#but it was fun to write sooo

[deerspherestudios]

Would it be possible for m/c to ever possibly escape and if so what would his reaction be ?

Now why would you want to escape? There's nothing wrong with your mushroom friend ::-)!

(Technically not canon,,, yet,,,, this was a Patreon sketch request!!)

[choccy-milky]

from my new oneshot, 'the vexing village of vellmore' ✨ ao3 / wattpad ((it's about seb & clora visiting a cursed village and trying to figure out how to break the curse, and since it ended up being 50k words i decided to split it into 2 chapters and the next part will be out soon!🙏 also, while it does have spoilers for the raven and the snake, it's a standalone story and can be read blind💖))

[djarinova]

five times he wordlessly knows what you need and one time words are all he has — din djarin

˗ˏ✎ synopsis: a collection of moments between you and din that show your developing relationship and his ability to know what you need without so much as a word.

˗ˏcontent - pre relationship, slow burn, mutual feelings but they go unspoken, little bit of angst in the final part (reader is surrounded by mercenaries), canon typical violence, cute mando family moments

˗ˏwords - 882 + 1018 + 765 + 849 + 827 + 1438

˗ˏnotes - i started this in dec and got alll the way to the last part and my ability to write for him just disappeared... but im back babey (semi inspired by a conversation me and @stevebabey had before christmas)

one, the blanket —

Another shiver rakes your body, your skin prickles with bumps as it tries to help warm you, but you're too drawn into what's in front of you to notice. The child is ready and waiting for his last meal of the day, and as he stretches his little arms out towards your hand you see his mouth open with the tiniest yawn you've ever seen, and your heart sores. The little man is tired, you can see it in his movements—much slower than usual and lacking their typical cheekiness.

"It's okay buddy, you're almost there now, just a couple more bites and I'll get you all wrapped up for bed." You yawn, the child's tiredness is infectious, and you laugh a little at the way his eyes light up when you mention bed.

It’s not long before your promise is fulfilled. The child ate up every last bit of his dinner and he was so polite and well mannered that you gave him a glass of warm milk before tucking him into his soft sheets. He asked—although perhaps asked is the wrong word—for a bedtime story and of course you happily obliged. You read a short one, one of his favourites, and he was out like a light before you even made it halfway through the book.

You had wandered back to the makeshift dinner table and were now clearing up the plate, spoon and cup that had been left behind in the wake of the meal. There wasn't a lot of mess, so you let your mind wander as your hands got to work wiping and cleaning and washing. You spare only a second thought to the mandalorian, you know he's up in the cockpit at the moment, he so rarely shows himself during the child's dinner time—he proves to be a distraction more than anything else, to both you and the child—but it's clear to you that he wishes to be more present during meal times. Sometimes you think about how heavy the weight of his creed must be, and how it must hurt that he can't sit and eat with his family—the child... and you hope yourself—at mealtimes.

A deep thudding stirs you from your thoughts, your eyes feel heavy and the whip of wind is rattling against the outside of the crest—you must have landed somewhere, too preoccupied to notice. You turn your head towards the sound and you see the mandalorian disappearing down the hallway. He pokes his head through one doorway, as silently as he can, checking on the little one. You can hear the lightest of snores if you listen closely, and a smile graces your features at the thought of the mandalorian watching over the child as he sleeps.

The door to the child's sleeping quarters shuts softly, and the mandalorian spares a quick glance over to you—although you don't believe he will actually be able to see you properly, you still smile—before turning the other way and disappearing down the hallway. You lose sight of him quickly, and although you hear the far away sound of a door opening and closing you don't give it much thought.

You've just about finished clearing up when the sound of footsteps comes back into focus again. You don't turn to look this time, you've just got one last glass to put back in its place and then you'll be free to put yourself to bed for the night. You hear the mandalorian scuffling around behind you, then a soft pat, and then the sound of footsteps continues and he's leaving again, disappearing back down the hallway as fast as he had arrived. You're puzzled, but don't pay it too much mind. He's tired, and you all have a busy week ahead, you need all the rest you can.

You sigh, a good sigh, one that says ah, finally, I have finished my little tasks and I'm free to rest. The wind whips against the side of the crest again and it sends another shiver over you.

God, when did it get so cold?

You stretch your arms out in front of you, trying to get your muscles to relax a little and–my god, my hands! they're freezing!

You turn, intent on getting yourself into bed as fast as you can, when a flash of blue invades your periphery. You look around, as if trying to find the owner of this mysterious blue square or perhaps looking to make sure they wouldn't catch you as you wander slowly towards it. (Of course, you know who the owner is, if it's not yours—and it isn't—then there aren't really many other options for whose it can be). It’s possible, you suppose, that it could just be an old rag used for cleaning, or maybe discarded material from one of the mandalorian's old capes, although it's more likely to b—

Oh.

Oh.

It's a blanket. Soft, navy, and a little tatty on the edges, but it's definitely a blanket.

You shiver again.

But... Did I forget that I brought that out with me? Surely I would've–

Oh.

A second realisation hits you.

Your cheeks warm and suddenly all of the Mandalorians shuffling and disappearing into doorways makes sense.

He was looking for this blanket.

Looking for this blanket, for you.

two, the breakfast —

Your eyes flutter open, and the gentle, warm light from the corridor floods your vision as you slowly sit up in your bed. You blink at the clock on the shelf next to your head, and it blinks back at you:

0822

You yawn. It's not late by any meaning of the word, but it's enough of a lie-in that your heart thumps a little faster than normal at the thought of the child patiently waiting for you to get him his breakfast. Mando would be busy by now; flying and plotting a course in the cockpit, talking with people about possible jobs on the spare comm-link in the far left side of the crest, cleaning his weaponry, or one of the other hundreds of things he busies himself with on the days he finds himself without a bounty to chase. You know he'd love to spend his mornings with the little fellow, talking with him and feeding him and cleaning up after him. But Mando's never been one for slow mornings, always preferring to get up and immediately start trying to provide.

You burrow to the bottom of the small cabinet by your bed, rooting around for a fresh set of clothes. You suppose it's possible that the child won't have even woken up yet, last night wasn't the easiest night for him. It was the first night in a while that bedtime had fallen while the crest was still mid-flight, which meant that Mando was tied up in the cockpit and you were on bedtime duty solo. And, to be fair to the little man, he had done well to begin with, you barely even noticed a change from his normal bedtime behaviour until the crest went through what you can only think to describe as a heavy patch of turbulence and then it all went a bit lopsided from there.

His blanket slipped out from his grasp, just as he was drifting off. The chill must have woken him up and even though the blanket was only separated from him for a few seconds it had snapped him back to being wide awake and you had had to calm him down once the ship began to shake again. The metal walls had been creaking, it had been loud enough to freak you out as well, so you tucked yourself up next to the child and ran your hand soothingly up and down his side while reciting to him his favourite type of story—a story about the brave, strong Mandalorian who fights bad guys and keeps his family safe on his big, fun spaceship.

You think you managed to get yourself to bed at just after 3 o'clock this morning. Mando was still flying the ship when you tucked yourself into your own bed and you had wondered briefly about when he planned to sleep before your tiredness had overtaken you and you had drifted off.

The smell of food is the first thing you notice as you slip out of your room. It's not strong, nor is it a burning smell, but it's there, and it's food, and it makes you uneasy.

Your emotions hit you in waves, first, the panic (that the child has somehow gotten his way into the kitchen and is making food on his own), then the anxiety (that he will end up hurting himself and all because you had slept in), next the guilt (that you had allowed yourself to be selfish and now the child was potentially in danger) and then, finally, the relief.

You sigh heavily when the kitchen comes into view. There is the child, happily playing with his homemade spaceship toy, there is a three quarters empty plate lying an arms length away from him on the table and there's a glass of juice placed next to it.

He is fine.

"Morning." Mando says. His voice is deep and it sends heat across your face.

"Good morning." You reply, smiling at them both.

Your eyes meet Mando's visor and he nods at you before turning away, busying himself once again. You walk gently towards the child and he coos as you sit in the seat next to him. You now realise that the scattered bits of food left on his plate are bits of pancake, blueberry pancakes by the look of it, and you feel your stomach pang with jealousy.

"And how was your breakfast this morning little one?" You run a finger behind his ear, which earns you a delighted giggle. "It looks delicious."

You turn your head back towards Mando, about to ask him if he has had anything to eat yet, and if he managed to sleep last night at all, but when you look over to where he was a moment ago you are surprised to find that he has disappeared. Your eyebrows furrow, a question ghosts your lips, and you're about to stand when your eyes glance upon something perched on the table.

A full plate of food is sat merely an inch from the tip of your fingers.

You glance around the room again, but you know Mando has already slipped away to some remote corner of the ship. Your stomach growls, and you suddenly realise just how hungry you truly are.

The food is for you, there's no question. The plate is coupled with your favourite caffeinated beverage and the pancakes are garnished with a singular piece of fruit—the one you had ogled at during your last market visit.

You didn't know Mando had gone back for that...

You had wondered that afternoon why he had left you and the child at the baked goods stall, he so rarely leaves the two of you unattended while you are out. You had thought maybe he was getting word on a bounty and didn't want the child to overhear. But as you stare now at the mouth watering piece of orange fruit in front of you, you can't help the warm feeling that blossoms in your chest.

I never even told him this was my favourite fruit. How did he know?

three, supply run —

There's something wrong.

You can't quite put your finger on it, but in the last few weeks you have felt… off. The bed you sleep on that usually has you drifting off within minutes now feels lumpy and hard. The blanket that never fails to give you comfort now makes you agitated and irritated. Your favourite part of the day, meal time during the evening, now leaves a sour taste in your mouth (and it's not the food).

Something is wrong. You just feel wrong.

And you know Mando has noticed. You catch him staring at you when he thinks you're not looking, when he thinks you're too preoccupied to notice him. He's always watched over you and the child, he's your protector, and he knows that if you’re safe then the child is safe too. But it's different now, not bad, just... different. His gaze isn't fleeting anymore, you think it watches you as you move about the crest, just trying to go about your day—help the child, prep the crest, sort through the mess of Mando's inventory—and it makes your chest ache.

You feel something tickle your cheeks as you move silently towards the cockpit. Tears sweep across your skin, as warming as they are confusing. The child is resting peacefully in his cot and it gives you some extra time to mull over your supposed wrongness. And, unsurprisingly, that makes you feel worse.

You can tell by how the crest is moving that you're about to land somewhere, you should probably pause and take hold of something for balance, but something deep inside you is spurring you forwards, telling you to keep moving towards the cockpit. And so you do.

The light is harsh as you enter through the doorway, it takes your eyes a second to adjust to the change. Mando huffs out a small greeting and you do the same. You take a step forward, about to ask where the pilot has landed the crest today, and what his business will be here, when your eyes finally pay attention to the view in front of you.

"Mando... are we in my hometown?" Your voice is thick with emotion, you swallow hard in an attempt to regain control over your voice, but your waterline is already lined with tears and they're threatening to fall fast.

He doesn't look at you, still fiddling with the controls as he docks the ship and sets her to park. "I–" He coughs, something burns within his chest. His focus is still on the console and so his words tumble out in a rather clunky way. "I... I–it was just an–uh, yeah–I thought that it'd be a good stop for supplies." He finishes. His cheeks feel hot and he's worried that he just made a complete fool of himself, but when he turns to face you—the crest now completely still and parked—he finds your eyes are still trained on the view from the window.

He notices the tear stains on your cheeks, and the way you are trying too hard to steady your breathing, but he says nothing. He brushes past you on his way out of the cockpit and his breath hitches, his fists tighten and you apologise in a dazed way as he steps around you.

The opening beeps of the cockpit door snap you out of your trance and your eyes flick around the room wildly. You brush your tears away, hoping that Mando didn't see them—but deep down, knowing that it would've been impossible for him not to—and your eyes meet his visor again. You're shocked to find him already looking at you, or more accurately, you're shocked that he didn't turn his head away when he saw your head moving around to face him.

"Supplies, you say?"

Your voice already sounds brighter to Mando's ears, and he smiles to himself—thankful just this once that you can't see past his metal headgear. You are able to read him better than anyone else he knows, and a little voice in the back of his head is telling him that the look on his face right now would be impossible to read as anything other than what it is—adoration.

Mando nods before turning away, leaving you alone in the cockpit while he preps the few things needed for a market visit. And you sigh, mind reeling over the possibilities of showing Mando your home again, already feeling lighter than you had a mere 5 minutes ago, and your wrongness is now being drowned out as you follow the mandalorian's footsteps and exit the cockpit.

four, the chores —

You finish wiping the blade and place it down gently onto the fabric you had laid over the table. The pile of assorted guns and daggers, along with the three spears and singular pulse rifle, is rather large now. The two small, circular shields (that you've never once seen be used by anyone) are also polished, although you were unable to pop out the large gashed dent that covers almost the entire left side of one of them.

You feel a slight twinge in your foot, the beginning of a cramp, and you jump up quickly, shaking your leg wildly and trying to stop the string of curses that are desperate to leave your lips. The room is oddly silent, apart from your grunts of pain, the music box sits an arms length away, you must not have noticed when the record stopped... You hesitate, torn between hitting replay and leaving it silent, but the decision is made for you when you look at the clock and see just how late it is.

I've been working for... how long?!

Your heart suddenly thumps wildly, your foot cramp long forgotten, and you move quickly from the table to the weaponry, your arms full with as much as you can manage to carry.

God, how could that have taken so long? I've still got to change the sheets on all of our beds, give the child a bath, wipe up the cooking area and oil up a few of the door hinges!

Your movements are hurried, and you manage to get everything back into its rightful place within 5 minutes (although you do almost lose a finger once or twice). You rush towards the basket that holds your bedding... but you don't see any.

Huh?

You bury your hands between the odd capes and spare blankets, searching for those familiar sets of bedding, and your hands come back empty. You huff, confused and a little ashamed that you've somehow misplaced the bedding, and you decide to just go to the kitchen and start wiping up instead, to take your mind off of it.

But when you get to the kitchen, the whole place is spotless! The cooker is polished and the plates and bowls from breakfast and lunch are all clean and placed back in their spots in the cupboard (and you definitely know this, because you checked each and every cupboard and counted the number of dishes... twice!). Even the sink is empty!

You spin around on your heel, deciding to go find the child, who should be in his playroom this time of the day, and take him to the washroom for his bath. Safe in the knowledge that at least this will be one thing you are actually able to do, and still confused as to why you haven't been able to complete anything else on your checkless since lunchtime...

But the child is not in his playroom. And now you're really worried. You race around the ship, sticking your head into every room you can think of, only to find the child is not in any of them. Your feet refuse to stand still and they carry you (almost subconsciously) towards the washroom, and as you get closer and closer you begin to hear the familiar sounds of an excitable child and the splashing that comes along with said child in a bath.

The door opens with a whack! and you grimace at how loudly the sound echoes through the room. Mando turns towards you, he is kneeling next to the tub, his armour is nowhere to found and he instead dawns a loose undershirt, a pair of dark trousers and his beskar helmet.

"Sorry." You whisper, as if trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Your eyes flit from Mando to the child, and back again. "You're bathing him."

Mando nods.

"You didn't ha—"

Oh.

And that's when it dawns on you.

"And you also changed the bed sheets?" You question, although you think—hope (dreading the potential embarrassment that will come if you’re wrong)—you already know the answer.

"Yes." He replies. He's not looking at you but it feels like his eyes are looking straight through you.

"And the kitchen..."

"Yes, that was me."

"Oh. Okay, thank you." Your voice is small, but it's hard to fight the smile growing on your face.

Mando turns to look at you briefly, "you don't need to thank me," and then he's gone again, back to giving his full attention to the little guy hiding amongst the bubbles.

"I-" You start, but you don't know what to say. Thank you anyway? I owe you one? You didn't need to do that for me?

Your thoughts swirl. There is so much you could say to Mando right now, and lord knows there are plenty of other things you could busy yourself with, but the look on the child's face when he saw you enter had your heart glowing and the opportunity to sit and enjoy a nice—if slightly wet—moment with Mando in relaxed mode was something you couldn't turn down.

five, babysitting —

Breathe... Just breathe. You tell yourself over and over again.

She's not even technically late yet, you and Mando—Din, to you now—had agreed on a midday pick up and here you were at... a quarter to the hour freaking out over nothing. He trusts her, he's known her for years at this point and hell, even you've met her– what... 2? 3 times now?

Everything is fine.

So why do you feel so on edge?

You hear the familiar clanging of the ship door as it opens, followed by echoing footsteps and the beeps of the door closing. Din comes to rest next to where you stand, his shoulder almost touches yours and you know, even without looking, that his eyes are trained on you right now with that familiar tilt of the head that he does so often.

Din can sense your nerves, even before he saw you he could tell something was different this time. He usually comes down to the bottom of the ship and finds you tinkering with something during the last few minutes of the child's miscellaneous playdates. He usually walks out of the ship door with you and wanders down the ramp while you perch on the edge with your legs dangling down beneath you. Sometimes he strikes up a conversation, other times you ramble about the child, and occasionally the two of you wait in a comfortable silence.

But not this time.

He felt uneasy when he came towards the ship door and he didn't spot you, even more so when he came outside to wait with you at the bottom of the ramp and you didn't say as much as a word to him.

He sees the anxiety you feel, it's written on your face as plain as day. You keep readjusting how you stand—left foot crossed in front of the right, then both feet facing straight with your knees in line and then back to left foot in front of the right—and whenever you do pause your movements Din can see your ankle bouncing up and down. You've had your arms crossed in front of your chest since he came to join you and your finger keeps tapping your elbow in a rather rhythmic pattern.

Tap. Taptaptap. Tap tap.

You know you shouldn't be as worried as you are, after all, you have no legitimate reason to feel so scared. Peli is a perfectly safe person for the child to be with, she invited him over for a playdate with her two young nieces—and you've actually met them, and they are quite sweet, if not a little excitable (but what kid isn't?)—and she's even babysitted him before as well, when you and Din have had to go away for a bounty together.

The thumping in your chest begins to get louder and it feels as though your heart is about to leap out from your throat. You can barely breathe. Your chest starts to heave and your knuckles turn white from how hard you are gripping onto your shirt sleeves. You don't know what—

Something touches your arm and you almost yelp in surprise. You glance to your right, ready to jump or flee or fight. But all you see is Din's helmet, head tilted, looking at you. You can only imagine the expression on his face—pity? Confusion? Sympathy?

You straighten your head. His hand doesn't leave your arm.

You take a deep breath.

Just beyond the nearest hill the faintest outline of a person begins to appear. They walk slowly, but undoubtedly in your direction, and they seem to be holding two things. One is a bag, you think. And the other is...

"They're back," you sigh, your voice is small but excited, and full of relief.

The tension is already beginning to lift from your shoulders. Din's hand is still resting on your arm, and if you hadn't been so distracted by the figure in front of you, and if you hadn't been wearing such a thick jacket, you would have felt his thumb rubbing small circles delicately across your arm. He only does it for a few short seconds, but he does it nonetheless.

Once Peli comes into better view you give her a wave and a smile, she waves back and then the child's hand peaks out of his sleeve and he waves back as well. It's enough to cause the smile on your face to widen, and you even let out an almost silent chuckle. Din slips his hand from your arm wordlessly, thinking that you probably wouldn't want his touch any longer and he takes a step away from you just as Peli arrives. He gives her a quick nod and then leaves the two of you to exchange pleasantries, quietly sneaking off to the crest's ramp and not so sneakily opening the crest door—the clanging is an issue; he wonders briefly if he should ask Peli to fix it soon.

six (one b), the bad job —

Din knew something wasn't right with this mission from the get go. There was something shifty about how the guy had spoken, demanding repeatedly about how both Din and you were necessary for what was needed. The man—Din has forgotten his name now, like it even mattered to begin with—had approached him just after he'd been turned down by another barman when he'd asked about possible jobs. The man was fast. Too fast. But Din had brushed it off at the time, too keen to get the job, too keen to earn some money again, too keen to get you and the child off this godforsaken planet.

Too keen to notice when the barman had signaled to the guy sitting at the table by the door, a small wink and a thumb pointed unsubtly in the Mandalorians direction.

“Din–Din, please. Are you there?” You curse, smacking the comm link against the wall and hoping the whack isn't hard enough to break the stupid little device.

“Ar–there–I–ca–hea–” Din’s voice hisses through the comm, followed by a high pitched whining noise that makes you jump back in surprise.

A strangled laugh escapes your throat, it’s thick with fear, and a half conscious thought flits across your mind—that if someone was listening and trying to find your location that the sound of your laughter would be a dead give away, and you’d be… well–dead.

You smack the comm against the wall twice more, for good measure.

“I’m here, Din, please–Maker–please hear me.” You beg, your voice is hoarse.

Multiple nearby blaster shots cause your head to snap upwards, sure that if you could just see the end of the alleyway, hear the sound of people milling around the market, smell the fresh baked goods at the stalls, your heart wouldn't be beating as fast as it is right now.

But the thing that would reduce your anxiety the most, allowing you to take a breath or a moment to recompose yourself, would be if you were able to see Din.

"I hear you, I'm here." Din's voice breaks through the blaster noise.

Another shot lands to your right and you retreat further into the corner between the wall and the crate that you're crouched behind. Your dominant hand holds your blaster tightly, your knuckles are pale. The cool metal against your palm keeps you focused, as you rise onto your knees to get a better aim another shot races past your ear. You waste no time in firing a returning shot and the stupid bastard goes down within 2 seconds.

Serves him right for not ducking down after firing at me, amateur.

“Cyar'ika?"

You're about to respond when you hear a loud crash. The loose pebbles on the street floor start to vibrate, sending a shiver down your spine. The noise is almost loud enough to drown out your own thoughts. Your resolve cracks when you realise the reason for the sudden lack of shots fired.

They've got a heavy repeating blaster cannon. And they're somehow pushing it down the alley you're trapped in.

"Din, I-" You cough, a lousy attempt to get your voice under control. "I don't want to die."

Your voice cracks on the last word, your mouth is suddenly as dry as a rock in the desert.

It feels like eternity before you hear Din's voice again, your only company the static sound from the comms and the low rumbling as the cannon makes it way closer to you. There's nowhere for you to run, you can't press yourself any further backwards, you have no jet pack, no grenades, no fire blaster and you never even said goodbye to the kid. God.

Tears fill your eyes, you bring a shaky hand towards your face, about to confess through the comm link something that you wish you'd had the guts to confess when you weren't 2 inches from death, when the familiar static is interrupted.

"You're not going to die, cyar'ika, I won't let that happen. I'm going to get you out of this, even if it kills me."

"Din, please-" You start, about to beg him to stay away, to tell him to think of Grogu. He can't lose his mother and father figure in one day, he just can't.

"Don't tell me to stay away." He interrupts, his voice hoarse, "this is my fault, if I'd been more careful, done my duty, then you would never have been put in this position-" He cuts himself off, you hear him take a deep breath.

"But-" You try.

"No," his voice is firm, "I'm coming for you and I'll be leaving this planet with you. The child still needs you and... I still need you."

If you had the capacity to think about anything other than the group of mercenaries currently moving towards you, then you might have questioned the last part of Din's sentence. You might have blushed and wondered at what he could mean, you may have even considered the possibility of him returning your feelings... But the sudden silence around you had your thoughts billowing towards one conclusion, and it wasn't good.

"Din... The cannon–god, help me–the cannon–they"ve stopped pushing it. I can hear them readying it."

You gulp and ready your blaster, not willing to go down without a fight.

"When I tell you to duck, you duck, okay?"

"What?" You question.

"I told you, I'm getting you out of here." Din curses and you hear the sound of blaster shots again, but this time they're coming though the comms link.

"Din, what are you doing? Maker! I told you to protect the child!" You try, pleading to the stubborn mandalorian.

"The child is safe. It's your turn now." He states, giving you almost no room to argue.

Almost.

The blaster shots continue over the comm link. You hear the mercenaries up the alleyway begin to ready their cannon, but before they have a chance to fire—

"Duck! Now." Din demands.

You obey immediately, falling backwards onto your ass and tucking your head between your knees. Your blaster still sits in your hand.

The muffled sound is hard to place but the vibrations through the floor and the dust movements between your legs are easy to follow. You lift your head and rise to your knees just as a dark figure emerges from the cloud of dust. You drop your gun immediately when your anxiety ridden brain finally allows you to recognise the familiar glint of beskar in front of you.

You jump to your feet and slam yourself against the mandalorian with no regard to your body. His armour is hard, it almost knocks the wind out of you, but no pain or threat of attack could have stopped you from seeking out your chosen solace once you locked eyes on him.

"I'm here, cyar'ika, I'm here." He pauses and hesitates for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

From what he can see of you you seem to be mostly unharmed, just a few small scrapes across your arms and a large bruise across your cheek. He knows you'll need a cool press against your face soon or you'll run the risk of the bruise swelling badly, but the cuts are manageable and he'll be able to leave them a little longer before dealing with them.

"You're okay," he whispers.

You're unsure if he's reassuring you or reassuring himself, but you nod.

"Yeah, I'm okay. We're okay." You whisper against his chest.

Din swallows, his fear about your safety finally easing, his chest suddenly feeling not as tight as it had 5 minutes ago.

"Hold on, it's time I take you home."

You nod again, squeezing your arms tighter around Din's waist and looping them through the holsters and belts he wears at his sides. As the two of you begin to rise you manage to catch a glimpse of the alleyway. It's as you expected. The bodies of the four mercenaries lie surrounding their weapon, and the weapon itself has been blasted into several small pieces, one of which is lodged into the chest of the one that was closest to it.

You shudder, turning your head away from the mess as you continue to rise higher and higher.

The higher you fly the more the ache and anxiety in your chest eases. And when you land aboard the razor crest and lay your eyes on Grogu you find the only pain left is physical, and you're finally able to take a breath—unaffected by the anxiety and adrenaline of battle, safe and content with your family once again.

divider by @/saradika-graphics

[mamawasatesttube]

i keep thinking to myself, god we have got to put tim drake in a time loop. but also time loops just feel so perfectly like speedster bullshit, yknow? therefore lemme just smash these thoughts together like particles at cern aaannddd--

let's put tim in a time loop that bart accidentally caused. a tim loop, if you will :) specifically, tim loop where kon dies at the end and bart just kind of subconsciously went nope! and "if anyone can fix it it's tim right?" bc bart has. a normal amount of faith in his friends but also a normal amount of feelings about himself being useless to save kon bc he couldn't in infinite crisis.

and bam suddenly tim is having the worst tuesday of his life like 20 times in a row. yippee! it's bart-powered but he doesn't even know. he did it on accident. bart in the loop doesn't know what's going on. it just resets every time the ending is something bart can't accept (kon dies again). tim tries to sacrifice himself to save kon once but somehow that doesn't break the loop either (bart refuses to accept that). how long can tim go through a time loop before he goes completely bonkers bananas insane? only tim(e) will tell.

and, worse: how many times can tim watch kon die? how many times can he beg kon to value his own life, to get it through his head that being a hero doesn't mean he needs to die for the world, that there must be another way? how many times can he watch kon sacrifice himself to save others and know that if he stops kon, those people might die?

how fucked up would he be if he ever actually found out just how suicidal kon has been his entire life?

extra fun: cassie takes one look at him every time and instantly clocks that he's feeling like shit, but every time she forgets why, because the loop resets. tim is being perceived but it never lasts. this will drive him crazy so fast. he's gonna start acting out and snapping at her for being concerned because what's the POINT of talking about his feelings if everything resets ANYWAY. this will definitely not come back to bite him in the end or anything, right?

(kon-el dead wife giggling in the sunshine and playing under the sheets montage plays over and over for both tim and bart. this probably means nothing.)

[homemadesterekpie]

Stiles getting in big trouble at school because a video starts circulating around of him in a compromising position with a certain young man who’s been under suspicion of murder not too long ago…

it starts with people whispering to eachother whenever he passes them by. but Stiles is kind of used to that by now. ever since fucked up shit started happening in town with him almost always having something to do with it one way or another people tended to talk. but then at lunch, Boyd practically runs to him and grabs him by the arm to drag him out of the cafeteria, Erica and Isaac following behind looking pissed as all hell.

and that makes Stiles pause a second because Boyd never runs unless shit is going down so he just lets himself be dragged to an empty classroom.

Boyd just pulls out his phone pressing play on a video and turns it to show it to Stiles with a vague look of embarrassment on his face.

Stiles looks down at it and yep that’s Stiles alright. Stiles getting his shit rocked by their one and only Alpha.

at first glance it’s not overly explicit, all you see is Derek’s upper body facing away from the camera moving suggestively and Stiles’ face over a tanned shoulder and arms around his neck.

it’s the sounds that truly makes it look as bad is it is. Derek’s grunting is loud on the speakers and Stiles’ little moans sound wrecked and Stiles remembers he did feel absolutely wrecked that time. it had been the first time Derek had fucked him on the counter in the kitchen and Stiles had propped his phone up to catch it all because he may be a little freak but it was only ever meant for his own eyes. But it’s the sounds of their bodies moving together that really and truly puts the last nail in Stiles’ coffin. It’s beyond obscene, the slapping of skin on skin along with the wet sounds…

Stiles tells Boyd to turn it off, red in the face, completely embarrassed. he asks where the fuck did he get it. and Boyd doesn’t beat around the bush and almost kills Stiles on the spot when he says everyone fucking received it on their school email.

Stiles sits down hard on a chair and hides his face in his hands. this is it he’s going to die. his dad is going to fucking kill him and then Derek would kill him too.

Erica asks how could it have been sent to everyone like that. Stiles just shrugs, he can’t think right now. Isaac suggests that maybe someone could have stolen his phone during practice one afternoon?

Stiles’ head snaps up at that and he’s sure that’s it. but who could it be, no one knows the combination of his locker? well Scott knows it but why would he… Stiles stops his line of thoughts because yeah Scott definitely would.

Boyd who’s been watching him closely the entire time asks him what? what is it?

Stiles looks at him, mortified and mumbles that he’s pretty sure Scott might have done it.

Stiles had tried to avoid the whole thing going on with Scott. all they did these days was fight so Stiles just stopped talking to him. they were on a friendship break if you will.

he should have known it would blow up in his face and boy did it blow up.

Erica curses and says she’s going to kill the little shit while Isaac agrees. Boyd rolls his eyes but there’s definitely a murderous glint in them.

Stiles is about to tell them to stand down that he would deal with Scott himself but he’s suddenly called to the principal’s office on the PA system.

Stiles sighs and makes his way to the office like he’s on his death march. the betas follow him and there’s people in the halls who point and laugh at him and Stiles is so humiliated and embarrassed he can’t even manage to roll his eyes at them but the betas must threaten them somehow because they shut up quick and practically run the other way.

his dad is there waiting for him when he walks up to the office and Stiles feels like being one with the floor. he’s talking with the principal who looks serious and disapproving.

he doesn’t look at his dad in the eyes when he approaches, he can’t. the principle tells the betas to go back to the cafeteria but Boyd says they’ll stay right here. Stiles has to give them a look and mouth the words it’s okay for them to back down and walk away.

what he’s not prepared for though is for Derek to show up. they’re about to enter the principal’s office when he enters the double doors of the school like a bat flying out of hell. he looks beyond pissed and Stiles’ stomach drops with dread. but when he spots Stiles, his face softens just a tiny bit and Stiles lets out a small sigh of relief.

his legs move without him noticing and he shuffles towards Derek who strides towards him with purpose and next thing he knows he’s in Derek’s arms, face into his neck and he’s apologizing over and over while Derek shushes him softly.

the principal clears his throat and says this situation is private between the school, Stiles and his father. Derek lets Stiles disentangle himself but doesn’t let him go entirely. Derek stares the principal down for a moment before saying he’s in the video too and as far as he knows that involves him too.

Stiles steals a look at his dad and his face is unreadable and Stiles blanches. because he knows that look. that’s his on duty sheriff face.

in the end they let Derek sit in to which Stiles is grateful. he stands behind Stiles’ seat the entire time, Stiles feeling the heat of him at his back comfortingly.

they try to blame Derek for everything of course but Stiles is adamant that he was the one to take the video and that the video got circulated without his knowledge or consent.

his dad’s unreadable expression cracks at that and he asks Stiles who did it. Stiles stutters when he says he doesn’t know yet. he feels Derek shift on his feet behind him and he knows Derek heard his lie and hell, Boyd probably already texted him their suspicions of Scott being behind it.

his dad doesn’t look convinced but he doesn’t press it, instead he talks with the principal as if Stiles isn’t there.

the principal assures that the emails has been taken down but that they can’t guarantee the students haven’t downloaded the video on their own.

as for punishment Stiles is expelled for a week to which Stiles’ jaw drops because that’s beyond harsh. its not like he beat someone up. and its not like he’s the one who circulated the video. all he did was spread his legs and film it, dammit.

his dad not so subtly imply that he might press charges on Derek for statutory rape and Stiles whips his head to him, face hard. he says with a voice thats just as hard as his face, no, you will not.

his dad turns to him and looks at him like he doesn’t know who’s sitting right there beside him. Stiles repeats that no, he won’t and that Stiles won’t let him. his dad’s chest puffs up in anger, a dangerous warning in his eyes but Stiles doesn’t back down.

the sheriff doesn’t back down either but he goes back to talking with the principal, Stiles tuning them out. Stiles is angry now, his embarrassment completely forgotten.

it’s obvious the main reason why his dad and the principal are being hard on him is because he got caught having sex. and thats humiliating for them and for the school.

suddenly, he feels Derek’s fingers at the back of his neck, just a brush of knuckles and just that small touch is enough for his shoulders to relax.

He doesn’t speak to his dad when finally they’re done and out of the office. the betas are back and waiting for him and Derek. Derek talks with Boyd for a bit while Stiles tells the other two what happened in there. Derek leaves but not before kissing Stiles on the forehead with a hand gripping the back of his neck, comfortingly.

his dad approaches him and looks at the betas awkwardly before telling Stiles lets go we’re leaving but Stiles says he has things to get from his locker and that he’ll be home later. again, it’s the both of them not backing down but eventually the sheriff just walks away and out of the school.

Stiles gets the things he needs from his locker, the betas his shadows and the four of them pile into the jeep and leave. as he drives, Boyd tells him Scott didn’t come to school today but that he’s home though. Stiles makes a turn, taking him away from his usual way home and instead towards Scott’s place.

Scott is on the porch when he turns in the driveway. Stiles tells the betas to stay in the car but they don’t listen to him but they do stay close to the car.

Stiles walks up to the porch and just looks at the guy who was supposed to be his best friend. Now that he’s here, he doesn’t know what to say to him. Scott knows what he did and by the smug look of his face he certainly doesn’t regret it either.

Stiles sighs, exasperated and defeated. this is so stupid. Stiles calls Scott a moron and that whatever his reasons were for doing what he did, all it ended up doing was making Stiles mad and that he doesn’t want to talk to him again and if Scott were to ever show his face to him outside of school, he would let the betas get at him.

with that said, he turns around and walks back to his jeep while Scott sputters a little before starting shouting vile shit at Stiles. the words whore and bitch are thrown in there and Stiles would lie if he said it didn’t hurt to hear those but he refuses to give Scott the pleasure of a reaction. he just gets back into his jeep with the betas and drive away.

he had planned to go home after but he’s more upset than he anticipated so he drives to the woods where he knows Derek will be waiting for them.

as he drives up, Derek is already jogging down towards the jeep and he’s just put it into park when Derek opens his door and pulls him out of the seat to hug him.

he murmurs words in Stiles’ ear. like why did he go see Scott that he would have dealt with him, Stiles didn’t have to go through that. he also apologizes to Stiles that he shouldn’t have let Stiles film them but he can’t say no to him and that he doesn’t want Stiles to fight with his dad, etc, etc. Stiles just holds onto his Alpha tighter, nodding his head into his warm chest.

Stiles knows all of this. Derek would stop the earth from turning if Stiles asked him to and that’s why nothing else matters. he’ll deal with his dad. he’ll deal with the school. he could deal with anything if it meant that at the end of the day he would be back here just like this, in Derek’s arms, right where he belongs.

[laurellala-comics]

I finished watching a playthrough of the first Apollo Justice game WAAAAH NOBODY TALK TO ME I'M EMOTIONAL WAAAAAH THAT WAS SOOO SO EPIC AND GOOD. I'll draw nice things later, for now take these sillies

[cheralith]

from slytherin!kaiser au, he finds out one year when you and him are students that you've been asked out to the yule ball during the quinquennial triwizard tournament and he tweaks the Absolute Hell Out. i'm taking like ferocious plays in quidditch where he's just absolutely ravaging everyone on the field and hexing anyone who even slightly crosses him. he's frustrated and the most irritating thing is that he doesn't know why. he just knows that he felt surges of anger and vexation after he had overheard in the dining hall that you were asked out by a stupid beauxbatons boy and that you had to absolute nerve to accept his invitation. every time he sees you in his classes, the familiar surge of aggravation boils back up again just at the mere sight of you, even if you both haven’t began your bickering yet.

he’s already pissed off that your best friend, yoichi isagi, was chosen as hogwarts’s contender in the tournament and not him, so for you to be running around collecting attention from people outside hogwarts had upset him even further. he sees you one weekend in hogsmeade with a strange boy that he’s never seen before, so it’s safe to say he’s the beauxbatons boy that your friends were rumoring about earlier. ness’s words are absolutely drowned out as he focuses on the unintelligible conversation you and him have, his fist tightening around his wand. figuring he should take his anger out on something else rather than poor ness for the fifth time this week, he conjures a jelly-leg jinx just before he turns on his heel, snickering when you exclaim out when your companion suddenly crumples to the ground unexpected. 

ness obviously has noticed kaiser’s short-temperament that he’s harbored for the past few weeks, he’s sure everyone has. he does not do a very good job of disguising it, considering his azure eyes absolutely burn into the back of your head during dinner. 

“are you jealous?” ness suggests, squeaking out when kaiser whips his head at him as soon as his friend finishes his sentence.

“huh?” he scowls, “fuck off. i don’t get jealous. why would i get jealous? that’s dumb. if anything, (l/n) should be the jealous one since i bagged myself that hot gryffindor girl—what was her name? fuck, i forgot already.”

ness blinks at his friend’s babbling as he stuffs a piece of meat in his mouth and chews it with obvious aggravation, his icy stare still lingering onto you and how you laugh at yoichi’s joke. he sighs, moving kaiser's wand a little further away from him just in case the slytherin chaser decides to cast another jinx on the poor boy again.

[keerysgirl]

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

thinking about professor! ben who just can't keep his eyes off of you.

he knows that his little infatuation is not considered 'morally right' or whatever. you're one of his students after all, and even though you may be a legal adult, you're still approximately two whole decades younger than him. so, yeah. decently not 'right.'

but luckily for ben, he never gave a flying fuck about doing what's right.

you were always so attentive during his class, always so focused. you raise your hand like a good little girl, so eager to answer his questions. ben wonders if you'd be just as eager when you're on your knees, his cock pressed against your lips, all angry and red, desperate for your attention.

or maybe you'd be a little more cautious. a little more hesitant. maybe you'd be intimidated by the prospect of getting with someone so much older, your own professor nonetheless and he'd be left to soothe your fears, to calm you down, to promise you it'll feel good, so fucking good, if you'd just let go and let him take care of you.

he'd kiss you rough, hard, full of want and passion and lust. ben would love to wrap his calloused hands around your tiny waist, pulling you flush against him so you can feel just how aroused you really make him feel.

and he would leave little bite marks on your neck and collarbone. dark, bruising hickeys that signify that you're his and no one elses. his. just the way he likes it. the way you'd come to like it, too.

you were always the good, obedient type - not one to get in trouble and take risks. that's another day he loves so much about you. you're just so innocent. too innocent to ever understand the meaning behind his lingering looks, and certainly too innocent to understand the effect you have on him, the way your voice alone can get him all hot and bothered, oh so desperate for some sort of release.

oh, he can't waits for the day he can get his hands on you. his favorite little girl, his princess, his plaything...

but for now, he'll be left just to watch. to wait until he gets to make his move on you. to make you his for real.

[l3viat8an]

Out of the demon brothers who’s most likely to take playfighting super seriously and who treats it more like a game? or maybe a little sexy ;)

I know I’ve talked about play fighting with the boys before but that was more rambling so I tried to make hcs this time!!

Little bit suggestive in a couple of parts but mostly silly hcs!

Lucifer knows his strength and he’d hate to accidentally hurt you (again) he’s the oldest too so he kinda thinks it’s beneath him 🙄 If it’s more his attention you’re after he’d rather just give you kisses.

That being said; if you can get Lucifer in a really good mood he’ll just chuckle, raising an eyebrow while watching you try to hit his chest. Not like you can actually hurt him- You’ll probably get bored quick and it’s only then that Lucifer moves. Grabbing your waist so he can turn you around and slap your ass- if you say anything he’ll just play it off, saying it’s how he wants to play~

Mammon oh you wanna fight?? Then get ready to fight!! he take it soooo seriously and it’s a good excuse to manhandle you just a little bit!!-

Mammon doesn’t work out for nothing ‘n of course he likes to show off for you! He carries you to your bed and even throws you around a little, laughing the whole time!

He’s fully convinced he’s in a wrestling match and even yells some silly slogan he just made up. Of course he still pays attention to every little thing you do, he’d never forgive himself if he actually hurt you while messing around.

Levi doesn’t really play fight- and if you hit him, he thinks you hate him- he’s more into tickle fights where you’re rolling around tangled up together and laughing!!

Tho there is a chance he’ll randomly bite you, it’s like cuteness aggression takes over and seeing skin = bite you in his head!!! ‘n this could absolutely happen mid tickle-fight!! You’ll feel his teeth nip at your neck / arm / shoulder / wherever he can reach, really. He just likes to bites you. you make him happy? He bites you. It’s simple really. Any excuse is a good excuse to cover you in his bite marks.

Satan also takes it way too seriously- he doesn’t want to hurt you! And he doesn’t really have a good reason for why he takes it so seriously….he just likes to play-fight with you.

You couldn’t beat him in a real fight anyways- but like this he can pretend and let you ‘beat him’ !!There’s also something really hot about the way you pin him to the floor, and smirk down at him while triumphantly shouting “I win.” in that moment all he wants to do is sit up and kiss you-

Asmo the first time he almost cries that you absolutely can’t hit his face!!

But after that he’s a little intrigued, and he can’t lie it is fun to toss you around a bit- ‘n more often then not it’ll turn into something a little hotter~

he’ll looks at you with a little smirk on his face and let you throw a punch or two at him. But before your blows can land you’ll hear Asmo’s little giggle as he grabs your wrists, pulling your hands up to his face and kissing each of your fingers before pulling you into a hug, whispering that if you really want to fight……you’ll have to fight naked~

Beel There’s no way either he will fight back- even if it’s for a joke he’s too afraid he could to hurt unintentionally.

Beel is too big and worried about his size. He thinks whenever he’s touching you, it should be to make you feel good or make you feel safe. Not to play-fight, but if he ever did try it he’ll probably just kinda poke your cheek or just hold his firsts up while he lets you try and hit him. Don’t worry, your firsts feel more like taps to him.

Belphie loves to tease you, joking that ‘there’s just no way your little human punches would hurt him.’

But he’ll still let you try, his favorite part is when you do hit him and he lets out an involuntary ‘oof’ the huge, goofy, grin on your face almost makes him want to smile too-

He’ll get you back tho!- Belphie will full on tackle you as he starts to tickle you until you have to beg him to stop. But he just laughs tickling you a little longer.

[nozhdyved]

hang the dj - a.d.

contains: nsfw 18+, mdni. 2.9k words, black mirror's hang the dj au, frank!art x amy!gn!reader, advanced technology, dystopian universe, groundhog day ahh dates, brief sexual content (penetration), lowkey its just a cute love story

notes: GAH holy fuck this was so fucking fun to write!!! i love this episode of black mirror and i feel like frank's character fit art really well. i loveee black mirror and i love challengers so this was incredibly fun and easy to write. it felt odd to format the ending bc i didnt know how to visualize the alternate realities so i may rewrite this. idc tho bc i love it!!

listen while you read

The ambient sound of cutlery clattering and glasses clinking surrounds Art, followed by chatter of other couples meeting and talking. 

“Coach? I’m at the right booth, yeah?” he asks his device, which glows in response.

“Yes. You are seated in Booth 16, which is where your match has also been assigned to sit.”

Art just nods a bit dumbly, sipping his wine as he waits, drumming his fingers against the table. He was early, he knew that, but he couldn’t possibly be that early-

It’s then that you walk in, and Art swears his heart stops. He doesn’t have to check with Coach, he knows that you’re who he’s supposed to meet tonight. It’s like he’s known you his whole life, memorizing the pauses you make and the smiles that you deal out like they’re candy. You’re a visionary, glowing even in the dim light of the restaurant, and you’re coming right towards him. 

You stop in front of him, holding out your Coach that’s displaying a photo of his face on it. “Hi. Art, right?”

He swallows, wetting his lips and nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s.. me,” he says, eyes glued to your every movement as you slide into the booth- the way your hair tickles the nape of your neck, how you check your nails for blemishes with a slight frown, the way you swish your glass around before sipping your wine.

“Is it your first time too?” Your voice jolts him out of his stupor, and he looks over to meet your gaze, nodding.

“Yeah. Sorta just.. gave up. My friends all have a Coach, so they got me one for my birthday…” he shrugs, nodding at you. “What about you? What’s your reason for blooming late?”

You mimic his shrug, making him laugh a bit. “I don’t know. I really don’t even think I should be here– I mean, it feels so much more real to find relationships without the help of tech, right?” There’s an awkward pause at your blunt answer, until you lean forward, sliding your Coach across the table.

“Should we check the expiry date?” you ask, raising an eyebrow with a coy smile. Art clears his throat and nods, pulling his Coach out of his pocket with fumbling hands and putting it next to yours.

“Revealing expiry date,” both of your Coaches say simultaneously. “Press down in 3…2…1.”

The two of you press the button at the same time, and the screen pixelates itself, revealing the number in bold hours.

Art coughs, pounding his chest gently. “Twelve hours, huh? That seems, uh… pretty short, no?”

You nod, furrowing your brow and taking your Coach back, slipping it into your pocket. “S’pose it is,” you muse, “but we can make the most of it, can’t we?” You beam up at him, and Art swears his heart just imploded.

“Y-Yeah. Heh, ‘course we can,” he chuckles, reaching his hand across the table to cover yours, squeezing gently. “I’ve got no qualms with that.”

The food arrives– fish smothered in sauce with greens on the side for you, and a pasta dish for Art. You wrinkle your nose, nodding gratefully at the waiter. “I hate fish,” you whisper to Art conspiratorially, who’s eyes widen. He switches your dishes despite your protest, already digging in.

“I’m an athlete, I could use the protein anyway,” he defends, looking completely serious about his need for protein, you can’t help but smile. This man… was just everything and more.

“Thanks,” you reply, and the conversation flows easy after that, talking like you’ve known each other your whole life. He correctly guesses your favorite color by just your smile, and you nail his top movie when he holds your hand. He’s like a book you’ve read a thousand times over, dog-eared and worn out, well-loved and never-ending.

When your meal ends, the cart outside is all ready to transport you to your house for the next 12 hours. It’s awkward once you get in, how the house makes it obvious that it just wants you to fuck. The countless packs of condoms in Art’s drawers speak multitudes by themself.

“Do you want to…?” you gesture to the bed and look at Art, whose face has flushed red as he looks away, shuffling his feet.

“I mean.. we should, shouldn’t we?” he murmurs, sitting down on the bed and bouncing, testing the firmness. “We’ve only got twelve hours, after all.”

You sit down next to him, taking your jacket off and tossing it aside. “We don’t have to do anything,” you remind him softly, meeting his gaze. There’s a hint of longing in his clear blue eyes as he looks back at you, lips parting to let out a quiet sigh.

“Can we just sleep?” he whispers, and you nod. The two of you get under the covers, opposite sides of the bed and not touching. After a few awkward moments of silence, he speaks up.

“This was fun, you know. Um. Goodnight.”

A soft smile graces your face as your hand travels under the sheets, tentatively interlocking with his. After a moment, he squeezes your hand gently.

“Goodnight.”

You’ve been paired with someone new this time, a big buff nobody who’s name you’ve already forgotten. He’s pistoning into you, grunting and moaning, and it does feel good, but-

Art’s smile flashes into your mind, his bright eyes and golden curls stuck behind your eyelids, his face being the only thing you can see even as this brute fucks into you.

“Oh, yeah, you like that?”  he moans into your ear, sucking a sloppy kiss onto your neck. You can imagine Art saying that, grinding into your core gently instead of pounding relentlessly, asking that question out of genuine concern, not just to fan his ego.

“Ohhh– hnnnnh, yes!” you squeal, faking everything to get an excuse to push him off of you. You squeeze your thighs together, pushing his cock out from inside you, as you turn over to the nightstand, grabbing a cup of water. “Well, that was…” awful. “exhilarating! I’m pooped,” you say, pecking the man on the cheek and setting the glass back onto the nightstand. You’re under the covers and fake snoring before he can even react.

You miss Art.

The next time you see him is at a wedding with a girl. Tall and lean, dark skinned. Most likely an athlete like him, you guess from her figure. She’s got an arm wrapped around Art’s waist, and they’re laughing together– happy, joyful, in love. You look to your side to see your current match, making small talk with the happy couple, and judging from their shocked expressions, he wasn’t saying anything good.

“Hey, you!” Art’s at your side now, his girlfriend having left to give the couple a gift. You immediately feel warmer inside, like he’s given you the gift of the sun with just his presence.

“Sorry, who are you?” you joke, making him laugh and bump your hip playfully. It’s funny because you both know the truth. You’ve never forgotten about each other, not since that first night. You nod towards his girlfriend, all long legs and radiant smiles. Fuck. “Is she your match?”

“Hm? Oh, Tashi! Yeah, yeah.. she’s not my ultimate pairing or anything, but… yeah. I mean, she’s my girlfriend for now,” he shrugs. “It ends tomorrow, so…”

You nod slowly, trying not to let the smile break free from your neutral expression. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. He shakes his head, a smile on his face.

“Don’t be. Happens to everyone.” He looks around the bustling afterparty, both Tashi and your match out of sight. “D’you wanna take a walk?”

You’re nodding before you can even process it, grabbing your bag and jumping up to your feet. “Please.”

The two of you stumble your way down to the lakeside, the peaceful scenery calming both of your jitters. You stand by the water, searching for rocks to skip as he watches you.

“Can I say something weird?” he asks, and you nod, not looking up from your scavenging. “I feel like I’ve known you forever. That you’re just an old friend that I fell out of touch with.” Art exhales heavily, shuffling alongside you.

“Is it weird if I say the same thing?” You counter, skipping the rock. It floats across the water, beating one, two, three, four times until it sinks beneath the murky blue. You turn to look at him, his eyes reflecting the sky above. “And is it weird that I really wish you could cheat on your match?”

Art laughs at that, his curls flying through the sun-soaked air. “Only if it’s weird that I’m wishing the same thing.” You find another rock to skip, tossing it– one, two, three, four, and it sinks again.

“Maybe we’ll be each other’s final pairing,” you suggest, looking up to gauge his reaction to that idea. “Would you want that?”

He looks down at you, a shy smile playing at the corners of his lips, as if he’s afraid to let his secret out. “Yeah. I want that.”

You’re not each other’s final match. You end up being matched with someone from months ago. You remember his face, hovering above yours and panting like a dog. His breath had smelled like onions.

“You are permitted one 24 hour day with a past match of your choosing,” your Coach chimes cheerily when you climb out of the pool, practice laps completed. “Who would you like t-?”

“Art,” you hurry to say, drying your hands off with your towel and pushing out of the pool. “Art, I choose Art. Please.” You’re desperate, saying his name like it’s a prayer, like if you say it three times he’ll appear.

There’s a whirring noise from your Coach, before a happy ping! can be heard. 

“You have selected: Art Donaldson as your final meeting. Please meet at Booth 16 at 8 o’clock PM.”

You sigh, sitting down at the edge of the pool and letting your feet dangle into the water, making small ripples appear. “Coach, can you count to four?”

Your Coach glows, and you pick it up, readying your aim and throwing. The blue light from the Coach shimmers along the glimmering blue of the pool as it begins speaking.

“One,” skip, “two,” skip, “three,” skip, “four,” sink.

You watch as your Coach’s light fades out, robotic voice glitching as it sank on the fourth skip, like always.

He’s early again. Sitting at your table with a nervous smile on his face, as if he’s still worried about impressing you.

You sit down next to him in the booth and immediately kiss him– you’ve learned your lesson, and you’re not going to lose any more time than you already have. You kiss like you’re starved, your tongue slipping past his plush lips to meet his, cupping his jaw and leaning close to him. You’ve never kissed him before, but something about it feels… familiar. Like this is the millionth kiss you’ve shared already.

You pull away, eyes raking over his flushed face and parted lips. “...Hey,” you whisper, tracing your thumb over his cheek gently.

He swallows thickly, a shy smile spreading across his face. “Hi,” he replies, his voice equally quiet, reverent like you just gave him everything he’s ever asked for.

The food comes, fish and pasta, and you switch dishes again, like it’s a habit you’ve drilled into your body. Your conversation flows as easily as the wine pouring into your glasses, and soft kisses accompany every word. It’s perfect.

The house you two stay at for the night is the same one as your first date, and it feels like home to you. The feeling of his arms around you as you stumble to the bed makes your chest warm, even as he slips your jacket off your shoulders. The way you two collapse onto the bed, kissing every inch of skin feels practiced, like a ritual. Like this isn’t the first time.

Every thrust and moan comes out naturally, as if this was meant to be. Like you two were made for each other. His sweaty curls dangling in front of your face, soft breaths escaping his lips as his thrusts increase in speed, his large hands roaming over your body lovingly.

“You’re so– goddamn gorgeous,” he whispers, kissing you softly to silence your moans. You don’t need to say anything back, your orgasm consisting of pure ecstasy and filth, back arching and hips pressing against his.

It feels like the thousandth time you two have made love– not fucked, for that would have less feelings involved. You two were in love. The two of you lay side by side in bed, hands intertwined like your first time sleeping here. It’s safe and practiced, his fingers pressing against your skin gently, grounding you.

“I feel like we’ve done this before,” you whisper to him, voice worn out. “I think… I mean, you knew me too well for that to be our first.” He presses a finger to a mark left on your neck, right where you’re especially sensitive. He knows that, somehow.

“I’d remember you,” he whispers back, voice low and gravelly as his finger swipes over your skin, gentle and loving, like he’s memorizing the softness of your supple skin.

You prop yourself up on an elbow, facing him. “Art, really. Think about it,” you murmur, your eyes dark and serious. “This feels right. It’s like… shit, it’s cheesy, but we’re like two puzzle pieces.”

His eyes soften and he nods in agreement, his hand dropping from your neck. “I know,” he replies, unsure of where you’re going with this.

“I can’t remember anything before our first date,” you continue. “Not– getting ready, or driving to the restaurant. It was like I just spawned in there, ready to meet you.”

Art furrows his brow, the gears in his brain turning as you keep speaking. “...Yeah. Like I just happened to… appear in that booth.” He cocks his head, glancing over at you. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

You’re out of bed already, putting your clothes on haphazardly. “Do you have your Coach with you?” you ask, and he nods, getting up as well and pulling it out of his jeans pocket.

You take the small device and hold it in your palm. It’s cool, the metal clashing against the heat of your body. It’s so small, the size of a cookie, yet it held so much power over you. Over everyone. You storm over to the window and crack it open, smashing the Coach against the windowsill before tossing it out. You turn to Art, who looks shocked, but not unsurprised. Like this isn’t the first time this has happened.

“Let’s go on a walk.”

You’re tripping over your feet in the darkness of the night, giggling as he catches you and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “For safety,” he insists solemnly.

You’re walking to the border of town, your reasoning being that there was something greater past the borders, outside of the world you’d grown up in. Supposedly. Though Art looked like he doubted you, he followed along obediently anyway, as if he’s had it programmed into his body that you know the way.

It’s a struggling trek, dirt and dust flying into your eyes as the night goes on, storms passing overhead and wind blowing against you, as if trying to reason with you to not leave. It doesn’t deter you, only gripping Art’s hand tighter as you forge ahead, turning around occasionally to check if he’s still there. You don’t want to lose him, not again.

You reach the large wall that borders around your town, a flimsy ladder leaning up against it, like they want you to escape. You go first, moving your hands and feet slowly until you get the hang of things, looking back to make sure Art’s climbing up behind you. And he is, like a determined puppy, gritting his jaw as sweat drips down his temple.

The two of you reach the top of the wall, Art grabbing you by the waist to steady you. His eyes gleam beneath the stars, meeting yours. “What do we do now?” he whispers, his voice hard to hear in the whipping wind.

You look out, past the town, past the wall. It’s all inky blackness and shimmering stars, a future unknown past the wall you’ve lived within all your life. There’s a sense of excitement, pounding in your chest as you take a step, loosening your grip on Art’s arm.

“Now… we’ll see each other later.” You say it with a sense of finality, turning to face the sky as you bend your knees and jump, letting yourself fall into the endless darkness. 

You land. Eventually, you do, in a bar, loud and noisy. You’re not sure when it happens, when you stopped falling, but you’re grateful to find respite, even if it’s in a shitty bar. It’s raucous, the air smelling of tobacco and sweat, yet it feels so much more comfortable than the bars back home– all refined and quiet, no music or chatter, just fancy cocktails that were 10 dollars a glass. Here it’s dirty and overwhelming, but in a good way. You can’t help but smile.

Something familiar starts playing from the jukebox– Panic by The Smiths. As the song starts playing, your eyes lock with a familiar face from across the room, innocent blonde curls and a leather greaser jacket, hunched over the bar. He looks back at you and grins knowingly.

Your heart flutters like you’ve known him your whole life, and you get up from your seat, approaching him and stopping right across from him. Your lips part and words come out before you can even process them.

“Hey, you.”

taglist: @girliism, @imperishablereverie, @faiztsheap, @musingsofheaven, @yardofbrunettes, @fwaist

[mblue-art]

this man. ..

(inspo) (og meme)

[uc1wa]

xi hear me out. Taking Dick’s vcard like he’s super curious so he goes to you to ask for help n u r single handedly the catalyst that launches him into being a fratboy in college bc he wants to have sex that good again— so normal over this idea

and the crowd goes fucking crazy for cressie

tags: fem reader, virgin uni!dick, then... frat boy!dick lol, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, oral sex, pussy sniffin’ (for 2 seconds), fuckin' n fuckin' n fuckin', this became way longer than i intended... enjoy!

"are you ready?"

both of your hands hold dick’s shoulders, your knees holding your form up, the warmth of his cock hitting your bare entrance. weary and wide blue eyes watch you, looking up to yours as he nods. "please, please, can’t wait anymore," he begins in a whine, quickly recovering and adjusting his voice to a more even one.

did you ever think that your childhood best friend who went off to uni would be ringing you the week he got home for summer break? of course.

did you expect him to timidly ask you how to fuck during that phone call? never in a million years.

see, dick grayson’s first year of university was full of studying, staying in his dorm, and acing every exam. he went to school a good boy, and wasn’t tempted by parties, clubbing, or the mere idea to get a fake id. the last thing he cared about was girls, wanting nothing more than to make the dean's list.

he was a good boy, but that only went so far. dick realized at some point or another (specifically, when wally had a video called him telling about this girl he was fucking, dick was just slightly jealous) he had to lose his virginity. he wasn’t thirsty for pussy. he knew how to get himself off, but when measuring if he should hookup with a random from campus or you, the answer came easy.

a week into his summer break and he’d brought takeout to your place, the house he’d grown up going to. and when all was said and done, and you’d led him with a hand to your room, his cock was already hard in his pants.

but you didn’t rush, you taught him a woman’s pleasure before you’d decided to ride him. you helped him prepare yourself, his fingers exploring what was your entrance. calloused fingers rubbing and catching the feel of your most sensitive parts, memorizing the face you made when he experimentally curled his fingers. measuring how much pleasure stimulation on your clit gave you. and, as any good boy would, did exactly what elicited moans from you with his fingers alone.

and when you’d felt yourself ready, you decided riding him was the safest option. allowing him time to get adjusted to your hole and finding a slow pace that would make the both of you comfortable.

sinking down onto his length, you watched the way his eyes closed, black waves falling back as his neck fell backward. you felt so much better than his fist.

"ya-ya alright?" you ask, inching down until the man’s full length sits tightly inside of you, checking in with the man before you. and he nods, hands finding the fat of your hips as he begins attempting to lift you.

"p-please, jesus christ, need you to fuckin’ move," he moans, eyes meeting yours once more. without a single thrust, without a full ‘fuck’ yet, dick found himself pussy drunk over you.

the feeling of your sweetness surrounding him was something he could get a high off of, addiction setting in. but when you helped him lift your ass off of his thighs, he moaned your name and it was as sweet as honey the way it hit your ears.

"be nice," you fake-warn with a laugh, finding a small rhythm to fuck his length to, not missing the way dick’s eyes roam your body. from the way your tits bounced with every thrust, your lips that remained parted and the whines you executed, and the way your thighs spread atop his every time you brought yourself down.

dick thanked himself that he asked you to take his virginity. his sweet best friend fucking him like it was her job… could he find himself in a better situation?

the answer was easily yes. because, though dick grayson was a strong man, happy trail littering a strong abdomen and biceps and triceps that flexed every time he brought you down onto his cock, he was still a virgin.

so, when a loud and porn-worthy moan fell between his lips and you felt his cock twitch deep inside of you, you couldn’t blame the man.

red flushed his cheeks as he looked up to you, who found rest against his thighs, hands once more finding place on his shoulders. "fuck, sorry, you’re just… have thought about fucking you since forever," he wasn’t lying, and you slipped a hand to cradle his face.

"hey, you lasted longer than my ex," you remind with a laugh, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, allowing him to come down from his high comfortably.

and every other booty call he gave you that summer was followed by apologies, the food he grabbed from a takeout restaurant, and a mind-blowing fuck.

so, it was only instinct that when he found himself on campus again, he had to find a replacement for you. though, hard, because nobody was you, he was more encouraged to go out. finding himself at a different frat party every other friday, finding a new girl to take to his apartment.

even with his imagination running wild, eyes closed as he attempted to imagine that every pussy was yours. that every ass was yours when he groped it. that every girl was you, he failed every time. nobody fucked him like you did, but that didn’t discourage him.

at the end of the day… he still liked fucking.

and with every frat party in his sophomore year of college, came with ideas of recruitment. flyers filled with infographics thrown at him and greek letters surrounding him.

wally liked his frat, talks of brotherhood and free booze. he wore his letters with pride, and it seemed that every house on campus wanted dick.

for good reason, too. who doesn’t want a tall, ripped, smart stud in their frat? can you imagine the bitches dick pulls from that alone?

and even when he gained his greek letters, found a new girl to fuck every day of the weekend, and consumed enough alcohol to grow his tolerance double from the time he entered his university, thanksgiving break comes around… and it comes around fast.

"hey," dick grayson, new recruit from his frat, says as he’s headed home for the week-long break. a few quick hours and he’s headed into the hometown you'd both grown up in.

"hey, dick," you say from the other line, sitting in your bed, already home for the time being.

"you free anytime this week? ‘m headed home now, will probably be there in the next hour," he says, and you notice a change in his voice. the man who was your best friend had a suaveness in his tone. a sultry seductiveness that you’d never heard leave his lips in all ten years of knowing him.

it’s hard to deny the fact that it made you want him to come to your house before he had the chance to drop his bags off, but... you weren't desperate.

"yeah, i’ve got a few free days," you reply and dick chuckles on the other line.

"hm, doin’ anything tonight?"

dick grayson, home for the holidays with a trunk full of comfortable winter clothes and coats, wasn’t a fucking animal. he went to his house, unloaded his trunk, and grabbed a bite to eat. greeted his adoptive father while a chunk of steak made its way down his throat and he stumbled to slide a pair of easy shoes on.

but, he also wasn’t going to deprive himself of you when he could only imagine you in your bed on the phone with him. when he visualized the way your legs looked in pajama shorts that he’d plan to slide to the side, a tank top that your nipples would poke out of.

oh god, in the few months away, he had matured; took him work to get hard. but when it came to you? the second you opened the door, his hands were holding you in all the places you’d missed him (after seeing your car was the only one in the driveway, of course).

"missed you," he breathed out in your mouth. mint mixed with some chocolate protein shake was all you could taste on his tongue. his mouth moved against yours skillfully, lips moving in a sloppy yet patterned way that had his tongue lapping up every taste of your saliva like a hungry dog.

you laugh, hands wrapping around his neck, pushing scruffy curls out of the way. longer hair than he usually sported, but fuck, did he make it look good. "missed me? or missed fucking me?" you correct, dick’s lips still pressed to yours as one hand knots itself in the back of your hair, his other hand following his brain waves.

the door? no, you deserved more than to be fucked against the hardwood of a fucking door. the couch? he debated falling to his knees while you stood leaning against the wall behind you, tongue salivating at the thought of tasting your sweetness again.

oh, your taste.

his legs made their mind up for him, quads spreading underneath black joggers as his knees hit the ground a little too rough. if you weren’t in a daze of him you’d cringe at the sound of him hitting the floor beneath him. instead, wide eyes looked down at him, finally taking a full look at the man.

maybe you were reminiscent of the first time you were with the man. when you were the one held by your knees as he stared at you with wide eyes. but, there was nothing curious nor naive held in his current gaze. his gaze that, even while on the lower level that his knees brought him, made you feel like prey to a wolf.

wavy and shiny black hair fell just short of his shoulders, some sort of a mullet that suited him in a way you couldn’t explain. the three greek letters of his newfound frat stitched into the navy crewneck that held a ring around his neck. adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows the almost embarrassing build-up of saliva in his mouth.

"not here," you warn.

"yes here."

"dick, come to my fuckin-" you’re cut off by him leaning forward, nose hitting the spot where your own thighs met. skimpy shorts and underwear covering what he wanted most. and like a dog in damned heat, dick takes a long and deep smell of your womanhood, one that makes your hand fly to his hair and a groan leave the depths of his throat.

"are you fucking with me?" and dick chuckles. "you have no idea how much i missed your fuckin’ pussy. fucked a lot of girls this semester and none come close to you."

the sentence makes you cringe. if the man below you was attempting a seduction technique, he was failing miserably. "i don’t wanna hear about your other girlfriends when you have your face in me," another chuckle.

"want me to tell you what i think about when i jerk off?"

another cringe.

"no, you fucking freak," you groan while pulling at the hem of your shorts. dick is quick to help you, fingertips dipping under your underwear in the same movement, allowing them to fall in a pool around your ankles.

"think about fuckin' this pretty pussy," he starts, index finger finding your slit and collecting the wetness on it. "i think about being in this pussy, i think about licking you up and fucking all my cum in you," with every word his lips come closer.

with a lick of his upper lip, a rough hand falls underneath your thigh. guiding you to rest your leg over his shoulder, thick muscle holding you up as you let him maneuver your body. any means to get him to shut the fuck up.

his nose brushes against your womanhood, another deep inhale. "you got me whipped," dick laughs, moving forward while he sticks his tongue out. laying it flat while his fingers help to spread the lips of your entrance. and as soon as he sees the way you instinctively move the muscles that control your entrance, he just knows he has a wet patch of pre leaking from his cockhead.

"shut up," you say, words flowing easily until you inhale sharply when the flat of his tongue falls on your clit. it's hard to hold yourself up, and given the circumstances, you can only be half thankful that the man below you has graced you with muscles that held your partially standing form.

dick grayson, your childhood best friend who-just a few months ago had asked you to take his virginity-was clearly no longer a virgin. without knowing much other than what he's explicitly told you since he's walked inside your home, he has become a womanizer of sorts. a womanizer whose sweet spot was none other than you. because none of the girls he fucked were woman in the way you were.

your eyes peer down, and you're unsure if you're enjoying dick's tongue to the extent that he's giving you himself right now. his blue eyes closed and throat groaning as his mouth moves in ways that have your knees buckling and mouth falling agape. "h-holy fuck," you moan, and dick finds approval in that, palms gripping your soft flesh until one moves to begin playing with your entrance.

no consideration for teasing as the wetness of your core has his cock twitch in his joggers. he needs you, and he doesn't care if it's more than you do him.

though, based on the slick that's dripping from your pussy down his calloused fingers, it's hard to differentiate.

"missed me too, huh?" he asks, lips moving and humming against your sensitive clit, middle and ring finger gliding their way into your entrance with ease. "c'mon... tell me you think about me too," dick groans, too eager to allow you time to adjust to the lengths of his digits filling your hole. instead, finding a pace while he kisses your clit, eyes looking up and meeting yours.

"fuck... yeah, i think 'bout you," you begin, a hand finding his dark waves and tightening into a fist while the other attempts to hold yourself up against the painted wall you supported yourself against. "always think about how pretty ya looked," you moan with a small laugh, and dick meets your laugh, though his fingers never halt.

a small glint of appreciation can be read across his face as he admires yours. admires the hair that's beginning to stick to your face and your lips that are slowly swelling from the pressure of your teeth biting down on them.

"'m not gonna look pretty tonight," he says, the pace of his fingers slowing as he finds a scissoring motion that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. with the help of his head, you straighten yourself once again, regaining composure as you repeat the words he said in your head.

"huh?" you question, and dick smirks something wicked.

"you took the reigns last time, 'm gonna fuck you all up tonight."

and dick grayson, no longer a virgin, no longer a pussy-less nerd, proved himself by staking claim on yours. because, even though he claimed he wouldn't look pretty for you tonight, the way he did when you rode him and introduced him to the world of sex, with sweat dripping off his forehead and onto yours, cum filling your pussy, and fucking you in every position he could think of, he looked ethereal.

dick grayson did as he said he'd do. he fucked you up for the rest of the break. he had you calling him for late-night dick appointments and had you slobbering on his cock just the way he had intended you to. dick had corrupted you in a way you'd never been before; finding yourself sitting and waiting for his call when summer would eventually roll through.

[baisemains]

Motivation pt. 2

Melvika Week 2025 - Day 7: Breeding Kink

mel medarda x sevika

word count: 3.5k

contains: modern au, melvika are married, SMUT, top!mel, bottom!sev, hexstrap, titfucking, strap-on sex, oral, praise kink, mommy kink, sev is so subby 😵‍💫

description: mel unexpectedly flips the tables on sevika, for both of their pleasure.

ao3 link | spotify playlist

previous // mel medarda masterlist | sevika masterlist

It's a few hours later when Mel stirs awake, eyes having to adjust to the now pitch black room. She looks around the room groggily and sees that Sevika must have cleaned up their earlier mess because their clothes are settled in the hamper and the stickiness between her thighs is nowhere to be found.

She's pressed against Sevika, who is currently snoring away. She takes a moment to just stare up at her wife, the calm expression on her face bringing a warm feeling in her chest. The arm wrapped around her waist tightens a bit as the older woman starts to awaken as well, low noises leaving her throat.

A gravelly voice fills the still silence. "You're up already?" Sevika mumbles, face nuzzled into Mel's braids.

"I had a really nice dream..." Mel leans up to nudge Sevika's nose with her own, watching as her wife's thick lashes flutter open at the movement.

The older woman slowly unfurls her eyelids, expression still soft and a bit hazy. "Did you now? What was it about?"

She relishes the feeling of Mel’s skin on hers, lips only a breath away. Mel then moves to graze her teeth along Sevika's jaw before pressing featherlight kisses under her ear.

"Basically, what we were doing earlier, but this time..." An open mouth suckle on her pulse point, "I was the one filling you up."

Sevika lets out a shaky groan at the words, hand now pawing at a toned back and head leaning to the side to allow for better access. "Yeah? What did that feel like?"

The shorter woman leans in to whisper against a heated ear. "Heavenly."

Her response has Sevika's breath hitching in her throat, mind already forming sinful images.

"Goddamn, you can't just say things like that. It's not fair." She lets out a low moan while her fingers dig into wonderfully supple skin.

"And why is that?" Mel is still purposely keeping away from her lover's mouth, opting instead to kiss all around her face.

"Because," Sevika whines, "We have to get up for work in a couple of hours, we don't have the time."

The younger of the two is now assaulting that same ear with firm licks and nips, causing her wife to begin softly grinding onto a taut thigh. "Just think of it as field research. Wouldn't your boss want you to return with anecdotes of two users rather than just one?"

Sevika let out a gasp at the statement, body arching into her wife's touches before letting out a shuddering breath. "I...I guess you have a point."

The arm around Mel's waist squeezes, a silent plea for closeness, but the woman still doesn't give in. She continues to press wet kisses along heated skin, enjoying the way her lover squirms beneath her. Finally relenting a few long moments later, she presses an especially forceful kiss to Sevika's cheek and whispers into her mouth.

"Well, then let's give them a damn good review."

Crashing their mouths together, Sevika moans into the kiss, hands roaming across the other woman's body as if she’s starving. She deepens it, tongue poking its way past soft lips and licking at the roof of Mel’s mouth. Her body is still pressed tightly against her wife, leg wedged snugly between thighs, trying to get as close as physically possible. Mel responds in kind, biting gently at the older woman's tongue and rolling them so Sevika is on her back.

"Where is it?" She questions from above, desperately needing to be inside her wife.

"Nightstand, top drawer. Harness is there too." Sevika answers before attaching herself to Mel's throat, leaving plenty of bite marks in her wake. Mel groans as her hand fumbles to open the aforementioned furniture, snatching the box from earlier and dropping it next to them before grabbing the harness. She blindly pries the container open until her fingers land on a silicone object.

"Got it."

With as much haste as she can manage, Mel attaches the toy to the harness and slips it on as Sevika flips on the bedside lamp, head now propped up against the pillow behind her. The younger woman then slowly begins stroking the strap, copying her wife's actions from earlier that evening, waiting for it to activate as she said. Sevika swallows dryly, eyes focused completely on the way Mel's hand fondles the dildo, the veins beneath the surface coming alive with a vivid hue and casting a blue glow throughout the room.

"Ah..."

The sound falls from Mel's lips almost unwittingly. She can feel a tingle of pleasure running through her spine as the toy starts to warm in her grasp, the veins seeming to push further through the surface. A look of awe is etched on her face when the sensation reaches the rest of her lower body, and she looks up through lidded eyes to see her wife looking like she's about to combust.

Mel squeezes the toy without thinking as she takes in the sight before her, and as she shuffles forward to get closer to Sevika's glossy entrance, a sharp movement catches her eye. A shudder that rips through the older woman causes her perfectly full tits to jiggle deliciously, simultaneously stealing Mel's attention and giving her an idea. A sharp gasp slips from her mouth, and a trembling hand runs over her hair to center herself. Sevika is now staring in anticipation, chest heaving and body shifting impatiently, until the other woman finally speaks.

"Sit up a bit."

Sevika does as told and props herself up on her elbow before scooting back, upper body now laying against the pillow behind her. The thin sheet of sweat covering her collarbone and shoulders is enough to drive Mel crazy, sinful thoughts crashing into each other like waves. She chews her bottom lip as she refocuses on her plan, swinging a leg on either side of her lover's stomach and lightly bucking her hips forward until the strap is nestled in the valley of her chest.

"Fu-fuck," Sevika chokes out. Her eyes are wide, hand coming up to grip at Mel’s thighs, squeezing and gently digging into the skin. The younger woman takes in the slight tremble in her grip, the way she can't quite make eye contact. She can't get enough.

Rutting down into tan skin, Mel's eyes flutter shut as the feeling registers in her mind, new and exciting but not quite enough.

"Sweetheart, I…I want to fuck your breasts."

"Ah– O-okay..."

It's almost a sob of a response, Sevika's voice cracking as the words leave her mouth. It's an image that's lived in her fantasies for as far back as she can remember but never seemed feasible until now. She then moves her hand to grip Mel's waist, fingers digging into skin as she pulls her forward in a wordless plea. A low moan slips out as the younger woman grips each of Sevika's boobs in her hands, pushing them together and sliding the dildo between two perfectly soft mounds.

“Fuck, I feel it. I feel you.”

Sevika arches up into the touch, eyes closing and head falling back against the pillow behind her as a strangled sound rises from her throat. The air around them is thick with tension and her palm grips at Mel's thighs in a desperate plea for more stimulation. After a moment, she forces her eyes to open, catching Mel's gaze with her own to try and communicate how badly she wants this. Feeling bold, Sevika pokes her tongue out and licks the end of the strap before wrapping her full lips around it and sucking.

"Oh– oh, god..." Mel moans weakly, the sound almost lost in the growing heat between them.

She simply watches, eyes nearly rolling back as her wife's mouth takes in the toy, tongue swirling and cheeks hollowing, and all she can think is: I must be dreaming. This can't be real. It can't. It can't.

Her brain feels like it's melting, leaving only a single thought in its wake, a desperate repetition that threatens to consume her. Mine.

She's focused only on the woman beneath her, the sight of her lips around the dildo and the way her fingers dig into her thigh. Sevika's eyes slide closed, and Mel thinks she looks like a vision come to life, one she wants to sear into her memory forever.

A jolt of excitement shoots through her when she sucks in more of the length, touching the back of her throat now, leaving it wet and glistening in the low light of the room. Sevika looks up through heavy lidded lashes and her wife's face heats up at the sight. Mel gently brushes her thumbs over two dusky, hardened nipples, releasing a moan from the older woman as she speeds up her thrusts, spreading Sevika's saliva all over her own chest.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself, sweetheart," Mel purrs, the words rumbling in her chest. She runs a hand along Sevika's side, tracing a path up, up, up until her hand threads through the older woman's hair, giving it a gentle but forceful tug.

"You look amazing like this."

A mewl tumbles from Sevika, hand sliding around to her wife’s ass and pushing her forward, causing the toy to push further between her tits into her mouth. The feeling causes Mel to gasp, hips canting forward at an insatiable pace as she gasps out, "Oh, baby I'm so close, I–"

Sevika then increases her actions tenfold, hand coming up to stroke the part of the toy not being devoured by her lips, spit dribbling out from the sides of her mouth. Mel feels her climax swiftly approaching, but before it arrives, she yanks the toy away and begins pumping it with her own hand, the other still tweaking a stiffened bud. Sevika is taken by surprise as her tongue suddenly lolls out, but when she realizes what Mel is building to, her eyes widen and a quiet whimper leaves her throat.

It only takes a few more pumps of her hand before Mel is cumming all over Sevika's full tits, some of it catching on her waiting tongue. The sight causes her mouth to drop open as she chokes out a whine and bucks into her own palm, the sensation now overwhelming. Mel nearly doubles over as the pleasure crashes into her, causing her to see bursts of lights behind her eyes. She rides the high, panting heavily and looking down to see the view she was presented with, which sends another jolting wave rushing through her.

She swallows thickly before speaking, voice sounding dry. "Fuck, that was incredible."

With a dazed look on her face, Sevika leans back into the pillow and drags her index finger over the fluid on her chest before bringing it up to her face and inspecting it. Mel swears she can feel the dildo twitch when her wife slides that very digit into her own mouth and swirls a talented tongue around it, eyes fluttering shut as she savors the taste.

"Delicious."

The sound that leaves Mel’s throat is nearly a wail as she watches her wife swallow the taste of her, the way her head leans back and exposes the long expanse of her neck. She can feel herself starting to stir again, excitement already building in her lower body, and dips down to lap up a line of sweat from collarbone to ear. Feeling the slight shudder at her actions, Mel whispers into Sevika's ear, "Now it's time for the real thing."

She climbs off of her wife's stomach and settles between muscular thighs, spreading them before grabbing the soaked toy and teasing along puffy folds, wanting to hear her beg. "You want me inside you, baby? You need it, don't you?"

That causes Sevika to turn away, pressing her face into the plush pillow. Mel then cocks her head to the side, a pout blooming on her face. "Oh honey, don't tell me you're embarrassed now? You were doing so well for me a minute ago."

"Shut up. I'm not embarrassed." Sevika murmurs indignantly, face now hidden by the pillow and her hand. Despite her words, her body betrays her, hips shifting and silently begging the younger woman to fill her up. Mel then smirks, leaning down to her wife's face while gripping her hand and moving it to the side. She has a secret weapon that she rarely brings out because Sevika really has to be in the mood for it, but this feels like the perfect moment for it.

"Tell Mommy how bad you want it."

Sevika lets out a strangled noise, a shudder passing through her at the words. "You're playing dirty," she mumbles, eyes squeezed shut and face heating up.

"Mmm, but it's working, isn't it?"

She lets out a frustrated sound at the response, head shaking stubbornly, but she can't stop the way her body betrays her, legs spreading wider and her voice cracking as she whines, "It's– fine, it's working, goddammit. I want you so bad. I need you, please."

Mel licks a wet stripe along her clenched jaw as she asks, "You need who?"

A soft shiver passes through her, haze clouding her brain as she answers weakly, "You...Mommy, I need you. Please."

A wicked grin spreads along Mel's face as she finally gets the answer she wants, and she straightens up before dipping the head of the toy into Sevika's waiting pussy. The woman under her lets out a strangled moan, legs wrapping around her wife's waist and body trembling. The feeling of the toy inside her is exquisite, but it's not enough, not nearly enough. She bites her lip, breath catching in her throat, then whispers, "Please, I need...more."

Mel coos, enjoying that her lover is finally opening up. Without verbally answering, she slowly begins sliding all the way in, halting once she bottoms out. Sevika gasps at the feeling, mind becoming a jumble of pleasure and all she can comprehend is Mel and the way her body feels surrounded by her. She grabs at her wife, desperate to bring her as close as possible, chest rising and falling quickly as she whines, "Move. Please, I need you to move."

Mel does so immediately, pulling out almost completely and snapping her hips forward, kissing that sweet spot inside Sevika.

"Oh fuck!" She moans, head tilting back and legs tightening their hold. Each thrust of Mel's hips is driving her higher and higher, mind swimming and body trembling, she can't get enough. Between whimpers and pants, she whispers, "Harder. Please, harder."

Setting a relentless pace, Mel moans as her wife's pussy sucks her in without hesitation, feeling the way she clenches around the toy mercilessly.

"Just like that, just like that, yes," Sevika pants, eyes half lidded and body moving in time with Mel's thrusts. "You feel, ahh, so good."

Mel feels her orgasm approaching but does her best to hold it off, wanting to make her wife cum first. She takes her hand and rubs two fingers along the older woman's bottom lip, biting her own as she clenches her lower stomach. Once Sevika takes them into her mouth, her tongue languidly coats them in saliva, making eye contact as she does so. Mel quickly pulls them out before the sensation sends her overboard and begins rubbing them around the older woman's swollen clit. That pulls a loud moan from her, thighs around Mel's waist squeezing tightly.

Sevika nearly sobs at the feeling, eyes clenched shut and her grip on Mel becoming desperate. That coil of heat in her gut is nearly unbearable at this point, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through her, the sensation only heightened by Mel's pace.

"Please, I can't– it's too much."

"You can take it, darling, I promise, just a little more." The younger woman then replaces her two fingers with a firm thumb, rubbing her wife's clit quickly and without hesitation.

She tries to speak, to protest or maybe to beg for more, but she can't find the words, any sounds she might have been able to make drowned out by a moan from deep in her throat. It feels like every nerve ending on her body is on fire, everything is too much, but also not enough, and the pleasure seems to just build and build with no end in sight.

"I'm so close, god, I'm so close, please!"

One particularly hard clench has Mel lurching forward, catching herself with the hand not between Sevika's thighs. Her hand lands on perfectly defined abs and she scratches at them to try and ground herself. The sensation causes the woman under her to cry out, watery eyes searching Mel’s and begging for permission. Finally deciding she's had enough torment, the younger woman leans down and licks into Sevika's mouth before whispering into it, "Cum for mommy."

That sends Sevika hurtling towards the abyss with a choked whine, wave after wave of pleasure slamming into her body relentlessly. Pussy squeezing around the dildo, that sends Mel chasing after her, groaning as she paints velvet walls with her own release, their cum mixing together and soaking the sheets underneath their bodies.

The feeling has Mel's body trembling and shaking, brain hazy while only able to process the overwhelming heat of pleasure rushing through her body and the sound of her own panting. It's easily one of the most intense orgasms she's ever had, and she nearly blacks out, leaving her breathless. Eventually, she collapses forward onto Sevika, face resting on her shoulder and hands grasping at her waist. It's a long while before she can speak, but as soon as she can, she whispers into her wife's neck, "Holy hell."

She then props herself up onto one elbow and gazes at the woman underneath her, eyes scanning her face for any hint of discomfort. "Are you okay, darling?"

Sevika's hair is stuck to her forehead and her chest is still heaving, but she has a blissful expression on her face. She then smiles weakly up at her wife, eyes softening. "Yes, I'm fine." She brings her hand up to cup Mel's cheek, tracing a rough thumb along her cheekbone. "That was... fuck, it was incredible."

"It was. You were perfect."

The woman above dips down to capture soft lips with her own, taking her time and savoring the moment between them. A soft sigh leaves Sevika's mouth as their lips meet, shifting her body to bring her closer. She lets out a quiet huff of contentment, hand coming up to gently tangle in her wife's hair. Despite how exhausted she feels, she can't seem to get enough; it's like her entire world has narrowed down to Mel and the points their bodies touch.

After a few stretched out moments, they pull apart and Mel runs the back of her hand along a scarred cheek, gazing into soft grey eyes. A hint of a smile stretches along her lips as she finally breaks the silence.

"I bet your boss will be very pleased when you tell her how the toy worked out for us."

Sevika can't help but let out a groan and playfully pinch her wife's side. "You just had to bring her up, didn't you?" She grumbles half-heartedly, before continuing with a playful smirk. "I'll tell her that the research is yielding positive results."

That gets a laugh out of Mel, but it cuts off when she feels the toy press against her sensitive clit. "Ah…" She ever so gently pulls out of Sevika before sliding the harness off and dropping it next to them.

Sevika lets out a quiet huff when her wife pulls away, but she quickly melts back into the mattress and throws an arm over her face, letting out a low groan. "God, I don't think I can move..."

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, Mel sighs and slowly climbs off of the bed, stretching her limbs as she looks over at the other woman. "Almost time to start getting ready for work."

"You're kidding," Sevika grumbles, dropping her arm to glare up at the younger woman. "I can't go to work like this, I need to recover for at least a week first."

Mel looks around the room, pretending to think before strolling towards their bathroom and gazing over her shoulder. "I was going to take a shower beforehand. If you'd care to join me."

Despite the state she's in, Sevika immediately lifts her head off the pillow, eyes locked onto her wife's as the words process in her mind. A smirk slowly spreads across her face as she begins to sit up, sheets falling from her body and to the floor. "Well, I'd be a fool to decline such an offer."

She scurries after Mel, ignoring the way her muscles burn as she scoops her up and presses her into the nearest wall, continuing their morning activities without a care in the world.

[melljam]

ptj found a way to explain gun’s bones being uncuttable, and it is quite literally just that him and shingen are built different lol

[shoot-i-messed-up]

Was always worried about the angst of unrequited love, had never realized the sheer amount of comedic potential that it has.

Imagine one-sided Superbat where Clark is fully aware that Bruce has a crush on him but is being his repressed self about it, and Clark is just like, “I’m not gonna touch that :) you’re going to figure that out for yourself, buddy, and in the meantime, I’m just going to have a good time and be best friends with you as you inevitably pull yourself together enough to either fall out of love or to confess :) and I’ll just let you down gently because I care about you :)” but he absolutely 100% is using it to his advantage in the meantime. His puppy dog eyes had never been so effective before. He’s gotten out of Monitor Duty three times in the past month.

[bloos-bloo]

The urge I have to write a fic on my Shamura’s backstory..