while visiting medical have much luck. Spotting him outside the morgue is both like an exciting cryptid sighting, but also potentially a bad luck omen. Morbs is oblivious to the excitement his presence causes, as he’s usually just in a rush to get back to the morgue.

Morbs is so mysterious that only a very limited handful of his brothers knows how truly odd his habits are. He has an assigned bunk, but ignores it and sleeps in a specially padded cold locker so that he can “sleep in the barracks with his men.” He calls it his favorite bunk, and tells the other medics he wants to rest there when he one day inevitably dies. He will sometimes forget to take care of himself, ignoring his own living needs to eat, drink, exercise, hygiene, etc. until a medic, usually Stabber, drags him out of the morgue to handle it. Stabber thinks Morbs is an example of how truly unfair their genetic enhancements are, because Morbs somehow maintains his solid CC-class physique with essentially zero effort on his part.

Unlike Ashe, who wants to be out in the field, Morbs never wants to leave his morgue for anything. Once he has been relocated into the morgue on the Negotiator, he only steps out when absolutely necessary. He doesn’t want to see the sights of the outside galaxy, doesn’t want to see the people or try the foods. He thinks all air outside of the morgue that is not optimized for the preservation of clone bodies is distasteful. He especially hates heat, sunlight, and humidity, insisting that it will “cause us to decay faster.”

The one exception to this is if there is a morgue, funeral, cemetery, or something else death-related going on. He learned about other cultures’ death practices, and he’s admittedly still curious about them too, mostly in the context of whether there’s anything else he can do to improve the experience for his men. If the ship is planetside and there’s supposed to be a famous cemetery, he might be seen quickly slinking outside, face completely veiled to avoid exposure to the elements.

Relationships:

Morbs maintains a close relationship with Ashe, though it’s one he’ll rarely show in front of others, always maintaining a professional distance if they have company. But Ashe is the only living person that Morbs will seek out for company, always while Ashe is alone. Morbs is the only one who knows the extent of what Ashe suffered during his early training, and had experienced much of it with him. He is concerned about Ashe, but doesn’t offer medical help, as he feels Stabber does that enough, and he doesn’t trust himself to think of Ashe as a patient; that never ends well. He will instead offer Ashe silent company.

Morbs claims to despise Stabber, especially since he’s the one responsible for taking him away from his morgue on Tipoca City and forcing him onto a star destroyer. Because Stabber is the CMO of the 212th, prior to Ashe joining them, Morbs is forced to interact with him the most. Morbs doesn’t like Stabber because he considers the other medic, “far too alive.” Stabber’s high energy, movement, and noise levels all grate on Morbs’ preference for stillness and darkness. Still, he reluctantly respects Ashe’s former assistant’s skills as a medic, and will follow his orders.

He also won’t admit it, but Stabber was the one who gave him his name. Stabber had a habit of announcing that Ashe’s work buddy “has the morbs,” a phrase he’d picked up from one of Ashe’s training resources that he claims means “has emo vibes.” Stabber liked the sound of the word so much that he began shouting it every time he encountered Morbs, and it ended up sticking. Morbs pretends he doesn’t care, but secretly thinks it’s fitting.

On the other hand, Morbs has a surprisingly amicable relationship with the Jedi he interacts with most frequently, Obi-Wan. He was very leery of letting Obi-Wan come anywhere near the morgue, not trusting an outsider with his delicate men who are unable to defend themselves. However, Obi-Wan found Morbs’ ruminations and philosophies fascinating, and was easily able to bait him into a conversation by expressing interest. Despite being surrounded by war, Morbs often seems strangely detached from it, preferring to speak less about the realities of war and the gears that move it, and more about why various cultures frame death and the afterlife in certain ways. While the conversations are often melancholy in nature, Obi-Wan appreciates the strange normalcy of it, knowing that Morbs would likely have these same questions regardless of whether there was a war. Morbs likewise is invested in hearing about death traditions from an outside perspective.

While the other clones aboard the Negotiator were at first both morbidly fascinated by Morbs, they were discouraged from actually interacting with him because he says things like, “You should not be in here, unless you are dead. Unless you would like to be dead, in which case I can help you,” or, “Oh, well you don’t look like you’re dying. How unfortunate.” However, they gradually realize that Morbs is not as aloof as he first appears.

He isn’t opposed to speaking, as long as it’s about his men. They realize that while Morbs refuses to let any curious bystanders or unqualified personel enter the morgue for no reason, he’s always eager to learn more about those in his care. Clones who have lost brothers can always count on him wanting to hear about the deceased, and if they’re present in his morgue, Morbs may even allow them to visit. When the first clone brings Morbs some flowers, because he saw that some nat-borns planet-side were laying flowers by the graves of their lost loved ones, Morbs is tickled by the action. Clones are not granted proper graves, and those in Morbs’ morgue are still “on duty.” But Morbs creates a little sterilized shrine in a corner of medical close to the morgue, where he collects these offerings and allows his brothers to visit. If the tablet Morbs laid there is turned a certain way, Morbs knows that one of his brothers wishes to speak to him about someone deceased, and he slinks out of the morgue to listen to them.

Because Morbs is the Chief Mortician, he not only processes the bodies that pass in front of his own hands, but he obsessively goes over the reports sent to him by all other clone morticians and standard clone medics, who are in charge of marking all final fatalities. As such, he has the most comprehensive knowledge of all deceased clones. On the rare occasions that they are able to conduct larger, collective remembrances, if Morbs is available, he will often be called to lead them.

Obi-Wan observes that Morbs is acting almost like a priest or other religious leader, but Morbs scoffs at the idea. He has no intention of leading a religion; he just cares about his men.

And all of the clones will join his army, one day.

Appearance:

Morbs wears a modified version of the clone mortician uniform, a black version of the standard softshell white medic uniform. As the Chief Mortician, Morbs wears a longer knee-length version of the uniform, along with a black kama over it to signify his CC status. He also has a rank bar, and red shoulder pieces to show his personal training from Nala Se, like Ashe and Omega. He technically has armor, but he’s never worn most of it since his fitting, and he doesn’t plan on wearing it either. His men serve without wearing armor, so why should he? If the ship is ever boarded, he intends on going down with his men in the morgue, a plan that no one will allow him to follow through on.

The one piece of armor he does occasionally wear is his helmet, which is a black version of Ashe’s. He must occasionally process bodies that have been exposed to hazardous conditions, and in these cases, he’ll don his helmet for its filtration and advanced sensors. He is so utterly uninterested in his own armor that it was left unpainted, and Ashe decided to paint it black for him, so it can match Morbs’ aesthetic preferences. While Morbs never acknowledged the gesture, he shows his appreciation by not protesting when he’s told to wear it.

After leaving Kamino, he grows his hair long and wears it loosely tied back, because as a non-combatant, he isn’t limited to practical hair styles. The exact length changes constantly as he uses his own hair to create wigs and patches for any of his men who may have had their own hair damaged. He refuses to share his hair with anyone who isn’t dead.

He also gets tattooed, two dark lines dripping down his cheeks from his eyes. He saw nat-borns with the look in some funerary documentaries he watched as a cadet. He doesn’t know that what he saw was nat-borns with running makeup, but he likes the look because it looks like a trail of permanent black tears on his face. He takes it to be a metaphor that he is always thinking of his men.

Morbs also has deep permanent bags under his eyes. This is due to a mix of him constantly forgetting that he needs sleep, along with him not wanting to sleep because he has so many thoughts to ponder.

While he usually just wears his uniform, he has a veil that he throws over his head whenever he has to step outside of the ship or Republic medical facility for any length of time. He also has an ornamental headdress he’s fashioned for special occasions, such as when he has to welcome an exceptionally large number of men to his army, is conducting a field cremation, or is leading a remembrance. The headdress is created from shards of plastoid armor he’s had to pull from his men.

Note:

Morbs’ designation, CC-4413, was chosen because the number 4 means “death” in many Asian cultures, due to how it sounds similar to “death” in many Asian languages, including but not limited to my own Japanese/Chinese cultures. Tetraphobia, or the fear of the number 4, is a thing! The number Thirteen is an unlucky number in other cultures. The number “4413” felt fitting for this character who is so immersed in death and bad luck!

~~

Related links:

Clone File on Ashe

Clone File on Stabber

OR

Read them all on AO3

~~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, EDIT, TRANSLATE, OR OTHERWISE USE MY ART. To share, please reblog! Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated!!!

❀ You can see the rest of my art through the Masterpost pinned to the top of my blog!

#YukiPri art #Morbs CC-4413 #Ashe CC-2222 #clone trooper #YukiPri OC #clone OC #OC #the clone wars #thePrimeOverride #Artist comment: Here he is months after I posted him on Patreon ^ ^; #I thought it would be hilarious and ironic to post him on Life Day #His story will make a LOT more sense if you've read the Prime Override! #what the Ghosts are and how they work is all explained in there #and yup he also gets a Plague Doctor bucket #He and Ashe are the only ones who do #Ashe is the Doctor of Life (but feared to be death) #and Morbs is the literal Doctor of Death (post-mortem)

[verysium]

ACT 1, SCENE 4: blue lock headcanons

shidou would view traditionally ugly creatures as strangely cute. it's not a disgusting cockroach, it's a silly little bug with eyelashes as long as his. no, he's not going to let go of that scraggly one-eyed cat that likely has rabies. it looks too sweet to be abandoned on the streets. his dream childhood pet was definitely a piranha.

aiku wears band t-shirts without knowing the actual music group. no, he does not listen to sex and the pistols, he just thought the design looked very cool. would also wear lana del rey merchandise just to impress the ladies. the only song he realistically knows is west coast, and even then he's only heard it at a random sushi restaurant.

reo would have stereotypical rich people problems. he can't decide if he should bring his chauffeur and valet or actually drive the car himself for your upcoming date. also spends at least one hour seriously pondering over which gucci silk pattern tie looks better on him. trick question, they're both the exact same shade.

shidou steals your covergirl perfect point eyeliner because he thinks it looks way better on him. also a big fan of body glitter and super vulgar eyeshadow palette names. his favorite hue so far is that one hot pink fuchsia that literally burns your eyes with its brightness. nothing is too neon with this man.

ness is the epitome of the sunshine-turned-unhinged-maniacal-killer trope. he would be the bestest boy, but if someone even lays a single hand on you, he’s already plotting their murder. eerily good at hiding bodies but would never divulge his secrets in fear of scaring you off.

shidou would walk unashamedly to the women’s clothing section of the general department store. would never be embarrassed by the bra sizes. you have a double D? he’s already trying three of the cup sizes on just to see if he can get you a comfortable one. if you’re part of the itty bitty titty committee, he wouldn’t judge either. this man loves femininity in all its full glory.

aryu exclusively uses dior beauty. he would rather die than use a generic drugstore makeup brand. sometimes you wonder if he's secretly a dermatologist because this man knows the exact shade, tint, and quality of product for every possible skin tone and type. also very passionate about the controversies behind animal testing and parabens. would be exceedingly picky when it comes to anything he smears on his face (think jeffree star but without the problematic issues.)

sae has his phone screen set to default wallpaper. he only has the translator app downloaded, and that's about it. his personal trainer takes care of all the rest of his stats. after he started dating you though, he kept pictures of you in his private photo albums.

noa cannot tell a white lie to save his life. if he doesn't know something, he will not know something. he doesn't see the point in hiding that. sometimes has trouble reading the room, so you need to remind him that brutal honesty and pure rationality aren't always the way to go. he does become more conscientious after that.

bachira used to draw crayon portraits of all the imaginary monsters he saw at night. scared the shit out of his parents because they thought he was hallucinating (he actually was.) nowadays, he's a lot tamer because you force him to take his meds.

isagi is, in fact, the number one mind reader and manipulator throughout the entire series. this man is clairvoyant, psychic, and telepathic all packaged into one. sometimes his right ear twitches, and he just knows someone is talking about him behind his back. unfortunately, all of this occurs in his head, so no one on the outside world actually knows about his sixth sense.

rin was absolutely bombarded with valentine's chocolates last year, but when he sorted through the entire pile and realized you hadn't given him one, he returned them all to their respective senders. will refuse any form of sweets unless it came directly from you. you need to be there physically to hand him the box.

kaiser writes, thinks, and speaks entirely in german even if no one else can understand him. he secretly can speak english but chooses not to because he absolutely hates anglicization. refuses to compromise his own language and culture just to fit in with the rest of the world. it's degrading. if he had it his way, german would be the new lingua franca. definitely thinks translation is for dummies. what do you mean you're not already bilingual? you better run, not walk, to that little green owl app. does use his foreign accent to make you feel flustered though. has a voice kink but in a non-traditional sort of way. you have to be the one turned on by his voice. only then will he start feeling it.

yukimiya loves it when you lose your shit. one time a jerk cut you off in traffic, and you started aggressively cursing. he fell in love with you right there on the spot. it was something about the fire in your eyes and the way you refused to take any attitude from the other party. that self-assertiveness you exhibit is so empowering.

aiku takes you out to karaoke bars just to hear you sing. you look so pretty under the purple disco lights, belting your little heart out to the rock lyrics. sometimes he has to take a minute to just appreciate how lucky he is to have you.

nagi didn't know that you have to actively check and update your email inbox. he had no clue school even started until one day the principal called his parents over his thirteen student absences. he thinks it's a headache to even get out of bed and put his fingers on his laptop keyboard. since when was the distance between his arrow cursor and the search bar that wide? it looks too long for him to reach. maybe he should just do this tomorrow.

reo does not know what saving money is. the first time you asked him for a promo code, he looked at you as if you had just spouted a strange language. when you showed him your little wallet full of cut-out coupons, he literally had to hold them up to the light and closely inspect them. it was definitely a moment of enlightenment.

sae likes anklets, especially the super thin gold chain ones. something about the way it brushes against his bare leg when you sleep beside him drives him out of his mind. he's also a sucker for subtle jewelry as evidenced by his necklace and wrist bands.

otoya practically lives for instant gratification. he would be guilty of love bombing. loses interest quickly, but sometimes wishes he could actually commit for once. football is important to him because it is one of the only activities he has consistently practiced for over a decade.

karasu is down bad for anyone who can actually outsmart him. you got a higher mark than him on the recent exam? damn, his heart just beat a little faster. spaces out in a love-filled haze whenever you ramble on about your nerdy little subject interests. he is a sapiophile through and through. intelligence just does it for him.

loki is the type of person who absolutely demolishes your self-esteem, and yet you still cannot bring yourself to hate him. when people say god has his favorites, they mean this man right here. he would be an innately talented genius while simultaneously being the most humble human being in existence. at this point, it's not his problem. it's a you problem. try harder next time.

chris is very similar to a neurosurgery resident. he has the largest self-entitled ego in existence. not a single day goes by when he doesn't remind you that he is, in fact, one of the highest ranking football players in the world. you can't say anything about it though because he has rightfully earned his arrogance. i mean, what are you going to use against him? his grueling hours of blood, sweat, and tears? this man works harder than the devil himself. in fact, he is the devil.

rin is the type to get emotionally attached to the most ordinary objects ever. he collects batteries and keeps a separate drawer as a graveyard for them once they die. the triple A ones get a special funeral since they're so hard to find. he just can't bring himself to let go of objects that no longer serve a purpose (just like his relationship with sae, sorry not sorry.)

hiori cannot go to bed unless it is absolutely dark. the curtains have to be closed. the door has to be locked. everything has to be drowned in pitch black. the reason he does this is because he still has flashbacks from that tiny strip of light underneath his bedroom door. his parents would argue all night when they thought he had gone to sleep. it still haunts him to this very day.

nagi wishes he could be a cat. sleeping all day and sunbathing on the rooftop seem like great ways to spend his life. unfortunately for him, he is not a cat. when he dies though, he wants to be reincarnated as one. either that, or a rock.

rin snores like a whole power drill at night. sae secretly hates his brother for that but can’t bring himself to wake him. whenever the itoshi family goes on vacation, ear plugs are not an option but a necessity.

chigiri knows ventriloquism. he used to play with his sister's dolls and make up character voices for each of them. definitely uses it as a party trick or as a way to make you laugh when you've had a bad day.

sae always keeps his feelings to himself. sometimes he finds it easier to rant to you than others, but then he almost always ends up retracting back into himself after realizing just how much he's revealed. he hates being emotionally slutty.

ness is the big scary dog in his relationship with kaiser, not the other way around. everyone thinks kaiser is the intimidating one, but ness wears a leash for a reason. one of them is the chihuahua, and the other one is a rottweiler. you can already guess who is who.

reo was having a mental breakdown in his limousine one time, but he ran out of his usual luxury aloe vera lotion tissues. instead of buying more, he took out his cheque-book and ripped out the pages to dry his tears. money is just paper to him. it can be recycled (no, it can't.)

loki is the type to show you a sweet and heartwarming smile before pulling out the most atrocious uno card combination in existence. i'm talking reverse, wild card, skip, draw 2. you sat there for twenty-five minutes trying desperately to draw a green. by the time you were done, he only had one card left. (screw you, loki.)

niko draws his own manga whenever he doesn't like how the official plot ends. if the canon ever diverges from the way he imagined it in his own head, he will draft his own fan fiction instead. one time, he rewrote an entire shonen jump series just to bring his favorite character back to life (*cough cough* said character wears a blindfold.)

karasu is definitely the "um, actually..." type of student. he will always have a rebuttal on hand. the truth is never black-and-white with this man, and he will argue both sides if it furthers his own agenda. he reads the encyclopedia front and back every night just so he can pull out a random arbitrary fact to win an argument some time in the near future.

shidou had a bad habit of chewing pens as a child until one day it finally exploded in his mouth. from then on, he vowed only to chew glittery gel pens. that way when it exploded in his mouth, his tongue would be stained a bright, shimmery purple. if you ever got him a scented gel pen pack, his life would finally be complete.

rin cannot differentiate between colors. if you asked him to find the difference between bubblegum pink and cotton candy pink, he would not know. to him, seven colors is already a lot to memorize. when he was a child, he only drew pictures with a single color because it was less of a hassle that way.

otoya used to think lime green was the most aesthetically pleasing color in existence. almost considered dying his hair that shade until karasu told him that girls don't actually like guys who look like neon highlighters. still wishes he did it though. he wants to glow in the dark.

© verysium 2023 / please do not translate, repost, or plagiarize any of my works

#blue lock #bllk #fics #headcanons #shidou ryusei #shidou x reader #oliver aiku #aiku x reader #reo mikage #reo x reader #alexis ness #ness x reader #aryu jyubei #aryu x reader #blue lock headcanons #sae itoshi #sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #noel noa x reader #noel noa #bachira meguru #bachira x reader #isagi yoichi #isagi x reader #michael kaiser #kaiser x reader #yukimiya kenyu

[the-kr8tor]

Horror/slasher movie actor hobie x actor reader whose the protagonist of the story 💳💳💳💥💥💥

Silly actors that meet for the first time and falls in love on a silly horror movie set

ACTOR AU!!! LET'S GOOOO!!!! (Thank you for requesting ly bestie ❤️❤️❤️)

Pairing: Actor! Hobie Brown x Actress! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, fem! Reader, no specific physical description of the reader, R is mentioned wearing make-up, Actor AU, Fame AU, CW food mentions, Pretend blood, pretend violence, Pretend death, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You run on the soft soil, sweat dripping off your brows. Your trainers sink under the earth with every step. The wet squelch behind you tells you to run faster, but your curiosity gets the best of you. With a quick look behind your shoulder, you instantly regret it as the tall masked man has gotten closer to you with his long strides.

He walks the same path you've taken like he's on a stroll in the park. His leather punk jacket and clown mask is drenched in warm blood— the blood of your fellow camp counselors, the blood of your dearly departed friends. Even with his casual movements, his entire demeanor sends a shiver down your spine. Heavy footfalls and a bloodied knife makes you run faster than your own feet could take you.

With the moonlight as your guide, the fog blanketing the dense woods, lungs burning, you trip on nothing.

“Fuck!” You shield your chin with your hand to avoid the hard impact. Hands braced, eyes closed, your face meets the moist forest floor. Dirt in your fingernails, grass in your hair, a warm hand flips you around by your shoulder and you scream loudly. The sound echoes around the dark woods, eyes wide, the killer raises his sharp knife to plunge it in your heart.

Your eyes meet the killer's eyes behind the mesh of the mask, gorgeous mismatched eyes greets your own. To your surprise, he winks and your terrified scream falters in your throat. Eyebrows knitted, hands on the villain's broad shoulders, he stabs you in between your ribcage.

“No!” Cold blood splatters out as you try to wrench away the mask from your murderer's face. With your last breath, tears in your fear filled eyes, his name falls out of your lips without a second thought. “Hobie?”

Hobie tilts his head with a playful smile, sticky blood smeared on his chiseled cheek, blue and hazel eyes staring at you fondly.

“Cut!” The director yells, and you audibly groan at your mistake. A bell rings, spotlights suddenly click open, the lights almost make you blind. The crew murmurs around as the director puts his hands on his hips. “The character’s name, darling! Not his real name,” he kneads at his temples. “Everyone take ten!” With one last frustrated groan, he walks away, entering his tent with a stomp and grumbling about changing the villain's name.

“I fucked up, didn't I?” You ask, still under your favourite co-star. “I'm sorry.” Frowning, you ready yourself for a berating.

Instead of a glare and a passive aggressive comment, Hobie wipes your cheek free of muck with his warm thumb. Eyes staring softly, his touch lingers.

“There, I just did the makeup department a favour. Not like you need it anyway.” He flashes his signature smirk, the same smirk that has people falling over themselves just to get a glimpse.

Your heart pounds loudly as he gets back on his feet, leather squeaking, he reaches down to help you up. Taking his hand, he lifts you up effortlessly, not even breaking a sweat or straining his muscles.

“Thank you.” You say fondly. The numerous spotlights above make your heart-shaped eyes sparkle.

“No problem. And you didn't fuck up, it happens to the best of us, yeah?” He pats your shoulder, and you think all the friendly late night talks in your trailer are just that, friendly. “You were doin' good, the best fuckin' scream ever. Thought my eardrums were about to burst.”

“Thank you.”

“Stop sayin’ thanks, I was just statin’ a fact, love.”

You hide your flustered face with a nod, cheeks hot. You make your way towards the wardrobe tent to get changed for the next scene where your character resurrects to help the remaining survivors. You've seen better scripts but money is money.

“Thank—” you correct yourself, chuckling as he follows you. Walking side by side, his hand brushes over your own. Hobie smiles, eyes trained where you're walking in case you unintentionally decide to method act and fall flat on your face. “You did great too, you were really scary.”

He snorts, the sound that fills you with endearment. “With this face?” Pointing at his chin, you laugh.

“I guess that's why they made you wear that god awful mask, no one would run away from you.” You push him playfully with your shoulder. “They'd run towards you instead.”

Hobie ignores all the crew scrambling around on set and the numerous cameras pointed at your back. He imagines that you're strolling at a park after a nice dinner where he bravely held your hand underneath the table.

Maybe it shouldn't remain in his mind, maybe he should just ask you, and maybe you'll say yes.

It's long overdue anyway, after two horror movies together and one comedy special, he thinks it's time to try to star in a romcom. Preferably with you.

Stopping in front of the tent, you look at him. “This is me, unless you need to change too—?” Hobie gingerly reaches for your cool hand, index finger lacing around your pinky carefully like he's able to snap it in half. “Y-yes?” You can hear your pulse quickening, you fear that your hand is sweaty and that his finger would slip away from the moist.

“Have dinner with me? A proper one where we don't eat take out in your trailer.” Hobie fakes a cough that's Oscar worthy to hide his nerves. “If you're not busy.” If you want to, he wanted to add, but he wants to remain suave in front of you. He'll save all his hidden awkwardness during the date. If you graciously accept anyway.

Your smile is brighter than the spotlights above. “I have to wear my best disguise then. Y’know, so we don't end up in a gossip mag in the morning.” Pinky lacing around his finger, you stand closer to him, toe to toe, smiles mirroring each other.

“Let me guess, it's a baseball cap with sunglasses innit?”

You giggle, “yep.”

“Leave it at home, you're not gonna need it.” His heart skips a beat at the realization of your closeness. Hobie now knows why you're the lead in most projects you're in.

Eyebrows knitted together, you tilt your head, eyelashes fluttering in the breeze. “Why?”

“The paps don't know where I live.”

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #actor au #fame au #actor! hobie brown #actor hobie x reader #actress reader #hobie x reader #cw food mention #hobie fluff #fanfic

[britney-rosberg06]

guys can i be real for a second? Because as a fan of both Logan and Kimi i feel like this needs to be said:

Nobody benefits from giving Logan Kimi’s seat mid year.

No One

No not even Kimi.

If F1 is a business which it is, we’ll think about this in a business sense. Because by kicking Logan out in favor of Kimi just doesn’t make sense

Williams saw the sheer backlash to Australia. Their fans were angry at the mere idea of kicking Logan out in favor of Alex and some are still angry. They would lose a huge portion of their fan base (a fan base that is getting pretty American, may I add, thanks to their American sponsors) by kicking Logan out. No fanbase means no merch sales, no extra cash to burn that we know Williams needs

Secondly, Logan has obligations with Williams through summer break. Huge PR events like Lap of Legends which is sponsored by an American beer and stars Logan and Williams Racing ambassador Jenson Button. If you pull away Logan, the sponsors in Michelob Ultra will be furious as they funded a whole project to center around Logan. And Jenson, who has also spoken very kindly about him in the media will be angry as Logan is known as someone who has his backing/support. So Williams would lose a bit of Jenson’s trust and anger a huge sponsor? Right okay,

Of course there’s James Vowles. Who is struggling to come out from under Toto Wolff’s shadow. How will it look for James if he were to kick out one of his own juniors in favor of someone Toto Wolff is forcing upon him. Like he’s a lapdog who will roll over and do whatever Toto wants? Yeah, that exactly

There’s also the Prema of it all, which a lot of people are forgetting. Kimi is under Prema contract to be racing in F2. There is no reservist for him and there has to be to drivers in F2. Not one. Prema is not going to let one of their drivers—a driver who is getting them a lot of media attention might I add—go on to F1 when he’s only done three f2 races. That’s not how contracts work! Kimi is on contract and that contract states he had to race in f2 and compete in the championship. The whole championship. The championship Prema gets more money/funding/sponsors from the better they do. They can’t do good with only one driver. So no extra money.

Also, Prema has the power to deny Williams as Kimi is their driver and their responsibility. Kimi uses their trainers, engineers, gym, facilities etc, to take him mid season might make Williams or Mercedes or Kimi himself liable for that bill à là Oscar Piastri and Alpine as Kimi failed to fulfill terms of a contract while still benefiting from it.

I’m not saying it’ll work but I’m saying there’s a chance they could.

Now Kimi himself. He’d be entering in the F1 paddock as a pariah. Being granted an exception is sure to make him unpopular, just like Max was. The spotlight that was on Ollie Bearman in Jeddah? Yeah multiply it by a hundred and you’ll get somewhere close to the attention on Kimi. As previously established, PR-wise Williams would be in hell, who do you think they are going to take it out on? Yeah, the seventeen year old who has no control over the situation. He’ll be traipsed around as the new youngest whoever while also being hated on by a majority of people who think he doesn’t deserve that seat.

Speaking of Ollie Bearman. It’s worth noting that Ollie’s pain level after Jeddah was sky high. He was training for f2 races, not f1. Consistently racing in F1 could wreck Kimi’s body due to the sudden change and would have so many negative and lasting affects.

And when he inevitably doesn’t get points on debut because it’s a williams and it sucks ass, everyone will be screaming and crying about how Kimi is washed or how he sucks and so on and so on. What would that do to a seventeen year old’s confidence?

And when Toto wolff—the only guy presumed to benefit at all from this whole situation he allegedly cooked up gets reveals to have had a huge part in this kid’s life, way bigger than the general audience knows (seriously, he has a picture of baby Kimi in his office) everyone is going to be screaming at him for making a bad/questionable managerial decision that has deeply affected the mental health of a teen boy.

Mercedes as a team is already on the decline, this would be the Shitty PR move to end all Shitty PR moves.

Am i saying Logan is going to be on the grid next year? No. But the idea that it is a smart decision for any of the teams or drivers involved to replace Logan is insane.

#f1 #formula 1 #logan sargeant #kimi antonelli #oscar piastri #ollie bearman #jenson button #james vowles #alex albon #toto wolff #prema racing #williams racing #mercedes f1 #formula 2 #f2 #miami gp 2024 #please god let me be right

[azsazz]

Change Your Ticket (Part 7)

Rugby Star!Cassian x Reader (A Modern AU)

Summary: Dating famous rugby star Cassian Bailey is a dream. What's not one is keeping your secret relationship under wraps. Will you and Cassian be able to keep from the limelight or will your relationship crumble because of it?

Warnings: ALL SMUT, shower sex, oral (f receiving)

Word Count: 3,405

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Notes: Starting of 6 updates for 6k with this one because it's been way too long for rugby cassian 💙

_________________________________________

“Well, I’d planned on making you something extravagant,” Cassian says, frowning down at his phone. You wonder if it’s something related to your picture appearing in the media, but your shoulders loosen as his continues. “But I didn’t make it to the store before coming here. Is pizza okay with you, (Y/N)?”

“Pizza is more than perfect,” you sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder. You’re both sitting at your kitchen island, glasses of wine filled to the brim. “I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”

You watch as Cassian places the order. You grumbled about how two pizzas were too much, and he’d reminded you just how much he needs to eat as a rugby player.

“I don’t think they meant that about pizza, Cassian,” you tut, bringing your glass to your lips for a sip of sweet wine. His eyes glitter when he looks down at you, stirring that feeling of want in your gut.

He shrugs, “I think that whatever my trainer doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.” Cassian pushes from his chair, taking your hand. “C’mon, let’s have a relaxing shower, wash the day off of us.”

As blissful as that sounds, you’re not sure you’ll be able to join. “What about the pizza?”

Cassian tugs on your hand a little, more than ready to abandon the kitchen in favor of getting you into the shower with him.

“We’ll make it quick, be out before they get here.”

“Nothing involving you or showers is ever quick, babe.” You roll your eyes and he winks.

“Then, hopefully he has the common sense to leave it at the door because there’s no way I’m letting you go right now. You can accept my stink until after we eat or I can eat you out in the shower while you shampoo my hair. What do you say, baby? I am pretty smelly.”

His words slide down your body like soap, bubbling between your thighs.

Cassian leans down, peppering kisses across your face. The action make you giggle, setting down your glass in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck. He does smell, but it’s the musk of his sweat and it makes your thighs clench, arousal making your cunt wet.

You squeal as he lifts you into his arms with ease. He’s strong, and you can feel the way the muscles packing his back bow and flex when he lifts you. Gods, does he have the perfect body.

You kiss along his neck as he walks, licking up the salt from his skin. It makes Cassian shiver; his fingers press harder into your flesh. He breathes out a curse when you bite, then suckle at the perfectly tanned skin beneath your teeth.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, kicking the door to the bathroom shut behind him. “I’m so fucking hard for you.”

His words have you moaning in response and your fingers find his hair, tugging the ponytail out before burying your fingers in his still-damp strands. It’s tangled from his practice but Cassian likes the pull, making a noise of pleasure in response to your desperation.

Your lips find his a moment later.

Cassian sits you on the edge of the counter but you’re not ready for him to pull away yet, wrapping your legs around his waist to haul him closer. His hands slide from your hips upwards, thumbs brushing across your pert nipples where they’re pressing hard against the fabric of your shirt.

His ministrations continue upward until he’s grasping your jaw between both of his large hands and dipping his tongue into your mouth in a claiming kiss. His fingers thread through your hair and he devours you like you haven’t seen each other in years.

Like you’ve just admitted to him for the first time that you love him.

You can’t hold in the whimper he sucks from your mouth as his tongue brushes yours. It’s a passionate kiss, your tongues dancing with each other as you drag your hands down his muscular chest.

Cassian bucks his hips a little, the strain of his cock in his pants heavy with need. He’s completely focused on ravaging your mouth, but he sneaks his hand down your body, dipping into the waistband of the sweats you had changed into upon arriving home, and flattens his hand against your heat.

“Touch me,” you beg, unable to resist your boyfriend, rocking desperately against his hand.

He does as you say, teasing his middle finger into your wetness. It slides in with ease and you keen at his touch, the palm of his hand grinding against your clit when his finger enters you all of the way.

You’ve missed this, missed his fingers brushing against your skin, touching you and tasting you in the places you both love the most. It’s been too long since you’ve been in his arms like this, even if it had only been this morning, you were holding each other so close. It seems like a million hours away now, with the draining day you’ve both shared. But you’re together now, and you know that Cassian will be by your side throughout the entirety of this media hellscape you’ve found yourself in the center of.

He pulls his finger out slowly, teasing you with it, in and out and in again until you’re a keening mess in his arms, cunt dripping into the palm of his hand and nails scratching down his fabric covered chest for more.

“Easy now, baby,” His breath is warm against your lips. His taunt is paired with a circle of your clit and your body presses further into his in response. “We haven’t even gotten you all wet, yet.”

“’M so wet for you,” you mumble your disagreement, kissing him between words. “Please!”

Cassian laughs against your lips and it sparks sunshine in your chest. You need to feel that chuckle against your skin, that mouth against your cunt.

You cry out sharply when Cassian removes his fingers from your pants. He’s pecking you softly, murmuring sweet words that keep you all worked up as he slides your shirt up your torso.

His name leaves your lips on a breathy moan when he ducks back down after removing your shirt, lips attached to that sweet spot on your throat that makes you melt. His touch turns more aggressive as he undoes your bra, his lips following where his fingers are removing it from your chest and flinging it over his shoulder.

Sucking one of your nipples into his mouth makes your see stars. You throw your head back in pleasure as he massages your free breast, kneading it with his rough hand.

You arch into his body when he rolls your tight nipple between his teeth. He loves the way your fingers dig into his shoulders in response and all he wants to do right now is get down on his knees, throw your legs over his shoulders, and taste your cunt like he’s been thinking of doing all day.

The morning session he’d spent in your bed didn’t sate him in the slightest. It only made him hungrier for you.

“Cass,” you hiss when he begins kissing across the skin of your stomach. His tongue lathes around your navel as he works your sweats from your hips, nipping, sucking at the expanse of skin that appears, fresh for him to mark. “Hurry up, baby. I need you.”

You shift your hips and kick your legs, helping him rid you of the rest of your clothes. Cassian groans like a man felled in war, utterly weak for you.

His hands part your thighs, fingers spreading your lips so he can get a full view of your fluttering, wet cunt. His hazel eyes are bright with arousal, and he licks his lips, tutting when you slide your hips closer, needing his mouth on you.

The tip of Cassian’s tongue brushes ever so lightly against your clit that it has you howling with pleasure. It zips up your spine like fire and you arch away from the counter, but he’s pulling away completely, his warmth lost from your body.

“Baby,” you plead, eyes going wide. You hadn’t realized they’d fallen shut with the first caress of his tongue on your cunt, and they open to the view of Cassian ripping his shirt over his head as fast as he can. Before the fabric even hits the ground he’s already working at his pants, stumbling a few steps to the side and reaching into your shower to start the spray.

“I’m coming, sweetheart. Be good for me.”

Like you could be anything else but good for him. You release a pleased sigh, lids lowering over your eyes as you watch the love of your life flailing around the bathroom, setting the water on high as he struggles at the same time to hop out of his pants.

Your mouth waters when his cock is finally released for the tight confines of his sweats. It bobs, slapping against his tight abdomen, and it’s already thick and full, pink and beading precum at the tip, ready for you.

“Come here, stinky,” you reach out to Cassian, still leaning back against the mirror. Splayed out like this, all his for the taking…Gods, he’s never loved you more.

He’s drawn to you like the sun is drawn to the moon, like love to a cupid. In three great strides he’s pressing back up against you, slanting his lips over yours in another hot kiss.

You arch off of the mirror, your hands finding his body thoughtlessly, as if a magnet is pulling you in. His cock nudges against your folds and you’re gasping against his mouth as Cassian pulls you fully off of the counter and into his arms.

You hold tightly to him, crossing your legs behind his back. Cassian keeps you suspended right above his cock and with every step he takes it teases you, a brush of warmth against your wet cunt. You keen against his mouth, nipping his lip in frustration, but the man only laughs in response.

“Oh, how I love when you beg, baby,” he says, distracted by kissing the skin of your throat. He steps into the hot spray and you hiss, surprised. “Go on, grab that bottle of shampoo over there. I have a promise to keep.”

Gently, Cassian sets you on your feet. Your legs are shaking and he doesn’t let you go, instead sliding his hands down your body, following the lines of warm water as it drips down. His touch is searing, more so than the rain pouring from the showerhead and the sight of him sliding to his knees before you nearly makes you cum, untouched.

He looks up at you with hazel eyes, raising a brow. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to hold yourself together if he’s looking up at you like this. He’s waiting, a silent demand in that heady gaze that has you snatching the nearest shampoo bottle from your shelf. Cassian hums in appreciation, hearing the top snap open, and he taps your thighs, a signal for you to open them wider.

You obey, because you need to feel his mouth on your cunt, his fingers plunging into your wet heat. You squeeze some of the soap into your hands before he can begin, because you know there will be no focusing once he’s laid those pretty lips upon you.

There’s hardly any focusing right now as you look down at him. The expanse of his tanned, broad shoulders and dripping hair plastered to them. You have the perfect view of his thick thighs, powerful where he kneels. He is every bit of a stature right now, one built outside of temples that people used to worship.

Just like how you’ll be worshipping him tonight.

Rubbing your hands together to activate the suds, you dig your fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp with brash strokes. Cassian’s groan bounces deliciously against the tiles and you’re guiding him forward, straight to your weeping cunt.

You shout when he gets right to work, tongue scraping against your clit before he’s craning his neck and plunging it deep into your cunt. You choke, fingers faltering in his hair but he’s growling, large hands pushing your thighs further apart so he can dig his face further.

His nose digs into your clit and you whine, grinding your hips against his face. You don’t think your hands are moving besides where they’re clutching his locks tightly. Cassian fucks you with his tongue and you throw your head back, the motion smashing your skull into the tiles behind.

“Fuck,” you whimper, but the pleasure drowns out the throbbing in your head. Water skims down your body, its warmth satisfying against your sensitive nipples. The room is filled with steam already and it’s a struggle to take the laboring breaths you need to with Cassian’s tongue stuck so deep. “Right there, baby.”

Cassian listens, drinking down your wetness like a parched man. He’s thirsty for your taste, for the way that your body responds to his, for your words. Every sound that you make sends shockwaves to his cock. He’s desperate to get a hand on himself but he wants you to cum first. Needs you to cum first.

He sneaks a finger to your cunt, replacing his tongue with his thick digit. You sink lower, your feet slipping on the tiles but Cassian is holding you up without an ounce of effort. He’s much too concerned with making you feel good, suckling at your clit with a hum when your nails rake through his hair, letting him know he’s doing a good job.

The downstroke of his index finger turns into an upstroke with his middle and you keen at the feeling of more. He feels so good, knowing right where to touch, the bundle to caress and curve his fingers against so that you’re a shaking mess. Heat gathers low in your gut when he brushes against that spot again before pushing his fingers deep and hitting your womb.

“Cassian,” his name is a cry, a prayer. You can’t form words beyond that with the feeling so hot, so tight in your loins. He begins moving his fingers faster, fucking them in and out of you with vigor. “I’m cumming, baby! Keep doing that—” your breath catches in your throat as you see white hot, orgasm flooding you. Your fingers turn harsher against his scalp but you don’t even notice because Cassian’s picking up the pace even more. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

Your boyfriend doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop flicking his tongue against your clit because the noises you’re making right now are music to his fucking ears. Doesn’t stop pushing his fingers into your cunt even though he has to use a touch more effort now that you’re trying to clamp down around his fingers like some wicked trap. He’s been waiting all day for this and he’s going to revel in it, even if you’re already whining from sensitivity.

When you’re squirming, begging him to pull away, he does.

“Have I satisfied you, sweetheart?” he asks, leaning back only slightly. Your hands fall from his hair to his shoulders as he presses light kisses to your thighs, rubbing light circles into them with his thumbs to ease their quaking. “Or are you all ready for my cock now?” Cassian tilts his head back to look at you but hisses as the water falling from the showerhead washes soap into his eyes. “Oh, fuck! Ow, ow ow!” He rears back, nearly losing his balance completely as he slips.

Your hands find him, coaxing him under the water. Your chest still heaves with your orgasm, but you brush the hair from his face and lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder while he tries to rub the soap from his eyes.

“Are you alright, Cass?”

He groans in response, trying to blink the sting from his eyes. They’re all red rimmed now, and when his vision clears, it’s to you biting back your laughter.

“At the time, I thought that was going to be so hot,” Cassian admits with a huff, but you see the smile cracking his lips.

“At the time,” you tease, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “It was.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The pizza is good but the sex that follows is even better.

Cassian is gentle with you, loving you like he had the first time you’d ever slept together; caring and tender. He takes his time mapping his way across the planes of your skin with his hands, with his mouth, tracing the hills and valleys of your body like he has all of the time in the world.

And you let him, not because you already know you’re dodging your work tomorrow, but because anything that this man does utterly enraptures you.

It’s passionate and slow, each roll of his hips sensual and intentional. The words he presses into your skin are soft and meaningful, ones that bring tears to your eyes. You don’t know how someone who has been through as much as he has can love you so openly like this, and you’re thankful every day for it.

“I love you, Cassian,” you exhale, fingers raking down the expanse of his back as you try to hold him closer. Your back arches off of the bed and you throw your head back in bliss, sparks igniting behind your eyes with every thrust of his hips.

Cassian peeks his head up from where it’s buried between your breasts, licking and sucking his way from one nipple to your other. They’re hard as rubies, red like them too, surrounded by mottled marks left by his mouth.

His hazel eyes are dazed, sparkling with adoration. Your chest constricts as your heart swells with joy, with love for the man willing to rush to your side and make sure you’re okay. He’s shown you that you’re his first priority in all of this, that he will put you before even the game he loves so dearly.

He surges forward with a brutal thrust of his hips that has you seeing stars. He loves the way that you clutch him as if you never want to let go. He won’t ever let you go either, and that thought only has him more ravenous for you.

Cassian catches your cry of pleasure against his lips. You taste like a dream, in more ways than one. His strong arms snake surround your body and you squeal as he rolls, holding you tightly on top of him while he plants his feet into the mattress and fucks up into you.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he pants against your mouth. “Want to take care of you like this every day. Fuck you so good you won’t be able to run away.” His hips jerk and he’s hitting that spot that sends a tsunami of pleasure throughout your body.

Roughly, he grabs your ass, helping you move yourself up and down his cock to prolong your pleasure. It’s so good, he’s so hot and long inside of you, his girth filling you completely but it’s not enough, you want his cum too.

“Never,” you gasp, riding out the orgasm that’s wracking your body. “I’m never leaving you, Cassian. Never ever. I love you too much for that.”

It those words that have him growling, sucking harshly at the juncture of your throat and shoulder as he cums. His warmth fills you to the brim, and you’re shuddering on top of him from the pleasure of it all, collapsing against his chest when the grinding of his hips comes to a halt.

Cassian doesn’t pull you though, and you don’t want him to. You want him to keep you plugged up with his cum inside of you. You’re on the pill and normally you’d be more worried that he’s not wearing a condom, because the pill isn’t 100% effective, but you needed to feel his bare cock buried deeply into you tonight, need to feel his warmth in your cunt and leaking down your thighs.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Cassian breathes, brushing a strand of damp hair behind your ear. You’ve already showered but you’ll both need another when you feel like finally getting up. “Until the moon no longer rises.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Change Your Ticket Taglist: @justasillylittlegoofyguy @starsinyourseyes @jdeclerc @indiedash @kennedy-brooke @tothestarsandwhateverend @azsteris @obsessivereaderchick @aalxrose @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielover @bookishbroadwaybish @itsinherited @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @vellichor01 @mischiefmanagers @queerqueenlynn @justdreamstars @mayemperess @wallacewillow0773638 @microwaveallthedemons @natashachelsea @stayinglow-exploringworlds

#cassian x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #cassian #change your ticket #rugby!cassian #rugby!cassian au #acotar modern au #modern!cassian