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pedge-page · 1 month

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Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife #10 : Snack Time

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Momma bird hungry for all the snacks in the world. Takes some time and frustration before Joel figures out the exact kind of snack you really want.

Warnings: Pregnant reader, Angry!Joel, oral M!receiving, face fucking, throat bulge, throat-pie, dumbification, junk food binge, eating meat, bossy reader as always

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel didn’t know he married the Hungry Hungry Hippo, Galactus the planet devourer, Garfield the tabby cat.

You’re on your phone texting while cuddling Joel. He’s more interested in the movie than you are, but that doesn’t stop him from tracing his finger along your arm, occasionally kissing the top of your head and nuzzling his nose. He loves the scent of your shampoo after a wash, damp and cold against his warm chest. Sometimes you protest how closely he wants to cuddle you, all smushed up on the couch. Your body temp skyrocketed with the baby changing everything. But since he’s keep the AC on full blast, your warm heavy body keeps him from being a popsicle.

The landlines chimes in from the kitchen.

He rolls his eyes. Of course, something to interrupt the comfort that took 40 minutes for you to settle into. "I'll get it,” He grumbles quickly and hoists himself up off the couch. He wants to make whoever the fuck is calling at such a late hour a quick convo. If it’s fucking Tommy needing bailed out again, he thinks begrudgingly, I’ll just hang up on him.

He clears his throat and answers: “Hello, Miller Residents.”

"Can you get me a bowl of Cap'n crunch while you're up?"

He glances back over at you sitting up on the couch, your cell to your ear as you wave at him. you point to your belly mouthing I T S F O R T H E B A B Y.

It’s for the baby, my ass. You’ve been a hungry hungry hippo who’s been snacking like crazy and ignoring the doctor’s warnings.

But cranky Momma is way worse than a scolding doctor.

He grits his teeth and slams the receiver a little too hard down on the desk.

You can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, a clash of a bowl on the counter and the jingle of overly processed cereal filling it up.

He walks back into the living room. You’ve taken up the whole couch now, with no inclination to move over to let him back on.

You shove a fist into the bowl and pop a bunch of the crunchy orange squares into your mouth “f’anks” you mumble, eyes not once making contact with him as you stare ahead and much away. Crumbs fall onto your chest and down to the floor and sofa, as if Joel hadn’t just cleaned all of it this morning.

The next night, Joel's cooking some steaks. You weren’t really a meat-crazed person, having maybe one or two helpings of poultry or occasionally red beef a week, but normally ,you could go without it for a few meals without thinking about it.

Pregnant momma? She was a fucking carnivore. He had barely set the sizzling steak down before you snatch one onto your plate. He turns around to slice into one, checking its temp before serving, only to see it was a bit too red and bloodied on the inside.

"Oh babe I gotta cook these a little longer; they're too rare--"

You were hacking away and tearing a large chunks of the red, near pulsing meat, juices pouring out your lips, a vampire gorged on a fat blood sucking meal. Despite its tenderness, you chew endlessly and stare off into the table like a Llama enjoying its food on the field.

"Maybe...we should—slow down a bit,” he suggests with uncertainty. His fork and knife frozen in midair, still in each hand. He hasn’t shifted view or blinked, but clear worry (and maybe a tad bit of fear) stretch across his face.

"Uighgrrfmggmmdeeofxsw,” you reply with gargled cow remains sloshing in your wide open trap.

“Right. That."

You swallow what’s left. Joel’s does a double take: your steak is somehow gone, juice licked clean off the plate in front of you.

“Can I have yours???"

He had only sliced 4 cuts for himself so far. But the hungry look in your pupils, licking your lips while watching his dinner, it’s clear you’ve answered for him. He sadly sets his cutlery down and slides his plate to you.

Its even more interesting when you douse it in salt and throw a slab of butter on top of it, watching it melt before slicing a big chunk off.

"You gotta watch the salt intake—“

“—Can you make chicken? I want chicken now.”

“N-no,” he shakes his head, whiplash from the conversation. Maybe you’ve gone def AND blind AND lost your taste buds. “I made steak. You've had 2 steaks now. Why do you need chicken?”

“That second one was for the baby. The chicken is for me.”

“What about the fist one?”

“….We split that.”

“Awfully hungry baby,” he says with a dead tone, straight faced as he eats the one roll left in the basket that hasn’t been devoured by you.

“Well she’s yours, isn’t she?”

You wipe your face with a napkin, a fried chicken leg and wing now securely packed tight in your tum tum along with the famished baby.

"What's for dessert?" You chime eagerly.

Joel turns to wash the dishes, hiding his smirk. He’s got you now, no surprise cravings will catch him short on this one: He boasts proudly, “I bought you apple pie--"

"I want cupcakes. Whip cream icing. Chocolate.”

His grin quickly deflates into a frown. “No.” He says sternly, a little aggravated. “I bought you pie—“

"Did I say I want pie? L I S T E N,” you snap, slapping your palms together with each syllable.

He puts his foot down with tense sudsy hands going to his hips. “No. I'm not going out again.”

You raise your eyebrows threateningly. One look.

30 minutes later Joel is shuffling into the house with a pack of 12 cupcakes he bought at the bakery.

You’ve managed to prop yourself up on the couch after some heaving. “Ha! The baby is making me workout get strong! Obviously that’s why I’m so hungry.” You shrug it off. “Oh! I want raw cookie dough.”

Joel was on his phone the entire time, but the second you said I want, his brain queued in and he quickly retorts, “No.”

He goes back to replaying the voicemail he missed, settled and focused on the opposite couch.

Of course he Doesn't realize you’ve somehow lumbered up past him and now waddling back with 4 chunks of raw cookies in your hand, popping them in your mouth one at a time.

His eyes dark up to watch you, transfixed on the screen as you bend your knees, hardly paying attention to the way you’re about to fall on the couch. He has half the mind to help, but what’s one lesson you need to learn the hard way?

Regretfully, you bounce down successfully and pull your legs up.

And then, as you dust your hands off from the chocolate stains melted on your palms, Joel’s lips part in a o as you reach behind you and pulling an entire gallon container of animal crackers.

"Babe"

"Wha?” You don’t turn around to look at him, still shoveling them into your mouth. “Yuu wan wan?"

"You need to stop eating every damn thing in the house.”

You gasp incredulously, your hand over your heart in painful offense. “The baby is very hungry! She's related to you and that belly.”

He only remembers to stop himself from reminding you that your belly is much bigger than his now.

"The baby—“ (that was the new thing now: the baby this baby that. The baby is why I need this shirt in blue and green. The baby is why I need the ice cream layered horizontally not stacked vertically. The baby —)

"No. Not the baby,” he snaps. “You."

You start to cry. "I thought I AM your baby!!!"

He gives you a “seriously” look and you stop the fake tears.

“So how about it?”

“I don’t want you getting salmonella.”

“ugh fine. You can bake them I guess.”

He’s about to protest the idea of any dough going into your body, cooked or raw, but knows its going to be a lost cause.

Joel makes you a platter of Assorted cookies: chocolate chip, fudge, triple chocolate, sugar, and oatmeal raisin.

You clap your hands as he carefully places the little plate atop your bump. Humored by the custom “mini” table you’ve got going on now. Maybe his baby doesn’t like her head being used as a countertop, but with the way you close your eyes and moan after biting into the chocolate chip, babygirl must be pleased too.

He goes to the bathroom quickly and then comes back only to glare down at you. You've taken exactly one bite out of every single cookie, leaving crescent shapes for him to scathe.

Every cookie, except oatmeal raisin. You clearly did take a bite ,but spit it out and put the lump back near the undesirable #1 cookie.

“These mine?” Joel asks bemused.

You nod happily. You felt very proud to have enough control and leave him some this time!

It’s about 9:30 pm. You're acting drunk and woozy even tho you're just a new level of tired and achy

"Woopppoooooo!!! Paaartttaaayyy!" You shout with fists in the air, drinking down a shot glass of sugar water.

“Alright party Momma. It’s bedtime.”

"Ppfffttt! No old man! Dont steal my fun.”

Joel stands over the couch, blocking your view from the TV, his hands on his hips. “You're being difficult "

“YoU’rE bEiNg DifFicUlT,” you mock and wave him off. "Oop I need to pee. Help me up.”

Joel” grabs both your grabby hands and hoists you up to your feet. “Now up the stairs, you.”

You waddle towards the stairwell, one hand cupping your lower back. Joel is right at your heel. you up at the treaturous journey ahead, all 8 steps to the top floor. Cracking your neck side to side, you wave your arms over to the handrail and begin: “Left foot. Right foot. Left. Fuck. Fuck stairs. Who invented stairs. Left foot…”

Joel’s so sleepy that he nearly falls forward. And he knows you would not take too kindly to him ramming his face into your ass as you battle your worst enemy.

Finally to the top, you scurry over like a penguin to the bathroom. He fears the long night ahead, with all the sugar swirling in your system undoubtedly going to keep him up.

He rubs his wears eyes. Startled when a moment later you’re right next to him by your side of the bed, patiently waiting for him to help you up.

"Get in the covers,” he hums with exhaustion.

But you don’t move. “No"

"Now.”

"I want an orange.”

"No. You—you just had your snack."

"That was the baby's snack. I want MY snack”.

Dear Christ almighty, bless me with a boy next time so that I have a fighting chance against her and mini her. “If I get you an orange, will you go to bed?" He asks irritably, his voice enunciating each word to ensure the contract that he’s making with you right now is solidified on both ends of the bargain.

You think it over before nodding with a little innocent beam.

You crawl into the covers just as Joel descends the stairs once again. It takes the entire time for him to grab some oranges, a peeler, and paper towel just for you to rotate your middle and sit your ass in bed.

You sit up against the headboard and clap your hands, so excited when he reappears with the goods. He puts the towel on your mini-table bump and plops one orange atop.

Joel sighs and begins to walk towards his side of the bed, but is haunted when you clear your throat for his attention.

“Yes?”

"Peel it.”

He tries not to visibly roll his eyes before he's opening the round orange with his large fingers and clubbed nails. Everything smells like nectarine now.

Picky as can be, you peel off the extra dried white veiny bits and suck on each pod of the orange.

You expect a sweet simpleness to squirt on your tongue, but instead, a sour, bitter, unripe taste floods your mouth. “Ugh these are gross, now I want—“

Joel closes his wardrobe drawer, his shirt off and only halfway down to his boxers. “NO. NO means fucking NO. I’M TIRED. YOU’RE TIRED. WE'RE GOING TO BED. NOW,” he barks sternly into the mirror. His shoulders huffing from such aggression without being able to look at you.

You throw the covers off, orange skin and slices flying everywhere.

“Fuck you! I want ice cream! I want bananas and steak and potatoes and tacos and—!"

He bares his teeth in a snarl, deep angered eyes casting downward with each poignant rut. “You're so annoying, so goddamn spoiled,” he grunts. His huge hands are wrapped around the top of your head and cupping your jaw and bulging cheek, keeping you in place as he pushes his length into your mouth over and over again. “You’re gonna do shit when I tell you, the first time I say—shit—fuck there we go—gonna listen—unnggghhfff—listen ta me from now on. Just be my good little silent. Slutty. Pregnant. Wife.”

Your teary eyes are fixed upward at his imposing figure. Feeling each time his tip nudges the back of your throat has you gagging but you can’t pull away to breathe—not that you want to.

“You get—what I give ya—and you be grateful bout it.”

You gargle a moan in agreement. His balls slap against your chin with brutal punches. by this time tomorrow, there will be Joel-finger prints bruising your face and neck.

You love it. You love it when Joel forces you out of the hormonal phase of bossing him around, the endless need to want more and more, no end in sight to your greedy gluttonous desires, until he’s blowing up and blowing off steam using you instead. And it becomes very clear to you how much you just really wanted him this whole time.

“That’s it—that’s it—you were hungry for my cock weren’t ya? Yeahhhh. Just begging me all night for it. Wanted all that meat for dinner, huh? Couldn’t just come out n’ say it? Your little brain didn’t know what ya truly needed. S’okay, Momma. I’m takin’ care of ya, aren’t I?”

The gluglugglug sounds mixed with strained pitchy whines echo in the master bedroom.

You grip his thighs with your hands to steady yourself, allowing him to abuse your throat. Maybe your knees hurt. Maybe the baby is settling uncomfortably against your lower back, and maybe it’s going to be really difficult to get up from this position in a few minutes. But each thick throb of his length filling your mouth over and over again, the spit slick strings dropping from your lips to your swollen tits, and the dent in your throat from his cock stretching to accomodate his size has your swollen pussy dripping into the carpet for more, more, more.

It’s been at least a week since Joel drained himself. No wonder he’s been so on edge with each demand. Usually marveling how cute you are, but tonight he was at him limit. You were about to get a hefty, Joel Miller sized load filling your belly, and it’s going to be better than any cookie, steak, or orange in the entire world.

He feels the way your lips suction tighter. Your eyes are leaking tears, and he smirks as he brushes his thumb over to collect it. Briefly bringing it to his tongue and sucking on the salty taste before holding your head in place.

“Shhh-shhhhhhhh. You gonna take it? Shit—shit—fuck yeah you are. Gonna fuckin take what I give ya, that’s right. My sweet wife. Bossing me around. Shit. Love when ya get like this. Known I’m gonna wreck that ass or that pussy or that mouth—all belongs to me. Fuck—fuck—fuuckk—“

His mouth drops into an o, brows drawn tightly together as slams his pulsing member balls deep into your mouth one final time. You choke, eyes wide as the tip of his cock breaches the deepest part of your throat, your nose suffocated by his pubic hairs and the fat of his lower belly surrounding your cheeks. His balls twitch against your lower lip, and you feel it coming. The travel of his seed from his sack, up his shaft along your tongue—a generous spurt of cum finally shooting from his tip and down your throat. You gag with each fat load that he pumps down your esophagus, too much to swallow at once yet having no other choice but to gulp it down quickly. Your face feels hot. He’s cumming endlessly, your mind blanking and eyes feeling blurry.

“Take it, take it, take it, that’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

You nod just a little, hugging your arms around his thick thighs tighter. He grins, humming “That’s my good fucking wife, and throws his head as the last of his pleasure makes its way safely from his sated balls to your full womb.

Joel pulls you off his length gently. You sputter out cum and saliva onto his feet, sucking in air through your lungs like a newborn.

Joel gets to one knee, his thumb pressed gently under your chin so you look directly at him. He’s got such softness in his eyes again, the ones that just switch on a dime the second he’s satisfied his aggress out on you.

You’re completely wrecked: snot spit connecting to your nostrils and swollen lips, cheeks warm and eyes puffy and hazy with exhaustion and tears.

“That—mmffffgg!—was—definitely—my—snack,” you rasp with a hoarse voice. A lazy grin spread across your face only briefly as you continue to suck air.

Joel shakes his head before planting a long kiss atop your forehead. his hands glide along your body, and just in time as your knees give way and you’re falling into him.

If you had half the mind right now, you’d curse him out for scooping you up and carrying you to bed like his once youthful bride, too concerned with the size and weight of your new body putting unnecessary stress on his aging knees and back. But Joel doesn’t protest once. Just watches you with loving eyes as he settles you into the soft bed. His tongue dips to your chest and breasts, kissing and sucking away any remnants of his rough face fucking. His cum, your spit, and fuvk it, even the little snot specks—all of it he cleans up before coming up to your lips. He kisses you softly with gentle pecks, enough to ensure you can still catch your breath. He sucks your lower lip into your mouth before wiping his own with his thumb. You’re calmer now, sated and drifting so close to sleep.

Joel clambers into bed next to you, wrapping his arm under your head and swaddling you close. You instinctively roll into his embrace. Kissing his peck and rubbing your face against him dreamily with soft breaths. “Tha hit ther spert juss rite. Ur da bess, Jol.”

“I know. So are you.” He waits for a reply, but nothing comes from you. “Are you goin’ into a food coma, baby?”

Your gentle snores answer him, along with the drool now pooling on his peck.

He chuckles and pulls your head into his face, inhaling your scent. Strong, secure, graceful hands caress your big belly. Your very very full belly, the one that he’s not going to envy when it gives you a the tummy ache tomorrow from stuffing it with so much junk food tonight.

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Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

#pedro pascal smut #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #last of us smut #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us smut #the last of us fic #last of us fic #joel dealing with preggo wife

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eipkyt61066666 · 4 months

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑩𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒆𝒊

Note: Never written anything this extreme. Do not repost!!!!!!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!!!!

You just got home from a tiring day at work.

The first thing you noticed is the welcoming smell of delicious food.

Your boyfriend has made you dinner after work.

Although Barou may not seem like the most gentle person,but he definitely has his way of showing affection and making dinner is just one of them.

He was wearing the apron you bought for him as a joke and it actually fitted his body soo nicely. Barou had a sleeveless shirt underneath showcasing his abs. The sight makes you giggle since the apron had little bear ears and a cute pocket with lace on it, contrasting his muscular figure.

Shouei had his hair down like he usually did at home and when he heared you coming into the house he came to greet you.

Due to his appearance you decided to joke around a bit since you love seeing his reactions of being annoyed and confused.

-Are you gonna ask me if I want a bath, dinner or......

Before you could finish your sentence you notice his reaction change a little.

-WAIT WERE YOU ACTUALLY!?

He just blushed and nodded, looking away which was totally unusual for a tall, muscular men like him.

You felt flustered yourself and then chuckled about how silly the situation was. You knew eachother for such a long time, yet still sometimes acted like this was just the beggining of your relationship. It made you feel nice inside, knowing that he actually cared and that you could enjoy life together even in these weird situations.

You started laughing at what was happening and after a bit cooled down.

-You know? I just keep getting more and more attached to you everyday.

You felt him soften up a bit after you sead this. You decide to hug him since you haven't been able to do anything in a while anyways.

-How about dinner then?

After that he hung up your coat and helped you remove your coat like a real gentleman, even cleaning up your pockets. Both of you go to the kitchen and eat the delicous dinner maid Barou had cooked up for you.

It was healthy(as expected from your boyfriend). He has made steak that was lathered with wine and the taste of the wine mixed with the meat was really amazing.

Barou noticed your eyes light up when you tried the food and smiled to himself at the sight.

-You like it? Meaby I should make more of it.

You blush as his smile. You didn't think that even his smile would make you feel this way.

-Y-yeah why not? Hey, you are really starting to sound like my mom now with the whole "I'll do it more".

He seemed surprised at this.

-Is that a bad thing?

-No, it just shows how caring you actually are. It's soo unsual for a man your size, yet it makes me feel soo comfortable.

Your boyfriend's smile grew at your comment and his eyes seemed to sparkle a little. Barou has always kept up the king attittude and been getting through life being being as tough so he can assert his place in this world and start a new generation of football.

You felt glad knowing that your boyfriend is stable enough to balance his emotions.

After you enjoyed the dinner by talking and eating the delicous food your personal maid Barou has made you decide to take a shower.

You get ready for the shower and put your bath robe on. Barou is in the other room watching TV waiting for you to shower.

You walk into the bathroom and to your surprise there are rose petals in the bathtub with a bath bomb on the side, waiting for you to start the water.

You blush just thinking about how toughtful your boyfriend Barou is.

You start the water and put your hair up. You enjoy yhe feeling of the warm water mixed with the florescent scent of the water. You start to get into your thoats after 5 minutes.

You haven't showered with Baroh in a while now. The last time was probably a month ago. You decide to ask him to shower with you and meaby even more. You call him into the bathroom and he comes to you.

-Did something happen?

He asks from the other side of the door.

-Why don't you join?

You say and feel his amusement from the other side of the door. There is a slight silence before he walks in and removes his clothes(he does the pull from the back thing that men do). You blush realizing just how attractive your boyfriend is.

He gets into the bath with you and pulls you unexpectedly. I mean he has been gentle all day today.

-Wh-what!?

You are a little startled by his suddenness and realize thay now you are on top of him in a bathtub, naked.

-I've been waiting for this for soo long and now I've finally got the chance. I've been holding back and planning on doing it after you shower but I guess you have other plans.

He seems excited and smiles a little as he seas all that.

He isn't the type to smile and it's actually really rare, but for you not soo much.

He is leaning against the tub with one of his hands around the edge of it and the other on the upper part of your arm, keeping you in place.

-Ba-......!?

You couldn't even finish what you were about to say and slightly gasp as he cuts you mid-sentence and pulls you in even closer. He kisses you passionately and leaves no air for you.

You back off a little to get a little air before he pulls you back in for more.

At this point you are gasping and getting groped by him all over. Your boyfriend's touch is gentle as an excited and rough men's can get. You feel the presure on your skin and let little noises out that taunt him even more.

He readjusts you like some type of toy and now you are sitting on top of his tights, his dick only a few centimetres away from you.

You knew what was coming next and soo did he.

You did it in the bathtub as water splashed all over the surface. You changed positions even going on to the counter at one point soo he can show you your fucked out face for his own pleasure. The sex was rough since you haven't been able to do it in a while, almost making you feel like you were a virgin again.

You were dirtier then when you entered the bath, since he painted you in his white stuff.

After that, your boyfriend cleaned up the mess he made on you and gently carried you to the bedroom.

You were just about to get ready for bed and felt at piece when he wrapped his arms around you while falling asleep. Then suddenly you noticed his hands shifting to other sides of your body.

-Wait!? You aren't actually doing it right? I mean we just did it in the bathroom.

You blush from embarrassment just thinking about hoe someone could desire you soo much.

-Are you to tired?

He was straight to the point and wasn't going to wait.

- You can still go.

He didn't even wait a second after you agreed and straight up lifted the sheets from you, startling you a little.

He pulled protection from the night stand and ripped the package with his teeth(Ik that's cliche but it's still soo good).

You could tell by his eagerness, that this night was going to be a long one.

Next morning you wake up exhausted. Turns out the "relaxing" night Barou was planning of giving you had an opposite effect. Even more soo his dick was still inside of you as you have slept through the whole night on top of him.

He woke up and saw you trying to scoot out of the bed and not wake him up. Barou pushed his hips upward and did what was expected of a man starved from his girlfriend.

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adoringmha · 1 year

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oblivious!fwb!bakugo x gn!reader

thinking of bakugo who can just be so oblivious sometimes, it's ridiculous.

you both have been friends with benefits for months now and it feels great, you feel great when you're with him. but that's just the issue...you feel too great when you're with him, too comfortable, too happy. and you know it'll only lead to you falling too hard for him.

so you bring it up to him, since obviously that would be an issue, given the title of your relationship, and the fact that you both explicitly stated in the beginning that you weren't letting feelings get in the way.

you tell him the morning after you stayed the night over, which really you shouldn't have done, but you allowed yourself to be selfish and enjoy sleeping in his bed one last time.

he's making breakfast, shirtless, as you walk into the kitchen. and though you briefly get distracted by...literally everything about that, you go on.

"i don't...i don't think we can keep doing this anymore."

you see him tense and pause his movements, and you watch, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other.

"what are you saying?" his voice is gruff, standoffish, but also a little confused.

you look down, "i can't do this anymore. i shouldn't."

you sense him turn around to look at you, feeling the heat of his gaze on your face, searching for answers.

"why not?"

"because i...i have feelings for you. and if we keep doing this, i'll only fall harder."

there's a beat of silence and you feel your stomach bunch up in knots of anxiety and embarrassment.

"okay? and?"

what?-

you finally look up, to stare at him incredulously. you didn't think he would be this indifferent about it. does he really just see you as a body?

you're speechless for a few seconds and he's just staring at you with full blown confusion.

he crosses his arms, brows furrowed, "why's that an issue?"

is he offended that you don't want to like him or something?

"look, it has nothing to do with you, i just–"

"uh yes it does? we're literally dating, how could it not?"

you take a long blink, tilting your head back as you look at him curiously, now confused as well. "i'm sorry, what?-"

now he's offended for sure. you can almost see the fire lit behind his eyes. "don't play dumb with me."

"katsuki what are you talking about?"

he comes closer to you and you feel your heart race with each step he takes. "what, you've been coming over here for months, sleeping in my bed, letting me cook you breakfast, and thought we were 'just friends'?"

you stare at him bewildered. in theory what he's saying makes sense, but still...

"well...you never asked me out."

he blinks and rears back slightly, in realization.

"and we said from the beginning this was simply sex. so yeah...i thought we were just friends?"

his mouth opens and closes a few times and he scratches the back of his head, looking down as he mentally berates himself.

he sighs and looks up at you, closing the distance. he locks eyes with you and stares at you earnestly, bringing his hands to your waist gently. "i thought you already were but...will you be mine?"

your lips turn up into a shy smile. "will you also be mine?"

he rolls his eyes playfully, "obviously, dumbass."

"then yes," you nod. "i'll be yours."

he smiles and tugs you closer, kissing your forehead as his thumbs trace mindless shapes on your waist. "now come on," he pulls back and tilts his head towards the kitchen island, a smirk slowly making it's way to his face. "sit your ass down and eat this food your man made you."

#bakugo #bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #fwb!bakugo x reader #mha #mha x reader #mha fluff #bakugo x black!reader

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moonxytcn · 17 days

Note

Hey! Could I request Billie comforting and taking care of an insecure reader with an eating disorder

And, I'd love to be friends :)

Love and Insecurities ||

Billie Eilish x fem!reader

summary – when you feel insecure Billie is there to remind you how beautiful you are.

warnings – fluffy, angst (almost anything ), eating disorder.

word count – 606.

a/n – Heyy! my first request, I'm happy. I hope you like this, and I'm sorry if it wasn't that good I'm a new writer so I'm still learning, constructive criticism is always welcome. thank you very much for requesting.

English is not my first language so there may be some errors

This gif isn't mine, I found it on Google

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You are sitting by the window, watching the city lights sparkle in the darkness of the night. A gentle breeze enters the room, bringing with it a sense of calm and serenity, as you let yourself be enveloped by the silence of the night. Waiting for Billie, who at this moment was in her studio, you can't help but fear the moment when she comes home with the same pizza box she always brings when she comes home late at night.

Your eating disorder has been present since school. Since you were a teenager, you've always been a bit chubby in your thighs, belly, and arms, which at the time led you to suffer bullying. Not wanting to hear any more comments and teasing about your body, you started reducing the amount of food you ate and sometimes even skipped meals during the day, all in an attempt to get as close as possible to the imposed standards.

When you met Billie, it was like a breath of fresh air. From the moment you laid eyes on each other, it seemed like a line had been drawn connecting you two. Billie has always been kind and loving to you, always making sure to tell you how much she loves you and affirming how beautiful you are. Of course, over time, this reduced the insecurity you had around her, but there was always a small flame waiting to grow, I mean, surely she's seen prettier women out there, right? She was a famous singer, you were sure there were better people to be by her side.

But she always assured you that you were the right person for her, that she loved you, and that you were the one she loved showing off to the world, always protecting you from the paparazzi but also showing the cameras the beautiful girlfriend she had.

Snapping out of your thoughts with the sound of the door opening, you got off the window ledge and went downstairs to meet her.

"Hey, love." She says when she sees you, coming towards you and hugging you and giving you a soft kiss on your lips as a greeting. "I brought pizza." She adds, smiling, showing her dimples.

"Hey darling. How was your day?" You ask. "I'm really not that hungry." You say and you don't notice but she already looks at you with recognition in her blue eyes.

"It's okay, come here." She says, taking your hand and leading you to the couch where she lays you down and climbs on top of you. "You are beautiful and perfect just the way you are, and I know I've been a bit distant with the album production, but I promise I'll remind you of this every day. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever had the pleasure of seeing, and I'm thankful every day to be able to call you mine." She says, looking deeply into your eyes. And with her words, you feel your eyes welling up as you try to look away, but she doesn't let you, gently grabbing your jaw to make you look at her.

Looking into your eyes she leans in and gives a soft kiss on your eyes, cheeks, forehead, and until she reaches your lips where she gives a kiss full of love, passion, and affection for you. "You are amazing and I'll never tire of saying that to you." She says softly to you.

She gives a last kiss on your lips and leaves light kisses like feathers down your neck, which she passes to your collarbone and onto your arms, belly, and thighs where she knows are the parts you like the least. "I love you entirely, I love your brown eyes, your beautiful arms, your belly, and those wonderful thighs where I always love to be in the middle because you know I love it when you almost suffocate me with them." She says, making you let out a little laugh which she finds adorable.

You pull her up by her t-shirt and pull her into a deep kiss, trying to show your gratitude and love for her. Coming out of the kiss all you can say to her is how much you love her and how grateful you are to have her in your life, and that you hope that in the future you'll have the life you've always dreamed of together.

#billie eilish x reader #billie eilish #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fanfic #celebrity imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x you #wlw #billie eilish fic

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queerprayers · 3 months

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any tips/advice for someone who is not catholic who wants to participate in lent? like how to choose what to give up etc?

Cheers to not letting Catholics have a monopoly on Lent, beloved! Last year I answered a similar ask that might be helpful. Here are the thoughts I have right now!

[CW: discussion of eating/fasting in italics] My most important note/disclaimer: Fasting is not for everyone. It is a beautiful tradition (for Catholics and non-Catholics) that can change people's lives, but if it's going to be a part of your practice, do it on purpose, knowing yourself. It inherently changes your relationship with food--and for people who have always had enough to eat, who have never struggled with disordered eating, who have never been seriously ill, there can be a solidarity and new perspective in fasting, in realizing how sensory experiences and comfort and mortality go together, how privileged you are to have the choice to go hungry. But for those who have struggled with food insecurity, or have lived through/live with eating disorders/disability/illness, or any other experience/relationship with food/the body that changes your perspective, fasting will often be a re-traumatizing or triggering practice that doesn't change your perspective so much as reinforce unhealthy ones. Something I think about: why fast if you cannot feast? Lenten fasting brings us to Easter feasting--if that's not accessible to you, if that wouldn't be joyful or affordable or healthy, fasting probably isn't either. Okay, all that said:

There is so much diversity in what a Lenten practice can look like, and I can't tell you what will be most meaningful for you, but I'll give you some ideas and some questions that have been helpful for me to ask myself! Lent existed way before the Catholic/Protestant divide, and exists among so many diverse communities, and there is a path here for you if you want one.

"Giving up something" is the most common language used for Lent--fasting technically refers to anything abstained from--and generally that's really useful! Jesus's forty days in the wilderness was time that he had nothing but God, and during Lent we can get closer to that experience. I give things up not as punishment or a test of self-control (those ideas trigger unhealthy behavior patterns for me), but as a letting go of something that is in my life but doesn't need to be, and may deserve reconsidering. Sometimes it's a bad habit, but sometimes it's just a conscious allowing of my life to grow simultaneously smaller and bigger. There is space for grief during Lent, but we're not just making ourselves feel bad--I've never found forced emotions to be spiritually helpful. Emotions come and go--we're doing this on purpose, and whatever we feel about it, we make space for that.

Ideas of things to give up:

eating out/getting coffee/buying drinks/little treats

impulse buying/nonessentials (you could pick a category, like clothes, or go all out)

alcohol/drugs/smoking (if this would be starting a recovery journey, I am not the person to ask for advice on that but please do seek help)

social media (you could choose one app to give up, or set time limits--it doesn't have to be all or nothing)

scrolling-on-your-phone time before bed/another time when you get sucked in

another form of casual entertainment (like TV/video games--again, you can limit this rather than cutting it out)

sexual activity (I talked about this here)

makeup/other appearance-related thing (I must confess I have considered doing this and always chickened out. I know that's because it would force me to rethink too many things, which is a probably a sign I should do it one of these years.)

a social habit, like gossiping or getting into arguments online

overscheduling/not having rest days (this is often unavoidable, but rest is necessary and holy, and perhaps this is the season for sacrifice in honor of rest)

single-use plastics/another environmental choice

Note: I don't think any of these things are inherently bad things. This is a list of things we can change/investigate our relationship with or have a season without them as a distraction, not things I think we shouldn't be doing or we should feel bad about.

One of the most important things I've realized is that so often I have given something up and not done anything about it. Like I didn't watch TV for forty days and was mad about it and then Lent was over and I watched TV again. Perhaps this strengthened my self-discipline, or made my life better in a way known only to God, but ultimately nothing happened. I didn't consciously do anything else, I didn't learn anything.

Now, when I give up something, I purposely do something with whatever space it leaves. If I'm not watching TV, what am I going to do when I would usually watch TV? Am I gonna pray? go to bed earlier? call my grandmother? Am I gonna cancel my Netflix subscription for a couple months and donate that saved money? Or maybe I'm gonna give up watching mindless TV, and find stories that resonate and make me think. Don't give things up to check a box, but to reexamine your relationship with them, make everyday things sacred, fill the space/time/money/energy you now have with God, and ultimately to set this time apart.

The other way of looking at Lent practices is things you can add. Often, as I mentioned, they go together--you can pair up something you're no longer buying with somewhere to donate to, or give up an activity and replace it with a new one. I always caution against Lent-as-self-improvement--obviously I can support improving our habits, but I've seen too many people use Lent to restart their new year's workout plans, and while exercise can be a way to care for ourselves, if new year's and Lent are treated the exact same way, what's different about this season? What makes this Lent?

One of the questions I've been asking myself recently is: What are you gonna do about it? When I'm investigating a belief, or learning something new, or reframing an old thought process, I ask myself: What am I gonna do about it? Lent is a path to Holy Week--something I and many others commemorate as the week when God was put on trial and literally killed. I genuinely believe God died and was resurrected--how does this affect my life? Believing something like that and not letting it change you is, to me, inauthentic. When I'm considering a belief, I think, if this were true, how would it change me? Would it lead me to Love? Lent (and Christianity itself) over and over asks us to do something about what we say we believe. Faith without works is dead--and faith is a work, something I do.

It's almost Lent, which is preparation for the Resurrection, which fundamentally changes our understanding of what it means to be alive--so what are you gonna do about it? Not because doing something will make God love you more or make you a "better person," or even because you'll succeed or change your life, but because how can we not? We are of course welcome at Easter having done nothing, but I can't imagine knowing what's coming and not letting it change me.

Ideas of things to add to our lives:

start a prayer/Bible routine--I can now wholeheartedly recommend (as a Protestant who connects with ancient traditions but not always Catholicism) Phyllis Tickle's Divine Hours books! For Bible study, I like The Bible Project's videos.

read a book--it can be anything that connects you with God! (I had a lovely experience with Lenten Lord of the Rings last year, and this year I'm properly going through the Quran)

pick a subject to research (theological or anything else)

start to attend worship services or commit to attending more--this could include going to several different places if you don't currently belong to a church

research places to volunteer for or donate to

do something politically active, like calling your representatives, researching the next local election, or attending a protest

donate to the next [insert number here] posts you see online requesting mutual aid

start a physical practice like taking a walk or stretching

write a letter or call someone regularly, especially with people you've been wanting to connect with more or have unresolved conflict with

start/commit to more regular therapy/other health treatment

ask for help--maybe you're the one who needs mutual aid, or reaching out to, or support cleaning your house or with your kids. there is no shame in this.

These are all obviously things we can be doing year round, and certainly we can use Lent as a season to start something we want to keep with us! I'd also encourage us to have something that's only present during Lent, or something that we do more or in a different way.

You asked how to choose, and I don't have a one sentence answer to that (...obviously), but perhaps in these days before Lent you can look at your routine/habits, the places where God is present, the things you do to distract yourself from life (not a crime--just something to be mindful of), and you can see where Lent might be able to come in and change you. The thing that's nagging at you that you know might be helpful, the thing you're not in control of and just do, the time you take up or the money you spend that might not be bad but also doesn't lead you anywhere. We can't expect every aspect of our lives to be purposeful and present, or to be continuously improving ourselves (in fact, that sounds terribly stressful and unsustainable)--but we can look around us. We can have a season that looks different because everyone I've ever known has a brain that craves ritual in some way--and either we do it on purpose, or we fall into it. Do something (or don't do something) a little more on purpose this season.

Another think to think about is what Sundays will look like for you--the "forty days" don't count them. There's no fasting on Sundays--my mom says every Sunday is a little Easter. "Sundays in Lent" is such an interesting concept because it's very much Lent, but the rhythm of our weeks breaks through. When I give up soda, I'll have one as a celebration on Sundays, but a prayer/reading practice I'll continue through. It's up to you and depends on what your rhythm/habits ask of you.

Ultimately, let God interrupt you. Let Them seep in the cracks of everything you do and let go of. To be loved is to be changed. Even the smallest thing--like wearing a cross necklace every day--can cause our lives to be filled with noticing God's presence. I keep saying to do this on purpose, but know that I find Them much more often by accident.

And an obligatory note: starting Lent late, stopping your practice halfway through, not meeting a goal, whatever comes up--Easter still comes for you. Lent is for paying attention, for making space, not for perfection.

I also want to add that while a lot of Lenten practices (including most I've mentioned here) tend to be personal, ultimately what is asked of us is interpersonal. We make space in our life and be more present in the name of Love--which we cannot do alone. If a practice is not specifically about other people (like volunteering/donating), ask yourself how it will serve the ways you love others? This isn't a trick question, just something to think about. Personally, my study of the Quran this season will connect me with my Muslim siblings through time and enable me to more fully love the Muslims around me, and my rhythm of the divine hours will connect me with the wider Christian community and center me as I go about my day, allowing me to be more present in my relationships.

Easter comes whether we're ready or not--and I don't think we can be ready. But we can look at the small parts of ourselves, set this time apart, see what we can change our relationship with, and perhaps when Easter comes, we will every year have come that much closer to understanding what it means to live out the resurrection by honoring the death that came first.

Wishing you a blessed almost-Lent, and praying for you and your practice (as well as all those reading this)!

<3 Johanna

#asks

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spectersgirl · 5 months

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i love ur fics and i would love a fic where Harvey takes care of the reader when they’re on their period and have like bad cramps and stuff? and even tho the reader tries to hide it Harvey finds out and is surprisingly fluffy!!

I love soft Harvey he has my whole heart

Best Boyfriend

Harvey Specter x Reader

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The moment you woke up, you knew exactly how the day was going to go, with a persistent ache that refused to be ignored. You tried to get ready as usual, but every movement felt like a battle against your own body. All you wanted to do was lay in bed with a heating pad and some comfort movies but unfortunately, there was work to be done. Despite your efforts to hide the pain you felt, it was written all over your face.

Harvey noticed. It wasn’t just the way you winced when you thought he couldn't see, or the way you were usually the bright and happy one of the two of you in the morning but hadn't even spoken since you got up. He knew you well enough to sense when something was wrong, and he also knew you well enough to know that you were too stubborn to tell him if you needed something.

As you prepared to head out, hoping to get through the day with relative ease despite the relentless cramps, Harvey intercepted you in your kitchen. He held out a mug of steaming tea, a knowing look in his eyes that caught you off guard.

“Morning,” he greeted casually, waiting to see if you'd bring up what he already knew.

You accepted it with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Thanks, Harvey.”

“You feeling okay? You look like you're in pain, baby.” he inquired, his tone soft.

You hesitated for a moment before nodding your head, feeling a bit of your guard slipping away as he stood looking at you with the softest eyes you'd ever seen. You both had been working on being more open with each other about your needs, a hurdle brought on by equally difficult childhoods and trauma.

"I... have really bad cramps. I'll be fine, don't worry about it,"

“Come on,” he said, gesturing towards the nearby couch. “Sit. We'll go in a little late and I’ll take care of breakfast.”

You found yourself complying, taking a seat and reclining slightly, closing your eyes briefly. Harvey disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a plate of food and your heating pad.

“I—” you began, feeling a surge of gratitude mixed with a touch of embarrassment.

“No need for explanations,” Harvey cut in gently, placing the plate in front of you. “Just eat. You’ll feel better.”

He didn’t push, simply offering his support in a way that allowed you to accept it without feeling like a burden. He returned to the kitchen to clean up as you nibbled at the food he'd made. You weren't really hungry but admittedly, it was distracting you from the pain.

By the time you left, you felt more composed than you had earlier in the morning. Harvey walked beside you, his presence providing an extra layer of comfort.

“You doing okay?” he asked softly, placing a gentle hand on your lower back.

You nodded, a genuine smile playing on your lips this time. “Thanks to you. Thank you for being so good about this.”

He grinned, a hint of his usual cockiness returning. “Please, that's just what the best boyfriend in the world would do. I told you, I’ve got your back. Next time, don’t try to tough it out on your own.”

You rolled your eyes and elbowed him playfully. "Also the most humble boyfriend"

Harvey chuckled, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you walked with him to the car he had waiting. You were truly grateful for everything Harvey did for you, even when it was hard to accept his help sometimes. He really was the best boyfriend you could've asked for.

#harvey specter x reader #harvey specter #harvey specter suits #harveyspecter #suits fics #request #suits

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deblklesb · 8 months

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Maybe reader goes into a full autistic/neurodivergent shutdown and Abby helps reader?

(disclaimer: I'll describe it based on my personal experience with shutdowns and also on what I've seen some people sharing. not all autistic people have the same experience, please keep that in mind)

i just KNOW abby would be so so supportive and caring with you!

like depending on the au she could have more or less knowledge about autism, i think doctor!abby could have more experience after appointments with autistic patients and etc. (she went out of her way to learn more in order to create a better experience to them), but either way would first and foremost ask you in simple questions about what you need, as in presenting options for you that doesn't need too much to think about.

"Want me to stay with you?"

"Hey, I brought water for you, babe. I'll leave the bottle in the bedside table"

"You need to eat, bun. I'll bring something for you okay?"

She'll get your favorite food. And if there's none in the house (most of the times you don't run out of your comfort food, but anything can happen) she calls for some delivery - she's not leaving you the first times because she doesn't know what you might need.

The lights bother you even more in shutdowns, so she'll have just one light on in the house, maybe the bathroom because it's central, or the kitchen because it's farther from your room. Sometimes you like to watch your favorite show or favorite movie on and on, so she tries not to interrupt.

There are times when you specifically ask her to stay with you, and so she does. If working next to you it's okay, she can lay down by your side and do some, just the very necessary, before giving you her undivided attention. At this point she also knows some lines of the movies, and so she repeats them along and laughs with you.

Abby is a-okay with being your personal weight blanket. Sometimes you just need her to lay on top of you, between your legs, and she stays there happily. You love how warm she is, and that she lets you stim caressing her skin and making braids on her hair over and over.

Once you got months without a shutdown, so when it came it made you so frustrated and nervous. Abby got home to find you laying on the floor due to the very hot day, face swollen with tear trails, only panties on your body; your skin was directly in contact with the cold ground as you looked at the TV.

"Hey, babe", she said, putting the keys on the table. When you didn't answer, she left her bag at the corridor and took out the shoes, coming closer. She crouched next to you, noticing how you weren't looking at her. "Bun? Are you okay?"

You just shook your head, still looking at the TV. Silent, you pulled your phone closer and wrote on the notes app.

The day was shit. it's too hot so i was sweating all the time and I'm already feeling like crap. my boss was so fucking stupid, he doesn't know how to maintain a good work place and just acts like all ableism is just jokes between co-workers when i distinctively told him it's affecting my job. I can't punch that motherfucker of coworker in the face because i would be fired and i need the job. and on top of all of that, traffic was hell, people kept honking all the time up and down, the chatting in the bus sounded louder than usual and i think my body doesn't want to stay together anymore because of this godforsaken heat.

Her blue eyes, bathed by the cool LED of the TV, wandered around the screen as she read you rant. And then she was seating there, not too close but enough for you to feel her presence.

"I'm so so sorry, bun", she whispered, not touching you. Your feet were brushing against each other, since the sensation soothed you, and the open window let the smallest wind come inside the apartment. "Have you eaten?"

I haven't been able to get up after i showered

"Okay. I'll go take a shower myself and then I'll make us something to eat, alright?"

She was next to you all the time that night. She didn't ask you nothing the whole time, just putting the food for you and then sitting there on the floor so you could eat together. Abby didn't come too close because she knew the temperature wasn't ideal and you both didn't had the money to get an air-conditioning yet, she just stated that you could come to her when you felt comfortable to do so and offered her hand to be held in the mean time.

After an impossible to count amount of time, you rested your head on her thigh, still quiet and watching the cartoon.

"Oh my God, Dooffenschmirtz' building looks so much like Ferb. Like, the shape... I never noticed that before", she muttered more to herself, but the fact brought a chuckle out of you. And as simple as it was, it made her chest a little bit warmer; to see you slowly relaxing and regulating.

"Do you want to sleep on our bed or here on the living room, babe?" She asked after a long time, because it was getting late and soon you'd have to sleep.

The living room was cooler than your room, and the mattress could be so hot during the night you'd wake up all sweaty and sticky - if the heat during the day was painful, waking up on drenched sheets would make you so so much worst. And you had that traveling mattress, you could put it on the floor and stay there for the rest of the night, next to the living room window.

"I can stay on the couch so you won't be alone", she added.

I guess I'll sleep here. We can fix the area to be more comfortable. I'll help you.

You stood slowly and the place was soon being organized to better accommodate you both. She got some pillows and thin sheets, you padded the simple mattress and covered the couch with a duvet to make it more comfortable for Abby.

That night she slept with her hand between yours, and you felt so grateful for having someone that would be with you through those times. You kept caressing her hand with your thumb because the stim was soothing you, untill you fell asleep with some cool wind coming from the restless city night.

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blanketbvby · 3 months

Text

A Demon's Guide to Anthropology

part: 3

Word count: 657

Tags: use of 'MC's and they/them pronouns, sensory sensitivity on MC's end, written to be seen as sensory processing disorder, written based on my experience with it but I tried to change it to be broader

Word: "sensory"

Beel's time to shine :], also this is genuinely such bad writing I'm sorry, gonna come back and edit this to be better some day lol

★• ——— –– -

Beelzebub is a lot more perceptive than people like to give him credit for. With brothers like his and being an athlete, he has to be in order to know what's going on.

Which is why it doesn't take him long to notice the way that MC shies away from a lot of foods, clothes, and objects. Completely random to the common eye, but Beelzebub is most concerned with the food issue.

It's not like MC doesn't eat, not at all, they're healthy and never skin out on a good, fresh meal, but they're always so odd with what they eat.

Meats are off the table most of the time, which isn't all that bad. A lot of people just don't like meat. But some drinks and a good few veggies and fruits added onto that is what confuses him.

Maybe MC was just a picky eater, which again is fine, Devildom foods are weird to get used to, but it also seemed prevalent in human foods, too. To Beel, it seemed completely random, from a few spicy foods to a few sweets and sours, in his eyes he couldn't find a common connection.

So with a breath, he knocked on MC's door and entered when he was allowed.

Beelzebub wasn't normally so nervous or anxious, but he knew human bodies were delicate and didn't want MC and their odd aversions to certain objects or foods to somehow leave a bad mark.

"MC," he began after entering and shutting the door. The human sat in their bed with their D.D.D. in hand, "I have a question."

Intruiged and curious as always, MC responds.

"What's up, Beel? Something wrong?"

"Are you okay?" MC blinks, a little caught off guard at the vague question. The giant demon stood above them, looking down and vaguely reminding the human of a large dog looking at a toy it was attached to.

"Uh- elaborate?"

"You don't eat some stuff and you don't touch some things."

To their credit, MC understood after a moment, and they tried not to seem rude by the way they gave a laugh and smile, shaking their head.

"Do you mean how I don't like touching certain fabrics or eating certain foods?" The ginger nodded at the question.

"That's kinda common for humans," MC explained, "It's called sensory sensitivity. Some textures feel really bad to touch or to eat, so I tend to avoid them. Nothing is wrong with me, I promise."

Beelzebub nodded in solemn understanding, sitting beside the mortal on the rather Plush and comfortable bedding. In his hands was a small box of cookies he knew they favored a lot that he'd taken with him. It took everything in Beelzebub's power not to tear the box open and have at the cookies himself.

"So you can't have some foods or wear some things because they feel weird?"

MC nodded, though they didn't seem very down about it. To them, it was simply another day like any other, knowledge as common as grass is green and Luke despises anything demonic.

To Beelzebub, though, it solidified his resolve as he passed the now opened box of cookies over, one in hand and another in his mouth.

"What food can you not have? I'll eat them for you."

The serious expression to the previous words caused another laugh to bubble out of MC, and they took their own cookie from the box.

"It's hard to explain, but I'll pass you any whenever they come with a meal I have. Deal?"

Beelzebub nodded and put a hand on MC's head (the demon struggled sometimes with such casual affection and touch with most people, but had recently picked up on simply resting a hand on the mortal's head and leaving it there for a minute), and after a few moments a comfortable silence and sharing cookies, he spoke once more.

"Hell's Kitchen?"

"Hell's Kitchen."

#blanketbvby #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me mc #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel x reader #i did beel's so dirty im sorry 😭

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wild-lavender-rose · 6 months

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Will Turner x reader with prompt 2 in the first comfort/hurt comfort list? :0

Person A is overworking themselves for a week and Person B is deeply concerned?

You had been like this for days, transfixed on the map before you. Your captain and childhood friend, Will Turner, had enlisted your services to decode the map that would lead to a grand treasure. Anxious to prove your worthiness, you had shut yourself in his office below deck to do just that.

That had been just over a week ago.

"We won't reach our destination for another two weeks." He reminded you on one of his trips to deliver food you would often forget to eat. "You should rest."

"I'll rest when it's finished." You insisted, averting your eyes from his. Ever since he had found you in the tavern to enlist your services, you had found it difficult to look him in the eye. The small crush you had harbored for him as a child had resurfaced with the fierce of a kraken. Only this was far from a crush now. You feared that you loved him deeply. And sometimes, for a moment, you felt that Will loved you as well.

However, your extended time with the map had caused your logic to blur. Now you were unsure about everything, the day and time, the direction of the sun, the concept that Will loved you. In fact, your whole world was starting to blur and darken...

You were alone when you woke with a start, grasping the arms of your chair as the ship lurched about. Or was that just your head? Your vision was blurry. Your body felt hot and cold all at once. You panicked and stood, an action you instantly regretted. Your legs gave out and you hit the floor with a thud, crying out in pain.

# # #

The next thing you were aware of was Will's voice calling for you. You felt his hands on you, warm and strong. You whimpered, trying to explain, to insist you were fine and could get back to work. Will shushed you, a hand to your throbbing forehead. The cool relief of his presence silenced your weak pleas. You grasped his shirt as he lifted you up into his arms, head falling on his shoulder. After countless sleepless nights and days full of cramped muscles and burning eye strain, the sensation of being carried to bed was enough to make you cry.

Will shushed you and held you tight, carrying you to his bed chambers. You tried one final time to resist when he laid you in a large bed befitting of a captain. Will pushed your shoulders back and held you down, whispering reassurance. "Rest now, shhh. Just rest."

"The map,"

"Forget the bloody map, my darling. Just rest."

My darling. How Will's voice sounded, so soft and full of worry. Your body relaxed, his voice paired with the fever sending you into a deep, desperately needed sleep.

# # #

"Will?" You whispered, reaching out to touch the stubble on his face.

"Hmm?" Will opened his eyes, a soft smile on his lips as he took in the sight of you lying beside him. He hadn't left your side ever since he found you nearly unconscious on the floor. Half delirious, you had begged him to share the bed with you whenever he came near. Will had relented, and now it felt as though you had shared a bed for years. Wrapped up in his arms, his fingers toying with your hair as you looked up into his dark, sleepy eyes.

"I love you."

Will's smile grew wider, arms tightening around you. "I love you too. I always have, darling."

You smiled back, settling against him as he pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead. "As have I," you breathed, already drifting back to sleep.

#potc will #will turner x reader #potc will turner #will turner #will x reader #will x you #will turner x you #will turner x y/n #potc #pirates of the carribean will turner #pirates of the carribean will #pirates of the carribean #pirates of the caribbean #potc hurt comfort #hurt comfort prompts

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nichoswag · 10 months

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Hiii! Your writing is so cute 🥺

Could I please request a K one shot where he feels overwhelmed and he gets a bit distant with you. But you ask him about it as soon as you notice and that's when he opens up to you. Just like where you comfort him with a lot of flufffff

stress . koga yudai

pairing: idol bf!kei x gn!reader

warnings: angst at the beginning, comfort, cursing, kissing, petnames (baby and love)

song rec: body - summer walker (warning: song is very sexual and has little to do with the post)

a/n: i made this angsty at the start because i want to try my hand at writing angst, but dw because it gets really fluffy after that. anon i hope this is what you were imagining !! enjoy ♡

recently, your boyfriend has been working later and later, sometimes coming home at one or two in the morning. you've been growing increasingly worried about him, seeing as he also has to wake up early to go back to work.

he's also been going days without texting you while at work, and while you understand that he's busy, he always used to tell you you're his top priority. couldn't he just send a simple text back?

it's almost two in the morning by the time you finally hear the door unlocking. yudai walks through the front door of your shared apartment, hanging his coat and placing his shoes on the rack in exchange for his comfy slippers.

he doesn't say a word as he walks over to where you lay on the couch and collapses into your smaller frame, laying his head against your chest.

"you've been coming home so late, my love," you whisper, running your fingers through his soft hair. he leans up to press his face into your neck. "haven't been responding to my texts either."

"i know," he mumbles against your neck. "i'm so sorry. we've been so busy with the comeback promotions and shit, i barely have time to eat or use the bathroom."

this only increases your worry further. "you haven't been eating the meals i send you to work with?"

he shakes his head lightly against you. "sometimes i get time between schedules and have a bit of food, but i usually eat on the way home."

you press a kiss to the top of his head. "that's not healthy, kei, you need food to survive. your body can't run if you're not feeding it properly."

"i know. i know." he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close to him. "i'm trying to do better. promotions will be over soon, and then we can rest. i'll be able to spend more time with you, too."

you hug him closer. "i love you. you're doing so well, you know that?"

he kisses your neck. "love you too, baby. thank you for being here."

"did you have the dinner i sent with you?" you ask.

he nods and presses another kiss to your throat. "ate it in the car right after work."

"come on, let's go to bed." you pull him up with you, getting off the couch.

before you can drag him to the bedroom, he pulls you against his chest. "thank you," he whispers. for everything. he leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips.

you finally fall asleep in his arms that night.

#&team #&team reactions #&team scenarios #&team smut #andteam #andteam reactions #k #koga yudai #kei #&team k #&team kei #andteam k #k imagine #&team k imagine #&team k smut

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miitarashi · 9 months

Text

Warning: it's another post like SFW and NSFW headcanons post to celebrate the 50 followers. Please,be aware that will be suggestive content so,if you don't like or don't feel comfortable scroll away and ignore,if you read,keep in mind that all of it is my personal opnion by the voices on my mind source. You've been warned.

[Name] = reader (neutral)

(Sorry for any mispeling words)

☆SFW headcanons☆

Let's begin with a cute one.

it's probably take a while for Tintin to notice his feelings,so haddock was always teasing him when you was with them like:

"Oh! Isn't the [Name] over there? Lookin beautiful don't ye think lad?? Go on and say it for them!"

"Lad,invite they to go with you!"

And even when,after some time it begin to be obvious (except for himself) haddock was dumbfounded.

"Lad,ye still didn't said for them yet?!"

"Said what?"

"for thousand demons- Lad,you like them!"

"Oh of course,they so joyful,undestanding,helpful and..."

"....lad"

"Oh-"

Overal,you thanked Haddock for it later.

Remember when i said that he always give a kiss of goodbye and when he came back?

If he forget,he'll walk back to give the kiss,he need it to start his day properly.

But if he remember about it too far from home,as soon he come back,will make up for it in anyway. A flower,little gift,whatever.

Sometimes you have to remind him of eating (it's basically canon that Tintin don't care too much about food,he just eat because he need to). Things always goes:

"Tintin,it's past the lunch time already"

"Sorry,i didn't noticed. I'll just finish this paragraph"

"I didn't eat and i'm waiting for you"

This always work to make him stop,look at the clock and then back for you. He sigh getting up and walking over to you with a defeated smile.

Stare. We all know that every time,mostly, he hold or follow the peoples gaze while speaking,then expect him looking dead into your eyes while saying how much he love you or just complimenting you in any way.

He do it to show how serious he is tho (words of affirmation 😌🙏🏽)

He like to go out with you,but what he love the most is just to lie down on the couch or bed with you doing nothing. It's his definition of a perfect quality time.

If you know something that can be useful about some case of his,Tintin will ask for your help right away so you don't feel left out

just don't think he'll bring you along because his utmost fear is you end up hurt or worst if you go along.

He's protective for obvious reasons.

Another thing about the stare,you can easily catch him just watching you doing whatever. Cooking,singing,reading,painting or drawing (if you know).

He's admiring and taking mental notes of your little things to compliment it later.

Tintin's a morning person so normally,when you wake up he'll probably have a mug of fresh hot coffee ready to help you wake up

He adore to see your sleepy face and messy hair,try me.

To finish,another cute one.

If he finds the clue to solve the case, with or without your help, he'll end up doing the same thing he did to Haddock.

Tintin will hug you and spin around with you in his arms, bouncing happily. Possibly giving a little kiss too just because yes 😌👌🏽

☆NSFW headcanons☆

Ok. First things first.

✨️Stare✨️

Before you could use it on him,he did it first.

The why he prefer positions that you're facing him is only to keep eye contact as much he can.

He just adore seeing your beautiful face melting in pleasure and when your eyes roll as soon he really begins to move.

If you look away. There's two things that can happen.

Or he'll grab your chin,firmily but never enough to hurt,forcing you to look at him.

Or he's gonna come closer to your ear and ask with his smooth voice,but a bit breathless by his effort:

"Don't look away Darling...eyes on me..."

If you just randomly picked up the brat persona for this time and insist to not look...

You know he's good with words,he's a writer,then you receive:

He suddenly slow down,coming back for the steady pace. His hands travelling your body to touch on every weak spot that he knows to make you even more sensitive.

"You're sensitive already...and i can make you feel it even more...so, [Name],let's see how much you can take it,shall we?"

Remember,he's cynical.

He'll do exactly it. Melting away your bratness tiring you up by overstimulation. This is his way of being "rough" since he feel a bit unease to really go hard on you.

He's protectiveness stop him from doing so because he really don't want to harm you without wanting you know?

To make he really do it,will take some time to warm him up for the idea,he's a big softy.

This can happen only when he's feeling bold enough. Not often but believe me,this will be the best even more because he tie you up when he's feeling like this.

Tintin being bold is he trying to make you vocal and quiet at the same time.

Bear with me here.

He love hearing you? Of course. But seeing you trying to be quiet and most of the times failing and crying out his name? Priceless.

And he'll even tease about it,saying something like:

"You look so adorable like this darling...let's see how much you can keep it down?" Or

"Be quiet [Name]...i don't want to disturbe Mrs Finch too much..."

Expect him saying sorry a lot for his behavior on the next day,he don't regret,just feel a bit ashemed.

Important thing: say his name.

I solely know that this is the high point for him.

Tintin loves hearing his name falling from your lips in a whimper or silent moan.

Definitily proud if he end up making you scream his name (he can. Easily. Try me)

Marks. Probably most of them will be hickyes,he only bites to tease so it don't leave a mark.

But he love receiving it. Bites,hickyes or (favorite one) back scratchs.

He like to feel that slight aching feeling from what your nails had done to his back on the day after.

Fun fact: Mrs Finch really end up complaining about the noises,he profusely said sorry with an awkaward face. After this,he closed the door letting a deep and embarrassed sigh and from this day on you two only do this when she's out lol.

___________________________________________

A/N: and here it is! Probably the last one of this type of headcanons and what better than doing it to celebrate 50 followers??? (I mean 52 by now lol) and again,thank you all for this,it's so good to see people really liking my content so much even when i procrastinate a lot. aNyWaYs! Very thank you and I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF Y'ALL CONSIDER YOURSELVES VIRTUALLY EMBRACED 😌❤️

#the adventures of tintin #tintin #tintin movie #tintin x reader #the adventures of tintin 2011 #tintin movie 2011 #tintin 2011

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homosociallyyours · 6 months

Text

This is a post for one of my best friends who's been going through a lot for the past few years. I'll go into more details below, but here's the heart of the matter: My friend has a serious auto-immune condition resulting from the long term after effects of cancer treatments (worsened now by the addition of long COVID to her long list of diagnoses). Over the past few years, she's gotten sicker and sicker and has been forced to change her diet from a vegetarian anti-cancer diet (she's a breast cancer survivor, and fought HARD for her health) to one that's become more and more limited as her body becomes allergic to every food one by one. She's now reached a point where one of the last 2 foods that she was able to eat safely, chicken, is causing an allergic reaction; she has to eat it anyway to survive, so is now very sick all the time.

What can you do?

One of the last hopes that she has to turn things around is something called a fecal microbiome transplant, which has worked miracles for other people with similar issues, but cannot currently be accessed through medical channels in the US for any but one (unrelated) condition. It's really easy to do as a DIY treatment though, it's just hard to find a donor: so we are putting it out there to see if one of you might be able and willing to be that person, or know someone who could do it.

Here is what she has to say about the ask:

Finding the right person to do this is difficult, but actually doing the helping is extremely easy and quick if someone was that person! If you live in the continental US and are fortunate enough to have both physical and mental good health (or know someone or have a child who fit the criteria) and are willing, you might be able to change my life! Please consider clicking through to read more and maybe even come aboard... (For clarity: this isn't a medical procedure or anything, it is literally just donating poop, there are a few specifics but it is very much from the comfort of your home on your own time.)

You can click here to fill out a google form to see if you might be able to be a donor. The questionaire is detailed: fecal transplant is a bizarre and magical thing in which the patient sometimes can even end up acquiring personal preferences from the donor- the gut microbiome (sometimes called the second brain) is incredible! But this means that any illness, chronic issues, or risk factors you carry may also be transferred to the recipient so while it may feel invasive, getting detailed info in very necessary; I am just too sick already to take on any more problems.

A note- yes, it is possible to buy screened and processed treatments even in the US: unfortunately the cost (~$2k per round of treatment) is way outside my reach, particularly given that it isn't really any better than just getting poop directly from a good candidate (proven via studies), and that often it takes trying a couple donors/ rounds to find a match that gets results. If anyone wants to just buy me that stuff, I sure wouldn't say no to that, but given the severity of my situation (medical and financial; I cannot work due to disability) it is likely I will need to do medical fundraising at some point and I am trying to save that for an even worse point. Also if you have that kind of money to help out honestly it would be better spent on specialists or my astronomical food costs. I will cover all costs associated with this process if I find someone though, of course!

Thank you for reading/boosting/etc, please consider sending the link to possible healthy friends or family who might be a fit, or consider whether you have a child fitting the bill you might be willing to enlist- young microbiomes are the best ones, as children's systems have had less time to be ravaged by the effects of the modern world or the simple deterioration of age.

#signal boost #medical issues #health #please fill out the form at the link that's below the read more #and share this post and/or the survey link with anyone you know who might be a good fit #i'm not exaggerating when i say that the worsening of her condition is really fucking scary #genuinely don't know what i would do without her #also how great would it be to tell everyone your shit is LIFE SAVING??

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weirdsociology · 1 year

Text

Distractions (The Mandalorian, E)

Title: Distractions (6.6k)

Series: Part one of Creed, a non-linear series about Din Djarin and his favorite... distraction.

Description: An artifact from the Mandalorian's past leads to trying something new - and remembering the past.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, sex toys, fingering, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, oral sex, penetrative sex, implied violence, spit, a touch of size kink, light manhandling, very mild D/s in all directions because we love a switch in this house, no betas we die like men, canon what canon

Tropes: hurt/comfort, idiots with feelings, angst but it all works out in the end, the helmet stays on

Author's note: I blacked out, I don't know what happened, and frankly I'm embarrassed that the first fanfic I've written in 20 years is kind of fluffy and not significantly more insane. This little offering is canon timeline-agnostic; I just wanted to give our armored dumbass a happy ending. Please don't think this reflects my personality, I am spiritually covered in the blood of my enemies at all times. Also there is one small bit of truth from my personal life in here and I'll give you a hint: it wasn't flashbangs, it was bayonets. This one is for @tarabyte3 who got me excited about what fanfiction can do again.

***

Sometimes, it's hard to sleep in hyperspace. A ship this old doesn't have the automated circadian rhythm programs that dim the lights according to species preference, and all the daylight bulbs are second-hand, their blueness dimmed by repeated use. Darkness is in plentiful supply, but that's only half the equation of an artificial night. You do your best, careful to check the time reads on the navigational display, and adhere to a schedule as much as you can. It helps give structure to long periods of transit, and you know that ten years from now, your body and mind will thank you for being careful to guard their rest.

The Mandalorian, by contrast, doesn't have a diurnal cycle as far as you've been able to tell. His sleep patterns are pure anarchy, having nothing to do with mood or physical need. Sometimes he'll spend a week getting no more rest than a few brief, truncated minutes on the ground after trekking in harsh terrain. Sometimes you'll go looking for him after a quiet stretch in flight and he'll be in the bed he calls his rack, completely dormant for the next fourteen standard hours. You don't know how he does it. He lives like someone who fully expects to die before their body has enough years to register protest - which on the one hand makes you anxious, and on the other you find it hard to blame him for.

Still, despite all your attendance to regularity, there are nights - times - when you can't sleep. Especially when you are headed past the Outer Rim, and the length of travel means nothing to do except read and watch holovideos you've already seen and eat stale food and exercise in cramped, artificial repetition. Nothing new to look at, nothing new to do.

Which is how you end up awake at this hour, dressed in nothing but your bandeau and shorts with goosebumps pebbling your legs as you lean over one of the big crates in the cargo bay. You're digging through the thermoplastic case that holds the Mandalorian's personal possessions, looking for one of the old holonovels you're sure he has stowed, when you find it. A smooth, round black cylinder with a cap on each end. At first, you suspect it's yet another esoteric firearm - but then why isn't it in the weapons locker above?

Curious, you gingerly remove the cap from one end. Life on the ship has taught you to be cautious about any unfamiliar object. You don't know if it's normal Mandalorian living style to have to shove aside a mountain of electronic flashbangs when looking for clean blankets, but it's certainly normal for this one.

What's inside isn't like any weapon you've ever seen. The cylinder is filled with something soft and yielding, silicone or plastisilk you think, and it gives disconcertingly when you brush a thumb over it. There's a small bore in the middle about the diameter of your finger, but the polymer feels like it would stretch. It's textured near where the cap would fit, small ridges inside and a gentle flowering of protuberances around the borehole. Almost like -

You stand up, unsure whether to blush or laugh, and snap the cap back on. You've certainly found something new this time; something that might help break the monotony of space travel if you approach the topic - and Mando - correctly. If you're right there should be something else nearby, something that would make this a little more... usable.

There is. A discreet bottle, neatly wrapped in plain paper.

You take cylinder and bottle and step out in the corridor from the bay, checking the location of your fellow crew. Mando is not in his rack or the lockers, which means he's in the cockpit. The Child is in his usual nest. It's late, and the kid should be asleep for a long while yet. You jam the - the toy, you suppose - and the bottle into one hand and climb your way up the ladder, half appalled at your boldness and half delighted at the thought of making your Mandalorian squirm for once. You're secretly hoping to catch him out, tease him with the evidence of his private sexual habits, a friendly nip around the edges of his Creed.

"Look what I found," you say as you approach the pilot's chair. His head is turned away from you, bent over something in the navcomp, his long legs in front of him as stretched out as they can be in the small space. He hums an acknowledgement and takes a moment to finish entering something before he looks over his shoulder. You offer the cylinder to him flat across your palms, like a knight offering a loyal blade, which you hope is both funny and at least a little charming.

It doesn't work. He's still looking at you. You wave it in front of him instead, resisting the urge to waggle your eyebrows. The helmet drops to consider the cylinder, then you. "I'd forgotten I had that. Where did you find it?"

You stop, hands still outstretched. "Forgot-- your crate in the cargo bay, but... is this what I think it is?"

Mando can't raise his own eyebrows at you, but his chin twitches upward in the way you've learned to interpret is the same thing. "Do you think it's a cock sleeve? Because it is."

"Is that what you call it?"

"I've always been less concerned about what to call it than how to use it," he says. He's fully turned to face you now. The conversation is not going as you imagined. You flush and he gives you an appraising look, taking in your half-undressed state.

"Isn't that... Against your Creed?" How does he do this. How does he always turn the tables. How is it you're the one quailing under the calm scrutiny of his helmet. You'd meant this as a good-natured ribbing, not a come-on, but suddenly you're picturing what you were decidedly not thinking about earlier - Mando, years ago, alone in his rack or fresh from a hunt, with his beskar still on and his arming jacket rucked up, screwing the toy down onto himself with his fist. The thought makes heat pool between your legs. It also makes you a little melancholy. Suddenly you want to fuck him and hold him in equal measure.

"You weren't always here, you know," he says calmly, honest and unembarrassed as he is shockingly honest and unembarrassed about everything to do with sex. He reaches for you, captures your wrists, pulls you further into the cockpit and down into his lap. You thrill as always at his casual possessiveness, his desire to be close. At the breadth of his shoulders under your hands. "The Creed isn't against pleasure, only distraction. Sometimes it's more distracting to make your body suffer than to give it what it wants."

"Like me?" you ask. It's a joke that once would have stung, an echo of your first night together - you are nothing to me but a distraction from my work - but it's an old wound, long since rubbed over by the smooth edges of time and shared affection.

An amused huff through the modulator. "Like you," he agrees, and though the helmet dampers every inflection you now know, where once you only imagined, the statement is fond.

***

You'd been traveling together for months, a reluctant passenger paired with an unhappy custodian. It had been weeks since the first time the tension between you rose to the breaking point, pulling his hands to you like a gravity well. You were now fucking the Mandalorian regularly, enthusiastically, and, at least to you, inadequately. Regardless of how well you took him, how perfectly he fit when he slicked and stretched his way into you, your heart hammered the same rhythm: no room, no room. His attitude toward you had made that abundantly clear. There was no room for you in his life, on his ship, in his Creed. You were his... distraction. That's all.

You mostly ignored it. When you were working or hunting, you barely thought about it. You pushed the thought down and stored it away to keep from slicing yourself on its sharp edges. But there were moments when it pressed forward again, tumbling out of the drawer of your heart in disarray. The Mandalorian was behind you or over you or under you and you were crying out the name you knew him by even as your blood rushed in your ears demanding more. Not more sex, not more of the heavy punch of his hips against you or the feeling of his hands in your hair, but more of him. You wanted him. You wanted everything.

You wanted to know what it kriffing meant when he called you his distraction.

And sometimes, after you had been fucked within an inch of your life and left lying on your bunk or still pressed against the weapons locker, it hurt a breathtaking amount.

You were pretty sure the Mandalorian was not unaware of how he affected you. Beyond that first epithet which became routine, he was not intentionally cruel. Away from the heat that flared between you and his resentment at his own inability to ignore it, he was considerate and distant and respectful. Unfailingly polite. You loathed every moment of it with a growing bitterness that threatened to replace food and sleep. It reminded you of the time you'd run into a recruiter after she’d turned you down for a job. Sorry kid, you had your chance to convince me and you blew it. Except Mando, being Mando, had never given you a chance at all.

It was worse when you fucked. For weeks, you had resolved over and over to put an end to his careful handling of you. Better an angry rebuttal or cold silence than... whatever this pitiful halfway connection was. Next time he approached you with that weight in his step or crowded you into a corner, too close, you would force his hand. You knew that was the time to do it, when you had his full attention and the bargaining chip of your body. You'd seize his wandering gaze and stare into the helmet: "Why do you call me a distraction?"

You had told yourself this a dozen times. But his practiced fingers were already slipping inside you and all you could do was whine as his modulated voice, sounding not quite human, breathed a word that meant nothing to you in your ear: Mesh'la, mesh'la, mesh'la.

***

You had entreated him to show you how he used it, before you joined his crew. Before, as he drily puts it while running a gloved hand up your thigh and teasing along the waistband of your shorts, he had a far superior array of options. Now you're mostly naked in the dim light, seated between his spread legs, his helmet tipped against the headrest as he leans back. You're watching the arched column of his throat, watching his gloved fingers wrapped around the cylinder and most of all, watching his thick cock disappear into the plush expanse of the toy. He's hard but not fully erect, probably because you refused to touch him until you got to see him touch himself. Not that you needed to threaten - you both know that Din, and it's Din now, in the privacy of the cockpit with both of you partially undressed and warmth radiating from him, will deny you nothing where his body is concerned. Except, of course, his face.

His cock is stirring to full attention, and you suspect it has more to do with your rapt gaze on him than his own ministrations. It's a novelty for you to watch him for once. The way you two fuck, he normally has the better view, pulling back to see your cunt swallow his length and hear you moan in gratitude. He likes to watch you touch yourself while you're speared on him, chasing your own orgasm as you clench. He likes to see your thighs tremble when you ride him, and your face when he makes you come too much. "One more, mesh'la, one more for me, let me see you," he'll croon, as one hand worships your sore clit and the other bats away your arm as you try to bury your face in the crook of your elbow. Din likes to watch anything that shows him how good he makes you feel.

Your Mandalorian might be on to something, you decide. Watching certainly has its appeal. You can hear the soft slide of the toy, see the tension in his forearms and his stomach even through his tunic, his breath through the helmet fast but even. He looks gorgeous like this, a warrior half-undone for your enjoyment. You slide the palms of your hands up his thighs and run them lightly along the bare skin peeking through where he's partially shucked himself of armor and clothing. His breathing alters a little, hitching as your skin makes contact with his.

"How does it feel?" you ask, watching the steady rise and fall of the cylinder. You idly trace a finger up his groin and along the sensitive skin just under his sack. He hisses, and you twitch in response to the noise you know so well, your cunt giving a little spasm as if to remind you of its needs.

After a moment, Din answers your question. "Tight, but not warm. Better than nothing but... Like a ration bar when I have a meal right in front of me," he adds pointedly, and one booted foot slides between your folded knees, leather rubbing along the seam of your sex to make his point clear. "I like that you like looking at me, but we could have bought a mirror instead. I could be fucking you in front of it right now."

Your cheeks warm as you think about it: Din, arching over your back, holding your chin, making you watch your own face as he nudges the head of his cock into you. You don't know how you'd feel staring at yourself like that, but your cunt twitches again, letting you know that more important parts of you fully approve of the concept. The helmet has dropped back down. He's observing your reaction. You file the idea away for later. "I like seeing you like this, though. Did you really never use it after you met me?"

A chuckle. "Oh, I used it. Before... when you were first here. I used it so much I think I did permanent damage."

A little shiver of heat winds up from the base of your spine. This is new information. But he's not done. "Which is why I should be allowed to show you how much I appreciate you, not this plastic junk." He makes a show of slowing down, grinding up into the toy and letting out an exaggerated groan. You know he's still watching you closely, waiting for his cue.

You give him a wicked grin. "Sometimes... it's more distracting to make your body suffer than give it what it wants." Din groans for real in response, but you have other things on your mind. "Back before... when you... were you thinking of me?"

He makes an uninterpretable noise. "Oh no, mesh'la, I wasn't thinking of you. Only of your hips. And your hair. And your tits. And your ass. And your cunt, and if I could get you wet for me, and what that pretty mouth would look like around me, and how you'd sound when I put my cock down your throat."

"... Fuck," you say breathlessly. What started as a flutter has become an aching, empty pulse. "Fuck, Din," and you lean forward, bringing your face almost close enough to nuzzle where he's still sheathed in the toy, breathing in his scent. It has the unintended effect of driving the tip of his boot further into you, a solid mass pushing on the thrumming bundle of nerves between your legs.

When you first started doing this, he said very little to you. You could read nothing in his body except desire and frustration, both of which he extinguished in the furnace of your sex. Later, after Mos Eisley, when anger was no longer the single note of your shared existence, he talked to you constantly. The man of few words outside the ship became the man of many words when he was buried inside you. He told you what he was going to do to you, what he wanted to do to you, how good you felt and what you did to him. He talked like he was trying to construct a gilded cage of words you wouldn't fly away from. You had been dumbfounded by the change, shy and unsure, unable to find a way to reassure him you had already stooped to his lure. Part of you was afraid that if he knew the truth - that you'd have him any way he wanted, silent or talkative or babbling in Tuskan sign - he would stop. He hadn't, but the stream had slowed. More deliberate, less frantic. Somehow even more indecent.

He's being indecent right now, timing the strokes of the toy with his words. "I wanted you every morning and twice at night." Down. "I couldn't think - could barely shoot straight." Back up. "I wanted to bend you over the crates and fuck you until you felt the same." A slow slide back down. "Fill you up with me until you cried, until you knew you were mine, until that sweet cunt wouldn't want anyone else." Up, until just the tip of him is still out of sight. He's losing his even tone, the modulator turning gasps into static. "And then I did fuck you, and it got so much worse. You let me pull you open and put my cock in the hottest, wettest place in the galaxy and-- are you really going to come on my boot instead of letting me fuck you?"

You come to with a little start, pulled aware by the abrupt shift in subject. There's dampness under you, and you realize you've been rocking back and forth on his boot, rubbing the folds of your cunt against the worn leather, and moaning into his lap while he talks. It feels so good to be here, sitting at his feet as he strokes himself for you, hearing the jagged details of your shared past transformed by pleasure. The scruff of the boot against you, the bite of a seam into your tenderest flesh, the smell - steel and old smoke and hot sand - so uniquely Mandalorian it has you panting for him.

"Din," you breathe. "Stop -- stop. I want to feel you."

That's all it takes. The toy is gone in an instant, he's off the pilot's chair and dragging you upright and his half-bare hips are against yours, crowding you into the console. His cock is painfully hard against you, already smeared with precum and the lubricant that makes someone of his size using a toy like that even possible. You realize with dizzy delight that this is going to be one of those times where he fucks you without preamble, pushing his way in, making you feel every inch of his invasion. The pleasurable burn of your cunt adjusting to his girth will be revenge for making him use the toy - a revenge he knows you will enjoy.

More leather, this time at your mouth. The feel of his glove as he curls his fingertips under your chin. "Spit," he commands, and you do.

"Good girl. Now turn around."

***

It was after the first time he'd had you in the cockpit that you'd found the courage to ask. It had already been one of the worst days of your life, what more was there to lose? You were so numb there was no cliff you wouldn't jump off, no risk you wouldn't take. If you asked and the answer was indifference, well, it was just one more pain to add to the litany: your cracked lips, your shredded feet, your bruised ribs, your bloodied hands. And soon, maybe, your broken heart.

Mando had left, as he always did, after you were done, leaving you on the steel floor mostly naked and entirely without the desire to stand on your own. You told yourself that you would simply sleep there, if you had to, rather than getting back up on your cut soles. After all, you'd slept in worse places recently. Though you'd meant it to be fierce the thought sounded pathetic even to you.

The sound of boots climbing up the ladder interrupted your self-pity. Mando had not only come back, he had come back with a box: the medkit he kept in a crate in the cargo bay. He knelt beside you on the floor and started to lift you to him, one hand on your back and one hand under your knees. It was close and familiar in the worst possible way, like the fuck wasn't, and you made a hoarse inhuman noise and tried to kick him. You slammed a broken toe into a beskar vambrace instead and then you screamed for real.

He was patient with you and you hated it with every aftershock of white-hot rage in your body. You struggled even once he managed to get you up in his arms. After a bad moment where you thought you might actually try to bite him, he stopped attempting to haul you down the ladder and dropped both of you into the pilot's chair abruptly instead, pulling his hands away like you'd burned him. "Hey, it's me, just me, the one who's on your side," he'd said, attempting a touch of humor, and strangely it was the buzz of the modulator, so unlike the voices you'd been hearing for the past few days, that had incrementally slowed your galloping heart.

The medkit was in reach and at first he was gentle but even that was too much. You pulled away without leaving the chair, putting distance between you and that damned helmet. All you wanted was to rest, except you were afraid of what you might have time to think about if you did. There was a tense minute as he resumed his work with gauze and tape and bacta spray, but even in your exhausted state you somehow felt him make the decision to stop trying to be tender. He took your cue and bandaged you with impersonal efficiency, like you were a soldier in his regiment or a fellow Mandalorian. It made his touch tolerable, and you were so tired you almost resented him for it.

By the time he was done, you were nearly asleep. You heard the click of the medkit closing and, calmer now, a little more returned to yourself, braced for him to lift you down the ladder. But he surprised you by making no move to get up, resting his hands on his legs, around you but not on you. You could tell he was waiting for something but not what. Maybe it was something from you, but you were all out of give. It was his turn.

Another moment of silence, then momentary confusion as you both spoke at once:

"I have to tell you so--"

"Mandalorian, why are you--"

He stopped. You pressed on. "Why are you always calling me a distraction?" Your tone was flat. You sounded like you could be asking about the price of power cells.

The helmet twisted. This was clearly not the direction he expected your post-coital, post-triage conversation to take. "Because you're distracting."

You thought anger might be the only thing keeping you upright. "Not good enough. What the fuck are we even doing here? Why did you come after me? You told me we were done, that you didn't owe me anything. You could have left me there and pocketed the bounty for yourself. They would have let me go once they convinced themselves I didn't have the information.” A lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. “That doesn't sound like I'm just a distraction."

"I said you're distracting, and you are. That's different." You were sure he was being pedantic but your tired brain couldn't keep up with Mando at his most evasive. "You're not just a distraction. I don't make a habit of coming back for-- distractions."

Coming back for was a polite euphemism for the amount of killing Mando had done in the past few hours. None of it mattered to you if he was doing it because of his damned Creed. Maybe none of it mattered at all. Maybe you had kept your mouth shut for nothing. Your chest hurt and you had no idea if it was because of your ribs or because of your heart. You kept going.

"It makes no difference if I'm a distracting fuck or something worth coming back for or a kriffing bantha, Mando. I'm still..." Exhaustion made you blunt. "I'm still against your Creed."

He made a noise that could have been agreement, or negation. "The Creed is not against pleasure. Or companionship. Only... distractions." He sounded like he was reading out of a textbook. You'd heard it all before. You had wrung everything out of him you could about his Creed, because you wanted to find somewhere to fit. That was all he'd ever said.

He surprised you again. "Distraction is a-- it's not easy to describe. It's not as simple as wasting time or effort. Distractions are... things that pull you from your orbit without returning value, like a comet disrupting a planet's path around a sun. Too many and you begin to drift away from the tribe, the Creed, the things that make you a Mandalorian. You lose yourself chasing what streaks past you, already gone."

That little speech was probably the most words you'd ever heard Mando say at once, and there was too much there for you to process in your wasted state. You latched on instead to the thing that seemed most personally insulting, given how you'd been spending your time the past few days. "Maker, Mando, do you think that's all I am, a comet? That you'll turn around one day and I'll be gone? Do you think I did-- what I did– what we did– for fun? Do you think that's all you are to me?"

There, you had said it. Or at least implied it. Your cortisol response gave one last death rattle and suddenly you found you could sit up a little straighter, could feel your pulse in your throat. Your feet ached.

There was a long silence.

Then the Mandalorian sighed, and in that sigh was more defeat than you'd ever heard after a hunt gone wrong. The sound seized you and squeezed your breath as it stuttered in your chest. When he spoke, it was low, tired, and edged with brutal honesty. "No mesh'la. I don't think you're a comet. Not after... today."

And that, somehow, was what did you in: his surrender. The first acknowledgement of what you had endured for him and what you'd done together and what it meant between you. You dropped your face into the filthy duraweave of Mando's shoulder, not caring if you caught the edge of beskar beside it. Something boiled up in you and you weren't sure what it was, only that you snapped your mouth closed hard over a noise like being struck and fisted your hands in his tunic. All the fear you'd put aside came slamming in, the torrential wave presaged by an empty beach. You drove yourself as close as possible to your Mandalorian and shook as though a blaster bolt had found its home in your brain after all.

When you knew where you were again, you found you had shifted - or he had shifted you. You were curled between his legs, your arms still around his neck, your face against where his cheek would be in the cruel parody of a kiss. You froze for a moment, anticipating the helmet to feel hostile against your lips, but it was only Mando, the smooth silver of him that you'd come to know and expect. With sudden resolve you drew back an inch or two, away from the spot where your mouth left a sliver of fog. Your heart beat in your ears, marching steadily onward toward its inexorable conclusion. You had always known what you needed to do for both your sakes', and now you even thought you knew the bargain that could make it bearable.

"Mando," you whispered. "If that's the way it is, I wouldn't... I would never ask you to go against your Creed. I couldn't."

The warrior under you was so still you feared he might not respond at all. Then he blew out another long breath and put his hands around your waist, impossibly solid against you. It was the second time that night he'd reached for you with gentleness and, leaning against him, you could nearly imagine what it would be like to feel safe again. It would have been so easy to sink into shared delusion. But you owed him something more.

"I couldn't," you said again. "You couldn't. We could never-- it would never be right between us. I don't want that." You were certain you were crying by then, silent tears racing down your cheeks. "But please... I'm not ready yet. I'll leave tomorrow. Please, please... just give me tonight."

The hands on your waist spasmed, gripping you so hard that for one deranged instant you thought he might throw you down on the steel and fuck you all over again. He did the opposite and hauled you painfully upright, stood you in the tight space between his knees and the console. You winced when your abused feet took your weight. His own posture and the set of his shoulders told you absolutely nothing. He was still holding you like a lifeline.

"No," he said. After everything you'd done it was absurd that one word could make you want to crumple to the floor again, but you stayed upright, nails digging into the console for support. "I won't give you just tonight. I know you. You walked into that warehouse for me. You were so afraid for me you couldn't be afraid for yourself. You bled-- you killed-- because you hoped it would buy me time. I know you. Now you're offering– this. I refuse. You're not a Mandalorian, but your courage puts ours to shame. Who would I be if I returned your loyalty so little of my own?"

"Mando, what are you saying?" You were so numb with exhaustion that you weren't sure you had it in you to hope. You tried to keep your gaze steady, but you knew your eyes were wet.

"Stay with me," he said quietly. You did crumple then, your knees turned to water, and only his grip still on you kept you standing. "Stay with me, and let me prove my honor to you."

"Yes," you breathed, and that was all he needed. He hauled you to him, pulling you down, until your chest was pressed to him as he ran his gloves frantically over your neck, your shoulder blades, your hips. You rested your forehead against his, against the blood-warm beskar, and waited. You wanted nothing more than the feeling of his hands on you but you were so tired. "Will... will the tribe understand?"

A pause. He slowed, but did not stop, tracing soothing heat across your body. The blank faceplate tipped up to gaze out at the desert night. "Some will. Some won't. It doesn't matter. How I feel about you can't be against the Creed any more than my helmet. You can't turn a thing against itself." His head was still turned away, looking past the canopy to the starless sky outside. "You aren't a distraction from my Creed, mesh'la, and you never have been. You're part of it. You make me a better... a better Mandalorian."

His hesitation did not go unnoticed. You heard what he didn't say: a better man.

***

The problem with having sex in the cockpit is that when you want - no, need - to lay down afterward there isn't quite room for both of you between the chairs. Also, the floor is that textured, anti-slip steel they use for gantries, which pokes uncomfortably into bare flesh. You end up squashed together, half on top of your Mandalorian, letting his still partially-armored back take the worst of your combined weight as you roll on to your side and throw one leg over him, pillowing your head on his pauldron. It's not ideal, but after the three orgasms he pulled out of you with as much dedication as he'd ever chased down a bounty, you don't really have a choice. Going down the ladder in your current state might actually be the thing that kills you.

Din is still breathing hard from his own climax, sought only after he'd made you so sensitive that he'd had to put a callused palm over your mouth to keep you from shrieking and waking the Child. He'd started, as you thought he would, by pulling off your flimsy shorts and shoving the thick head of his cock into you with no preparation other than telling you to bend over the console and stay quiet. You'd cooperated, knowing that the position put his mouth conveniently close to your ear, and were rewarded with that smooth modulated voice telling you he was going to make sure you never made him use a toy again, never want his cock in anything but you. He told you he was going fuck you so thoroughly you'd beg for him to let you come on his cock. He'd started rough, his pace matching the coarseness of his words, and you'd bitten down your whimpers at the stretch.

But Din knew you far too well to let you off so lightly. Fast had turned to slow and deep, caging your hips with one forearm while skillful fingers lightly circled your clit, never giving you quite enough pressure to get you where you ached to go. Then you had begged, and he'd almost given in: pulled out of you abruptly, replacing his cock with three fingers after ripping off his gloves. You'd come so hard Din had groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, your legs trembling uncontrollably, but even that wasn't what you were hoping for and he knew it. He'd coaxed you to a second orgasm by turning you around and crudely shoving his knee between your legs, making you ride the textured cuisse on his thigh. He'd insisted you work for it, rubbing yourself against him and leaving streaks of arousal on the beskar, and that was less satisfying still. Only after you'd gotten yourself off did he ask you what you wanted, and by then you were so needy, so desperately raw and sex-drunk, that all you could do was whine, "You-- please, Din-- you." The sound of his name seemed to shred whatever last bit of composure he had left, and he'd pressed into you harder than ever as your hand dropped to provide the friction you'd needed. You'd come apart with him buried deep, your cunt gripping him like a vise, and he'd followed not long after, your name on his lips as his cock twitched and softened in you.

The nice thing about steel floors, you decide, is that they're easy to clean. You can feel Din dripping out of you and you're pretty sure you're going to leave a wet spot. You’re also pretty sure that the cylinder rolled under one of the consoles and is still jammed there, but that's a problem for later. You pull yourself even closer to him, enjoying his warmth in the shared quiet, watching the strange false light of hyperspace dance outside the canopy.

You don't notice that Din’s turned his helmet to you until he speaks. “Another 26 hours and then we’re off this boat.” He sounds relaxed, pleased both with your current configuration of tangled limbs and the prospect of no longer being confined to the ship. “Felucia is a jungle world. Plenty of frogs for the womp rat to chase.”

You grin. “Or eat. How long are we staying? Are we dropping in somewhere civilized or staying off the radar? And who are we even after? You didn’t show me the puck yet.”

“Off the radar, and this one’s a solo job.” You start to protest, but he stops you. “Really. The contact says he’s holed up in a cave in the middle of nowhere. We’ll set down in the nearest open spot, then it’s half a day overland to the hideout. No point in you coming, nothing for you and the kid to do but get wet and feed the gnats.”

After space travel, a hike doesn’t sound unpleasant, but you know he’s right. There’s no reason to go to the extra trouble of packing supplies for two more when it’s a straightforward retrieval. At least you and the Child will get to explore your landing site. You can do your work outside in the open air, and if all goes well, Din will only be gone a day or two.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You’ll come back, right?” It’s only half a serious question. You trust your Mandalorian. You’ve trusted his competence and drive and ability since the moment you met him, and have learned to trust that his desire to return to you is real. Still, you always ask. It’s a private ritual between you, something soft built over top of hard truths.

You think of the times he’s left you. To work a job or on a hunt or sometimes just for the cold, hard recesses of his mind where you cannot touch him. Once, although you try not to remember it, for a black and shaking depression that terrified you both. Most of all, you think of that night, on Mos Eisley. The crunch of sand under his boots as he turned away. The glimpse of beskar through the door. The feeling of his hands on your battered ribs. His voice, very tired, I don't make a habit of coming back for distractions.

"Of course I’ll come back, mesh'la." You’ll never not thrill to Din’s electronic baritone calling you beautiful. "How could I do anything else? You're part of my Creed."

***

series masterlist

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #the most interesting part of mando is how his creed doesn't constrain him specifically but requires him generally #star wars #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #this ones owes a lot to a lot of other excellent writers #thank you all for sharing your talents with me #long post #pedro pascal

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