#bish for short

[commissionsdarian]

Uh. Hey.

Did you have any name ideas for the cat you got me?

- 🌹

Was the others' suggestion of dumpster not good enough? 😔

[eldstunga]

A dear friend bought me the saucy Moira skin/BPass for OW so quickly doodled them this in return. Thanking people isn't really So'lek's style though so my friend got the short (155 cm) end of the stick if you ask me but I thought I'd post it anyway

[edenslostwallflower]

listening to the audios describing arrakis to paul. where they have barrel cactus, creosote, and saguaro. me, living in lower arizona: ... ah... i am on arrakis. checks out.

[arcielee]

My Tumblr kindred spirits

You asked me about my lucid Aegon dream story. 

Me: 

Also me, late at night because my sleep schedule is like a raccoon: 

[dvouhr]

everytime i try to play mk1 i keep trying to play it like it's dead or alive

the combat system could nooooooot be more different

[fiercerebekah]

❝Hello, dear sister, REMEMBER me? It has been a few years since we last saw each other.❞

@evolvingheartisms

               Rebekah was back in New Orleans for a jazz festival. One last hoorah to end her three-year tour around the world. During her travels she'd had time to reminisce over the many different lives she'd led over the centuries, and what she'd discovered was that there was something truly SPECIAL about this city. It had a way of evoking feelings of nostalgia that that were so much more intense than anything she'd felt in all the other places she'd called home. Perhaps thats why returning was so difficult.

Naturally, she was getting good and liquored up on her balcony overlooking the festivities on bourbon street, enjoying the jazz and feeling a bit sorry for herself, when she was interrupted. Surely this lurker was the luckiest man in the French Quarter, as Rebekah didn't snap his neck on sight for disrupting her. In fact, she found that his presence stirred up more of that SENTIMENTAL LONGING she'd been hanging onto.

DAMN HER SOFT HEART for having hope in the moment, however fleeting or daft it might have been. There was just something so FAMILIAR in the stranger's eyes, that she allowed herself to indulge in the fantasy she was creating for herself, ❛ Elijah? ❜ She said it so softly, unsure if she wanted his answer.

[gregmarriage]

We can watch something to wake us both up, duel-reanimation style. I loveeee horror movies too, they're my favorite genre and I could talk about them forever and ever. But you should head to sleep if you're sleep-deprived, take care of yourself first <3

-🧁

i’m gonna go to bed soon, don’t worry <3 i just wanna talk for a little longer <3

[cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu]

I've recently gotten into an old hobby of mine that I didn't do much of which was scrapbooking, it feels nice starting again...but now I want so many pretty papers and stickers and I'm not sure if that's a good thing lol

[thiccherry]

i think im getting a bit old for this

[almostempty]

Cargo

(joel x f!reader, din x f!reader, frankie x f!reader) | wc: 4.9k | other fics | Ao3

summary: smuggler!joel finds you and brings you to his partner in crime, with a side of gratuitous smut and a special guest along the way (full spoiler summary under the warnings/tags) 

note: this is for my lovely @auterdelabre, and it was inspired by the line you wrote when i joked about joel using “cargo” as a pet name (and a couple other things i had to mix in there) 

extra note: i hope this can bring a lil distraction in light of the heavy reality of today, fuck fascists – just don’t fuck them

warnings/tags: mdni explicit, smut, smuggler!joel, dubcon, oral, piv, degradation, ‘whore’ and one (1) ‘slut’, truly pwp - like the plot is just p, pls let me know if i missed anything important, weds warnings: doin’ it/fillin’ it up unprotected with no consequences bc it’s fiction and in the words of Wu-Tang Clan’s Ol’ Dirty Bastard in Shimmy Shimmy Ya - Ooooh, Baby, I like it raw; f!reader is able-bodied–this time this bish has hair that joel can worm his fingers into, no y/n, likely many mistakes bc i yam who i yam 

FULL SPOILER SUMMARY: crackfic crossover: star wars smuggler!joel finds you and y’all fuck, he brings you to his partner dark!din and y’all fuck, but surprise! smuggler!joel and dark!din were your co-stars for your independent porn. your bf, Frankie (who played the Mandalorian), is just so turned on watching you edit the video that…you guessed it! y’all fuck) 

The clear water rushes downstream, rippling around your legs as you step toward the bank and the soft grass. The sunlight filtering through the forest canopy makes the surface of the stream sparkle like glitter. But, you. You are the star of the scene. 

You glow like you’re a creature drawn from the sun and the soil, from the woods and the water. Crystal-clear droplets of water race along your skin, rolling over your curves and dripping back into the current to flow down, down, down to another body of water. 

You appear meditative, attuned to nature's tranquility, disregarding the universe's relentlessly unjust chaos. The ugliness and the violence. The balance. The dark. 

Joel lurks in the trees, waiting to make his presence known. Holding out for an opportunity to strike. He creeps out of the treeline with deft precision, like a shadow. You’re only partially dressed, still bent over your bag, searching for something when he gets close.  

“Don’t think you’ll need to worry about that anymore.” 

He’s not loud, but his gruff voice still disturbs the serenity. A jarring interruption to the leaves rustling in the breeze and the birdsongs echoing above. You take one long breath before you look him in the eye. Dropping your bag, you raise your hands in surrender. 

You have nothing. No weapons, no defense, no chance of getting far if he’s tracked you down already. “How did you find me?” You square your shoulders, standing your ground despite your disadvantaged position. 

“It’s my job,” he replies simply. 

He circles around you slowly, appraising you, eyes roaming over your exposed skin. Your tight shorts and thin undershirt don’t leave much for him to imagine, but you refuse to shrink or hide. You assess him yourself, and realization spreads across your face. You mutter his name aloud. Joel. 

He pauses just behind you and hooks a finger under the thin strap along your shoulder, teasing down the skin before snapping it like a rubber band. You stifle a wince. Just because he has you alone and barely dressed in the wilderness doesn’t mean you intend to give easily. You keep your chin raised in a proudly defiant stance. 

Joel chuckles dangerously at you, stepping closer. He rests his large palms atop your shoulders. It would be a sweet portrait of the two of you if it weren’t for the reality of the circumstance. Instead, his body is oppressive, so broad compared to you that it’s like you’re caged in, locked in a gravitational pull towards him, despite being in the open air. 

Your distaste for his presence has your body rigid and tense. You’re holding your breath as he leers at your body over your shoulder. His fingers dig into the flesh over the ridge of your clavicle like the claws of a predator ready to fly you away or tear you apart. 

“Are you going to come along willingly now?” he asks. The bass of his voice sends a shiver down your spine despite his furnace of a chest radiating into your back. The question hangs ominously between you. The or left unsaid. 

You swallow slowly, muttering an agreement and turning so you’re face to face. Your eyes dart across his features, and it’s strangely intimate. Something heavy in the closeness of your mouths, the shared breaths you take. His humanity is so apparent. You could reach out to trace every line of his face, but his stoic expression morphs into something sinister.

“That’s too bad,” he tuts, disappointed, “I was hoping you’d put up a fight.” 

You scowl, shifting your weight to lean away from him. He laughs harshly at your response. It’s a grating, barking sound, baring his teeth. 

You’re still thinking about what he was hoping for as he binds your wrists together, but he’s not revealing anything else. He grabs your upper arm and begins leading you toward the dense trees. You stumble, adjusting to his pace and trying to find your stride. 

“Where are you taking me?” you complain, trying to jerk your arm out of his grip, but he’s latched on tight. He’s unfazed by your attempt to break away from him as if it’s a natural part of his day-to-day to wrestle with an unwilling companion. 

It’s an exertion to keep up with him; he moves with purpose and little regard for you. Unaware of the small branches and shoots of new growth in the forest whip at your face, arms, and ankles. Uncaring that they obstruct your vision as you let him lead. 

You take his strength, size, and foul-tempered look apparent from his profile. You follow half a step behind, visibly less enthused about his single-minded pursuit. 

“Not far.” He’s blunt. Unhelpful. Answering you without a glance in your direction. 

“What do you want with me?”

“That’s not my decision,” he shrugs as if he isn’t talking about what happens to your life. Not wasting a word to ease your panic. 

“Who sent you?” Fear cracks through your voice. Ugly and raw. 

“Don’t know.” 

He’s so short with you. Brutish and rushed. Trudging along indifferent to your world crashing down. 

“You don’t know?” There’s an edge to your tone, frustration apparent. Joel shoots you a scathing look. He has a handsome face, but his dark eyes show no kindness. 

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” He turns away, looking forward as you make your way along. 

He moves confidently, like a force of nature. Twigs snap under his boots as he creates his path without regard for the destruction. 

“Then what’s in it for you? Why not just let me go?” You press sulkily. 

“I get paid for delivering you, not making decisions, sweet thing.” 

His response is gross and detached. Sweet thing. The pet name drips with sarcasm. You’re just an object. You scoff at him. 

“You’re despicable,” you cut under your breath as you weave through the underbrush. Disgust warps your features as you make your way along.

“Watch it,” Joel snaps. A low tolerance threshold. Fitting for a surly smuggler. 

“It’s true,” you snap right back. He doesn’t take it lightly, stopping and yanking you around roughly so you’re facing him again. 

“You’re heartless,” you jab, “scum. You don’t care about anything but your own profit.” 

Fed up, he backs you into the nearest tree. The bark digs into your shoulder blades. His hand grips your throat menacingly. His face is so close to yours. The deep line between his brows, the depth of his dark eyes, and his plush lower lips are all you can see. 

“Keep it up,” he goads. His fingers are merely a threat, resting along your arteries. Tempting you to talk back. “We both know you aren’t innocent,” he adds. 

You snarl at that, arguing that he doesn’t know the first thing about you, but he only grins darkly. 

Joel enjoys the way you detest him. He also enjoys the sight of you pinned under his hand. The way it only takes one to have you helplessly trapped. You’re still muttering insults at him, but he’s ignoring your words. He’s too interested in the arch in your spine tilting you towards him. The rising and falling as your breath is shallow and quick. 

Your thin top is still damp from your dip in the water, and from his point of view, it’s a scene that deserves to be photographed. You seem so delicate in contrast to him. His wide palm covering your throat, his vascular forearm so masculine against your supple skin. You look at him through your lashes, your eyes narrow and scornful, but his eyes trail down as your voice trails off. 

Joel has a perfect view of your hard nipples under the thin material of your shirt. The fabric clings to you like you’re in a wet t-shirt contest, and the longer he stares, the more he starts to lose his sense of urgency in taking you anywhere.

“What?” you interrupt his ogling, forcing your features into a disapproving glower to overcompensate for the breathlessness. 

He’s amused by your contempt and disobedience. He can tell there’s a struggle forming beneath the surface. The twitch between your brows where they threaten to saddle in pleasure if he applies the right pressure. The lust flickering behind your eyes. The disdain tugging at the corners of your frown only makes his blood run hotter. 

“You think you’re better than me,” His voice drops, sinfully low. You stare blankly, not arguing. “You think you’re special,” he continues cruelly. 

“You aren’t.” His fingers squeeze along just the sides of your neck; playing god with you, he restricts the blood pumping through your arteries. “No, sweet thing, you’re just another runaway whore with a bad attitude. That sure as hell doesn’t make you special.”

“I’m not a whore.” You spit his words back in his face. 

“No?” He mocks, tilting his head and dragging his eyes over your frame. His lecherous gaze highlights your compromising position. You’re on display for him, at his mercy, alone. It all comes into focus as your throat runs dry. “Could’ve fooled me.” He lifts the pressure off your neck, and the blood rushes to your head. 

Your gasp switches into a tight frown. His cocky smirk only widens. 

“Argue all you want, but your body doesn’t lie,” he coos arrogantly. 

“Can feel your pulse beating faster,” his fingers massage deliberately at your neck. You steel your breathing, eyes searching for something on his face to focus on. Something to ground you. But he leans in close, his breath hot along your ear. “So desperate,” he inhales deeply like he’s cataloging your scent, “just for me?” 

His other hand traces the angle of your jaw. 

“Maybe that’s just a human response to being pinned to a tree in the middle of nowhere by a smuggler,” you hiss. 

“Maybe.” He releases you, and you stagger forward at the sudden loss of support. Losing your balance and unable to steady yourself with your hands bound, you’re toppling forward to your knees as Joel half catches you—stopping you from landing with your face in the dirt. 

He shakes his head at you in disbelief. Every time you move, you pose just to tempt him. Here you are on your knees, glowing in the soft light as you tilt your face up at him. The fear that flitters over your face twists into something else. Something that makes you both pause. 

Joel moves first, resting a hand on your cheek. Reflexively, your lips part, and he can’t stop slipping his thumb into your mouth. You try to recalibrate, reversing the involuntary responses, but he’s already seen them. The way your breath hitched and the way your eyes darkened. 

He raises a brow slightly, entertained by how easy it is to read the signs. “It’s too late to hide it.” He pulls his thumb back, dragging it slowly over your bottom lip and down to your chin, leaving a trail of saliva that catches the light and glistens. “You think I can’t see how bad you want it?” 

You shake your head lightly in defiance, murmuring that he’s wrong and dropping your gaze. You’re sat at eye level with his belt and his one hand with the thumb hooked on a belt loop. You study every ridge of his hand, the scars along his knuckles, the sun-tanned brown skin. 

The bulge highlighted by his fitted jeans catches your attention, and you look back up to meet his eyes.  

Joel slips his hand past your face, fingers weaving into your hair, cupping the back of your head. He doesn’t add much pressure, and you don’t have to lean far to rest your cheek along the worn denim on his upper thigh. 

“Yeah,” he growls above you, “take it out.” 

You move hurriedly, dissolving your denial. It’s easy work to unbuckle his belt and pop open the button of his jeans, even with your wrists bound. You wet your lips unconsciously as you tug the band of his boxers down until his cock springs free. Only half-hard, it hangs imposing and proud. So close to your face, you can see the tiniest twitch as he responds to your warm breath fanning over his skin. 

“Get to it,” he orders. 

You blink up at him, resistance fading on the tip of your tongue. “Or get up so we can get a move on; doesn’t matter to me.” he challenges. You curl your fingers around the base of his shaft. It’s smooth and hot under your fingertips. Experimentally, you run your tongue along the underside. His fingers tighten their grip in your hair. 

You open wide, laying your tongue out flat, and he guides you. Joel’s eyes are glued to your mouth as he slides his cock past your lips. You stare back, studying every expression that crosses his face. His hard eyes don’t soften, but you could swear his blinking slows. The hint of a snarl deepens as he picks up the pace. 

Using you. Fucking your wet mouth until he’s pressing into the back of your throat, seeking more. 

Your eyes tear up, but he doesn’t stop, and you don’t resist. 

You quickly acclimate, working in rhythm, breathing, taking it all. When your eyelids flutter shut and a moan buzzes in your throat, Joel laughs darkly. “If you aren’t a whore,” he pauses to make a throaty noise that spears right to your core, “why do you take my cock down your throat just like one?” 

You choke at his assertion, and he pulls out of your mouth, leaving you gasping for air. 

“Not a very good one, I guess,” he says flatly, yet with a particularly pleased expression still faintly etched in the lines of his face. You wipe the spit coating your chin onto the back of your hands. 

He doesn’t reach for you again; instead, he takes his cock in his own hand. Impatient. Slick with your saliva, he strokes himself lewdly, grunting with pleasure as he flicks his wrist. 

“You’re deranged,” you mutter, voice hoarse. 

He doesn’t like that. He moves without a word, shoving you forward onto your elbows and knees. He holds you down against the soft grass with one hand as the other crudely pulls your shorts down. He runs his palm along the curve of your spine, over the contour of your ass. Both hands grip the back of your knees, readjusting you to his liking. 

Then he takes his time. 

Kneading your ass and thighs, landing one firm smack on that has you jolting forward, cheek pressing flat into the grass. The sharp sensation disorients you and leaves you sucking in air. 

Joel is undisturbed by your reactions. He takes both of his thumbs to spread you open wider, revealing the glossy sheen of your core. Your cunt drips, slick and swollen for him. 

“You think I’m so despicable,” his gravelly voice makes your mind fuzzy, “how come you’re so fuckin’ wet for me?” 

You can only manage to whine into the ground, pushing back towards him. “You don’t move,” he says harshly, one wide palm gripping your hip to hold you still. When the blunt head of his cock glides along your seam, you let out a broken moan. His fingers dig into your soft flesh in warning. 

He pauses, with his tip resting at the core of your throbbing pussy, to marvel at the visual before sinking into you. You gasp at the overwhelming sensation of being filled so completely. You don’t have time to adjust before he’s pulling back and slamming into you again. He drags against every nerve inside of you, intensifying every motion. 

Joel isn’t gentle. He holds you firmly and uses your body, fucking into you with rough thrusts that make your thighs tremble. “Take it,” he grunts, pounding into you deeply until his hips meet your bare thighs. 

It’s all wet noises, heaving breathing, and skin slapping against skin. He watches the plush curves of your ass ripple as he drives into you harder and faster. The force of his movement pulls sharp, ragged cries from you as he fucks you so hard it pushes the air out of your lungs. 

“This is all you get.” Joel groans behind you, curling over you with his broad frame. Your bodies are sweaty where your naked skin slips against each other, and you writhe against him, mouth hanging open and eyes rolling back as he fucks deeply into you. 

“You’re nothing to me,” he snarls, punctuated with his hips snapping into you brutally. “Just fuckin’ cargo.” 

“Shit,” he mutters, hips stuttering as you whimper. “You like that. Can feel you clenching around me,” he keeps talking. You’re mindless beneath him. A winded, drooling mess. “Ain’t even worth the hassle to deliver. Better use taking my cock,” he grunts, hips canting more erratically until he stills, pulsing inside of you with a throaty groan. 

You’re boneless, propped up on shaky knees as he pulls out and watches his come leak out of you for a moment. Then he’s crassly yanking your shorts up and ordering you to stand. You’re wobbly when you get back to your feet, and he huffs at you agitatedly. “Figure out how to walk, or I’ll drag your ass the rest of the way.” 

You can’t say how long it takes before you reach your destination. Everything was a blur as you clumsily trotted along, outpaced by Joel’s long stride. You’re breathing loudly through your mouth, a sheen of sweat between your shoulder blades and on your chest. Joel, apparently well-conditioned for the cardio, is frustratingly collected. He holds you tightly as he opens the door and pushes you inside. 

He jerks you towards a makeshift seat on a crate and raps a fist against the wall behind you. You can hear heavy footsteps. Joel ignores you as you try to read his expression. In seconds, the fully armored Mandalorian enters the room. 

He moves swiftly, barely glancing in your direction as Joel meets him on the far side of the room. 

“You were delayed,” the Mandalorian remarks in his modulated voice, his tone unrevealing. Joel steps in closer, muttering in a hushed tone that you can’t pick up. Something makes the Mandalorian laugh abrasively. His voice cracks through the air, fraught with a hazardous edge. 

You sit still, chest tight, as the helmet swivels towards you. Expressionless metal, he gives nothing away. Harsh lights beat down on your damp skin, making it hard to stay still. 

Joel is menacing, but this guy is impossible to read. The Mandalorian stalks towards you like a predator. 

Joel leaves the room, presumably off to shower, pulling his shirt over his head as he walks away. 

“Let’s see then,” the Mandalorian commands as he approaches. 

“See what?”

He pulls you to your feet, a gloved hand jerking your head side to side as he examines you. 

He steps forward, and you back away in synchronized steps until your heel hits something. The Mandalorian has you trapped between the cold wall and his cold metal armor. 

He removes the cuffs that bind your hands, tossing them aside, drawing a confused look from you. Instead, with one hand, he pins both your wrists above your head, causing your legs to spread instinctively. You squeeze your eyes shut as if you can control yourself without looking. 

“He said you’re not worth the fuel to return.” The Mandalorian gestures toward the direction Joel disappeared in with just a subtle tilt of his head. “That you’re a distraction and a whore.” 

“Then let me go.” 

“No.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t say more. He watches you. He is still and statuesque, whereas you’re so human. In the thick air, your breathing sounds too loud. Your heart beats too violently. Your limbs tremble too weakly. You give away so much, just with your body, your face, your eyes. 

“What do you want with me?” 

“I ask the questions,” he negates coolly. 

He squeezes your jaw tightly, “Is it your mouth?” His fingers squish the insides of your cheeks against your teeth. 

“No…it can’t be this needy cunt, hmm?” 

You’re shuddering, soft, and pliant. Warm, flesh and blood. You can’t form a response for him, even when he releases your jaw. Your gape at him with wide eyes and wet lips. 

Then, unceremoniously, he’s shoving his hand into your leggings. Wedging his thick fingers between your slippery, swollen folds. He growls like an animal beneath the helmet.

“You’re soaked,” he says. “Getting fucked full of Joel’s cock wasn’t enough?” He pulls his hand out, letting the band of your leggings snap against your belly. You stare back. Your body trembles lightly, arms straining in his grip. 

“Answer me,” he orders quietly. 

It’s soft. Your throat is still hoarse. “No.” 

Then he’s groping at you with an intensity that makes you writhe against the cool steel wall. 

He pinches at your strained nipples, rolling them between his fingers and making you bite your own lip to distract from the twisted pain and pleasure he’s unleashing on you. You can’t keep back all the noises, though, and he pauses when you moan and arch into his hand. 

“You’re not a whore,” he decides and he wedges his thigh between your legs. You roll along the ridged plate of armor, needily grinding against him. 

Without warning, the Mandalorian tears your top off of your body like a starved animal. Primal and desperate, but with precision. A tremor runs through you at the exposure and ferocity, making you gasp. 

“No. You like this too much to be whore.” He drops your hands and they fly to his shoulders. You wrap your legs around his waist and he carries you across the room dropping you onto the bed. 

He pulls your leggings down, tossing them to the floor. You’re breathing so heavily, anticipating his next move. He pulls his cock out of his pants and you can’t take your eyes off of it. The only part of him exposed aside from his hand. The only glimpse of the true man beneath the metal. 

He taps his drooling head on your clit and you make a hungry sound, spreading your legs wide to make room for him. With a firm grip, he guides himself through your throbbing folds and into your hot, wet cunt. 

You groan as he meets the end of you. Your walls flutter around him as he splits you open, and then he starts to rock in and out and you keen. “Shut up,” he growls and covers your mouth with his palm. 

He saws into you relentlessly and you choke down your cries of pleasure. “Listen to how wet you are,” he mutters. “Such a filthy slut.” Your body jolts with every thrust, breasts bouncing and legs shaking as he keeps your mouth covered. 

“You think she can take us both?” 

You strain under the Mandalorian’s hand trying to turn your head and Joel moves in closer. 

“She’s just cargo,” Joel muses darkly, “she’ll take what we give.” 

…….

You pause the video on your laptop, freezing the scene just as it cuts back to your reaction to Joel. The fucked out smile in your eyes apparent, even with your mouth covered. 

You whip your head over to look at your boyfriend lounging next to you on the sofa. Your brow is furrowed critically, and he can see the wheels turning in your mind. His eyes, though, are clouded with lust. 

“Would’ve been better if we could’ve made a set that looked like the Razor Crest,” you grumble. You chew on your bottom lip as you consider the rest of your critique. 

“Do you think I should’ve kept in more of the dialogue between you and Joel? And the continuity with your gloves—do you really think it’s not that noticeable?” 

“Baby,” Frankie mutters in his thick, husky voice. “I don’t think anyone is worried about the plot or the fucking gloves.” 

You sigh deeply at that, returning to your video editing software with irritation. “You’re just saying that because you aren’t worried about those things,” you admonish him, continuing with your work. 

You play another clip of the scene that the two of you shot. Hearing your moaning and whimpering for him through the laptop speakers drives him fucking crazy. He’s pretty sure he could wear a banana suit and people would still happily pay to watch you get railed by him. 

“I’m not just saying that,” he argues, deciding to hold back on the banana comment. 

“Come here. It’s late, take a break.” He can practically hear your eyes roll as you ignore him and continue poring over details that only you would notice. He doesn’t have much patience left, already desperately turned on both from the video you made and from how sexy you look next to him. So focused. In your element. 

He lowers his voice into that rumbly, bassy register that he knows you can’t resist. “Are you going to make me repeat myself?” Your head swivels, and he gives you a dark glare with a gleam in his eye. He can see the feisty remark swirling on the tip of your tongue. “Come here,” he orders. 

You close the laptop, pushing it towards the middle of the coffee table. “Are you going to punish me?” you murmur, crawling onto his lap slowly. “I can get the helmet back out,” you joke with a playful smirk before you curl into him, pressing soft kisses along his warm neck. 

“Fuck,” he huffs, “I should punish you.” He grabs your hips, guiding you closer to where he wants you. You gasp at the same time as he groans when your core rubs against the long ridge of his erection. “You feel that?” he growls lowly. The friction and heat between you radiates up his spine and down to his toes. “You feel how hard you make me?” he asks. 

“Yes.” You grind against him. He feels huge through his soft sweats. You roll your hips, savoring the pressure of his hard cock teasing you. It sends sparks from your cunt to your nipples, lighting up your nerves. He slips one hand under the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing–his t-shirt– to palm your tits and pinch at your nipples as if he could read your mind or, rather, your body. 

“That’s how hard every jerkoff that watches us is gonna be.” 

His statement makes you giggle softly against his neck. “Yeah?” you ask breathily. 

“Yeah,” he confirms before capturing your lips with a hungry kiss that makes you moan into his mouth. You melt into each other on the sofa. Tongues sliding against each other, hips rocking against each other, and hearts beating against each other through your ribcages. 

He cradles you in his arms as he shifts. Releasing you once you’re flat beneath him on the sofa, “They’ll never know what it’s like to feel your sweet cunt come around their cock, though.” He says as he lifts your legs, sliding off your soaked panties before spreading you open. 

You can only hum in agreement, entranced by the sight of him pushing down his sweatpants. He’s lost in you. The desire in your eyes and the arousal shining on the folds of your core. You wrap your legs around him, hitching one knee up high to give him deeper access. 

“Please,” you groan. He teases you with the wide head of his cock, nudging at your clit as he coats himself in the fresh wave of slick flooding around him. 

“Please, what?” 

“Please, fuck me. Now.” 

A warm puff of air comes out of his nose. Amused with your impatience. But when he starts to feed himself into you slowly, it’s no longer funny. He’s possessed by the same urgency. Gripped by the plush heat of your cunt as you stretch around him. When he’s fully seated, hips flush to your pelvis, his cock throbs inside of you, and you dig your fingernails into the musculature of his shoulders. Silently demanding more, so he moves. 

He fucks into you with a fervor made of possession and pride. Filling you so deeply that it’s like he’s connected to your soul, slotted perfectly into the heart of your cunt. Every ridge of him designed to caress every nerve inside of you. But beyond fitting together physically, he knows exactly what you want. 

He snaps his hips harder. Faster. With a force that makes your eyelids heavy and your head bob limply as he drives into you with such strength that it makes you mindless with pleasure. He gives and gives. And you take and take. You cry out his name when he finds the perfect angle to launch you into a euphoric orgasm. It’s not long before he’s coming, too, stuffing you full and deep as your walls constrict and contract around him. 

Time feels fuzzy as you lay together. Sticky but satisfied. His arm and leg thrown over you weigh heavily as he relaxes. He could drift off like this, and he’s about to say so when he catches that look on your face. You just figured something out. 

“What are you plotting?” he asks in a sleepy voice. 

“I’ve got an idea for our next video.” 

“Yeah?”

“Do you still have those zip ties?” 

pls let me know if enjoyed or hated any of it <3

Dividers by @cyberangel-graphics

ty: to @gothcsz for reminding me that pwp is pwp when i spent days getting hung up on some unnecessary details, and to @magneticecstasy for an idea that didn’t make it in, but will not leave my brain now 

gen tags for some babes: 

@lovely-vamp-princess

@gothcsz

@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40

@ivoryandflame

@magneticecstasy

[schoenpepper]

And If You Slipped Through My Fingers

Intro: Emotional constipation turns to emotional diarrhea.

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, Ace being a dickwad, not proofread so read at your own risk, open ending ig, short af, bad words

A/N: Okaaay and that's the second request done. Struggling for ideas about that Jamil songfic might change the song idk. Whoever asked for this I hope you like it.

Masterlist

Feelings are such complicated matters.

He couldn't make sense of them at all.

Sure there was nothing but a sprinkling of superiority complex when he first met you (powerless, magicless little human that you are), but then that chandelier thing happened and it all went rolling (downhill or uphill, he still hasn't decided). Ace was nothing if not flexible, though. He went the ways the waves did when it came to you, even though you seemed to have just the perfect knack for getting into trouble. But lately...you've been different.

His super very platonic bond with you is shifting in your hands, all the lines blurred together and tied into a braid by your deft fingers. Suddenly, you're a little more needy. You're hanging off Ace like a feral cat, claws sunk into his arms. He hears his name from your lips no he wasn't staring and he realizes you've begun to see him as some sort of reliable figure in your life. You're in danger, and the first thing you do is reach for him.

But what can he even do for you?

He's smart, but he's no Riddle or Azul. He can fight, but he's not like Leona or Vil. He's resourceful, but he can't beat Jamil, and his magic doesn't hold a candle to your Tsunotarou.

What is he to you?

And now you're gravitating towards him like the moon orbiting his planet—but he thinks the pull might be too strong and you'll just crash right into him. Always on call, circling him like a shark in the water. He's not afraid of you. He's not afraid of the problems you bring with you. But what if one day, you reach out to him, and he can't hold your hand? What if the next time trouble finds you, he can't pull you out of the mud anymore? What if, when you stare at him with those lovely eyes and plead for him to stay, he's still forcibly pulled away by all the other planets that are in your orbit?

You're not his moon. You're the sun that everyone longs for.

He's not afraid of anything. But there's this inkling of fear swirling within him, curling around his torso and squeezing the life out of him.

He's scared of you leaving.

He's scared of you staying.

He doesn't know what to do.

Why not choose someone else?

Somehow, at some point, the place next to him is your seat. You're always by his side with one arm wrapped around his shoulder or your hand holding his. It's so suspiciously close in a way that friends shouldn't be. At 3 am, under his covers, he's texting the night away with you while his roommates are asleep. You're at every corner and every turn. You're at every classroom and in the cafeteria and Riddle invited you to every unbirthday party. And you sit next to him and smile. You smile that stupid smile that makes his heart beat so fast in his chest he has to choke down his tea to calm himself. You're in the mirror when he looks, but no, you couldn't be. It's just...Ace.

He wants to be alone for a while. He needs to think.

Why are you everywhere?

[nomagicnolyf: aceeeeee come over lets play super stario squish sisters]

[aceUNOone: noooo im sleeping]

[nomagicnolyf: bish ur typing]

He puts his phone aside and closes his eyes. What do you want from him? Why are you always bothering (yes, bothering) him? Why not bother Deuce, Epel, Sebek, Ortho, or Jack? Or anyone in your roster of friends in the higher years? They'd love to hang out with you, don't you know they practically fight each other just for a sliver of your time? Why him, then? There's a knock on the door. He gets up with a groan to open it.

"What do you want?"

It's you, and he tries to push down the chaotic magma of feelings bubbling in his chest. He's just been too confused lately. You don't deserve its outburst.

"Sorry, I just wanted to hang out with you."

"Didn't we hang out yesterday?"

"But I want to hang out today too."

He can't stop himself. The lava, it boils over and the words spill out his mouth faster than he can think. You don't deserve its outburst but fuck your timing was really off, you know?

"Well I don't want to hang out with you. You're always clinging onto me, aren't you tired of being such a burden? It's annoying, Y/N, you're getting real annoying and every single time you show up something is wrong and something needs to be done." It's not true, he knows it's not true, but he doesn't even know what he's saying anymore.

"Sevens, can't you handle your shit by yourself? Do you seriously still need to be babied every time? Act like an adult and deal with your problems like the rest of us. Alone."

...What?

When it's erupted and done, the words come flying back to him like a boomerang made out of razor blades. No, he doesn't think any of those things. He likes helping you. He likes defending you, he likes fighting for you and— oh.

Oh, he likes you. So that's why he's been in such a mess mentally.

It's too bad you're already gone by the time he's dealt with his feelings.

[thegamingcatmom]

ATTENTION PLS!

This is of utmost hairy importance:

I keep getting stuck on her hair. Not literally, sadly.

Part of me imagines long, straight, silken strands that are so soft to the touch. When she´s leaning forward and she lacks her head piece, they fall slowly, strand by strand, framing her face like a curtain. Same when she´s leaning over you (which ain´t hard cause bish is tall af). This is why she keeps them nicely tucked behind her ears (*feral noises*) when she´s not parading as The Priestess, so they won´t get in her way when she´s working or seducing you. When stressed, she runs a hand through it, making it come loose before it falls forward even more persistently than before, and hair that had once been neatly parted in the middle just...isn´t anymore. And all of that just does things to me- ��🤌

BUT THEN-

...Then there´s the other part of me who can´t help but see her as this ruthless mob boss (I mean) who keeps it so short that the ends are barely touching her neck, slicked back with gel or some other substance that gives them a stiff, almost coarse appearance. Not one hair out of place, the definition of well-groomed. When stressed, she runs her hands through it in frustration, slicking it back even further. OR, perhaps that´s even the reason for that slicked-back appearance. That woman can´t keep her hands still, that´s just a fact (to me). So, when she´s not busy cutting someone open, she´s busy running them through her hair. It´s become an automatic response. And imagining her all huffy and puffy after yet another failed experiment, closing her eyes in frustration while running her hands through her hair?? I- 😩🤌

And just imagine running your hands through it and probs lose them in the process?? No matter if long and soft or short and stiff, that thought just-

😩🤌

WITH THAT SAID:

[littlemcalrenmount]

PHOTO CREDS

Lando Norris X Reader Insta AU

—————————————————————————————

Lapland, Finland

Liked by Landonorris, McLaren, ciscanorris1 and 207,899 more

@yourinstagram : Snow Much Fun 🏂 ( I was freezing )

13,456 comments

@Landonorrisstan04 Not Lando dragging you out in the COLD mother ?

@ynspaddockprincess we wanted bikini pics lando :/ but you still slay queen !!!

@ln4 we’ll fly you out somewhere warm don’t worry x

@bobnorris04 poor y/n 😭 she counted down the days for the season to end only for Lando to take her to visit Santa Claus BYE

— @yourinstagram at least lando’s short enough to be an elf x

— @bobnorris04 OMG DNF Y/n 😭💀( ilysm and I’m freaking out rn )

@landonorris WHY IS EVERYONE SHOUTING AT ME !!!

@futuremrsnorris I know damn well y/n didn’t just say that I AM HOLLERING !!!!!

— @landonorris no Mrs Norris of mine would laugh at such jokes….

— @futuremrsnorris I- LSKSKS HE REPLIED !! I WAS KIDDING POOKIE I AM STILL MRS NORISS OMFGGG !!!!!! 🫣

— @yourinstagram get in line pookie

@ciscanorris1 stunning ♥️

@adam_norris_pure_electric hope you guys are having a blast 😎 sending my love from sunny Mallorca lol

— @yourinstagram can a pure electric scooter get me to Mallorca from Lapland quicker than a flight 🫣

—————————————————————————————

Lapland, Finland

@landonorris : Just a couple elf’s working overtime ☃️

278,987 comments

@ln4 we see what you did there :)

@futuremrsnorris oh he really took y/n’s elf joke to heart 😭

@maxfewtrell could of gotten my good side mate 👍🏽

— @yourinstagram at least you look decent Maxine !! He chooses to post me bare face and straight out the cabin as revenge after my elf joke :/

— @landonorris chat shit get banged ;)

— @yourinstagram MWAH 💋 blocked

@landoswh0re how does she look so pretty with her hair slicked back pls 🥲 *cries in big forehead*

— @landonorris my girls megaminds long lost daughter !! don’t worry you’re good 😄

— @landoscurlss LANDO 😭 she’s gonna get your ass

@yourinstagram NOW do you guys see why I made that joke !! He’s always coming for me but HEY shoot y/n because she made a short joke 🙄

— @ln4 we believe you sister x

@ciscanorris1 Lando scrape your curls back from your face I just want to see something realllyyy quickly 🤓

— @landonorris don’t start….

— @yourinstagram BAKE his ass baby sis

— @landonorris grown ups are talking Cisca don’t interrupt

— @ciscanorris1 I’m just saying..since we’re on the topic of massive foreheads

@mclaren the girlies are fighting

@landospassangerprincess THE MCLAREN ADMIN 💀!!

@riabishh do I smell the girls vs lando

— @landonorris not you too 🙂

— @yourinstagram he’s shat the bed now that big bish is here

@maxfewtrell you’re done mate 🤣 just let them have it

—————————————————————————————-

yourinstagram story

Landonorris’s Instagram story

[imagineredwood]

Summoned

Summary: The guys all share you, their perfect girl, but when Bishop requests you first thing in the morning and finds out that someone has already gotten to you early, he's not exactly thrilled.

Pairing: Bishop Losa x female reader

Warnings: Free use implied, oral sex female receiving, overstimulation, quite literally flicking the bean 🫘

Word count: 1K

A/N: ........not requested, I’ve just had this in my brain and drafts for a long time and have been holding off, not sure if this was gonna land well but I finally said fuck it and found the courage to post it and now we’re here. Probably going to turn it into a series like the Crybaby one

The hand on your lower back was warm as it touched you gently. You paused pouring the coffee into the mug and turned, finding EZ standing there with a smile. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek near your eye, your lashes ticking him as your eye fluttered closed.

"Bish wants to see you."

You nodded, a small bashful smile coming to your lips. EZ used the hand on your back to usher you towards the Templo door and you went, knocking gently even though you were requested.  His voice was muffled when it told you to come in but you still heard it. You slid the door and walked in, Bishop's eyes on you as soon as you appeared. His eyes raked over you.

Taking in the sway of your hips as you walked.

The way your breasts looked so soft in your top, your nipples slightly visible. They weren't hard, but you had long since stopped wearing bras in the clubhouse when it was just the boys and you. He watched your thighs as they led out of your shorts, smooth and begging to be bit. Bishop was gentle with you, mostly. But he could also be harsh sometimes. Deep bites and sharp spanks. Especially when he felt undermined or disregarded.

And this week he had been made to feel both plenty.

You walked all the way up to him, hands folded neatly in front of you as you looked at him, waiting. He simply took a long drag from his cigar, eyes dark and lusting as they stared up at you.

"Shorts off. Sit in front of me."

His other hand tapped the table right in front of him and you nodded, shimmying out of your shorts and hopping up onto the table. You sat there still, legs slightly spread, hands resting on the table on either side of your knees. Bishop continued to smoke, eyes on you.

"Lean back a little."

You listened and moved your hands behind you, propping yourself up a bit as you leaned back.

"Good girl. You always do what you're told."

You smiled softly, the tiny breath you let out at the praise running straight to the President's cock.

"Because that's what you are. Right? You're a good girl for us? You take whatever we give you with a smile?"

You nodded again, your eyes bright and Bishop could tell all your thoughts were melting away.

"I can't hear you."

"Yes, Bishop."

He took a deep drag again before putting the cigar down to rest on the ashtray, leaning forward. His fingers were warm as they trailed over the front of your panties, running up and down along your slit. He watched your breathing quicken but he kept up with his teasing for a handful of minutes before he finally hooked his index finger in the corner of the fabric, pulling it to the side and exposing your pussy to him. It was puffy, more so than usual, and he chucked, knowing exactly what had taken place.

"Angel ate you out this morning, didn't he."

You giggled breathlessly and nodded.

"Uh, yeah. He woke me up."

Bishop nodded, knowing exactly how your sensitive skin looked when the bearded man eagerly ravaged you with his mouth. They all did. Angel would pin your hips down with his forearms and you had nowhere to escape from the scratch of the coarse hair nor his unrelenting tongue. Bishop chuckled and tapped his finger against your clit, getting the exact jolt from you that he was expecting.

"Poor little thing. Must be so sensitive."

You nodded and bit your lip as you looked down and watched him. You knew him well enough to know the sympathy was inauthentic. His hand reared back and delivered a slap, your thighs closing slightly of their own volition. It wasn't a hard slap, but the sensitivity heightened the feeling. He did it again, and again, then once more, chucking darkly at your soft whimpers. He cupped you with his hand and then rubbed along you, using the palm of his hand to dig into your lips and clit each time his hand reached your mound. He removed his hand then and you sighed, thinking that maybe he was done with the torture. Instead, he used his fingers to spread you open, your clit bare and fully exposed. You swallowed, eyes trained on him, wondering what he was going to do next. You expected maybe another slap. Perhaps a kiss if he was feeling generous.

You weren't expecting the sharp direct flick that had you squealing. Your thighs instinctively tried to close but Bishop wedged his shoulders forward, forcing them open.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you were playing favorites."

You shook your head feverishly, eyes trained on him.

"No, no. Of course not."

The President stared at you for a handful of seconds more, your eyes pleading. For what exactly, you weren't sure, but he nodded once and then placed his hands on your hips, dragging you closer to his mouth. He didn't say anything else after that, simply burying his face into you. He attacked your clit on purpose, knowing Angel had likely not taken it easy on you.

Neither would he.

He kissed and sucked and moaned and growled and laved his tongue against you, hands preventing you from getting away as your hips bucked and writhed. It didn't take long for you to reach the edge, hands gripping his forearms, your nails biting into his skin as you came. By the time your vision had returned, he was sitting back in his chair again, cigar between his lips once again. You sat back upright and he chuckled at the state of you.

Eyes glazed over. Mouth hung open ever so slightly. Cheeks warm. Chest heaving. He admired you, drinking in your beauty as you sat before him trying to gather yourself. You were wrecked and he hadn't even taken his cock out yet. 

Yet.

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl  @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast  @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114   @destynelseclipsa  @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben  @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses @weirdosandhopelessromantics @kola95 @black-repunzel99 @xonickibaby @cruzwalters @myakai13 @mrsstevenbuchananstark @lyly00 @kaystacks17 @cole-winchester  @alexxavicry  @savagemickey03  @fanfic-n-tabulous   @choochoo284 @xbloodyxangelx @carma-fanficaddict @gillysoldlady

Mayans MC taglist

@dazzledamazon​  @abunnykisses​ @briana-mishell24​  @wrcn9fvlcver​  @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @krysiewithak​  @appropriate-writers-name​  @blessedboo​  @megapeacelovemusic-blog​ @emoengelfurleben​ @blowmymbackout​ @abby-splace​ @kola95​ @black-repunzel99​ @redpoodlern​  @myakai13​

@cruzwalters​  @danimals1096 @po3ticb3auty​ @lyly00​ @im-just-a-mississippi-girl​  @angel-121​ @fanfic-n-tabulous​ @90sisthenew80s​ @lovelytricia @librarian1002

[crazyfandomluver]

Cuteness Aggression

Task Force 141: I’m confused on what your relationship with Graves entails…

Shadow Company: What do you mean?

Task Force 141: Well… half the time we see you being super friendly with him…

Task Force 141: While the other half of the time you’re calling him names, pulling his hair really hard, and yanking him around and stuff

Shadow Company: Ah, you see, there’s this thing called ‘cuteness aggression’ that we get when we see something smaller than us

Graves, across the room: SCREW YOU IM NOT SHORT!!

Shadow Company: BISH! SHUT UP YES YOU ARE!

Task Force 141: ._.

[archoniic]

𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆; had she have spoken it, that very same sentiment may have been returned unto her. Amidst the gentle touches; the curious glances, the way her hands would linger. The press of her fingertips against his skin; had he not been watching the trail they took; he may have wondered if they had ever been there. Skin raising in small bumps, the way a mortals would against the cold; how very human of you Morax. How very reactionary. The Lord of Geo; immovable as the very mountains of Liyue, cold as the stone – often described in such ways by the humans; here with her, both statements as far from the truth as they could possibly be. More malleable, they moved together almost fluidly. He would acquiesce to her every whim, her every desire; though he did not wish to release her, his grip on her would loosen to her wiggling. The furs gathering around him, creating a barrier between him and the stone. Her demand for his company to span longer than just now had him smile; was that not what he had wished too? Selfishness sparking within him further, “Do not tempt me too much, Guizhong.” He warned, though there was little more than amusement in his voice, “Else we would never leave this place.” Morax was selfish enough to covet all of her time, all of her attention; while having little love for the mortals, what did it matter to him; in that moment, if they would be without both of their deities? Maybe when the sun would rise, he would see it differently. Though for the moment he had little to no desire to rise to the wishes of the humans.

With her now out of his reach; he simply remained still. The moon illuminated her from behind; casting such a glow that her beauty would appear ethereal to him. How he wished to reach out then, to trace his fingertips across her skin; to chase that glow that sat along her shoulders and neck. Hers busying themselves over his collarbone, could she feel how sharp of a breath he took right then? As those exploratory tips traced the beginning of the golden veins that ran from his shoulders down to his wrist? Morax’s hand move to take hold of hers gently, halting her advances there; perhaps she had not realised just how sensitive those marks were to touch. He had not realised until that moment; yet it was enough, that simple touch, to have those marks glow. That same glow apparent in his eyes and the tips of his hair. Who was truly the maddening one of the two? She had barely touched those veins; yet the impact on him had been instantaneous. 

You do not know what you do to me. Victory clear in her face; and he could not deny her the win of that particular battle. Had she found his weak point? It certainly seemed like it. His Goddess of Dust, ever the one who had to find the answers to life’s puzzles. Would it be, Morax was her favourite one? The furs would be left behind, no longer content with her being out of his reach. Still with her wrist gripped in his hand, the other at her back to pull her against him. He would do what he wished to then, finally chasing the moonlight on her skin. Each kiss left along her shoulder lingered a little longer than the one that would come before; making their own trail and finally coming to her jawline. He cared little for the strands that would once more fall into his face, having no doubt she would simply move them once more. He liked it when she did. Eventually his exploration would end at the very corners of her lips, “I would… very much.” An admittance, before he would kiss her once more. And like each time before; Morax would relax, like he could truly breathe again. Did it matter to him what would become of him? In truth, no; as long as that smile never faded from her, as long as her laugh could be heard in each corner of Teyvat. As long as she remained, he would be content.

No, nothing else existed any longer, all severance between one and any other had ceased to be, for they were no longer separate to all that surrounded them. An ensemble, one whole. As innate as the moon was to the veil of night that engulfed them with each passing minute, as were they to the stars that hung overhead, as he was to her. Love, reverence, ardour; none were words that truly were capable of encompassing what she felt with each beat that resonated so vehemently within her, within this part of her she craved for him to know, to feel, to understand; but could one ever know another's sanctum if they hardly understood their own? But she would not care for words, not when she felt— heard his breath as clearly as she felt the breeze caress her spine. She did not care for words when all she bore of care, within this space that was theirs alone, was for this, him, for how his hand rested to the back of her neck, for how he drew her back into him as if he knew it was what she so craved him to do, for that kiss, and for the way he laughed and how it was warmer than any ray of the sun itself could ever hope to be. No, here, no words mattered any longer. "Tonight." Would the whisper make it evident that she was caught in the haze of him when her eyes lingered in such close? You are maddening.

Perhaps to those who knew her little, and perhaps even to those who knew her well, one could be astonished that her hands shifted, descended from those infuriating locks in their endless spectrum of blacks and coals towards his chest where she finally, amidst a smile that had grown far too bright and far too quickly in such reckless abandon, applied just enough pressure to mark the start of a plan. An ingenious one. "Tomorrow," and there, when the smile urged into the territory of audible gaiety, she pushed into him and followed in trail, locked within the encasement of his arms as she was, until he seemed buried within the furs. She attempted to loosen his hold on her in slight during the descend through the slightest of wriggling, and though she had hardly seemed to succeed, she'd gained some ability to hover atop him, even if only a subliminal amount. "And its night, as well, Morax." Yes, perhaps such dramatics were all to emphasise that one night, and one alone, would never be enough.

Did this, too, serve as a throne for a victor? For victory certainly seemed to be painted across features that never ceased to seem illuminated in his presence, and because of his presence. And there, it returned: love; its concept seeking her attention once more as her hands lingered, trailing up, as she settled astride and slightly out of reach of him. "Or perhaps, simply every night that follows this one." She'd trailed the very bare tips of her fingers along and across both collarbones, aching to trace the veins that were as golden as the very centre of his eyes before they withdrew, though it would prove to be only a moment. For here, with the furs at his back, and a stroke of fingers through those same strands ever adamant, they finally fell and stilled at gravity's behest to frame the countenance that she, in all of her heart's authenticity, loved. "There, they might bother you less this way." And then, as if in affection and tease alike, while the comb of fingers fell into repetition, she continued: "Unless, perhaps, you would like to kiss me again."