#real ride and die kinda woman

[darling-child-tisarwat]

Tain Hu, gesturing lovingly towards Baru: “There she is. There’s the puppet master who cursed my dick.”

#real ride and die kinda woman #stupid

[hella1975]

some people in the catering industry are so STUPID okay so where i work usually has two or three KPs on at a time bc it's quite big and the job of the waiting staff when clearing tables is literally just to bring it to the kitchen and leave it on the counter for the KPs to wash up. now you're supposed to put the cutlery in a bucket and scrape all the food off the plates bc that's just the decent thing to do but a lot of the staff literally just DUMP it bc there's a real snobbery thing about KPs and how waiting staff generally think they're better. now there's one woman who does the potwash a lot and ive been friendly to her since the beginning - no ulterior motive it's just the decent thing to do???? i dont understand some people - AND THE THING ABOUT MY JOB IS THAT THE KPS ARE USUALLY TRAINED ON DESSERTS TOO SO THEY MAKE THE DESSERTS anyway found out this woman my bsf had fucked up one of her desserts and she HID IT and waited for ME SPECIFICALLY and i got a free brownie

#like there are so many benefits to being nice and treating human beings like human beings #one is that it is a nice thing to do and being a jerk will make you feel all gross inside #and another is that THEY WILL BE NICE TO YOU IN RETURN #primary school level social skills and yet so many of the staff who are OLDER THAN me #treat this poor woman like dirt #i love her she's so chatty and she really likes me now which is kind of sad bc literally all i did was talk normally to her #like i say hi to her and ask her how her day is and i asked her name when i first started #and i thank her when she takes the plates #it's basic shit it's nothing i need a fucking medal for #BUT she's kinda petty in a really funny way (like not letting any of the other waitresses have the brownie then giving it me IN FRONT OF #THE OTHERS SKDGHKSHD) #like one time there was a queue in the kitchen bc a load of tables left at the same time so we all had plates that needing washin #*washing #and this woman IGNORED the other three girls in front of me and started a convo with me over their heads LMAO #i was like bestie you CANT DO THAT KSHGDKJHG #i love her and the brownie was fucking stunning #also the same way the waiting/bar staff have a real comradery against the kitchen staff when they're being dicks #the KITCHEN staff are renowned everywhere you go for being very cliquey #like you know how everyone always slates chefs? yeah now imagine a group of them who think it's a ride or die environment #and ive been pretty intimidated by the chefs here just bc they're so cliquey and they're not really interested in being friends with #the waitresses like they're there for their own people and nothing else #BUT bc im chummy with this one KP now SHE is one of the kitchen staff and like i said they're very protective of their own #SO NOW THEY ALL LIKE ME LMAO #finessed the system on accident purely by being a nice person #shocking truly! how has no one realised this! when you are nice your life is easier and better! wow! #hella slaves to capitalism

[spidercomics]

wc: 1.096k

contents: jake sully x f!avatar/na'vi!reader, established relationship, pregnant!reader, creampie, breeding kink, unprotected sex, riding, m/f ejaculation, (use of she/her prounons once or twice!).

a/n: seen jake with a deserved breeding kink but not much smut with an actual pregnant mate and it couldn't leave my head, it was so much fluffier than i intended to make it, might have to make an alternate version with more dirty shit 😭 i kinda like this one tho!

jake was in love with you, everyone knew this. but right now? he felt as if he just saw you for the first time again. you had him smitten, flustered, feral — everything that came with being absolutely enraptured by someone.

you looked peaceful, sitting beneath the tree of souls, queue connected with the bioluminescent tendrils that link you directly with eywa. he heard your prayers of gratitude, how you thanked eywa for the healthy, precious child growing within you.

his child, your child.

he was forever in debt to the deity for blessing him with a second chance of life. jake believed his life was over, taken from him so young when he was shot. he survived, but to what cost? he lost everything on earth, leaving for pandora was a way out of the miserable life back home. he thought he was to die on the new planet, hearing the most vicious stories. turns out, it was more military propaganda. he got a new home, all those dreams of flying came true.

he never believed he would find a woman to spend his life with, have kids with. and here he was, a man who'd lost his legs, still running towards his most sacred place. you.

his hands running over your waist, arms wrapping around the skin and bones that protected his firstborn. mo'at thought they were having a son, and jake had the most perfect visual of how a mini-you would look. precious.

he hadn't startled you, his presence was always in the back of your head, you had felt him searching you down.

his hands were enveloping your body, holding you pressed against him for absolutely intimacy. the hormones during your pregnancy had been horrible at the start, anger and sadness was hard to deal with so often. but now? it was pure lust, and even if jake found your pregnant stomach, something he helped cause, incredibly attractive — he was terrified of hurting you. even if your body was stronger than ever right now, he still looked at you as if you've never been more fragile.

his hands traveled around your body, the warmth of his palms lighting a fire in your body, desperate for his attention. desperate to be put out.

and he had caved in, a man could only do so much when his wife was pregnant, round with a product of his love, and begging for him to do something about the heat between her thighs.

his fingers were stroking your spine, your hands perched on his strong chest as you sat on top of him, going up and down on his dick so slow, he thought he was going to explode. the position allowed him to go so deep, reaching places inside of you that had you squirming.

the urge to grab your hips and hold you still, eagerly fucking up into you was too much for jake, but he had to be patient. he was too focused on your tits, that had grown bigger, his fingers tenderly flicking your overly sensitive nipples, body shuddering. your stomach had grown significantly over the past weeks, hands running over the skin, fingers tracing the stretch marks on the sides. your hips, that had grown wider, sat so perfectly on top of his own, so easy to handle you around with.

he loved your body, always.

his hands helped you move, moving between your hips, ass and thighs, front and back — up and down. it was so slow, so deep, that he almost let out a hiss when you bounced up, his dick almost slipping out, tip right in your slit when you clenched around him. the night air was making everything so real, every drop of sweat felt cold. the warmth of your skin, your cunt, the only source of heat.

he was addicted, how did he think he could go months without this?

even as you layed down on him, chest against his own, hips dragging front and back, his dick pushing in and out, he was teased everytime you let him slip out to rub against you instead, catching your clit in the process. he pushed inside again, slowly hitting the spot that made you whimper and quiver.

his dick bottomed out, filling you to the brim, just like that fateful night where you'd ended up pregnant with his child. he'd fill you up again, breeding you as much as he had to to keep having you like this. raw, bare and open to him. it wasn't like anything else he'd ever experience.

"so good sweet girl," he would hold you so close, kisses peppering your forehead that was covered in a sheen of sweat, "so good, gonna fill you up again, keep you round and full for me forever, hmm?"

"please, jake, wanna feel you," he knew what you meant now, grabbing your braid, watching the protected tendrils connect with each other. you were so close, he could feel it now, the pressure building inside so tight. he felt every beat of your heart, of his heart, of his sons heart.

he felt your pain, the soreness of carrying a life around. he felt the pain of the pending orgasm, teetering on the edge, dancing around the sighs of relief that would come if the coil snapped.

"you're so good baby," his fingers traced over your spine again, "want me to take over?" he received a small hum, taking your hips into his big hands, he did what he wanted all this time, holding you still, his hips fucking up into your own, the familiar sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the area surrounded by trees. he felt himself so deep, he felt the hits of his dick tapping against your cervix, the pleasure you felt when he hit the spongy spot, making your vision blurry, ears blocking out all noise around you.

weeks without a release, you'd never been more happy when euphoria hit you, head in jake's neck, the scent of him bringing more pleasure than it should. jake felt your tight walls around him, sucking him in further as his own release came shortly after, small groans of ecstasy leaving his lips. this was so much better than getting off on his own, feeling his beautiful wife instead of imagining you. it could never compare.

he'd fill you up everyday if he'd have you forever, showing everybody you're his. he was so grateful for you, for his child, for his home. this was merely a dream a year ago.

now it was his reality.

© 2023, spidercomics - all rights reserved.

#(➹) ─── my work. #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar: the way of water #avatar smut #atwow smut #avatar 2 smut #jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake x reader #jake sully x reader smut #jake sully smut

[bloodorangesoup]

Kinktober '23 Day 2 - First Time (SVT Mingyu)

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Warnings: a lot of build up, first time (tbh i didn’t address this much 😭), a lil breast sucking, desperate reader, oral (f. receiving), riding, unprotected sex (lets pretend ur on the pill), slight praise, creampie, slight perv gyu but with respect and some tlc 😌

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: I can never just write a short story can I? Dammit. Anyways, pls send requests!

-

The rain pattering against the window muffled the busy streets. It was a Saturday in Seoul, meaning the traffic wouldn’t die down until late at night. The air outside was frigid and wet, but you found comfort inside, the heater turned up just enough to feel cozy without a blanket. 

“Yah, its kinda hot in here, isn’t it Gyu?” You pulled on the collar of your sweatshirt and turned your head to face him. He sat on the other end of the small couch, legs stretched and on your lap. 

“A bit I guess, do you want me to turn down the heater?” He questioned, head tilting against the top of the cushion. 

“No, no. That’s okay, it’ll just get cold if you do. I’m gonna go change really quick.” You gently pushed his legs off your lap, making his body turn straight. Mingyu sat up on the couch, sitting normally as he continued watching the show streaming on the TV. 

A few minutes passed, Mingyu felt stupid for feeling this way but he had already begun to miss your company. His fingers itched to have you back in his hold. Nights in were rare for you two, his schedule constantly requiring him to be everywhere at once. Most nights he had off he had somewhere new to be early in the morning, preventing any real quality time together. 

“Y/n-ahhhh,” Mingyu whined. "Where are youuuu?" His head fell back against the couch, feeling more impatient with each second. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” He heard your voice grow louder as you walked back towards the living room, your footsteps echoed down the hall as you approached. “Feeling impatient tonight huh?” Your voice was back in the room with him. He opened his eyes and lifted his head off the couch.

“Finally-” his comment was exaggerated but died in his throat once his gaze landed on you. He knew you were changing but he wasn’t expecting you to be wearing such, well, little amount of clothes. Your sweatshirt still hung off your body, but your sweatpants had been replaced by what Mingyu assumed to be the tiniest shorts to ever exist. The shorts covered your ass just enough, but the trim was loose and frilly, exposing the bottom of your cheeks when you walked. You were technically still pretty covered up, which is why you couldn’t understand why Mingyu was looking at you with such a stunned expression. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t understand either. Mingyu was a 26 year old man, he was no stranger to seeing a woman’s body. Yet the sight of seeing so much leg right in front of him ignited something in his brain. 

You sat back down to his right. Deciding to be a tease, you swung your legs over his lap, scooting closer to his side. Your arms rose to rest on his shoulders, your head falling against his chest as you looked back toward the TV. Mingyu’s right arm wrapped around your back to secure you. His left hand landed on your calf, rubbing up and down to your knee. You sighed, enjoying the contact, and Mingyu found it increasingly hard to concentrate on the plot of the show. His eyes looked down to your leg. He stared at your thighs and his hand slowly ran higher. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he felt you shift. 

“I still feel hot,” you huffed. 

“Why don’t you take off your sweatshirt, baby?” Mingyu rubbed your side. His curiosity piqued when you looked away embarrassed. It clicked in his brain, “Oh. Are you, like, not wearing anything under?” 

“No, I am. I just, I’m not wearing a bra,” your voice quiet at that last part. You continued to look everywhere but at him as you felt his thumb rub the skin on your thigh. “You know, I just- we just never...” You could feel the heat creep up your neck and to your face.

Mingyu wanted to make you feel comfortable, but there wasn’t any choice. He could already imagine what you looked like underneath the sweatshirt and it was sending heat down his body. He should have offered you his shirt, or gone to turn down the heater, but it was too late and he was already thinking with his other head. 

“I know,” he cooed. A slight pout formed on his lips, his eyes opening to feign innocence. “It’s okay, baby.” His right hand was now rubbing the bottom of your thigh, fingertips gracing the hem of your shorts. His other hand toyed with the bottom of your sweatshirt. “Take it off,” he whispered. Your eyes were glued to his as you nodded. Reaching down, you slowly lifted the sweatshirt off your torso. For a moment, it covered your head and your arms were raised to lift it off your shoulders. Mingyu sneaked a glance down and let out a groan at the sight. Your boobs sat beautifully in your top, the low hemline exposing your cleavage. You softly grunted as you tried to untangle your arms from the sleeves, breaking Mingyu from his trance. He helped you get it off and you let out a sigh from the exertion. 

The air was thick. Even though it was just you and Mingyu you felt a million eyes on your body. Mingyu cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from your chest and looking up to meet your eyes. This was foreign territory for the two of you, but you had to admit that the way he was looking at you was turning you on. There was a hunger in his eyes and it was clear he was trying hard to fight it for your sake. He pulled you close, retaining the previous position you both held. His hand continued stroking your thigh and the urge to cup your ass was tearing him up inside. He had no idea what was going on in the show anymore despite his hard stare at the TV. His right hand slid up and down your waist, coming up higher every time until it was resting over your ribs, right under your boobs.

You let out a shaky breath. You didn’t know if you wanted him to stop the torture or to manhandle you like you knew he wanted to. You felt pressure under your thigh and it took a moment for it to register to you that he was growing hard under your legs. Mingyu’s fingers itched to take hold of your breast. To squeeze them and bury his face in between them. His grip on your thigh tightened and he bit his lip hard. 

He shook his head. 

“You should get off me, y/n.” He exhaled, his body attempting to slip from under yours. “We haven’t- I can’t control myself right now. Just sit next to me and gimme a minute.”

You grabbed hold of his bicep. 

“No.”

“No?” He looked at you incredulously. 

“No, yes, wait- just,” you shook your head. Before you could understand what you were doing you shuffled forward and straddled his lap. You held eye contact, testing the waters. He just looked back confused. The two of you had made out before, this wasn’t the first time you’ve ever sat on his lap like this. But never with your boobs pressed up against his chest like this, never with such little fabric separating your body from his. Slowly, you sat down, gasping when you felt his erection press up against your clothed cunt. 

Mingyu’s hands held your waist to steady you, or to press you harder against him. He didn’t know which course of action to take yet. You cupped his cheek with your hand and kissed him. As you leaned into the kiss your clit rubbed over his hard on and you moaned into his mouth. It was like something broke in you. All the waiting, all the desire, all the heat. You started moving back and forth grinding on him. He groaned into the kiss, his grip tightened on your waist in an attempt to stop your movements. Taking hold of the back of his hand, you intertwined your fingers and slid it up your body to cup your right breast. You squeezed over his hand, allowing him to feel you. Mingyu broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours.

“What has gotten into you?” he panted. His mind was foggy. He didn’t want to stop but he wasn’t sure this was the right time for it to be the first time. 

“Please, Gyu,” you whined. A trail of kisses started at his cheek, moving its way down to his adam’s apple. You continued to press his hand against your chest and he could feel you take grasp of his other hand. He knew what was coming so he took hold of your wrist.

“Y/n-”

“Please, Gyu, please,” you continued grinding over his aching cock. He could feel the precum leaking in his boxers. 

“Y/n,” he said sternly this time. It caught your attention. You looked back up at him, eyes desperate. 

“I’m ready, Mingyu. Please, I don’t know what it is. I need you so bad. Just touch me. Please.” 

He stared at you for a moment waiting for you to take it back. To realize this was a mistake. But your breathing just got harder as you tried to move against him. 

“Okay, okay baby,” he whispered. He found his voice, “Come here.”

He pulled you in for a kiss, wasting no time to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your tongues danced together sending a sensation down both your bodies. Now that you were both on the same page, you took hold of his other hand and moved it to your chest. This time he squeezed on his own accord, relishing in the feeling of your soft skin. His body took over, his hips jerking up to continue grinding against you. He could feel the heat radiating off your core, it made him dizzy.

Kissing down your jaw, he bit at your collar bones, leaving marks down the way. You leaned back, giving him access to your chest. He continued squeezing you, watching as he pushed your tits together and let them drop. Lowering his face to the valey of your breasts, he pushed them together again, losing himself in the feeling of your soft tits suffocating him. 

“Can I?” His fingers came to the neckline of your tank top.

“Please.”

He didn’t hesitate, pulling down your top and letting your breasts spill out over it. 

“Fuck, fuck baby” he muttered grabbing at your bare tits. His index fingers passed over your nipples and you gasped. He watched as they hardened under his touch. Mingyu squeezed your left breast, pushing your nipple up so he could take it into his mouth. He sucked on it feverishly, as if all this time this was exactly where he needed to be. He continued playing with your other breast, pinching your nipple and rolling it between his thumb and finger. He moaned as your hand raked through the hair at the nape of his neck. He released your nipple, moving to the other and giving it kitten licks. Reaching around you, his large hands gripped your ass, pushing you forward and pulling you back over his dick. 

“Ah, Gyu, I need you, please.” You gripped his hair, pulling him away from your tits. 

“Need what, baby?”

“Not now, Gyu. Please,” you whined.

“No, really. I need you to tell me what you need right now.” 

“I need you in me,” you pleaded.

“How do you want me?” He looked at you expectantly. You grew impatient. 

“Fuck, Gyu. Just, take your clothes off. Please.” You got off him quickly, discarding your tank top and pulling down your shorts.Then you stopped. Mingyu threw off his shirt. Before he could take off his shorts he noticed your change in demeanor. You looked nervous, a stark contrast from the you that was just humping him like you were in heat. 

“Baby, you okay?” His eyes grew concerned. You fidgeted. 

“Yeah, yeah. I just-”

“We can stop if you want.” He reassured.

“No, Gyu. I just-”

“Don’t think that we have to keep going just cause we-”

“Mingyu, stop.” He fell silent. “I just, you’ve never seen me naked before. We’ve never done this before. I’ve never done this before. I’m just kinda nervous.”

“And you’re sure you want to keep going?” 

You scoff, “Mingyu, did you see how I was like a minute ago?” He laughed. 

“Fine, fine. Come here.” He reached for your hands, pulling you towards him. 

You stood directly in front of him now. He was at the edge of the couch, his chin rested against your stomach as he looked up at you. His hands snaked up your thighs, sliding over your ass and resting on your hips. 

“Can I take these off, pretty?”

You let out a shaky breath and nodded. Hooking his fingers over the waistband, he slowly dragged down your panties. It felt like time was still as he kissed down your legs. His hand carefully lifted your feet to step out of the garment, tossing it to the side. His lips rose to your stomach, kissing around your belly button and pulling a giggle from you. His hands squeezed your ass and he continued leaving kisses further down until he was right above your pussy. His hand ran down your left thigh, lifting it until it rested on his shoulder. His hand moved toward your inner thigh, closer to your core until he could slide his thumb through your folds. He groaned at the feeling. You were so wet. Your breath caught in your throat, staying there until he leaned forward and licked a stripe from your pussy to your clit. You let out a deep moan, reeling from this new feeling. Mingyu felt like he was drunk, he couldn’t get enough of the taste. His hand spread you open as he went in, licking up and down, only interrupted when he would stop to suck on your clit, loving the way you moaned when he would stay there. A finger prodded at your entrance. He slowly pushed it into you, kissing your clit. He kept his finger buried inside you, curling it towards himself and rubbing the ribbed flesh. You gripped his shoulders for stability, jumping as his long fingers hit a spot you had never been able to. 

You backed away from him. His head lifted up, worried he may have gone too far. 

“Are you okay?” his eyes searched for any signs of discomfort. 

You held his face. 

“I’m fucking amazing but right now I need you in me. I can’t wait anymore.” Your hands reached for the waistband of his shorts, pulling his boxers down with them as he lifted his hips. Your eyebrows lifted for a moment, taking in his naked form. Fuck, he is gorgeous. You finally looked down and your mouth fell open. Fuck, he’s big. 

“Like what you see?” His cockiness took you by surprise, a switch from his previous sweetness. 

“Shut up, Kim,” you retorted, pushing his chest. He fell back against the couch, his arms coming up to rest upon the top of the cushions. You held onto his shoulders, positioning your legs on either side of him. You moaned together as his cock came in contact with your pussy, your wetness spreading over him. You slid yourself back and forth over him, preparing yourself for what was to come. He had had enough. 

Mingyu lifted you up, positioning himself at your entrance and pulled you down, slowly filling you up. You hissed at the stretch, face scrunching as you tried to take him. He had a strong grip on your hips, not wanting you to move too quickly and hurt yourself. He felt your pussy squeeze him the whole way down. Even as he was worried for you, he couldn’t deny how fucking good you felt. With a sigh, he bottomed out in you. 

“Feel alright, baby?” Mingyu stroked your cheek. The sweetness back in his face as he studied yours. 

“It’s tight,” you hissed. Mingyu’s eyebrows furrowed. You kissed in between them. “It feels good, I just need a sec to adjust.” 

“Yeah, of course, baby, anything you need.” He continued to study you, wanting to make your first time as comfortable as he possibly could. His hands rubbed up and down your back, soothing you through the pain. After a moment you lifted yourself up, feeling empty as his cock pulled out of you. Slowly, you let your body slide back down somewhere halfway before lifting yourself up once again. The repetition of emptiness to fullness turned from pain to pleasure as you began to focus on the feeling of him sliding through you. You bounced directly over him and felt strangely mechanical. You huffed out a breath of frustration, needing more but not knowing exactly what. 

“Baby,” Mingyu lifted you out of your thoughts. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you muttered bashfully. With anyone else you would feel embarrassed, but Mingyu looked at you with such care and adoration you couldn't possibly feel that way with him. 

He let out a small chuckle, “Try this.” His hands guided your hips up and towards him as he pulled your back down. He continued to move you in this rotation, noting the way you moaned every time your clit rubbed against his pelvis. 

“Fuck, Gyu, that feels so good.” You were a mess on top of him. Your body taking control as your mind processed these new sensations. Your back arched when he hit a particularly deep spot and Mingyu took it as an opportunity to keep playing with your tits. He sucked a nipple into his mouth as you used him, your tits bouncing in his face. Mingyu’s mind was running a million miles a minute, he rested his forehead against your chest, your boobs bouncing on either side of his head. He had been wrong earlier, this is exactly where he needed to be. 

“God, y/n,” he huffed out, “you’re so tight. Fuck you’re doing so good for me. Driving me crazy.” he shook his head against your chest, trying to hold out. 

“Ungh, Mingyu” you barely got out in between moans, addicted to the feeling of him filling you up. 

He looked up at you and held your face, bringing you down into a kiss. It was sweet, giving you both a moment of reprieve from the intensity of the night. Mingyu pressed his cheek against yours, whispering in your ear.

“Doing so good, baby. Making me feel so good. Keep going, princess. Make yourself come all over me.” His hands were roaming all over your body, taking in how nice it felt to have you on top of him. 

“Min- agh, fuck. Mingyu I’m so close. I can’t,” you struggled. You were close but you couldn’t quite push yourself there. Sensing you were overworked, he lifted your hands from his chest and wrapped your arms around his neck in an embrace. 

“I got you, baby, don’t worry. Just hold on, I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you come.” His breaths were ragged. His arms reached around your waist to hold you as he began thrusting up into you. You moaned as he moved even faster than you had been previously. You could only hold onto him as he hammered into you, your body convulsing as it reached its peak. 

“I’m gonna come Mingyu, mmmhm, I can’t hold it in,” you were panting in his ear. 

“Let it go baby, fuck, come all over my cock.” He was struggling to keep himself together. Your pleasure being the only motivation for him to hold his own orgasm back.

With a snap of his hips your body jerked as the pleasure took over. Your mind went blank, only being able to feel pleasure rolling through your body. Moans escaped your mouth as your head fell forward on Mingyu’s shoulder. Your pussy was buzzing, pulsating from your orgasm and tensing from Mingyu’s continued thrusts. Your walls fluttered and squeezed him, the final straw that made the burning heat building in Mingyu’s abdomen release. He stilled as his orgasm took over, his balls clenching when you started bouncing on top of him again, riding out his high. He moaned out your name, cursing under his breath.��

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you looked into his eyes, glossed over and fucked. His hand rubbed your back. 

“You did so good, baby. ‘M so proud of you,” he pouted. You giggled at his dramatics.

Pressing a soft kiss to his lips you sighed, “Thank you, Gyu.” You smiled at him. “We should get cleaned up now huh?” You looked down at your bodies, a sheen of sweat covering the both of you. His gaze followed yours, looking at your connected bodies. 

“Yeah, we should. But let's stay here for a bit.” His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a hug against him, “I don’t wanna leave you yet.” 

You nuzzled your head against his, listening to his steadying breath and the rain against the window.

A/N: Thank you for reading this far! I am taking requests so much sure to check my kinktober masterlist for some inspo!

#seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen hard hours #seventeen hard thoughts #seventeen mingyu smut #seventeen mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #mingyu hard hours #mingyu hard thoughts #kinktober #mingyu kinktober #seventeen mingyu imagines #mingyu imagines

[matrixbearer2024]

I heard someone simping over Pedro pascal earlier and now I'm just imagining the gang kind of chilling at the Hotel(Dear (Y/N) is dead by this point), even Vox because Reader asked him to stay- when she eventually comes out in a sexy cowboy costume like:

“Hey Vox~ How would you like to ride home on a real cowpoke?"

"Huh- (Y/N)??!??!?!!!"

"I got a six pack of cold ones on ice, and my roomie's out all night. So you can scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar!”

Vox doesn't even move from his spot, he kinda just blue screens immediately and while Reader panics- Angel kinda doubles over wheezing because it was his idea to begin with just to test his hunch- he didn't expect the infamous media rival of the radio demon to actually fucking die because the woman he was fond of decided to be a little tease.

I'm so tempted to write it as another interlude because my god Alastor wouldn't ever let Vox live it down but also we troll the Tv head like c'moooon it's funny XD

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox #hazbin vox x reader #vox #hazbin hotel vox x reader #vox x you #get off my screen series #Damn bro just SIMPS #Bluescreen Galore #Vox cannot comprehend #Bro is just AGDKSJDJSJSJS #404 accurate emotional response not found #He's just GONE HAHAHAAH

[jobesbabe]

my forever valentine / TAA

summary: trent surprises you after training with something that makes your valentines day that much more special

warnings: established relationship, fluff

a/n: hi! new to this still but please leave feedback and requests because they’re always appreciated

Trent had been training with Robbo when he told him the plan. He would propose. Tonight, in the most romantic, perfect moment. He had picked out a gold diamond ring that was still simple enough that you would wear. Trent’s nerves were at an all time high as he expressed his plan to Robbo. A few others gathered around to see what the scouser was so passionate about. As they listened, they began to understand the emotional intensity and admiration Trent was feeling.

Dominik grabbed his shoulders before quickly massaging them.

“You’ve got this man,” He said smiling his signature Hungarian smile that was straight out of a magazine.

Robbo nodded.

“I’ve seen you two together. That woman is smitten for you. I don’t understand it, but she is,” Robbo gushed earning a bashful smile and swat from Trent.

Training ended a few hours later and he couldn’t wait to open up his door and see your shining, adorable face grinning back at him like a little kid. He drove home in his audi smiling the whole time, The engagement ring boring a whole in his pocket. He was done with having it, he wanted it to be on your beautiful hands and not stuck in a box.

He opened the door to your home and the smell of food hit him in the face. You ran to go meet him at the door, apron on and flour stains on your face. You pulled him into a hug.

“Happy Valentine’s day baby,” You said.

He smiled and leaned into your warmth before pulling away and giving you pecks on the forehead and each cheek. Resting his head on yours, he brought you in for a deep passionate kiss neither of you wanted to end.

“Happy valentine’s” Trent replied.

His scouse accent made you crazy. the way he said simple words like happy or morning would make you smile and obsess for hours.

As you smiled he reached his hand up to your eye, brushing over the flour with the pad of his thumb to wipe it away.

“I love you,” He whispered and you both became engulfed in each other’s arms, lips on the other instantly. Your make out session was cut short by the ringing of the kitchen timer you had set for the handmade pasta you had spent hours crafting. You pulled away. “It’s ready!” You exclaimed and he laughed, and then his face got serious.

You turned to run to the kitchen but were stopped by the man you love’s voice.

“y/n, darling” he said.

“mhm?” you replied turned away from him.

“Turn,” He asks and as you do, you see Trent, on one knee, with a velvet box that he opens to reveal a ring that is so you, you swear you would’ve picked out yourself.

“Trent? Is this real?” You ask, hands over your chest.

“yes baby. I knew from a few months into our relationship that you would be the person. My ride or die, my soulmate. My one. My person. I want you. Forever. I love you, Please make me the happiest scouser on the whole planet and marry me?”

You gasp and nod your head, tears filling your eyes.

“Trent, Oh my gosh. Yes, Of course. I love you so so much.” you gush.

He slipped the ring on your finger before standing up and cupping your face with his massive hands.

He kissed you, and you kissed him back with more love than you had ever felt.

“my forever valentine,” he whispered into your ear before leaving a trail of kisses along your face and neck.

The two of you held hands as you ate the pasta you had poured your soul into making, taking moments to examine each other before smiling.

Every so often, he would take your left hand and kiss it just below your engagement ring. He was obsessed.

a/n Ahh thats it! kinda love this one, and heres the rings i think Y/N would love but obvi u are y/n so whatever you like <3

more 1 than two but idk

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander imagines #trent alexander x you #trent aa #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #football

[cuubism]

I don’t even know if you accept writing prompts, but just *Imagine* this

Dream, has no fuckin idea how Hobs immortality works

His sister just said “you could find out” and gave no other word other than the IMPLICATION that hob is immortal, so aside from knowledge that hob has been withheld from her gift, dream doesn’t know how the whole immortality thing works for hob

Meaning the first time Dream sees Hob DIE

I feel like he’s in for a ride

I always pictured Hobs immortality as a Deadpool kinda thing. He does TECHNICALLY die from whatever killed him, but he pops back as soon as his body heals. Not a fun experience, definitely some trauma involved (being drowned as a being that doesn’t die permanently seems ROUGH) but all in all Hob can walk away from everything pretty alright.

Now if Dream DOESN’T KNOW THAT. If he thinks hob is simply un killable, that could lead to a WORLD of delicious Temporary or Presumed death angst.

*looks at the ancient unfilled prompts lingering in my inbox from years ago* of course i take prompts what do you take me for! :D 😂 i love them, i don't always manage to write them

in retrospect 'you could find out' is QUITE mysterious and ominous, thanks Death.

yeah i usually imagine Hob's immortality working like it does in The Old Guard, where he basically does die but he comes back after a few minutes. i'm still undecided on whether he heals faster than normal, like, for plot purposes it's easier if he does, but there's something compelling also in the idea of hob having to struggle through the same long healing process as other people, just with the certainty that he will heal. i also always ask myself, can hob be permanently injured? like, if he lost an arm, would it... grow back? i don't know the answer to that. i like the idea of him being able to have scars for Symbolism, but him not having scars is also compelling, like, having no real record of anything that's happened.

drowning would... suck, especially as it probably took him ages to break free of his restraints so he probably drowned over and over and over...

dream seems to get in the 1789 scene that hob couldn't be killed by being attacked. but i feel like... like Death is not the only powerful force in the universe and she isn't all powerful. i could see dream being worried about hob being like, destroyed in some other way? like his... Being being destroyed? i don't think there's any being or creature in the story's universe that can't be killed in some way, even Dream can be killed - or, I guess, Morpheus can, is more accurate. so the fear could still be there. either way, seeing hob die would still be a hell of a shock, even knowing it's temporary.

i actually wrote something really similar to this in an as-yet-unfinished fic so i think instead of starting another wip (i have soo many ack) i will just share that scene

[ preface - there was a whole Fight and the Corinthian cut Hob across the throat (rip) and then Bounced because Dream was kind of, well, distracted ]

--

When Hob woke, Dream’s hands were around his throat.

Pressing, holding. Trying to keep him together.

And he was… just absolutely drenched in blood. It lay slick on his hands, smeared up his wrists, soaked in blacker patches on his black shirt and coat, he’d even managed to get a few droplets on his face. Dear God. Hob had almost forgotten how much blood could come out of a human body. It had, fortunately, been quite a while since he’d had to watch somebody exsanguinate.

Their gazes met. Hob’s bleary, Dream’s swirling with colliding galaxies.

“See?” said a voice out of Hob’s eyeline. “I told you he’d come back.”

Hob craned his neck carefully to see. A woman was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, apparently unconcerned by the scene of theatrical death and carnage playing out before her.

“Dream,” she repeated, when Dream didn’t move. “I told you. Let the man breathe.”

For all that her words were spoken lightly, there was a note of concern underneath them. Hob didn’t think it was directed at him, though, even if he had been to one to get his artery sliced open. The woman’s gaze kept flickering over to Dream.

“I had to be certain,” Dream ground out. His voice rumbled against Hob’s ruined throat.

“You don’t trust my word?”

“I had to be certain,” he repeated.

Hob wrapped a careful hand around his blood-soaked wrist, squeezing until Dream looked at him again, and rasped, “Hey. Can’t die, remember?”

Then his chest spasmed and he coughed up a truly horrific amount of blood. Dream released him, with some reluctance, allowing him to turn on his side, and Hob coughed until his throat was clear.

“Fuck,” he gasped, and spat one last clot of blood onto the absolutely destroyed living room rug. “Goddamn. That was a new one.”

“See?” said the woman, gesturing at Hob. “He even has a good attitude about it!”

Dream did not seem comforted by this. His hand fell to rest on Hob’s shoulder and gripped tight.

“Oh, I’m Death, by the way,” said the woman, catching Hob staring at her and waving at him. “Hey.”

“Um,” said Hob.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Death hastened to reassure him. “I’m not here for you. Or, I mean, I kind of am, but not to collect your soul, just because my brother here is a worry wart.”

Hob looked back and forth between them. “You… were worried Death would take me… so you… called her here?” he asked Dream incredulously.

Death sighed. “Not always the brightest bulb.”

Dream watched him intensely. “I needed to be sure she would not.”

“Dream, I told you—”

“I had never… seen you die before.” He held Hob’s gaze, but his expression wobbled into something close to fear. “It was… challenging.”

Hob supposed that knowing, abstractly, that your friend couldn’t die didn’t hold much water when seeing your friend die.

“Oh, Dream,” he murmured. Dream only looked more pained when Hob said his name. Hob found his wrist again and squeezed it. “Hey, it’s alright, yeah?”

Dream swallowed, a very human, nervous thing. “Evidently.”

“Come on, let him up,” said Death, and helped Dream haul Hob up to his feet. They dragged him over to the couch, where Hob sat, hand pressed to his still-aching neck. What a strange moment this made, he reflected. Two Endless, one covered in blood, dragging a half-dead human across the living room. Hob was going to have to give up on his life making a lick of sense anymore.

Dream’s fingers flexed, still slick with Hob’s blood. He wavered on his feet, then said, “I should— the blood,” and disappeared in the direction of the washroom at a rapid pace.

“Can’t he just—” Hob waved his hands in a gesture he hoped conveyed change his clothes magically.

“Could,” Death agreed, perching on the arm of the couch. “But he’s feeling an emotion so I think he needs a minute.”

“Ah.” Dream’s stricken expression hovered in Hob’s mind. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like seeing that forced split in his friend’s composure at all.

“You’re good for him, Hob,” continued Death.

“Because… I got my throat cut and kind of almost died and upset him?” Hob said, expecting her to correct him.

“Yup!” Death agreed cheerily. Her eyes lingered on the hallway that led to the washroom. “Among other things.”

As if any of that was reasonable. Hob leaned against the back of the couch, rubbing his eyes. “You all are so cryptic.”

Death laughed, but didn’t elaborate on what she’d said any further.

Hob lingered on it, though. You made him upset. Hob hadn’t seen Dream upset before, not like that.

Did he ever get upset like that? Or, rather, did he let himself?

Hob quickly found himself also watching the hallway for Dream’s return. He half-wondered if he’d just bolted back to the Dreaming, or maybe gone after the Corinthian, if he’d escaped after Hob had… died.

When he didn’t return for several minutes, Death let out a long breath and got up to go after him.

Now alone on the couch, Hob clenched his fingers in the fabric of his pants, gritting his teeth as a shiver of shock ran through him. Sort-of-dying sucked, but often, Hob had found that the aftermath was worse – human bodies were meant to either die or live, not land somewhere in between, and each time he’d recovered from situations he should have died in, he’d faced a sort of belated panic response, fight-or-flight kicking in with no danger present.

He stood jerkily, stumbling to his bedroom, where he stripped off his absolutely ruined shirt – he was going to have to burn that, he’d look like a serial killer throwing it away – and jeans, and scrubbed off the blood as best he could with a spare towel considering Dream was still hogging the washroom.

He’d just gotten on a clean pair of jeans and was reaching for a shirt when the door clicked open. Dream stepped in, so quiet he was less person and more shadow. Gone were his long coat, and his boots. His black skinny jeans and long sleeve shirt were functionally identical to what he’d been wearing before, but Hob had a feeling the actual blood-soaked ones from before had been destroyed – if they’d ever existed outside of dreams in the first place.

He stepped quietly, barefoot, over to Hob, and Hob looked up and down at this change in attire. “Planning to stay awhile, love?” he asked, a weak attempt at levity.

Dream stopped before him. His eyes were deep and very dark. “You are shaking.”

Hob chuckled self-consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, turns out that sort-of-almost-dying is a bit of a shock to the system. It’ll pass, though.”

“It will pass,” Dream echoed, expression unreadable.

“Has before,” Hob said, tension prickling up his spine at the utter stillness of him now. And not the relaxed stillness that Hob had become accustomed to when they sat and drank together at the inn. No, this was the stillness of water about to overflow. Surface tension.

“Before,” Dream repeated, again.

Hob smiled weakly at him. “Promise.”

Dream’s night sky gaze flicked over his face. His shoulders were even narrower without his coat, and the lack of structured fabric made him look softer, human, normal.

But Hob’s friend, his love, his stranger had never felt less normal. He moved in like the approach of nighttime, hovering clouds and darkness and rain, a blanket pulled over one’s head that might cocoon or suffocate.

Hob would have accepted either.

Dream caught him by the jaw with fingers soft as lamplight, murmured, “Promise,” and kissed him.

#this fic is getting long af but one day it'll be done i suppose #ask #aroace-get-out-of-my-face #my writing #dreamling

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

Hey. Semi-Serious post here. I'm gonna be quite frank, this is about the death of a real animal. My animal.

The one I made the dedication of WCR!Into The Wild for. Because the wounds are still so raw that I can barely get through typing this very sentence without feeling choked up. So... If this post isn't for you, enjoy the first cat picture, the rest will be under the cut.

Meet Cleo.

She was my best friend. I moved into her home when I was a child, and her being there got me through the ensuing abusive situation I'd found myself in. I quickly became her favorite person. She was always there for me, and I was always there for her. I read Warriors books to her.

I met someone online that I fell in love with, and planned to have them move here. I worried about Cleo, who was now getting on in her years, but still healthy and strong.

I was granted full, effective ownership of her, since she was never really registered with a breeder. An oopsie, runt of the litter kitten of a genuine bred Maine Coon, unknown father.

Plan fell through, immigrating to Canada is difficult and the economy was about to fall apart. So I made the choice to move to the UK.

I was then informed that I could not take Cleo with me, they said she was too old, and that the plane ride would be too much for her. She was roughly 14/15 years old and, again, healthy. This next part is hard to write.

I spent every day after that, for a year, spending as much time as she wanted with me. She got every cuddle and snuggle she wanted.

I still remember that last time I ever saw her, the night I left the country. I held her like a baby, because she liked that. I remember what the back of her neck smelled like (warm chocolate). I rubbed her belly, and whispered to her that I loved her, and promised to come back again and see her. Then I placed her on her favorite spot on the back of the chair, and left.

I got regular updates from my mom about her, but something was clear. When I was on the phone, I was not to call out to her, because when I did, it made her search the whole house, meowing and calling out for me, looking for me. The dogs never did that, just Cleo.

4 months away from home, she started peeing in... Odd places. Visible places. Like... Middle of the living room and on bathroom rug.

Mind you, she used to do that in front of her litter box as a protest when it wasn't clean enough for her liking. But... Not like that.

Other than that, normal behavior.

Then, about 6 months in, she started being weird with food. Still demanded it, of course, but... Wouldn't eat it. Mind you, there were times when she really was just happy to have the wet food there... And then go off and eat her kibble as if she hadn't just acted like she would die without her wet food. Typical, right?

After a week straight, and not much kibble eaten, it... Was concerning. I offered my mom to cover the cost of any medical bills she would need, but was told to not be 'ridiculous', that she was too old. That she didn't need a vet, that nothing would help.

7 months in. July 7th, 2023. Ordinary day, kinda fun, sunny out, a relaxing day where I wasn't looking at my phone much. My partner gets a text from my mom asking if I am around. I get a call from my mom.

She hadn't eaten in days. She wasn't in her box anymore. She was barely drinking. All her chub was gone, leaving my poor girl at only 5 pounds. A fraction of her weight.

My mom was not calling me to say goodbye. Goodbye had already been said. And I wasn't there.

I asked if my mom could bury her, so at the very least I could have something to visit when I got home.

To get Cleo's body back, it would have cost 200 dollars. She would be cremated, and her ashes not given back either. Gone.

The older woman next to me later said she had never, in all her years, heard a person wail and scream the way I had. I barely remember it, or anything after that. The grief is so bad that I feel chest pains, and my throat will close, I could cry myself hoarse still, just from thinking about her.

On one hand I don't want to feel this way anymore. On the other I feel horrific guilt about that, about wanting to "move on". I hate that term, it needs something new. Moving on isn't forgetting about them, it just means it doesn't hurt as badly anymore, but... What does THAT mean?

Below is the very last picture I have of her.

I'm sorry, Cleo. I'm sorry I couldn't help you. I sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry I broke my promise. And I'm sorry I wasn't there to say goodbye.

I'll never forget you. I'll never love you any less.

It'll be hard to visit home without you in it.

If you read this post, thanks for listening. I'm really struggling with grief processing, even though it's been almost a year. 208 days as of today. She isn't the first I've lost, she won't be the last, but WCR is partially dedicated to her.

I hope you like the pictures of her, knowing how vain she was I'm sure she would enjoy me showing them off.

Bye guys.

#pet loss #pet death #cleo #tw grief #dealing with grief #not doing it well

[weird-writes]

Easy Mark (The Mandalorian, E)

Title: Easy Mark (10k)

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

Description: The Mandalorian comes home drunk, desperate, and absolutely unwilling to admit anything to himself. So you do it for him.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Real, unbroken sleep on a planet with diurnal cycles will be nice, he thinks resolutely, even if he'd had other plans for that luxurious bed. And there are advantages to privacy. He unlatches his helmet with a hiss that sounds like a sigh, strips off his gloves, and then begins to unstrap his beskar, fingers taking him through the motions automatically. When he's done, and with his blaster in easy reach on the table beside the bed, he lays back into the enveloping softness and dims the already low lights. He wants to sleep but he knows it won't be possible yet. His body has started its own cycle, as inexorable as the spin of a galaxy, and he won't be able to rest until he completes it.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, sex work, masturbation (mutual if you squint), ruined orgasm but on accident, dry humping, dirty talk, hand kink kinda sort, oral sex, fingering, a pinch of D/s, alcohol use, hangover, canon what canon, no betas we die like men

Tropes: you know that thing where you're talking with someone and it turns out you're having two totally separate conversations, yeah like that but with sex, idiots with feelings, angst, the helmet stays on, boy HOWDY does that helmet stay on

Author's note: Writing the first one was an out-of-body experience and then it turned out Din and his distraction weren't done with me yet. A couple days later I woke up in the middle of the night and said to myself: "listen bitch i have two words for you - helmet riding." So here we are. Set before Distractions, in the bad but fun times before our idiots sorted out their feelings. Please note that this one does involve Mando visiting a sex worker while lusting for the main character, so if that's not your cup of tea no worries. Personally I like 'em hot, confused, and suffering.

***

This was probably a mistake.

The woman on her knees in front of him is beautiful in a generic sort of way. What Din can see of her face in this position is smooth and symmetrical, and she's groomed her brows into the fine expressive lines that are fashionable in the Core, or at least were fashionable several years ago when he was last there. She has high cheekbones and dark eyes and the rest of her is probably equally well-tended but he can't tell since she's got her mouth around him and is doing something with her teeth that is both precise and masterful. It feels like heaven, the clutch of her throat around the head of his cock a welcome respite after so many months of artificial substitute. She's been working him with lips and tongue for quite a while now, and though he's hard enough that she'd at first had trouble getting her jaw around his not-inconsiderable thickness, the sensation has not yet ticked beyond pleasant relief.

Okay, this was definitely a mistake.

It's not that Din's body isn't willing. He can tell from the dull throbbing in his balls that the purely mechanical parts of him would love nothing more than to empty quite a lot of pent-up frustration into this girl's talented mouth. No, the problem lies elsewhere, and not with anything as obvious as his mind either. He's not thinking about anything in particular, and when he closes his eyes no troublesome images burn themselves on the backs of his eyelids. It's a feeling in his chest instead, a nagging tightness when he breathes in, a sort of perpetually suspended flinch that reminds him of nothing so much as the infinitesimal time between watching someone pull a trigger and hearing the blaster bolt. He's keyed-up, jittery, waiting for an explosion that isn't coming, and he has no idea why.

It had all seemed like such a good idea at the time. He's no stranger to brothels. He has needs, and his mind is calmer and his work better if he attends to them. Not frequently, not enough to be an indulgence. Just enough to remind himself that the same physical facility that lets him shoot straight and fight hard has more demands than only food and rest. He's been distracted lately and the tidiest solution is to find someone who makes it their business to solve problems like his. It's really no different than bounty hunting, and unlike fellow hunters, none of them have ever objected to him keeping the helmet on.

He's learned the wisdom of seeking out professionals the hard way. There are plenty of beings of all species who'd jump at the chance to fuck a Mandalorian. In his youth, he'd sometimes indulged them. It had never gone as poorly as it might have, but eventually he'd understood the motivations every entanglement distilled to in the end - sex was just a clever way to keep him on a leash. Whether it was through intimidation or seduction, everyone was after the same thing: control. And if it worked they'd forever feel they'd won, that they'd somehow put one over on an untouchable Mandalorian. That smug surety had been a source of trouble more than once.

Damaging his public image will not be an issue here. Everything from the decor in the foyer of the tasteful building in the corporate district to how the woman currently servicing him is touching him with her slim fingers screams of discretion and professionalism. She's as practiced with him as he is with his weapons, although to her credit it comes off as attentive rather than perfunctory. When he'd first arrived and made his very specific wishes known she'd acquiesced without fuss, happy to provide what he needs within such clear boundaries. Then she'd used her mouth to release the buckle on his belt, one hand holding it steady while the other slid up his thigh. She'd even smiled up at him once she'd gotten him as undressed as the occasion called for. He suspects her enthusiasm isn't entirely feigned - if the reputation of his people sometimes comes with a cost, it also has benefits.

So now here they both are: her with one hand cupping his sack and the other curled around the base of his cock as she parts her tinted lips, him watching her slide her tongue along his slit with an appreciation that refuses to rise past tepid despite his best efforts to convince himself otherwise. He feels bad that he is not enjoying this more, ashamed of himself in the most absurd way. It seems horribly impolite, as though he is choosing to refuse to respond to her talent, one professional snubbing another. And the problem with someone like her, who makes her living by being perceptive about others' pleasure, is that of course she can tell.

His guilt is amplified when his companion lifts herself off his cock and gives the tip what feels like a genuinely sympathetic kiss. "You like this, but you don't love it," she says gently, and it's very much not a question. She stands and one hand tips his helmet up to meet her kohl-rimmed eyes. "I think you need something else. Something a little more... engaging." She feels him flinch, and her hand dips to smooth his cowl as she comes closer, the soft edges of her robe tickling his knees. "I'm not asking you to undress. There are all sorts of possibilities open to us." The word open is lightly emphasized, lingering on her tongue like a sweet, and oh she is good. There's a world of promise in that one sound. Perversely, it makes him feel worse.

"No," he says, and clears his throat. "I mean, no thank you. I don't think so. I appreciate... your work. I think it's better if we stop here."

"Are you sure?" she asks. Her fingers are skimming along his shoulder now, a touch that's both flirtatious and reassuring. "It doesn't cost more, you know. You have me booked for the whole night. It's my pleasure." This close to him, she smells wonderful even through the helmet, like refrigerated flowers and expensive cloth.

"Thank you," Din says again, because he doesn't know what else to say. "That– won't be necessary. I intend to pay in full, but I don’t think… I don't think I want company."

She hums a little in acknowledgement as she steps away. "Well, it's certainly up to you. If you need anything just touch the button by the door, that's the comm. And really--" she leans forward again, just enough to show the tempting swell of her breasts under the thin fabric, "-- if you get lonely, Mandalorian, don't hesitate." There's a warmth in her tone that sounds like she means it. She blows him a breezy kiss on her way out the door, the privacy panel sliding shut behind her.

Kriff. Kriff. She's gorgeous and she knows it and he likes that in a woman. She knows what she's doing, too, and he likes that as well. And even if he is paying her she clearly doesn't object to him, and he likes that best of all. And he'd just sent her away like an idiot. Leaving him with nothing but an uneasy feeling he can't name and a tight ache in his balls that promises real pain if he doesn't attend to them sooner rather than later.

Din toys with the idea of calling her back, telling her he'd changed his mind, but there's no reason to expect the outcome to be any different the second time around. It's late, and at least he'll be able to sleep as long as he wants. Real, unbroken sleep on a planet with diurnal cycles will be nice, he thinks resolutely, even if he'd had other plans for that luxurious bed. And there are advantages to privacy. He unlatches his helmet with a hiss that sounds like a sigh, strips off his gloves, and then begins to unstrap his beskar, fingers taking him through the motions automatically. When he's done, and with his blaster in easy reach on the table beside the bed, he lays back into the enveloping softness and dims the already low lights. He wants to sleep but he knows it won't be possible yet. His body has started its own cycle, as inexorable as the spin of a galaxy, and he won't be able to rest until he completes it.

It's nothing like the serene attentions he'd been receiving before he'd asked to be alone. He's flat on his back and completely undressed now as he would never be with another person in the room, and his callused hand is a poor substitute for her soft touch. He wraps his fist around his cock and brings himself back to fully erect with a few short strokes, uninterested in prolonging this experience beyond the necessary. At least he no longer feels the pressure to applaud an artist at work; he knows himself and knows exactly how to get this over with while still wringing out the pleasure he seems to periodically require. His hand speeds up as he replays the night in his mind: her fingers on his shoulder, her mouth on his cock. He's imagining her still and that's an appreciation of its own, assuaging the sting of guilt.

His eyes drift closed and his grip tightens, stroking over his length, rushing him toward the conclusion of this little farce. It's not what he wants, not really, but at least he'll feel better. He feels the pressure rising in his gut, the knot in his groin tightening, and there's a brief instant where he thinks about his hand - about his fingers - about a few nights ago and where his fingers have been and the slick wet heat he'd wanted to suck off them -

And that feeling of waiting for the blaster bolt crashes in again, knocking the building tension of his orgasm askew and ripping his touch away from himself to seize convulsively at the cool sheets.

Din opens his eyes and sits up so fast his helmet clatters to the floor. His chest is heaving and his palms are damp and there's a piercing pain around his temples that presages an exceptionally memorable headache. The moment of climax is gone as surely as the woman he'd sent away, and he knows himself well enough to know it's not coming back tonight. "Fucking-- kriffing-- fucking-- hell," he mutters and then descends into the most offensive Mando'a he knows, trailing off only when he runs out of rude words. He collapses back into the blankets, wrenching a pillow over his face. He needs to clear his head. He needs to sleep. He needs to come. One isn't happening without the other two, and at least one of the other two apparently isn't happening at all.

Well. If he already can't sleep, and his cock is not going to cooperate, he can at least do something else equally unwise. He'd paid for the room for the night and he intends to use it. He touches the built-in comm by the door and it clicks into life instantly, the concierge's smooth tones rendered only a little tinny by the size of the speaker. "Can we do something for you, sir?"

"Yes, I hope you can. Do you have a cantina on the premises?"

***

Something is wrong.

It's Mando's walk that gives him away. It's not that it's sloppy or loose; it's that it's tight. Normally the cadence of his boots sounds - relaxed. Ready, confident, easy in himself and his capabilities. You've become familiar with his long stride coming up the gangway, the slight hitch in his gait born from years of maneuvering in layers of armor and weapons. Right now it's too precise, too measured, as though he is concentrating entirely too much. You don't know what the problem is but you can hear that something is different, and by the time he's in the cargo bay that difference is blaring in your consciousness like a proximity alarm.

You wouldn't have noticed with anyone else. You've never attended to the messages of another's body as closely as you do his. You're not sure precisely why you feel the need to catalogue every variation of his mood through the tip of his helmet and the semaphore of his hands. Maybe it's to do with the fact you don't know his face, so you cling to every other detail. Nevertheless, your careful scrutiny reaps a reward: you can't see him, tucked into your own bunk folded down from the wall, but you can tell something has changed just from the sound of his steps.

Your first assumption is the obvious one. He'd left you last night, saying something about meeting a contact, and the life of a bounty hunter is risky even when not chasing quarry. Old marks hold grudges and old friends can turn into old enemies. A blaster graze or a stab wound, neither of them catastrophic, could easily be the cause. But he's back, clearly well enough to return to the ship under his own power, and he hadn't commed you to ask for entry which means he retained his vambrace and his ability to remotely disarm the ground protocols. It can't be anything too serious. He knows where the medkit is. He can patch himself. There's no need for you to get out of bed.

You've drawn the curtain to your bunk closed behind you and your bare feet are touching the floor before you have time to invoke your better instincts. Despite how your - whatever this is - has evolved recently, the Mandalorian often remains closed off to you, withdrawn behind the remote shine of his armor. Finding out exactly what's going on is at least a way to participate, to gain some level of understanding about his person and the kind of life he leads when you're not trapped together in the forced proximity of hyperspace. And if he refuses you - well, it's morning, and the thought of caf is enough of a consolation.

It's early still and the breeze through the open gangway brings with it pale dawn and the smell of growing things. The heat is already oppressive, promising another stifling equatorial day. Mando is leaning against a bulkhead, hip hitched casually on a crate, visor tilted to the floor. One pauldron is in the square of sunshine from the hatch and the tiny imperfections on its surface bounce pinpoints of light through the hold as his chestplate rises and falls with his breathing. It's the only movement you can see, and your stomach flips uneasily. You can tell he's holding himself back somehow, every line of him composed. You've seen him go still like this when he's angry with you. Maybe his meeting went sideways after all, but there's no blood or any of the other telltale signs of violence.

You're already regretting your curiosity. Whatever this is, it doesn't look as simple as a wound.

Mando must know you're there, his instincts too sharp for anything else, but he doesn't greet you. So you don't bother with the niceties either, saying "Are you all right?" in a voice still thick with sleep as you move towards the small galley and the plasma heater and the battered pot that serves as a makeshift kettle.

"What?" His head comes up too fast, as if he's only now remembering your existence, that the public areas of his ship are no longer places for himself alone. "Oh. Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

He doesn't offer more than that, and you resist the urge to pry further. Your - your what, exactly? Your traveling companion? Your erstwhile employer? Your occasional fuck? Better to stick with the obvious, you suppose - the Mandalorian - is hardly expressive at the best of times, but standing silent in the cargo bay this early in the morning with a stillness that implies nothing so much as intense concentration, as he would focus his attention on a difficult target or a mark in a crowded street, is unusual even for him. He's not blocking your path to the galley though, so you occupy yourself with the business of hotplate and kettle instead. You'd found your favorite brand of instant caf at the last trading post and somewhere in a drawer there are still a few packets of dehydrated milk.

You're distracted by the familiar routine, which is probably why you ask. "Would you like some caf?"

A stupid question, and one that makes you cringe as soon as it's out of your mouth. Of course Mando doesn't want caf. And even if he did, he couldn't drink it anyway - not with you there, your presence restricting him as surely as a pair of magcuffs. You've managed to avoid offering him anything that would require the removal of his helmet so far in your time together, but it's so early, and just for a minute you... forgot. Forgot he's Mandalorian, offered him something you would literally any other sentient creature who was awake with you at such an atrocious hour of the day.

His response surprises you. "That seems like a good idea," he says, which is a weird as hell way to put it but whatever. And what about the helmet? Maybe he'll take it to his rack and drink it there. Not your business. You open two pouches and rummage in the cabinet that holds the cheap tin cups. You chase the caf with hot water from the pot, watching the brown grains bleed into something that nearly passes for drinkable, then add milk in one cup and hesitate over the other. You don't know how he likes it and it seems strangely invasive to ask about his eating habits again. After a second’s indecision you tip two of the milk packets in and stir, same as yours. If he doesn't like it he can make his own.

When you're done you take both cups in hand and turn. At some point he must have changed positions, although you hadn't heard him. How he moves so quietly in all that metal is a mystery that continues to elude you even though you see it happen regularly. Now he's sitting down, leaning back against the wall, folded in on himself in a way you haven't seen before and that immediately makes you question whether or not he is, in fact, all right. Maybe you were wrong, and the injury just doesn't show under all his layers of cloth and steel. His posture mutes the inertia you'd sensed and he looks... if you're being honest he looks just a little pathetic, or as pathetic as a man wearing so many weapons can look, which is not very. It's oddly affecting. You don't know him well enough to judge with any level of precision but if it were you against the wall  looking like that, you'd say you'd just lost a fight.

Impossible. Mandalorians don't lose fights. At least, this Mandalorian doesn't.

"Would you like some company?" you ask before you can stop yourself. It's apparently a day for firsts. You've never inquired if he wants your presence before, except as a matter of expediency on a hunt or going into a settlement. It's something in this morning's particular tableau that pulls it out of you, memories of your own bad nights echoing in sympathy with the set of his shoulders. It's easier when he's sitting down, too, the level of his helmet well below your eyeline. You wouldn't have dared if you were facing the wall of beskar that comprises a Mando upright.

His response is direct as he is always direct, and polite, as he is nearly always polite with you. "That would be... acceptable. Thank you."

So you slide down the wall next to him, probably graceless and noisy in comparison, still holding both cups. As you do the wind outside shifts, stirring the heat and bringing with it the inevitable warm damp of impending summer rain. It brushes past your strangely moody Mandalorian, pushing steam from the caf before it and tapping your hair against your cheek, and as it does you're hit by a wave of the familiar. A scent everyone who's ever worked a bar or relaxed after a long day in any town in the galaxy knows.

It takes you no time at all to recognize it, and only a beat longer to locate the source. Mando smells - and not subtly - like alcohol. The sting is unmistakable, announcing itself in the air between you. You can't even contemplate how much worse it would be without the intermediary of his helmet. A sequence of events clicks into place, as tidy as a relay switching shut. That's why he's so still, why his walk up the gangway was so careful. He's hungover. Or maybe still drunk. The Mandalorian is drunk.

You don't even know how he got drunk, considering the constraints of his helmet. You can't imagine him sitting in a cantina all night shoving a hydration tube under the faceplate and sucking in spotchka. The thought is so undignified that you almost laugh out loud. You choke down the impulse but it must show on your face somewhere because Mando says, in a tone that even through the modulator veers close to petulant, "What?"

Now you are laughing, the image of the feared warrior staggering - well, as close as he'll ever get to staggering, which is basically the exact opposite - into his own ship and half-collapsing, felled by something as mundane as alcohol, too ridiculous to ignore. "Oh, I see. Leaving late, coming in early, needing caf. What did you get up to last night, Mando?"

It's a sing-song question, meant as a tease, but that glacial quiet comes over him again and you swear the temperature between you drops several degrees. He's silent for a long while, contemplating an answer that seems weighty for him in a way you didn't intend. Did you upset him? Was intoxication forbidden to Mandalorians? Are you witnessing something as simple as a temporary lapse in judgment - and Maker knows you've had plenty of those yourself - or as serious as a violation of his Creed?

"I made some bad decisions," he says finally. "I thought it would... make things a little easier. It didn't."

And you have no idea how to interpret that, if he's talking about the job that went sideways that brought you to this planet in the first place or the drinking or something else. Or if you could be classified as a bad decision, one that he might need the escape of alcohol to make a little easier. Your brief moment of levity twists in your mouth, turning sour, and you shove the second cup toward him across the bay floor with unnecessary force, sloshing milky caf over the rim to puddle on the metal.

Mando doesn't comment on your lack of tact. He doesn't say anything at all, picking up the cup and contemplating it as though it holds the secrets of the universe. You'd slumped back against the crate after your little outburst but you're still watching him in your periphery. Not a single atom of you believes that he's going to remove his helmet. Not for something as banal as this, not with the hatch open for anyone to see, certainly not in front of you. But he might have some trick you haven't seen yet. A port somewhere, some way of getting sustenance in public when necessary. Maybe that's how he'd made last night's bad decisions.

He doesn't quite bring the caf to where his mouth would be but it's close. You don't see anything about the faceplate change, but the Mandalorian next to you inhales deeply and makes a quiet, satisfied noise. Then he does it again and you realize what's happening - if the visor weren't in the way he'd be burying his nose in the cup to breathe the bitter, scented steam. It's a mundane thing to do, nothing you haven't seen a thousand times before, and you want to be irritated by it. He makes another sound, the modulator obscuring its finer details. You hear it anyway, casually warm and appreciative, and your own mouth goes dry instead.

You are suddenly extremely aware of your body in proximity to his: your shoulders a few long inches from each other, your crossed knees so close to his strong thighs. You didn't mean to but you've turned your head to face him now, lips parting, and you can feel the rush of blood rising up your neck and creeping along your collarbones. You've caught his attention too, your reaction to his enjoyment nowhere near as subtle as you'd like. He doesn't put down the cup, doesn't do anything as predictable as reaching for you. Instead he slides across the floor and presses one long leg against yours, hip to knee, not touching you with intent but just... letting you feel him, solid as granite and twice as unmoving. Then he raises the cup again, slower this time, draws the steam toward himself, and makes the same noise again, deliberately.

Sweat springs up on your skin, the warmth of his nearness combining with your flush and the hot breeze still fluttering through the gangway. The helmet is pointed straight ahead but you can feel him considering you, the stalemate of shared desire spreading between you like ink in water. He seems to be waiting for something but you'll be damned if you're going to start coming out of your clothes just because you like the way he drinks - no, not even drinks - his caf. So you wait too, expecting him to call your bluff, or at least wordlessly take charge as he has taken charge of things between you before.

Nothing happens. You drop your gaze, fixing it on the way he cradles the cup, the tips of his gloves flaring orange against the dull alloy. It's precisely because you have expended so much attention on his hands as a substitute for his face that you notice it: a tiny motion on the surface of the liquid, a gentle waver like the very beginnings of a boil. It's not that the cup is trembling, not really, it's just... not entirely steady. You've already seen his grip around a blaster more times than you can count and you've sure it's always been reliable as a sun. This is new. Is he really that far gone?

"Would you do me a favor?" Mando's voice is carefully neutral, as if he's noticed your scrutiny.

"Sure," you say, not really listening. You could tell him no, discourage whatever drunken whim this is, but you're still watching the minute quiver of his hands, visible only through the ripples in his caf.

"Take off my gloves."

***

It's an insane request, and most of Din is having trouble believing he just said it. The words came out of his mouth unbidden with no direction from anything as capable of higher functioning as his brain. The rest of him - the part he’s forced to admit is housed mostly in his cock and in the bottom of a bottle discarded several hours ago - can't believe he's waited this long to ask. He saw the way you looked at him, the tip of your tongue suspended over your bottom lip. He's painfully aware of the soft skin of your thigh pressing against his, even if he can't feel it through his armor as more than a light pressure, a ghostly kiss of heat. He wants your touch somewhere, anywhere, ideally on the rock-hard erection that's straining against the buckles of his belt, but even as he thinks it he holds back, knowing it would be too much. The gloves instead then. The feeling he thought he'd drowned in revnog is back, the tightness in his chest ratcheting to life, making him shake with anticipation for something he doesn't even know the shape of.

Suddenly he's worried that he's overplayed his hand. You've allowed him to take liberties for your benefit before, but this feels different. This is you touching him for no reason other than he's asked you to and that's dangerously close to crossing the line he's drawn for himself. He sets down the caf and is about to say something sensible like "Never mind," but you're already reaching toward him.

***

Mando doesn't raise his arms for you, doesn't do anything at all to make his demand easier to meet except for putting down the cup. The hand closest retreats to rest on his hip and you chase it without thinking, picking it up like you would any other piece of equipment he’d tasked you to maintain. You can feel a faint tremor all through the capable muscles of palm and wrist. You yourself are sober as a Jedi but that doesn't stop you from fumbling at first, trying to understand how to get around the knuckle guard and loosen the magnetic tab cinching it tight just over the point of his pulse. You pull the glove over his fingers as efficiently as you can.

It's the closest you've ever come to the Mandalorian, which is an absurd thing to say considering what you've been doing, or rather what he's been doing to you, intermittently these past weeks. It's also true, and you feel your breath fraying as you reach for his other side. Undressing him even just this inconsequential amount seems unbearably domestic, an intimacy you haven't earned and probably never will. You remove this glove the same way, running your fingertips over the leather to find the catch, working the fingers loose in a movement that can't help but feel obscene as your smaller hand encloses his bigger one. Then you draw it off, still holding him, and stop. Because you have no idea what to do next.

There's a halting moment where you think he's looking at you and you're definitely looking at him and the tension is enough that you snag your lower lip between your teeth -

"Let go," Mando says softly. You drop his wrist like a thief caught in the act. You expect him to stand up, escaping from your proximity as he often does. You unwisely hope this might be one of those occasions where he turns you around instead, pushing your sleeping shorts down and plunging his fingers between your thighs where a needy hum has just hopefully kicked to life. An even more unwise part of you, a part you try very hard to ignore, wants him to pull you closer, face-to-face.

No such luck. The only sound is your own breathing buzzing in your ears. At this angle you can see the cowl around his neck has shifted, revealing a glimpse of his throat. His pulse shows through the thin skin, tripping steadily but fast. You can't drag your eyes away from it, a warm and traitorous bit of humanity amidst hard metal. There's only been one other time you've seen him like this and on that occasion his reserve, when it finally broke, heralded a storm you’d swear parts of you were still recovering from.

You're kneeling beside him, frozen in the same position you'd used to remove his gloves, and it's easy to notice how much lower and richer his tone is, even through the modulator, when he speaks again. "I'm sorry, mesh'la. I'm not trying to be rude. I just-- I can't."

"Can't what?" you probe, bewildered by the combination of his denial and the unmistakable heat threading through his voice.

"Can't... this." He makes a vague gesture that somehow encompasses himself, you, and the narrow space between you.

"Okay," you say. "Okay. You can't." Fuck whatever this is anyway, you're tired of him being the one to decide all the rules of engagement, where and when and how and if you are even in a position to look at him during. You start to move away but his bare hand briefly finds your knee, pinning you in place with no effort on his part. Even with that feather-light touch you can feel the rough texture of his palm. It raises the fine hairs on your neck with how much you want more of him.

"I can't," Mando says again, as though you'd asked him something, and you realize what he's telling you. He can't.

You can.

Something ignites in your blood, racing down your spine to pool between your legs. He's not refusing you, he's making you an offer, a chance to decide for yourself how this encounter will go. You wonder why now. Is this a misguided attempt at chivalry, a way of making sure that he doesn't push past your limits while he’s under the influence? More importantly - are you going to take him up on it?

You feel your heartbeat accelerating as you reel through the possibilities. You could touch him like he's been touching you. Would he let you? Could you remove more of the layers between you, finally chase your pleasure on his cock like you've spent so many furtive hours thinking about? Or you could deny him, get up and take your leftover caf and leave him to face his biochemical consequences alone. He wouldn't stop you, would accept your choice without protest, and somehow that feels most powerful of all.

The helmet is still watching you. Mando's gloveless hands are quiet in his lap, his chest under the armor rising and falling evenly as though he hadn't just implied you might want to use him like a toy. You meet the eyeless gaze of the visor, seeing only stark lines and your own warped, unrecognizable reflection. Just for an instant you let yourself pretend, wishing he had a face you could read anything in at all. Then you lean forward and grasp his hands in yours and stand up, putting one bare foot on either side of him, taking his hands with you. You hook his fingers into the drawstring at your waist, your meaning clear. Take them off.

You know exactly what you want. And you're almost sure Mando will give it to you.

Your shorts slide easily over the curve of your ass, puddling to the floor as you step out of them. You're wearing nothing underneath and his skin against yours is excruciating as he traces the hard bones of your shins, the backs of your knees - and stops, making it wordlessly clear that he's leaving you to dictate what happens next. You shrug out of your shirt and trail up your body to cup your tits, tossing your hair over your shoulder. Then you look at the Mandalorian under you and give your first order: "Touch me."

Your meaning is obvious even though technically, he's already touching you - hasn't stopped since you began your little show. His hands resume their wandering course, running up the dip of your waist and chastely smoothing sweat across your spine. You use the warmth of his touch as fuel for your own fire, pinching your nipples to greedy points and letting your back arch. It's beyond bizarre to expose yourself like this, presenting to the impenetrable wall of his armor in nothing but your own unassailable nakedness. Mando might deaf and blind for all the reaction the blank faceplate gives you. It's as dislocating as losing one of your own senses, giving everything a surreal, hallucinatory quality. 

It's also indescribably arousing.

Mando is getting bolder, touching you with more purpose. One big hand ghosts up your thigh but you stop it before it reaches its goal. You've had his talented fingers in you plenty and you have other plans. "Hold my hips," you say, and though you meant it as a command it comes out more like a plea. He obliges you instantly, thumbs settling against the swell of your pelvic bones. You want him to participate in this, even if he won't take the initiative, and you want him to feel the same sting of desire you do, even if you can't see the results.

Your excitement is growing more acute now. You drop one hand from your breast and part your folds easily, slipping your fingertips up to tease your clit before dipping them just inside yourself. You moan a little at the feeling of it, so much better than when you do the same alone in the 'fresher, and when you pull out and move back to circle your clit again, spreading your slick over your lips, you feel his grip on you convulse. You follow that theme for a while, aimlessly chasing sensation for no reason other than you want to and it makes him wait. It isn't until you slide two fingers into your aching sex, pressing up and in to fuck yourself slowly in front of him, that you hear Mando make a noise.

It's nothing at all like how he sounded over the caf. It's rough and urgent even through the modulator, and it lights a shameless fuse in the cradle of your thighs. Time to find out exactly how far he wants you to go.

"Hold still." You advance on him, still straddling his lap, tilting his head to where you need it. He doesn't let go of your hips, and if he has any idea what you're about to do, he doesn't show it. He's perfectly capable of stopping you, you remind yourself, could probably throw you across the cargo bay if he wanted. He’d invited you to be the one in control. The knowledge gives you courage to come closer still, close enough to cant your hips forward...

And push your wet cunt directly into his helmet, right against where his mouth would be.

The sounds you both make as your warm flesh hits the beskar mirror each other in their desperation. You can't help but keen as the softest parts of you feel metal, cool even in the hot morning air. The Mandalorian under you jolts at the contact, letting out a broken, bitten-off growl. He's still holding you, could easily push you away, but he does just the opposite, adjusting the angle to bring more of his helmet flush against you. Even that small action makes some deep part of you seize with empty frustration, desire roaring through your veins. It's exactly the way a lover would part your legs to give themselves better access, but all you can feel is the smooth plane of the visor and you need more.

You close your eyes, put your hands on the crest of his helmet, and give an experimental thrust. Your thighs slot easily into the curves of his faceplate and what the beskar lacks in texture is made up for by the knowledge that you are a scant inch away from riding his face. You squirm a little, opening space to shove two fingers crudely back into yourself, already past the point of trying to provoke with anything more subtle. The movement brings your clit into contact with the low ridge over his faceplate and you hiss out a word that sounds very much like yes. You squirm again, fucking yourself down onto your hand at the same time the ridge pushes into your folds.

Mando understood your purpose as soon as your cunt touched metal, the eerie ability for reading others you've seen in combat brought to bear on you. His callused hands are working your hips in earnest now, grinding you against him. It's half fuck and half shared fantasy, the helmet providing only the meanest friction against your clit while the idea of Mando's mouth - his mouth, even in the privacy of your bunk you've never dared to imagine the details of his mouth - on you stimulates you far more. The thought of all his skill and focus narrowing to pleasing you has already gotten you wetter than you imagined possible, but it's more than that. If you just could feel him that way, close the loop on the circuit between you, know he's there with you, as desperate as you are - you aren't sure you'd ever be able to stop.

The tide between your legs is rising, orgasm kindling in the nerves of your sex. His bare skin against yours, your own fingers nudging something humming and electric inside you, the hard press of the helmet: it all adds up to an obvious conclusion, your body racing to finish the equation. The closer you get the more noise you make, until you finally realize you're talking, words spilling out of you with no intention from your brain. Words like Mando and more and please. Words like feel so good and I want you, which makes your heart stop for a moment with fear, but his only response is to your hips as he holds you tighter, grip pressing hard enough to bruise.

You're teetering on the edge when you tell him what you really mean, reveal the thing you've wanted since he told you he couldn't and then tempted you with the merest brush of his hand over your skin. You would never have said it otherwise, but it's there now, the truth pushing insistently behind your teeth. You wait until the last possible moment; until you feel your climax catch and flare, pulling you into a whirlpool of mindless pleasure.

"Fuck, I-- I wish I could see you like this. I've thought about it-- about you," you confess. It feels like you're baring the filthiest, worst part of your soul, admitting that you've imagined what it would be like with his naked face buried in your cunt. The concession is equal parts humiliating and exhilarating, a glimpse into something so private that you've barely examined it yourself, a breach of your painstaking respect for his way of life. "I want to feel your mouth on me."

You can feel the shudder that runs through him when you say it and there's an indescribable sound from under the helmet, something like a groan but hungry, full of desire and frustration - the noise of a man who sees a feast in his dreams after years of famine. It goes right to your core, a bolt of lust beyond what you knew was possible sparking from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes, and your eyes fly open. You look down. It's his face, the face of his helmet, the only face you know him by, framed by your thighs as you rub your slick against the transparisteel that tips you past the point of no return, your cunt clenching and your knees buckling as you come.

***

He’d been doing so well holding himself in check. He’d even managed to tell you that he couldn’t provide what you were looking for, the service he’s done for you with great regularity lately. Din is mostly sober, or thinks he is, but he doesn’t trust himself after yesterday. His interrupted lust is still seething just under the habitual discipline. He’s not afraid that he wouldn’t stop if you asked him - there’s no world in which he’d ever be inebriated enough for that - but he’s afraid of what you might say yes to. What you might eagerly permit him. He’s clinging to his Creed like a lifeline but that’s the problem with the Way: it rarely tells him what to do, only that he must do it honorably and with intention. He doesn’t feel especially honorable right now. It would be so much easier if he were outright forbidden this, your rapid breathing and your erratic heartbeat and the convincing wetness of your cunt.

What’s happening right now couldn't be more different than the practiced passion of last night. Unlike last night, however, the chaotic tangle between you occupies all his senses. His already-interested cock has swollen to impossible hardness, somehow more sensitive to the uncomfortable bite of his own clothing than it was to any of the clever tricks that had been used to coax his enthusiasm twelve hours ago. He can't see you, but he can smell you, your musk and the scent of the regulation soap he always buys mixed with sweat. The perfume of your sex, warm and more than willing for him, is one of the things fueling his nearly painful hard-on but for some reason it's the soap that gets to him, replacing every coherent thought with wild, driving need. It's a smell he associates with himself, with his ship, it's the same soap that he's bought for years at every surplus depot in the galaxy and he's never thought about it for even a second but suddenly it’s all over you. It's him, he can smell himself when you push into him, and it makes him feel like he's going insane, like he'll never be able to get inside you deep enough or make you come hard enough to stop himself wanting more of you.

Now you're talking to him and he can hear that just fine, your breathless admission that you want this too, that you've thought about him beyond those times where he's behind you and you're begging for release, imploring him with a name that isn't even a name, just a category. He can hear when you urge more, more, and short on sleep and still half-drunk he can pretend you mean more than more pressure, more than right now, more than Mando.

And then you say the thing that ruins him, making his cock jump and his throat dry and his heart a triphammer in his chest. You tell him you want him - not the armor, not the Mandalorian, but him; his naked face, his naked self - his hips buck, driving upward against nothing, every bit of his carefully won control in pieces around him -

And the explosion he’s been waiting for rips through him, the suspended moment between trigger and blast slamming shut at last. He makes a noise he can’t even try to stop, loud and feral and animal, and comes, his orgasm taking him as hard as a fist to the gut.

***

You’re still partially on top of Mando when your breathing begins to normalize. Once the aftershocks had faded and your knees were no longer shaking quite so hard, you’d stepped off him and gently collapsed, your back against the crates and your legs draped across his cuisses. You know how debauched you must look, still naked and covered in sweat. Absurdly, it makes you feel shy, girlish in your need to conceal your soft and affectionate smile from the helmet next to you. “Holy shit, Mando,” you say instead, hoping your voice doesn’t give you away. “You should get drunk more often.”

That seems to take him by surprise, what sounds like a genuine laugh huffing through the moderator. He doesn’t respond but a hand moves up to your ankle and rests there, filling your chest with hazy satisfaction. You could probably spend forever like that, bonelessly content, but your post-coital bliss is reminding you what he missed while you were busy using him for your own pleasure. 

"Do you want--" you say, reaching tentatively for his belt, but what you mean is please let me, which makes it worse when he jerks away from your touch like it’s a soldering iron, pushing you off his thighs and letting your legs slide to the floor. You hadn’t meant to offend but clearly you have somehow, breaking the rules of your little game without even knowing what they are. You open your mouth to apologize but Mando is getting to his feet and his silence is already somehow back into place between you, impregnable as a fortress. You watch him walk away from you towards the ‘fresher, sealing the door behind him with a thud that lands heavy in your ears, and all you can do is stare after him.

In a kinder version of your world, you'd get off lightly from this. The man whose armor you'd just ruined would be drunk enough to forget, or at least drunk enough to forget details. He'd wake in eight or ten hours with a pounding head and a helmet that needed polish, but he wouldn't remember exactly why, and you'd be spared the self-inflicted invasion of your privacy. But you knew there was no chance of that, no chance that your Mandalorian's mind, even clouded with alcohol, was any less reflexively capable than the rest of him. He would remember what he'd done, and what you'd done, and what he hadn't even had to ask you for. You could have kept quiet. You could have stayed in your bunk. You could have declined to imagine, or at least to declined to share, what his mouth would feel like on you.

Too late for that now.

***

Din can’t regret his choices, not if they brought him here, with you warm and sated on top of him and his own body still coming down from the stupendous high of climax. Still, he’s forced to admit to himself that he’s struggling, the bill for his past abuses rapidly coming due. A truly monumental hangover is stalking through his synapses and he can't tell if the nauseous twist in his stomach is from the alcohol or all the things he wants to say and can't. He'd thought it would fade with the last haze of orgasm, but the urge to tell you how much he wants you remains overwhelming.

He tamps it down. All social creatures have a psychological urge to reciprocate the sharing of a secret. That's all this is: the reciprocal urge. He's used it himself when tracking bounties, a false confession from him eliciting a true one from his mark. It doesn't seem like you're lying to him, not exactly, but he thinks maybe it's not quite real either. You didn't mean it the way it sounded. You like what he can do for you, that's clear, and that liking is enough to earn your tolerance of his company the rest of the time. There was no way you could be conversant with all the complex overtones that imbue something like telling a Mandalorian you want his face between your thighs. Maker, he has to stop thinking about it.

He's still in control of himself enough to push the subject away for now, bury it for later when he can examine it later with a clearer head. What he doesn't know is how to stop the feeling that flares when you’re close to him like this, the sensation of hurtling towards something he can't stop, dogged as a footrace toward the edge of a cliff. He's dizzy and sweating and suddenly everything feels too hot. You've been on his ship twelve weeks and he's had you a dozen times by now, coming so hard around his fingers so hard he can feel the clench, choking on the pleasure he tells himself only he can give you. Today he can add another entry into that catalogue, your words searing through him as you fucked yourself against his visor, and he already knows it's not going to be enough. He's going to need it again. He might need even more. He might - with the sudden taste of bile rising in his throat - he might need to go be sick in private.

At least you didn't realize how far gone he is for this, the thing that stretches between you as powerful as a riptide. Your offer to accommodate his own needs made it quite clear you had no idea what you'd done to him, even if Din’s treasonous body had made sure he wouldn't be tempted by beating you to the punch. He wants to say something to soothe the hurt he’s inflicted, something that might help the new and giddy warmth between you linger, but he has no idea what - except the truth, which would be catastrophic.

He leaves the cargo bay with no ceremony whatsoever instead, shoving you off his lap and surging to his feet. He makes his way to the 'fresher, shuts the door behind him with more emphasis than he means to, and urgently fumbles his armor off. Then he half-collapses onto the lid of the vac tube, leaning over the tiny sink, and closes his eyes.

It's only when he feels the cool bite of beskar on his lips that he realizes he's resting his face against his helmet.

***

“I’m heading to town. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

It's late, the triune suns of this world long since dipped past the horizon. The heat is still suffocating. The landing site is bathed in purple shadows, the endless violet lightning of distant summer storms flickering across the sky. You've taken your schematics outside to work, sitting cross-legged on one of the antigrav loading lifts as it rests quiescent in the mud. You're dressed in clean clothes, having already done penance in the 'fresher with the temperature dial cranked all the way to a punishing cold and the plain white soap washing away any trace of beskar and leather. You are doing your best to fill your head with wiring diagrams, ignoring the way you can't seem to control your hands as they alternately brace and rub at the back of your datapad.

Mando is clearly back to being his sober, achingly polite self, making sure he doesn't leave without informing you, which for some reason is infuriating. You don't want to ignore him entirely but you can't find anything to say that won't meet his courtesy with childish irritation. You make a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement instead. He must not have heard you, because a gloved finger drops into your line of sight and taps the top of the datapad: once, twice.

Unwillingly, you drag your gaze up, fixing it on his left shoulder. You know you're a coward but even in the semi-dark you can't meet the cool line of his visor. Not yet. You wonder if you'll ever be able to look at him again, and then - a stray thought welling up from somewhere dangerously close to hysteria - you wonder if all Mandalorian helmets are the same. You've never noticed, never had reason to pay that much attention before. What if it's not just him, what if you'll never be able to see a beskar-clad bounty hunter without blushing? Maybe it's time to find a new line of work.

"Hey," the Mandalorian in front of you says, his inflection very neutral. You still won't look at him and you know your cheek is twitching and Maker, you must look insane. "Did you hear me?"

You wave him off. "Yeah, I'm fine. Go get... whatever it is you need."

It's not a double-entente, not really, and you didn't mean it that way anyway, you just hadn't been paying attention when he'd announced where he was headed, but the shoulder you've locked your eyes on flinches and there's a slightly choked noise though the modulator. It should be funny, that your slip of phrasing could have that much effect, when you half-naked and begging for him didn't.

It isn't. It kills any shred of humor you've found in the situation instead, slamming your teetering smile to a halt abruptly as a bounty in carbonite for the second time today. You suddenly feel exhausted, the empty space yawning in your chest a poor exchange for the satisfied purr of the space between your legs. Fuck but you wish it was your turn to get drunk. Anything to get away from this for a while. Whatever this is.

But Mando is solving that problem for you, at least temporarily. He nods, already turning away to collect the speeder and head back to the city, and you wonder if he's as eager to flee the awkward interaction as you are. You wonder if you'll ever have any other kind of interaction with him ever again. Is this it for you now, prolonged silences and painful courtesy and the occasional white-hot orgasm as he spurs you - or you goad him, you aren't even sure - to acts more depraved than you've ever dreamed of?

You're still looking down when he leaves, which means you see his booted feet cross the clearing, noting that his stride is once again relaxed and elastic in all the ways that are now painstakingly familiar. Undeniable evidence that he is back to his aloof, controlled self, as though this morning had never happened, as though you hadn’t used the thought of his mouth to take yourself apart.

Now he is no longer looking directly at you, you can lift your eyes to watch him with less embarrassment. It's dark enough you can't make out more than shaded contours and straight lines as he checks over the speeder, kicking the throttle to life with a roar. Then another flash of the ever-present lightning, light cracking across his armored form, every inch of beskar gleaming as clean and precise as his practiced hands as he slings his rifle slant-wise and releases the brake. A following moment of shadow after and your Mandalorian gone, vanishing in the twilight, but you don't need him there to know what you saw. The ubiquitous helmet, shining as if newly minted, every trace of you wiped and buffed and polished from its surface. 

You turn your head to follow the progress of the speeder bike across the plains into the night and wonder if you ever left a mark at all.

series masterlist

#the mandalorian #din djarin #pedro pascal #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #reader insert #star wars

[djarinsidebitch]

What Happens at Girl's Night Stays at Girl's Night {b.f/n.t/s.o}

pairing: Robert 'Bob' Floyd/Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace/Samantha 'Cosmo' Ortiz. Past!Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace/Samantha 'Cosmo' Ortiz. kinda insinuated future!Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw/Samantha 'Cosmo' Ortiz

[a/n] alright, this was supposed to go up yesterday but I had such a bad migraine that the idea of looking at a screen was death. I have come to the conclusion that I am going to just post both versions. This is the OC version since I have to go through and reformat some sentences to make it more accessible for everyone.

That being said the oc in here is Samantha "Cosmo" Ortiz, she is a top gun graduate and actual stealth pilot. She grew up with a single dad, who is a USMC vet, in the Bronx after her mother decided that being a mom wasn't for her. She got her callsign from punching another aviator so hard they knocked out, or "saw stars" and the callsign cosmo was born. It's not really mentioned until the very end but she has been friends with Rooster for years, and both act much closer than friends but refuse to do anything about it citing that they are "just friends" and just close..... some real idiots to lovers going on.

I am pretty sure that is all that you really need to know for this, the reader version should be out soon if you don't want to have to change the details in your mind. Love ya'll- Ani<3

p.s- i added in the headcanon that rhett abbot was bob's older brother(so he would be Rhett Floyd) and that they had matching tattoos, no I will not explain myself

Warnings: Minors fuck off- I will end you 18+ only I don't know how to write a threesome, dirty talk, oral (f&m receiving) unprotected p in v sex (this is fiction wrap it before you tap it) kinda ooc in some parts, dirty talk, face sitting, I said bob fucks and ran with it. Not beta-ed we die like real men here

“Girl's Night” is something that Cosmo and phoenix had along with any other female pilots when they needed a break from the never-ending pissing contest that is the navy. After the uranium mission, there was an exception to the “no boys allowed at girls' night” and that exception was none other than Robert “Bob” Floyd, the soft-spoken southern sweetheart. He was quickly taken in by the duo as an honorary member of “The Girls” and whenever they had a tough week the three would go to a bar (that wasn’t the hard deck- they wanted to get away from the navy) and just have a good time. Phoenix and Cosmo learned that after a few drinks Mr. Stealth pilot turned into a completely different person. His southern accent is much more present, he suddenly is a dancer pulling the two onto the dance floor and he talks much, MUCH, more. Talking about growing up on his family’s ranch, his dipshit older brother that rides bulls. It was a completely different part of bob that neither of them has known about, they also found out he knew how to line dance, Phoenix and Bob were naturals while Cosmo, who grew up in the Bronx was just trying not to fall on her ass. 

The two women weren’t better than bob sobriety-wise, Cosmo has had one too many margaritas and she felt like she was floating, not just from the alcohol but from being around two of the people she loves the most. Cosmo and Phoenix had a long history, they were in the academy and top gun at the same time, always vying for first place they had a playful relationship. They would never tell anyone (with exceptions) that they had a sort of… friends with benefits situation for years, after being around navy men for so long you know how much of animals they were, they would sleep with a girl and all you heard the next day was them talking about it- rating how good they were, comparing them to other women, treating them like slabs of meat- it was disgusting. But you still need to burn off steam even as a woman, maybe even more for the amount of bullshit the men put you through. 

Moonlight peaked through the blinds of the empty room, cutting through the silence of the night were hushed moans and harsh pants of breath. Natasha laid against the cheap basic issue sheets body covered in sweat and her hair was undone cascading across the pillow. One hand was gripping the pillow behind her while the other was entangled in Samantha’s light brown hair. Sam was settled between Natasha’s thighs, her hands having to hold her legs apart as her hips jump at every movement of Sam’s mouth against her pussy. They had Bering going at it for a while- the shine on sams mouth was testimony to that, she could spend the rest of her life between her legs hearing Natasha whine and try so hard to be quiet. 

Speaking of being quiet Samantha moved to suck on her clit making Natasha almost scream out in pleasure as she came who knows how many times now. She brought her hand up to bite down on it to muffle herself 

“Aw sweetheart, you gotta stay quiet- your noises are for me- not them” Samantha rasps removing her fingers from Natasha’s wearing hole causing her to whimper. Sam started trailing kisses up from her inner thighs, up Natasha’s stomach and sternum stopping to suckle on her breasts leaving light bites and bruises. The continuing up to Natasha’s lips, the kiss was messy, Natasha moaned tasting herself on Samantha’s lips. She wanted to return the favor but her body felt like a million tons- her bones absolute jello. 

Samantha knew that and was completely fine- she got off just as much as Nat watching her squirm and lost in pleasure. Natasha tried to move and roll her over but Sam stopped her 

“Hey hey hey, it’s ok- just rest” she softly caressed her cheeks as she looked confused “but-“ “I’m fine sweetheart- next time” she kissed her cheek and stood up grabbing a towel to clean up before finding her clothes and sneak back to her room. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow starshine,” Natasha said- her brain finally catching up

“‘Course firebird” Sam winks, fully dressed while slowly opening up the door to sneak out before early patrol catches her. 

It was almost the last call when the trio decided to leave, they all went to bob’s house, he was the only one with off-base housing that was closest to the bar they were at. None of them could drive so one cramped and overpriced Uber the three stumbled to bob’s front door Cosmo almost ate shit on a small step to his porch but caught herself, but that didn’t stop phoenix from wrapping her arms around her muttering- more like slurring something about not letting her pretty little ass fall, to which bob without looking back while trying to unlock his door with little success “there is nothing little about that ass- it is gorgeous” he finally unlocks the door and leans against it to open the door, almost falling himself before turning and making sure the two get in- not missing the large blush that was spread over the two girls face- especially cosmo she was beat red. Bob closes the door after they get in and locks it before walking around the back of the couch that separated the entryway to the living room. Both girls were laying on the couch, cosmo was laying on top of Phoenix as she traced circles on her hips, bob walked over and laid on top of them resting his head right below cosmos' breasts his forehead pressing against the bottom of them pushing them up and teetering on the brink of spilling out of the bra and tight white shirt that she had worn. Phoenix moved her hand to card through bobs messy hair, slightly tugging at the strands as she hits knots. Her hand gets caught on a particularly large one as she tugs he lets out a groan his hands coming up to grip Natasha’s hips and waist his hips moved on their own accord grinding down against Samantha’s plush thighs that had been squeezed into the jeans that she had on. 

The air shifted and Bob looks up at the two women all three had the same fire lit in their eyes 

“Do it again” he all but growls against Samantha’s breasts as Natasha pulls at his hair- more deliberately and he groans again moving to bury his head in Sam’s breasts. Natasha shifts up to slide out from under Sam moving to kneel on the ground next to bob and Cosmo. 

“That was really hot,” Cosmo says grinding her hips against bob. 

“Yeah- who knew Bobby was like this” phoenix tried to tease- but Bob wasn’t having it, he popped his head up Turing to the side a hand shot out pulling Phoenix’s lips to his effectively shutting her up. She moaned into the kiss as he shifted off of Cosmo following Phoenix onto the floor, their lips barely parting enough to get air. 

Natasha grabbed his glasses pulling them off his face and throwing them to the side, both on their knees Nat grabbed onto his hips pulling his body as close as possible, her breasts squished against his toned chest. Bob’s hands roamed under her shirt pushing it up higher over her breast and she helped pull her arms out of the sleeves before disconnecting their lips to toss her shirt off. Bob took that time to reach behind him grabbing onto the back of his shirt and pulling it off in one go. He never worked out without a shirt off or when they played dogfight football-which is a disgrace as he was beautiful, nicely toned but not so over the top ripped like some of the other men, but what was the most surprising was the tattoo that sat on his peck, it was a silhouette of a man riding a bull. Natasha reached behind her to unclip her bra letting it fall to the growing pile of clothes, Bob pulled her back in, this time kissing down the collum of her throat lighting biting her at the conjunction of her neck and shoulder, then moving down to her chest, one hand coming up to knead the tender breast while he takes the other into his mouth. 

While the two of them were making out Cosmo got to watch the show, she had one hand down the front of her jeans rubbing herself through the cotton of her panties. She let out a whimper that made Natasha look over and hold her hand out “get your pretty ass over here” that’s all it took for Samantha to slide onto the floor to crawl over to the duo, her breasts still almost falling out of her top. Natasha tugs at her shirt as a sign to pull it off, Samantha obliges crossing her arms over her front grabbing at the ends of the shirt, and pulling it off, truly showcasing her large breasts, cosmo would say they were a blessing and a curse- sports bra’s were her best friend and main defense against both men and the forces of gravity when it came to her breasts. Natasha tries to say something but is cut off by her loud moan as bob lightly bites down on her nipple. He lets the boob out of his mouth with a pop before looking at the art that is in front of him, his best friends the most gorgeous women on the face of this earth, is absolutely in shambles already….. and they barely have gotten started. Bob moves to give Samantha some attention his hands roaming all over her body, starting at her waist, moving down over her hips, and getting to her ass he takes what can be described as a handful of it, giving it a squeeze before slapping it, making Samantha jump at the action letting out a whine. He reaches behind her with one hand disconnecting her bra and pulling it off before throwing it to the side, he starts doing a similar thing to cosmo that he did to Phoenix fondling one of her breasts while he bites and sucks on the other, with his free hand he slides his hand to the top of Natasha’s pants, undoing them he slides his hand

undoing them he slides his hand down the front moaning against Samantha when his slightly calloused fingers came in contact with Natasha’s slick folds, he pulls back looking at the two of them once again “I've gone died and this is heaven” he croaks out.

Samantha laughs, it was light and airy as she runs her hands down his chest trailing wet kisses as she goes. Her hands made quick work of his belt and jeans yanking them down as far as she could as bob continues his motions with his other hand, his thumb rubbing against Natasha’s clit while his middle finger pushes into her weeping hole. She shudders, leaning back to pull her pants and underwear off then leaning back on her elbows.

Cosmo continued her wet kisses over his hip bones leaving some dark hickeys as a reminder, then starts to mouth his cock through his underwear causing his breath to hitch. He looks down at Cosmo who is resting on her elbows and knees, ass up in the air as she teases him.

“Gah-Please” he all but whimpers bucking his hips against her mouth. He slipped another finger into Natasha’s pussy pumping in and out aiming for the spongey spot, he knows he found it when her back arched and moans

“Is that it-“ he keeps aiming for the same movement and she nods, her eyes screwed shut as she reaches her first climax of the night. “Yeah it is sweetness, oh fu-“ He was so focused on Natasha that he didn’t even notice Cosmo pulling down his briefs until he feels her take the bulbous head of his dick into her mouth sucking on just the tip before taking it out and licking up the shaft pressing her tongue flat against the vein that runs up his dick. Once she gets back to the tip she takes him back into her mouth, this time sinking as far as she could; he was bigger than anyone she had been with, both fairly long and girth as all hell, her jaw ached as it stretched around him. Before she could try and use her free hand to wrap around what hadn’t fit he bucks up into her mouth making her gag.

“Fuck- she sucks dick so well” Natasha moans at the sight of her closets friend sucking her other friend off

“That she does- shit-“ Bob digs his hand into Samantha’s hair before starting to move her head up and down his cock.

Tears well in Samantha’s eyes as she focuses on sucking him off as he controls the pace, Her free hand comes up to massage his balls.

He feels himself start to get close then pulls cosmo off of his dick making her whimper, he shuts her up quickly “No no honey, if I am cuming it's in one of your pussies, got it-“ the fire behind his eyes has both of them nodding. “Good” Bob pulls off his pants along with cosmo, who was absolutely soaked, he could see the glistening on the inside of her thighs. He got an idea and tapped Natasha’s leg pulling his hand away from her

“Com’ere, I want you to sit on my face” Natasha almost came just from his words, he lays back on the floor as Natasha moves to put her thighs on either side of his face, she was facing Samantha, reaching out for her, she grabs the sides of Samanthas face pulling her into a messy kiss moaning into her mouth as bob pulls her against his mouth licking up and down Natasha's cunt circling her clit before thrusting his tongue back into her core. Samantha and Natasha continue to make out while sam grinds her bare cunt against bob’s dick, her juices mixing with the precum that leaked out of the head of his dick, Bob's groans are muffled and the sounds coming from all three of them are truly lewd, the slick sounds of Samantha and bob, and the whimpers and screams of pleasure muffled from Natasha as she starts to feel the knot start to tighten in her lower stomach. Sam pulled away from Nat letting Natasha’s noises echo in the room.

Cosmo finally takes bobs dick in her hand now slick and lines it up with her entrance. She starts to lower herself down and lets out an almost pornographic moan at the stretch, she had to pause letting herself get used to just how big he was. She soon sunk down farther, rolling her hips down until she sat flush against him. Bob grunts out still licking and sucking on Natasha's clit, one hand gripping onto her thigh and the other returning to thrusting into her. Her moans grow higher in pitch and more frequent as she reaches her peak. Sam starts rolling her hips her breaths were short like they were being pushed out of her chest every time she sunk back onto his cock, it felt like he was in her stomach.

As Natasha starts to come down from her second orgasm, her legs were already twitching she pulled away swinging her leg over to rest her back against the couch watching Sam place her hands behind her griping bob’s thighs as she bounces on his lap. Both of them start to get close, bob sits up moving Samantha to shift on his lap. Her legs were now untucked laying out on either side of his waist, one arm wrapping around her back and grabbing onto the back of her neck pulling her forehead to rest against his as he plants his feet more- now thrusting up into her but still rolling his hips in time with her’s. He looks down and you couldn’t see where one person ended and the other began, but he did notice something- every time he thrust in a little bump formed above her pubic area- he really was in so deep you could see the head of his cock. That lit a new fire in him.

“Shit- Darlin, so tight you can see me up in your stomach- so fucking perfect.” Samantha whines, the only thing coming out of her mouth a high-pitched “Ah. Ah. Ah” in time with each of bob’s thrusts. She hurries her head into the space between his neck and shoulder and her hand's grip onto his shoulders as the knot at the base of her stomach tightens, her cunt clenches up and bob bites down on her shoulder “You're squeezing me so good baby- so good, you gonna cum for me? Yeah… yeah you are- fuck such a good girl princess” his voice is so low and gravelly it was all she needed as her nails dig into his skin scratching the skin of his back, the knot snaps and she yells out as her pussy contracts as much as it could stretched around him. He didn’t slow down- he did the opposite pushing her back onto her back grabbing onto the backs of Samantha's knees bending her almost in half and starts pounding into her core. This whole time Natasha’s hand trailed between her legs as she started to rub her clit again.

Not allowed time from the first climax Samantha hits her second orgasm, this time it felt different as she soaks his dick, pubic area, and upper thighs. The only sound was the wet slapping of skin on skin, Samantha’s squeals of overstimulation, and bob’s grunts as he reaches his climax pushing in as deep as he can as he cums, his body shuddering as he coats her insides filling her to the brim. He stills, not pulling out for a second letting his breathing calm down before finally pulling out and watching his cum start to leak out of cosmo’s hole. He wipes up what leaks out before pushing it back inside of her. Samantha squeals still coming down from the endorphins swimming in her brain.

Natasha scoots closer, placing soft kisses over Samantha's flushed skin, what she didn’t notice was that bob was still hard, how- god only knows he just gave both of them two mind-blowing orgasms each and he still wants to go. His hand runs up the back of Natasha’s thighs fingers running through her still soaked folds and she moans “Fuck bob” and lays down resting her head on cosmo’s stomach on her knees- basically presenting herself for him. A deep laugh rumbles from his chest as bob grips Natasha’s hips sliding into her in one stroke. He wasn’t going as slow, right from the gate he sets a powerful pace, hips snapping against hers. Natasha made eye contact with Samantha as bobby pounded into her. The fucked out expression on both of their faces just made it all the more hotter. Nat spreads Samantha's thighs once more looking at her abused pussy, all red and puffy and dripping with bob’s cum.

Bob watched as Natasha started licking a stripe up Samantha's core licking and sucking up all of her nectar and his cum that was spilling out of her hole. He moaned speeding up his thrusts as both women moan. The grip he has on nat’s hips is sure to cause bruising but they all were marked up, he was still sensitive from his last orgasm and he felt himself already start to get closer to the edge, he reaches around and starts playing with Natasha’s clit, her moans grow higher and higher pitch as she is pushed over the edge for the third time, this time she did something she had never done- she squirted just like cosmo had done earlier. Her hips moved on their own accord and bob wasn’t able to hold back once nat clenched up on him, he pushed in as deep as he could, pushing her further into the floor grunting as the rope of cum coated Natasha’s insides. Cosmo came for the third time watching the two of them come undone coating Natasha's face in her release.

The three of them lay there soaked in sweat panting on the floor as the sun started to rise over the horizon. They truly fucked all night long. After what seemed like forever bob gets up and with little issue picks both women up and walks through the small house to his bedroom laying them down and climbing in bed along with them. They easily curl up against each other pulling the blankets over their bodies and drifting off to sleep.

It was well into the late morning or early afternoon when they started to wake up, Cosmo was the first- head pounding and the rest of her body felt like she was ejected out of her jet. She looks around her surroundings and notices the other two people in bed with her- and their lack of clothes reminds her very quickly of the events of last night, causing a blush to form over her features. Luckily she can slip out of bed grabbing a shirt that is definitely bob’s and walks out into the rest of the house with the plan of making breakfast and some coffee for the other two, but before that she showers through bob’s medicine cabinet for some pain killers and leaves the bottle on the night table with a full glass of water.

Once the other two wake up making the same connections of the events of the night before, they both take the painkillers that cosmo had left out and walked out to the kitchen, following the smell of coffee and breakfast, no one mentions what happened because……

What happens at girl's night, stays at girl's night.

Two days later.

The daggers set up a last-minute beach day and dogfight football. It was nothing out of the ordinary, everyone running across the sand, taking breaks to sit and drink beer. Until about halfway through the third game cosmo got pushed into a wave by Coyote soaking the shirt she was wearing. The fabric now clinging to her body she pulls the sopping piece of fabric off of her tossing it to the side. Completely forgetting about the bruises, hickeys, and marks that covered her chest, waist, and hips. She didn’t even notice until the boys (sans Rooster and Bob) started making a commotion letting out wolf whistles and praises

“Aye- yo what do we got here” “Someone had a fun past few days” “YEA get it, Cosmo!”

Her face heated up a little but she just shrugged it off rolling her eyes from under her Roosters sunglasses “Hey hey- not my fault I’m getting laid and your not boys” she laughs and then everyone focuses back on the game. Yet if you were to have looked closely you would have seen sweet little ole bob go as red as a tomato the second he saw her take off the shirt….. and a certain morning bird clenches his jaw and fists- eyes trailing over the lustful marks then back to the glasses, his glasses sitting on her face. It took everything in him not to finally make a move on his best friend that he has been in love with for longer than he would like to admit. But he does know- there is no way he is gonna let someone else touch his Stardust-

#robert 'bob' floyd x reader #natasha trace x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x oc #natasha trace x oc #top gun maverick x oc #top gun x reader #top gun x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick smut #bob floyd smut #natasha trace smut #top gun smut

[vikintor]

Notes about my character design: confessions, how and why Githyanki influences my work, personal experiences, silly ideas, My games, and more I guess

If you don't follow me and just found this I have something to say first: Be welcome, hope this text doest sound pretentious, I'm Vikintor, I made some obscure games (Teocida, Tamashii and Estigma), they're available on Steam and consoles as well.

You might notice that my "original" character designs are being heavily influenced by the Githyanki these days, especially their "classic" designs from Fiend Folio to "Rise of the Githyanki" published in Polyhedron and "Knights of the lich-Queen" in Dungeon Magazine, and of course, mixed a little with what I call "modern" design (I also like how the Githzerai give me Jedi vibes, yes, Jedi from Star Wars). The less human it looks while maintaining some human proportions, the better. And that's why I love the old "classic" alienish designs the most.

Why D&D Gith's?

Confession time; I never really cared that much about Dungeons & Dragons before I discovered the Githyanki, and they're the only race in D&D that I actually care about, especially for the storytelling and roleplay possibilities based on their lore. As someone who favorite character designs ranges from D'vorah from Mortal Kombat, Undyne from Undertale, to Lilith from Diablo, liking the look of the classic Gith was easy for me, and boe they are rad.

Quick context on who they are (you can skip if you know them or don't care):

Githianky are a D&D race know as humanoid creatures (mostly gray, green and yellow skin toned) with a rigid militaristic background. Raised to serve their Lich-Queen and destined to die for her (and by her, but some don't know that part). They were slaves of an illithid empire in the past and after being led to freendom by Gith (A woman named Gith, there's no Gith races before her), their race was splited in two; The Githyanki believes they are the real children of Gith and the Githzerai believes the Githyanki still slaves, not from illithid but the queen. plus: Githianky live in cities build on the corpses of fallen deities (that's metal).

Most of the Githyanki are considered evil, as some go on raid campaigns to steal from another planes (they love precious stones and gold, and they can be seem as pirates, but instead of ships they ride red dragons thanks to a pact made with Tiamat). Their complexity creates a bunch of What-If scenarios that I'm interested in: like; did you know that religion is forbidden to the Githyanki (Only Lich-Queen Clerics are permitted), but many of them secretly worship other gods. And how crime and punishment works on their society (kinda don't works at all, so a lot of them are afraid to look for justice), and how Githyanki monks exists in their society but faces prejudice (Githaynki monks are often seem as Githzerai spies), And you have stories about the Gith rebels that believes the Githyanki and Githzerai can be unified as only "children of Gith", as the same time their leader is way too controvertial and self-centered, and how some of these rebels befriend humans (which is a taboo), or how their society hates every non-Githyanki but are polite and refined among their own kind, which is often confusing and complex as they are known for their aggressive propaganda among themselves and how they kill each other during their insane militaristic raising. They also often do parties, play and write songs and have fun, there's also half-Githyanki/half-dragons superwarriors created in a secret experiment led by the Lich-queen (those don't care about the Githyanki society and aren't friendly to them), and them you still have the Githzerai (neutral Gith monks that despise the Lich-Queen and have their own society and traditions) and the Githvy (rogue Gith's that aren't Githyanki or Githzeray, who often tries to live among other races).

Ahh?

Of course I don't know everything about them and maybe there is some misinterpretation on my part, some of the content was created over the years and unfortunately most of it was never published or translated into my idiom, so I have to translate it myself, but I'm not writing this to convince people to like them as much as I do. I'm sharing this to bring out what and how it inspired me.

So, what this have to do with me?

As someone who likes weird ambiguous characters and enjoys fantasizing with what-if scenarios; discovering that lore on D&D made me realize how much prejudice I had with D&D. If you say to me "This rpg race is totally evil or totally good" I can only answer: "Impossible. Individual characters are more complex than that, I want to explore the exceptions". If all are evil, I want some trying to discover what means to be good, and want some to fail miserable, and want some to learn something from that experience, if they're all serious, I want some to be silly and weird.

I'm far from a real writer (whatever that means), but I like fantasizing about atypical situations and writing about them, which is why I wrote neutral demon-like creatures for Tamashii and Teocida in the first place, even when I still lacked more maturity for that. I'm also interested in these exceptions in rpg lore and improving those aspects as I write about them, which is why D&D Githyanki inspired my current design.

But how it inspired me:

Just like many fantasy stories were created during sessions of tabletop RPG campaigns, I became interested in Gith-exclusive games thanks to discovering content like Fiend Folio and "Rise of the Githyanki" and "Knights of the Lich-Queen" (both Gith centred games focused on Gith players, with few exceptions), which is why I became way more obsessed with them. And damm, a videogame like BG3 having Githianky as a playable race is everything I hoped for (I'm not interested in BG4 if there's not a single playable Gith race. I just want to keep creating weird Gith girl characters and make them break things and form a band named Githgang), but I'm not here to talk about BG3, sorry.

So Gith's was my first inspiration to write my own RPG races with their own language, traditions, dogma, taboos, and designs. I think about how something like this could happen in the universe I've been working on since Tamashii. But I'm not going for something complex, but rather thinking about characters that I would create for my Gith campaigns could be another type of character if I create them in another position, another world with different laws, instead of just roleplaying as Githanky forever.

As I can't write Githyanki characters without it being some sort of fanfic (my fault for not going for something more common like wizards, orcs and gnomes), I still at least being inspired by them.

After reading a bunch to roleplay as Gith characters or just to fantasize about it, their personalities, and how they react to the world still something that is organically created while I'm assuming that character and playing around, this doesn't need to be bound to a specific lore. I'm being redundant at this point, but you get the idea, that's how the brazilian character Ozob was created in the 90's (He was a character created during a Cyberpunk tabletop RPG session, and then became an original character with books and merchandize in Brazil until CD Projekt Red got the rights to put him in the Cyberpunk 2077 for real)

Therefore, I can say that part of what may come in the future is the result of my experiences and inspirations with D&D mixed with all my other inspirations, such as H.R Giger, biomechanical horror, Screaming Mad George's style body horror, esoteric/exoteric references, industrial music and atmospheric, creepypasta, etc. It might be weird, or not, maybe a little silly or edgy as always, but I don't know what to do besides accepting the results, keep moving forward, and have fun in the process.

The first character as an Avatar:

"Astral of Latanael" still a working name for the first character I made inspired by Gith. The draft for her is: She is a Mhold'eze, a zombie-like servant bonded to her preceptor, a necromancer who serves as her mentor. Mhold'ezes inherit part of their master's powers and are often used as an extension of their master's will where they cannot be present, always receiving an important task, or mission as soon as they are born (like Feucirl and Pleroma of Teocida, except that Pleroma is not a necromancer). This is the first draft of the original character that I'm using as an avatar, but I do plan to work more on this silly lady and Latanael (her Necromancer) to include them in my game, or games, or more than that. It depends of what I decided.

Ok, just a quick look on how Astral looks right now, before I made more changes.

Congrats if you read until here, I'm surprised if you really read more than 1500 words of some weird dude talking about why silly D&D "pirates" inspired him to keep creating more silly weird angry girl characters.

#gamedev #indiegame #indiedev #video games #gamemaker #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #dungeons and dragons #lowpoly #3d #game design #character design #original character #oc #oc art #githzerai #githyanki

[pillow-anime-talk]

Hi! If it's not too much trouble, may I ask for prompt 38 with William Moriarty in Viking!AU? For some reason, I can easily imagine this very British gentleman taking on a role of viking tribe leader (who knows why ^^")... Thank you for accepting my previous request with William - I absolutely loved it! 💖💖💖

# tags: scenario; strangers/lovers; kinda romance; mostly angst; drama too; viking!au; slave!reader; inspired by vinland saga; mention of sexual harassment and death; bruises and blood; suggestive

includes: gender neutral reader ft. william james moriarty {mtp}

author’s note: thank you for another request, my precious anonnie! hope you will like it too :)

38. “You love flowers, right?” “Yes… I love flowers very much.”

Viking expeditions and their popularity among Scandinavian countries had their greatest apogee between the ninth and eleventh centuries of our era. At that time, specific royal families began to gain fame, as well as some names of the most murderous ascomanni around the globe. The Vikings and their trusted companions were warriors known for their strength, cunning, and animal instincts. Of course, the highest-ranking men were also characterized by above-average intelligence and knowledge, but definitely their prevailing features were bestiality, the desire to have large property and as many women as possible.

The leader of the most famous Viking clan in the extreme east of England – William – however, felt no urge to plunder or kidnap women for his own pleasures. He preferred talking to the city’s merchants, scientists and also bartenders, who by far had the longest tongues (and real alcohol). His name was respected even among great rulers, and business with him, though expensive, was by far the most valued and worth every coin.

Traveling by ship around European, Scandinavian and American countries was a kind of adventure for William, but above all also hard work – learning languages, cultures or even traditions of different peoples. From every place conquered or visited by him, the young leader learned as many lessons as he could; he learned the techniques of poisoning enemies, riding bisons weighing several tons or the technique of gluing shoes by himself. He learned about the religion of many minorities, but also boasted considerable interest from women and girls slightly younger than him. As a Viking, he saw many beautiful landscapes, tasted many delicious dishes and specialties, listened to folk music and gained indescribable amounts of gold, gems and jewelry.

However, there was the other side of the coin; he not only saw beautiful things, but also witnessed the death of people close to him, the cries of women and small children begging for mercy, he saw ships and cities burning, he himself administered justice to enemies and gave orders that a normal person would never even think of. He was at once an angel with a wonderful smile, but also a devil craving power and respect. He was disgusted with nobility and at the same time had as much money as the king.

Yet he has never personally raised a hand against a child, nor has he ever harmed a woman; he often spoke to them, showed them a way of escape, promised help when other clans raided defenseless villages. He also thanked for meals and killed those who forced women to perform sexual acts. Although he was a criminal in the eyes of men, women were always grateful to him and willingly helped him heal fresh wounds.

No wonder then that during the next expedition in a row, when he ended up in one of the minor cities and on the day of the slave trade, he almost killed one of the sellers who lined up five young girls – each of them had a dozen or so bruises, gray skin, tired eyes and dried tears on cheeks. The youngest of you was fourteen, the oldest almost thirty... And there was you: stood among them, wanting to die and never be born again. Even though your face was sleepless and your hands dirty from working in mud, there was still a little hope in your eyes. Barely perceptible and almost imperceptible.

You looked calm, and at the same time in your heart there was a huge fear that you were about to find yourself in even worse situation and next to an even worse man than your current owner.

Fortunately, that day the sky was a bit brighter than usual and had the color of myosotis.

“You love flowers, right?” William looked at you and your torn dress with the red poppy embroidered on the right breast pocket, then extended his hand towards you, which held a pale blue flower. A slight, if uncertain and tired smile appeared on your dry lips.

“Yes… I love flowers very much.” You said almost in a whisper, and the man nodded towards his subordinates.

Somewhere between the words that the blond Viking is taking all five girls and the warmth of the sheepskin coat draped over your shoulders, you heard your savior’s name and the announcement that you’d soon be exploring the coastal areas of France.

You were saved.

#—🎉 #quote prompts #prompts challenge #4k followers #4k special #prompt 38 #moriarty the patriot #moriarty the patriot scenarios #moriarty the patriot imagines #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty scenarios #yuukoku no moriarty imagines #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #mtp #mtp scenario #mtp imagine #mtp x reader #william james moriarty #william james moriarty scenarios #william james moriarty imagines #william james moriarty x reader

[squ1dd]

Hi guys! Since it won the poll here's my REAL first ever Pizza tower au! It's more of a fan project since they don't really look like their Pizza Tower counterparts but :3c

Let me introduce you to.........

Drum roll.....

...

..

.

PUREE PILLAR!!

I've waited so long to show this AU to you guys I'm so excited!!!!!

Puree Pillar goes along with the usual pizza tower lore, owner of a business gets threatened by a giant sentient piece of food that wants to blow up their building yada yada yada....

BUT‼️‼️

The main character ain't no ordinary peppino no siree

Instead, they're basically entirely different!! They look... Nothing alike probably.

Let me introduce you to the characters!!

•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•★•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•

Susie! (Peppino) : Susie is a not-so-young (he's old as shit) woman running a small beverage shop called Susie's Smoothies! (You will never guess what she sells. /j) Yeah, he has a smoking addiction she can't get rid of, but that doesn't stop her from kicking ass!!!!! (He is very depressed) AND on top of that!! She's a war veteran!! Crazy right!! She had a group of 3 other friends that had passed away during the war. Poor Susie can't catch a break... But on a lighter note, she rides a motorcycle! Woah!!

Next up we have..

Mia!! (Gustavo) : Mia is Susie's best friend and has been since they were wee little children! How adorable!! They've been with Susie through thick and thin, always helping each other out! (But Mia is not in fact, a war veteran like Susie.) She works with Susie and helps her run the shop. They care a lot about each other!! And her giant pet hedgehog Pebble!! :3c

(God this is getting long)

Berry! (The Noise) : Berry is a circus performer along with his girlfriend Drupe! Him and Susie are rivals, always getting into fights those two.. Berry is his stage name! What's his real name you say? I have no fucking clue

Drupe! (Noisette) : As stated before, Drupe is Berry's girlfriend! She runs her own little bakery somewhere in the pillar! (Or well, tower)

The Assailant. (The Vigilante) : He's a sentient glop of smoothie that anyone who dares to break the law must answer to! He's quite a fancy fella, but if you break a law.. Pray! Cause your ass MIGHT die!!! And he thinks he's a real human being! What a weirdo (/j)!!

DJ Apple! (Pepperman): DJ here is quite a cool guy! He makes sick beats that everyone enjoys! So much so they might break a hip from dancing too hard! Where did he get that chunk bit out of him? Why is his hand missing? ..... Who knows! But he still manages to make some good music!

Fake Susie! (Fake Peppino) : Whatever this thing is, it's creepy! How did it get in here! Why does she look so much like Susie? It's weird!! It's entirely made of smoothie, kinda like The Assilent! But why is she not as intelligent as him? Sometimes she can be found in vents! How the fuck did he get in there get him out

(I'm pretty sure you know what the purpose of the ingredients ((toppins)) are so I won't write about them)

Mr Trick! (Mr Stick) : Mr Trick here is a scammer!! Watch out!! He's very greedy, and would choose money over anything!

Nate! (Snick) : It's him!!

Orange Head... (Pizza Head) : He's the big bad of the pillar! The one who started it all! Boy I hate this guy! He knows... Strangely a lot about Susie... I wonder why!

Orange Face... (Pizza face) : He's a giant floating hunk of junk made by Orange Head! It's only that big so he can fit his fat ass inside!! Orange face chases Susie out of the levels once the timer reaches 0 so she can't get out! But Susie is usually too fast for him.

And last but not least...

Jerald! (Gerome) : He's the janitor/plumber of the pillar, the only one that has the key to special rooms!

GOD THAT WAS A LOT

anywaysss I hope you guys will enjoy this au as much as I do! Which is a lot!! This is basically my main au since I've been focusing on it a lot lately

But yeah!!! Holy shit!!! I can finally share this!!

#pizza tower au #puree pillar #puree pillar au #susie #mia #pebble #berry #drupe #DJ Apple #fake susie #the ingredients #orange head #orange face #jerald #nate #mr trick #my art #pizza tower #the assailant

[ystrike1]

Lady Isabella's Path To Happiness - By Dulcche (6/10)

She is armed with a husband strong enough to kill dragons, and an actual dragon. She is the most beautiful and tragic woman in the land, and her only flaw is being too skinny. Her husband's obsession with her spans over two lifetimes, and everyone is jealous of the man who holds the greatest beauty. If only this was actually good enough to explore that premise.

The art is low quality. The eyes look like stickers most of the time. Boo.

Moving on. Isabella was born to take on a curse. She was birthed by a surrogate mother, and she is expected to croak when she reaches adulthood.

Isabella Helsington grows a spine in two chapters. It's great. She realizes that nobody in her family cares about her, so she accepts a weirdly good marriage proposal. She's always known she was a curse sheild, but she thought her brother Igar cared about her. He doesn't. He thinks she's a pity prop he can use to look good. Isabella wants to die somewhere far away from her asshole siblings and parents.

The Duke of the north did not send the marriage proposal. His parents did. Memory loss bullshit ensues. Their son, Cleor, was deeply in love with Isabelle in a past life. Her tragic death seemed suspicious, and there's a time loop on this plot somewhere.

The youngest daughter of the northern Noverdic family also idolizes Isabella, because she's actually special!!! I'll explain later but the Noverdic's are all supernaturally strong. They become Isabella's guards.

Isabella's maid, Joanne, literally tries to murder her after she meets her husband. Joanne thinks the Duke is too good for her, and she should just die. Cleor has her murdered offscreen. You see...as soon as he saw Isabella he was obsessed. He doesn't know why. She's just so perfect. He loves killing for her, and his family agrees so whatever...

(yandere family?)

There are some sweet moments. Cleor tries to impress Isabella. She thinks she's going to die so she's distant. He gets obsessive about protecting her after the attempted murder. He starts carrying her everywhere because she is too precious to walk. His doting is mixed with unhinged ideas about her needing to be constantly guarded.

In their past life she was a happy bride, and her great secret power melted the frozen north. Her mere existence made it the most prosperous land in the country. This is ok because that means the Noverdic family has a real reason to worship her.

This is where I draw the line. Isabella is a dragon master. She wasn't cursed. The Helsington first borns kept dying because they didn't know they were dragon blessed. See, if you're a dragon master that's a cool thing. BUT if you don't find a dragon partner before adulthood you die. I was so excited when her identity as a blessed person was revealed. I wanted to see her learn to ride and use her dragon partner....and it's a fat mascot. No cool dragon. It also talks and kisses her ass like everybody else. The author dangled a dragon rider protagonist in my face, and they took it away.

Unforgivable!!!

Anyways Cleor is a real yandere though. He does like to spoil Isabella, but he enjoys killing for her even more. He also gets jealous of her pet fat mascot dragon, because he wants her to be fully reliant on him.

Nearly half the chapters are dedicated to Isabella's beauty. I'm not kidding. I like Cleors design, but alot of the panels with him have no detail. Also I really, really, really love the art on the original novel cover. Webtoon artists kinda have to move on from the flower stickers and the cute uwu aesthetic. I wish some of these authors would TRY to stand out. Cleor is an actual madman...do something with him??? Ugh.

Ugh.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #Lady Isabella's Path To Happiness

[tjodity]

I don't think it's necessarily. incorrect. to say that the abuses ctommy suffers are typically portrayed as happening to women as misogynistic abuse in misogynistic structures and that similar things happen to women in real life frequently. But I think using that as the basis for transfem headcanon is not great because it's saying that he is a woman because he goes through woman abuse. and i feel like you kinda need to put in some grease for that part too because like. A guy can be abused in these ways too. Firstly in the way that a trans guy or someone with a similar identity could be abused and misgendered by the bigots around them in the way those bigots might misogynistically abuse women but that does not mean that he should become more associated with femininity or womanhood or whatever. Secondly in the way that the abuses Tommy goes through, abuse from an older brother/guardian he's ride or die with who is fundamentally not looking out for either or their wellbeing, and abuse from a powerful authority figure who isolates him, are not abuses limited to or strictly indicating of someone being a girl.

I don't know if I'm explaining myself well. I don't like the idea of suffering being the core base of womanhood/femininity. I don't like the idea of surviving abuse somehow tying you more to womanhood and femininity

#tw abuse #tw transandrophobia #tw transphobia #tw transmysoginy #wtf thats not how its spelled #tw transmisogyny #howdywrites #im not tagging any characters #this was more to get my thoughts orderly

[dislifeismid]

li ling (or maybe a character you think it would be into that or who suits it better) with a s/o with flat chest, pretty please? :')

i horrendously envy big breasts because they look more attractive (to me, at least), but i would love for someone to appreciate my flatness 🥲

As a member of the big tiddy club; our backs are crying. It's not worth it 🥲 but, i will say, you usually envy what you don't have. Always. Everyone ik who has big tibbies want smoll tibbies, everyone i know with smoll tibbies want big tibbies. We're just always unfair to ourselves 😞

Male espers w a flatchested s/o (afab,?)

Li ling

It's ok babe he has enough to share

How is it fair that he would need a bra as a man

Doesn't really understand why you'd be self conscious??? You're??? Perfect???

I'll say this til i die Li ling is everyone's biggest supporter and cheerleader.

If you want to get surgery for breast augmentation or something he'l make zero rude comments about it "if that's what ya wanna do babe!! 💕💕"

Not like he wouldn't go "awww noooo ur perfect the way u areeee", but, if you wanna do something, do it? It's YOUR body, not his, yknow?!

But like yeah he thinks you're perfect either way!!

Narmer

Will make you feel worshipped anyway

So so so so loving regardless of your chest size

Will treat you no different.

Will hush you and shower you with loving words in that soothing loving voice of his 🙄💕

Leon

He likes smaller tibbies anyway.

Larger breasts he just zones out like "damn. I envy to be as strong as this woman's back."

He also finds super large ones to look kinda fake. Even when they are real.

Rolls his eyes at Alexa probably

Thinks smaller chests are cute. Thinks you're very cute. Would hold you gently.

David

He knows plenty countries in which the beauty standard is smaller breasts

He knows how to dress to compliment smaller breasts

He just KNOWS how to get your confidence up regardless

Will rip your phone outta your hands sometimes with a "quit lookin at all those photoshopped-24-hours-in-makeup girls it's rottin your brain!"

Yeah yeah, 'you know', everyone does but it still affects wether you want it to or no 😞

Odo

Just gives me excuses to write for him

He's familiar with the subject. What with having 6 sisters all with varying breast sizes, all of them envying the others at some point and obviously complaining to him about it. (Being the only parent figure left in this darn house)

He won't try to dress you in ways to compliment you, he'l work extra hard to make sure you know you're still extremely sexy and amazing with no need for clothes enhancing your figure.

Odo's entire life has been dedicated to making people live happier with themselves, you are not leaving his domain until you are so confident in your body ok-

So so so so so so so so SO loving and gentle and 🙄🙄

It's like, he'l gaslight you.. into loving yourself. Like it's definitely brainwashing-looking but he is literally just doing nothing wrong-

He looks shady doing anything he didn't choose to be this way tho ok lol

Tang xuan

BRUHV WDYM HE LOVES YOU SM

HE THINKS YOU'RE SO HOT

TANG XUAN LIKES SMOLL TIBBIES WOMEN NAH IMM SORRY I DONT MAKE THE RULES I ENFORCE THEM.

HE THINKS SMOLL TIDDIES ARE PRETTIER.

Like he still enjoys mommy milkers but that's just his preference he likes small to average booba

Loves to go shopping with you and get like matching stuff or to dress you up he KNOWS what complimente your body shape

Nah if you lack confidence in your chest this. This. HE is your ride or die!!!

Tang yun

Mfo how is your ass thiccer than your FEMALE BODIED S/O

I don't think he just pays any attention to that. He'l use your chest as a pillow regardless. Okay you might have no tiddies but like those are still HIS tiddies???! 🤨🤨

Probably least likely to even care about how curvy his s/o is. He barely pays attention to his own curves you think he's gonna notice others's????

He doesn't really understand your insecurities if you have them. He's pretty bad at cheering people up too so erm... yeah

#tang yun x reader #tang xuan x reader #odo inari x reader #david jason x reader #leon vali x reader #narmer ra x reader #li ling x reader