#custom made leather suits

[leathercollectionus]

Whiz Tech Motorcycle Suit

Moto Speeds proudly presents, Whiz tech motorcycle suit , an outfit for the professional riders who never compromise comfort and on-track safety with matching gears and custom fitting.

Whiz Tech Motorcycle Suit

[thomsonsharon347]

How To Wear Your Leather Jacket Fashionably? 5 Dapper Outfit Ideas For Men!

Go through these exclusive styling tips to discover various contemporary ways in which you can wear your iconic leather jacket like a stud!

[mead-iocre]

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leah bringing spoiled!reader with her to new york for a work event. spoiled!reader with her hermès bubblegum pink birkin 35 with palladium hardware and her baby pink prada patent leather heels. the restaurant was lovely, highly-rated, and expensive– exactly suited to reader's taste. the chef's tasting menu was $500+ per person with wine pairing. reader and leah were in for a feast with the 10-course menu. seared shrimp, fennel mousseline, sauce bouillabaisse and more; but reader's favourite was the pan roasted filet mignon, coupled with celeriac “bone marrow” and an aromaful red wine-shallot sauce.

best believe this girl will always tip the servers (!!!!!). when the bill comes ($1410+ thanks to the domaine de la romanée-conti la tâche grand cru 2016 bottle of wine that reader insisted she had to try, but did not even finish a glass of) reader would proudly exclaim "I've got the tip!" and leah would just chuckle, all sweet and endearing, handing the waiter her amex card without even glancing at the bill. like "aw that's nice of you, baby"

reader would clumsily open her bag, digging through her chanel lipglosses, bottle of tom ford perfume, organic mints, various bottles and tubes of hand creams and face mists and such, to find her wad of hundred dollar bills neatly clipped in a stainless steel, custom-made money clip with her initials of course. she'd pull out four hundred dollar bills and hand them to their waiter with a sweet "thank you, sir!".

leah watches as she smiles, clearly very pleased with herself, tucking the stack of hundred dollar bills back in her birkin. Her sweet girl. "look at'chu lil sugar mama"

she practically preens at her praise. "I actually withdrew it from your card, lee"

pulling out her chanel hand mirror, quickly retouching her lipgloss. "can we stop by the bank before we head to soho? might need to withdraw some more"

"...well, I guess it's nice that you're so generous, baby"

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tip your waiters folks!

[accala]

I love how simplistic the clothing is in Advent Children compared to those in Rebirth. I know it's not what they intended (Rebirth is a fairly new game and AC Movie was back in the 2000's). But I like to think that characters had to improvise with their clothes because Shinra, who was the major supplier for everything, was gone after Meteorfall. Plus with Midgar down and in the middle of a wasteland, they had to scramble for resources, so any fabric had to be salvaged.

Here's some side-to-side references of Remake/Rebirth (RR) Clothing vs. Advent Children (AC) Clothing:

[Rufus Shinra]

The buttons. The details. The extra fabric. The belts. And then look how more simple AC is. Sure he has a coat on top of three shirts, but his RR suit looks so extra and customized to fit him whilst his AC suit looks like something he scrounged up in his remaining closet. He lost all of his extra belts. His undershirts look like they’re made out of cheap cotton too. His coat in particular looks short on the sleeves and too loose on his form.

[Turks: Rude, Reno, Tseng, & Elena]

(Top right photo from Advent Children)

Classic expensive suits for RR. Simple suits for AC. Look at those clean looks and small suit details for RR (ex. Rude has a patterned tie and Elena’s collar has a small button/pin on her collar). The difference is apparent with Reno, who has a fancy undershirt in Remake vs his simple cotton undershirt in AC. And if you zoom in on the AC photo, the coats have zippers!!! The AC coats also look loose compared to their form fitting coats in RR.

[Cloud Strife]

AC!Cloud has more fabric than in RR. But AC lacks the details that RR has. For example, RR has leather gloves with metal encased on the wrist and fingers. His shoulder pad looks forged with giant metal screws as well. But AC mostly has leather and little to no metal except for its strap buckles and wolf insignia (And it's likely that Cloud made those wolf symbols himself). Although, he does have major upgrades (read: his sword and motorcycle; both things he probably made himself/with help from scrap materials).

(Extra note: This is a common theme on other characters where they replace their utility pockets and metal armor with leather/denim. It makes sense for their equipment to be replaced due to wear and tear. Lack of metal armor could be due to lack of weapon/armor production. Plus Leather pauldrons/gauntlets are faster to make.)

[Tifa Lockhart]

Her outfit in AC looks more casual than in RR (ex. She got rid of her compression armbands; She switched out her red combat boots for look-alike converse sneaker boots; and put her utility pockets in front of her skirt/shorts combo). Notice how she doesn’t have gloves nor Materia slots in the movie (Although it’s weird that she DOES have gloves in other games/promos).

[Barret Wallace]

In AC, he has a sleeveless puffer jacket and a fishnet shirt. He also lost his leather utility pockets (for ammo possibly) from RR. And it’s probably because he doesn’t need it, now that he has a new advanced weapon (it can transform from a metal arm into a high tech machine gun and vice versa). As an oil baron, he probably has more access to materials and utilities compared to other characters, that’s why Barret’s clothes don’t look so simple/improvised.

[Marlene Wallace]

Obviously Marlene would have a different look when she got older. But look at her cute frilly pink dress vs. her white sleeveless collared shirt and floral patterned skirt (notice how her outfit looks like a mix of Cloud and Aerith’s outfits). The stitching for her AC outfit is way more simple. Also I’d like to think Barret gave her that floral patterned fabric for her skirt since it would have been difficult to get ahold of.

[Yuffie Kisaragi]

Zippers galore. Her outfit is changed to black with a floral patterned shirt with a denim ensemble (I think her outfit is a little extra because she's a WRO member). Her shuriken’s the same but her metal and leather armor are gone and replaced with a wristband and a black cloth that covers her forearm. She still has her utility pockets though but it’s in denim (I wonder, did she break her old armor?).

(Edit: She also has these green converse knee high boots?? Again, as a WRO member, she probs got them outside of Midgar)

[Vincent Valentine]

Nothing changed that much. He kept his coat. His AC leather straps and gauntlet are less detailed than the Rebirth one. The metal buckles look different in shape too. I think he changed those in AC. Makes sense if there were wear and tear during the years (I wonder how he does his laundry though lmao).

[Cid Highwind]

Cid changed to a cotton blue shirt. He doesn’t have his pilot scarf anymore nor his flight jacket. Instead, he has a brown bomber jacket tied around his waist with a dog tag around his neck. As much as I think his clothes are due to scarce resources, I also don’t think he cares that much regarding fashion.

[Reeve Tuesti]

The shoulder pads. The silver and yellow accents. The foot length blue coat. It's a major improvement on Reeve's outfit compared to his old businessman suit. As the WRO leader, he gets access to making his outfit a little fancy (more chances to trade with other towns/cities outside of Midgar). Although I do think someone made that coat for him, and he wanted to reject it because he considered it too much. But accepted either way 'cause it would be a waste.

[twinkletfout]

The Heavenly One Night Stand (One Shot)

»» | Tw: Inappropriate language/words, foursome, spitting, double penetration, dirty talk, facefuck, creampie, spanking, choking, rough sex |

»» | Fem!reader x Gojo x Geto x Toji | (Foursome) | yes, this is a repost::;

As you entered the bar, it was pretty crowded with plenty of people, both men and women drinking and dancing in a corner with jazz music playing softly in the background.

You approached the bartender and ordered one shot of tequila. Yes, you were going all out tonight. Maybe you will regret it in the morning, but right now you really need this to calm you down. The bartender was quick with his hand and poured the shot and slid it towards you before he moved to attend to his other customers.

You wasted no time before you grabbed it and downed the drink. Producing a hissing sound when the last drop has finally spilled down your throat and then slammed the shot glass on the counter. You called the bartender again for one more glass, not stopping any soon, you were thankful that your alcohol tolerance was high.

After a few shots, still sober, you noticed two guys staring at you, making it obvious that they were checking you out with no shame. One with white hair, like snow, that it was too hard to not to notice him in the crowd and the glowing blue eyes he hid with shades. The other, with his arm over the shoulder of his friend, stared at you, while leaning on the chair behind him, with a leather jacket that suited him quite well. He smirked at you when you noticed him and noted his dark hair that is tied to a bun on the back of his head, with one strand of bangs falling over his eyes till it reached his jawline. When he turned to whisper something to his friend, you noticed the inky piercing that he wore, mumbling something while still looking at you. whatever that he said made the other flash a toothy grin after he pulled away from him.

You decided to see what he was up to, and you were surprised when the man slid down his shades and then winked at you, lifted up his white tank top, showing off his pale abs and his hardened pink nipples, running his hands through them as you smirked back at him.

Maybe you should relax yourself tonight as well, with men that could satisfy your needs. When you took your eyes off of them for a second, you felt a light tap on your shoulder, when you turned around to see a massive muscular man standing before you, maybe in his 40s, with a scar on his lips, which was rather seductive to look at. He took the seat beside you.

"Drinking your sorrows away, darlin'?" He asked without taking his eyes off of you, you noticed how his eyes trailed down towards your chest and realised what he was getting at.

"Maybe" you replied while looking away smirking, And you suddenly became aware of the unknown presence behind you, when you looked back, you realised it was that one guy that flashed his abs and his friend trying to interfere into your conversation. The white haired guy leaned on the counter with the same grin he had and asked,

"Mind if we join as well?" you shot your head up to him when he spoke, you knew how your night will go based on the answer you'll give him. You leaned down on the counter before saying,

"Why so?" you asked, looking up at them with your doe eyes, clearly knowing the answer to it, but you wanted to hear them say it

"Well, you want someone to satisfy your pretty little needs, Isn't that right Satoru?," the one with the piercings lifted your chin up to meet his gaze before saying. Your face flushed at his words. The white haired man, Satoru, hummed in response with a smug look on his face. The massive man sitting beside you leaned in and brushed his lips on the nape of your neck slowly, and whispered "why don't you come with us, hm?"

A soft groan leaves him as he asked you, tempting you. You turned towards him before asking what his name was,

"Toji, Darlin', Toji Fushiguro." he said as his fingers found yours intertwining them as a wicked smirk grew on his face.

"Geto" the one with the leather jacket said as he leaned in towards your ear, as his hot breath brushed your skin, making you tremble.

"Gojo, Gojo Satoru. Remember it well, sweetheart." He teased you. The way these men talked to you made you aroused. Maybe they were already getting what they wanted. The tequila you consumed didn't even have twice as much as the effect of these three men had on you. Of course, you went with them, willingly.

Gojo and Geto were the first to leave, following them, Toji had his eyes on you while he walked behind you.

As soon as you reached the hotel, they made their first move as the door of the elevator had closed. In a split second, Toji's hand going over your waist and grabbing your breasts and squeezing them, Gojo's lips crashed on to yours, wasting no time to slide his tongue inside your mouth. All while Geto slid his hand under your skirt squeezing your butt, which later followed him creeping his hands inside your panties later, realising how wet you were.

They retrieved you as fast as they touched you when the elevator door opened. You didn't notice how you were leaning your body towards them, but when they got back to wherever they were. Your legs almost gave out, trembling all over, Gojo caught you before you could crumble down onto the ground.

"Feeling good already, hm?" He questioned, as he chuckled looking away from you, while you were trying to keep yourself still.

Toji and Satoru couldn't control themselves any longer before all of you even gotten into the room, both of them had pinned you against the wall close to your room while Geto struggled to open the door. Kissing, grinding, licking. Oh, you couldn't make up what was even going on anymore.

The moment when they heard the 'tck' sound of the door unlocking, they had pulled you into the room.

Toji picked you up and threw you on to the bed as they all got undressed, undoing your skirt and bra, Toji kissed you down your thigh, towards the place that burned up each time as the kiss was planted on your inner thigh.

He licked your cunt through the fabric of your panties, taking in all of your scent, savoring it.

Stretching your panties to a side, his hands ran through your folds then teasing your clit. You moaned as his tongue played with your pussy, making you squirm

When you were in your own world, enjoying the pleasure, Gojo and Geto interfered with your fun, begging for you to touch their erect cock.

Giving in to their desires, you stroked, sucked, their length as much as they wanted. They produced gentle grunts and groans here and there, feeling good. Gojo's hand found your tit, squeezing them, going down to give it a sweet kiss. Geto knew this was his chance to steal you for all of himself, using your mouth as he pleases, he thrusted his cock deep inside your throat, a moan leaving him as he did. He didn't even give you the chance to adjust to his length before he started to fuck your mouth, deeply and roughly.

"Just like that baby, yes haa,," he moaned your name over and over again, turning you on, before he pulled your head close to him slowly, but it was quick, before he came down your throat. Pulling himself out of your mouth, he exhaled a heavy breath. Chuckling as he bend down himself to meet your gaze, his face coming closer to yours and planting a kiss on your lips, tasting himself on your lips, he pulled away from the kiss before he reached down to suck on your tit with Gojo, teasing your nipples.

You could feel the orgasm rumbling down on your body as Toji had finally started fingering you on the same spot that has been sending electric waves through your body for the past few minutes.

"You like it here, Baby?" he thrusted his fingers again in that specific area. Holding your moan back while your eyes rolled back. The way Geto and Gojo teased your nipples only made your orgasm ripple inside you faster.

"Right here?" he thrusted again, your voice spilling out his name as you came all over his fingers.

"Now, that's what I like to hear," he said, taking his fingers out and reaching his fingers up to your mouth.

"Taste yourself for me, won't you?" the way you opened your mouth without a second thought made him chuckle, wrapping your lips around his fingers. He smirked when he felt your tongue licking his fingers clean.

"Aren't you an obedient girl?" He praised you, making you warm up at his words.

Your nipples were so red from being played with them too much, now three of these men, kissing you in turns, fighting each other to taste you. You sat on top of Toji while his length teased your folds, threatening to enter you at any moment, Geto showed up behind you, taking Toji's place, tasting your cunt. while Gojo appeared in front of you as he slapped his dick and then rubbing it on your pretty face. "You look so beautiful.." he said between each breath as he kept rubbing himself on you.

"Am i?" You asked him clearly, wanting him to compliment you more. He thrusted his hip while you took him inside your mouth. "Yes- yes, you are." He released a breathy sigh as he said those words with a sly smile on his face while your tongue wrapped around his cock, feeling himself inside your wet mouth pussy

You bobbed your head, picking up the rhythm as he thrusted down your throat. You could feel Toji's tip finally going in, slipping inside you while he left a grunt, was it because your pussy felt so good for him?

"So tight" he gasped softly,

You moaned when gojo was still fucking your face, the sound waves of your voice hitting him made it only feel even more pleasurable. Just before he came on your face, Toji didn't seem to let go of you that easily. His grip that was around your hips, tightening it on each thrust. It didn't feel so bad for him to leave some bruise marks on your body tonight.

"Are you forgetting something?" Geto inserted himself into you, stretching your pussy wide with both of their thicknesses. Tears started swelling in your eyes that slid down your cheeks, Gojo got hold of your chin making you face him. He wiped your tears with his thumb and caressed your cheek before he bent down to kiss your lips

"Good girl" Gojo whispered as he pulled away from your lips, his thumb slowly parting your lower lip as it gently moved inside your tongue, pressing it down as your mouth widened. A smirk grew on his face as he spit inside your pretty mouth.

Watching you savor it down your throat only made his dick ache. "Fuck" he groaned. Toji's strong hands squeeze down on your thighs, making you unable to move and take his length to the hilt. Geto was getting all breathy, his climax approaching, he grunted for one last time before he was buried deep inside you, painting your fleshy walls white with his cum.

He pulled out, switching with Gojo. Didn't even give you enough time to know what was going on, He thrusted inside, without a second thought. Toji was edging himself inside your cunt. Which he felt at ease inside your deepest part. He wanted to be buried inside you for eternity, wanted him to fill you whole as his tip kissed your cervix.

You were a mess, your makeup all smeared, red spots and hickeys all over your body due to the rough manhandling of your body. But you didn't seem to hate it at all, not a bit. Gojo moaned your name and whimpered as he was close to coming. Toji was too busy sucking on your tongue as you both kissed not too passionately.

"One more thrust- yeah, fuck, im- imcumming!!" He moaned as his eyes rolled back as you felt the warmth filling deep inside you. As Gojo pulled out from your pathetic little pussy, it was Toji's chance to have you all for himself.

"Such a selfish, bastard" Geto commented while Gojo laughed in the background. Just from Toji's cock, you were filled, completely. That thought made your pussy clench around his grit. He let out a pained groan as he felt you trying to milk him. "It won't be so easy, darlin'" he picked you up with ease and turned you over, all while his length was still buried inside your cunt. As your back hits the messy sheet beneath you, he starts pounding into you violently as he slapped on the soft flesh of your ass.

"Even after all the pounding, why are you still so fucking tight, huh?" He questioned, your pussy clenched even more when he said that. Producing a hissing sound at your filthy behaviour, he brought his hand and wrapped it around your throat as he slightly choked you.

He brought himself closer to your face and then slowly bit down on your lower lip, gently sucking and biting. His other hand that was holding your waist slowly slid down to grip your ass, which he later continued to slap them as he pleased. The choking only made it harder for you to moan, "Shhh" he whispered, "Take it like the good girl you are." he slapped again, but this time it was much harder and painful.

Your eyes swelled with tears which started to pour out, he kept looking into your teary eyes, so full with desire all while fucking you in missionary. Holding your legs in place so you won't squirm around. His face nuzzled in between your neck, he sucked and bit down on the soft spot of your collarbone.

"Toji- im,im cummi- Toji!!" Your voice came out all blended with pleasure while your legs quivered and shook under his strong grasp, he didnt pay no attention as he kept on fucking into you, as low grunts left him.

The two men that you almost forgot that were watching you and toji go at it made them more hornier, when they eventually decided to join in again, as they started to hump on your face.

It was so obvious that Gojo loved rubbing himself on your face, loved it a little too much. While Geto kept on jerking off to you getting fucked by Toji. You felt Toji twitching inside you as he picked up his pace. He kept on moaning your name as he finally spilled himself inside your deepest parts. You could feel yourself cumming again on his sloppy cock. Not much time after, Gojo and Geto both came on your face. The four of you were a panting mess as you trembled all over covered with their filth. Toji slowly pulled out of your messed up cunt, all of the semen left by these three men slowly starting to ooze out of you as he did.

"Lick it clean won't ya?" He said with a smirk as he slapped it on your face, your eyes fluttered open at his request. Gojo brought his lips towards your ear as he whispered, "Lets do this again, hm?" As you looked at the three men, an evil smile plastered on their face as they looked down at you.

[pretzel-box]

Mafia AU Drabble / Suggestive Mature Stuff under the cut

The large room is dimly lit, with only the faint glow of the city skyline spilling through the large windows. You sit quietly in the plush armchair, your heart beating faster than usual while Sebastian leaned in closer.

His large hand wandered up to his fine lips as his teeth bit down on the leather of the glove, pulling the small clothing item of his hand in a slow and smooth motion, dropping it on top of your slightly exposed chest. The evening air feels heavy with tension as his fingers traced your clothed thighs, going up and under your shirt, touching every inch of delicate skin they could find. The expensive decor, the glass of fine wine on the table and the reflection of the crystal chandelier all dropped into the back of your mind as Sebastian Solace kissed your neck with a lively passion, nibbling on your skin and leaving his marks. You moaned softly under his touch, your arms moving on their own as you pulled him closer, drunk from his heavenly scent alone.

There's a sharp contrast between the tender touch and the dominance you feel radiating from him.

His other hand moves with practiced ease, fingers working deftly on the buckle of his expensive belt. The metallic click echoes in the dim room, a brief sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

Before you can fully process the moment, the warmth of his skin meets yours. The heat of his chest presses against your body, igniting every nerve with an electric sensation. His fingers move to the buttons of your shirt, each one undone with agonizing slowness, revealing more of your skin to the cool night air. His lips, soft yet insistent, travel down the line of your collarbone, leaving a trail of heated kisses that send sparks of desire through you.

When his tongue flicks across a sensitive spot just below your collarbone, your body reacts involuntarily, arching into him. He cups the bottom of your thigh, squeezing the skin and lifting your leg with ease before he finally moves his lips further down.

Being married to Sebastian Solace meant living a life draped in luxury, where every desire was met with little more than a whispered request. It was a world of glamour, endless wealth, and the kind of romance that others only dreamt of. All you had to do was stay by his side, adorned in the finest clothes, a silent muse for the man who worshiped you and was ready to devour you at any moment.

Sebastian had two sides, each perfectly balanced as he navigated his complicated life with an effortless grace. By day, he was the charming figurehead of high society, the powerful leader of one of the most feared mafia families in the city. He held the city’s power balance in the palm of his hand, manipulating it like a puppet master, never sparing a thought for the dangers that loomed. He had enemies, yes, but none were foolish enough to challenge him directly. Not with you by his side.

Because when it came to you, nothing else mattered.

His dangerous world faded into the background the moment he looked into your eyes. His focus was singular, always on you. One word from your lips, and the world would bend to your will. If you wanted it, it was yours. He had no limits when it came to spoiling you—lavish trips, private jets, and nights spent under the stars in cities you barely had time to learn the names of. One day you’d be flying over London, and the next, you’d be having breakfast in Paris before taking a late swim in the crystal-clear waters of Hawaii. Time felt irrelevant when you were with him, as though the rest of the world was just a backdrop to your whirlwind life.

You want a car? He’ll get you seven, one for each day of the week—sleek, custom-made vehicles that suited your every mood. You want new clothes? He’ll buy out entire boutiques, filling your wardrobe with high-end fashion from every corner of the globe. And when a closet wasn’t enough to hold it all, he’d give you an entire house just for your clothes, a personal fashion haven, because why not?

To Sebastian, there were no limits. He treated you like royalty, giving you everything before you even had to ask. All he wanted was to see that look in your eyes—the one that showed how much you loved it, and maybe just a little bit how much you loved him for it in return. He will fulfill your dreams all with a handkiss and a charming smile.

[hapan-in-exile]

It's alright to just admit that I'm the fantasy

A Mandalorian One Shot

Yeah, I know your little secret...

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Reader: You are a courtesan at the Dark Garden, Coruscant’s most prestigious pleasure house. Owned by the crimelord Boss Set’ki and operated by his lieutenant Mistress Anassa, when business meets pleasure, you’re expected to entertain soldiers on the payroll. But there’s one—a Mandalorian you’ve come to know and respect—who’s never taken advantage of your services. Until one day, he asked, What if next time I said yes?   

Word Count: ~9K

Pairing: dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Warnings: Roleplay, bondage, blindfold, fingering, oral sex (m+f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spanking, hair pulling, choking, biting, protected anal, unprotected piv, rough sex, edging (him), explicit consent, aftercare.

If the above looks super intense, please know I wrote a soft(er) dom Mando—no extreme degradation. Lots of checking in! Lots of praise!

A/N: This is a one-shot set in the same universe as my ongoing Mandalorian fanfic series. It has no bearing on the series plot, but that’s why the ofc Thuli is named (only once). However, there's no description of skin, hair, or eye color; no description of age or body shape.

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Tales from the Dark Garden

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian says disinterestedly, sliding the pile of neatly stacked credits into his waiting palm. “Please extend my gratitude to Boss Set’ki for his generous and timely payment.”

You watch him tuck the metallic ingots into one of the leather pouches sewn to his belt—right between the buckle and a string of explosive charges. There’s a dull thunk when the butt of his rifle knocks against the table’s edge as he turns to leave. 

It's quite the arsenal. The bounty hunter certainly cast an imposing figure. 

It’s a miracle those shoulders made it through the hatch.  

You’d heard rumors from the other girls at Dark Garden about the fearsome Mandalorian who visited Mistress Anassa. This just happened to be one of those delightful twists gifted by the universe, where the real thing exceeds expectations. He was terrifying. And sexy as hell.

That first moment when you’d opened the door to see him standing there in full plate Beskar was a shock to the senses that would have reduced a younger Thuli into a stream of inane babbling. 

Good thing you had a lot of practice controlling your expression—the demands of professional decorum, after all. It would ruin your Mistress’s reputation if you started drooling over the customers.

The armor suited him. It accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in his forearms, and his powerfully muscular thighs. The belt slung low around his tapered waist, and the quilted canvas hinted at the taut abdominals concealed beneath.

All the adrenaline that surged through your body at the sight of his weaponry had  immediately transformed into excitement, raw and primal. 

This man made you feel…

Sweet gods, divine and merciful.

“Of course,” you smile, leaning forward to place your elbows over the polished tabletop so that your breasts rise enticingly. Lacing your fingers together, you gently rest your chin atop your knuckles. “I will happily deliver your compliments to my master.”

The Beskar gleamed in the candlelight despite an ashy layer of soot. From the state of him, he might have come straight from the lower levels where he’d tracked his quarry. Your eyes linger over the blood splattered across his helmet, sending a shiver of panic down your spine. What sort of violence had this man committed mere hours ago?

Arousal surges within you, fear and wanting intertwined. 

The gore and grime are a stark contrast to the lush surroundings. Draped in silk tapestries, with thick woolen rugs and brocade pillows, your shuttle interior was designed to be a sanctuary from the vulgar world outside. 

But you suspect the Mandalorian wrapped brutality around him as tightly as the cloak hanging from his neck. It would take a woman of considerable charm to remove either.  

Which is why Anassa chose you.      

“It is my honor to serve, Master Set’ki,” you reply, rising artfully from your chair and gesturing toward the lounge where you’ve laid out a modest tea service. “And my duty to please.”

The Mandalorian pauses midstep on his way to the door.

“Excuse me?” he asks, curiosity peaked.

Shrugging out of your robe, the silken fabric pools at your feet. You kneel onto the plush carpet before pulling back, sitting on your heels, and reaching for the enameled pot. “My master thought you would enjoy the companionship. A chance to indulge in softer luxuries before you return to the Outer Rim.” 

The Mandalorian’s helmet gives away nothing, but you can feel his eyes tracing over you.

Looking up at him through dark lashes, you explain, “The use of this ship—and myself—are yours for the night.” 

Despite the layers of cloth and metal, when he folds his arms across his chest, you see the muscles in his back ripple. He looked powerfully, almost aggressively masculine. Like someone who took what he wanted. 

And right now, he’s imagining taking you. 

The fear is still there, but by now, it had sharpened to anticipation so intense that it ached. 

“That won’t be necessary,” he says firmly. Yet, his words did not match his actions. Instead of continuing on his path toward the door, he turns to face you, uncrossing his arms to hold them at his sides.  

Is he simply nervous? Sometimes, warriors hardened on the battlefield liked to yield dominance in the bedroom. Maybe you should try throwing him against a wall and climbing him like a tree. 

No. If submission were his preference, Anassa would have chosen someone else—Katlin with her barbed whips or Bat’ya with her cruel tongue. 

You need to coax him without pushing. The subtle art of persuasion. 

Let’s start with coy seduction. 

Turning to look at him from over your shoulder, you toss your hair just so, sending shimmering waves down your back. You twist gracefully at the waist until your bodice gapes, revealing the contours of your body.  

“Think of it as a reward,” your voice is supple as the velvet cushions surrounding you on the floor. “Someone to take care of you. My only desire is your comfort and pleasure.”

With that, you pour the tea and walk over to him, proferring a cup.

“That is indeed generous,” the Mandalorian cocks his head. “But I usually find more comfort in solitude.”

Yet, again, he makes no attempt to leave, accepting the cup from your hand graciously. Worn leather caresses your skin as your fingers brush against each other, reaching around the warm porcelain. The jaw of his helmet lifts, and you catch a glimpse of bronze skin and coarse black hair while he raises the cup to his lips.

Surprisingly full lips.

What did he mean by offering resistance? Was this a challenge? Some test of your professional acumen?  

A skilled courtesan is, above all else, a student of human nature and hidden desires. She must know what her clients want before they speak the words. Before they know it themselves. This Mandalorian wanted to be…tempted. 

Timidity would yield nothing. 

You arch an eyebrow, “I have never known a man who preferred solitude to my company.” Then, you stare directly into the jet-black surface of his helmet’s visor. Meeting his gaze, you place a delicate hand over his chest plate and fill your voice with honey, “Let tonight be a rare exception to the usual.” 

The Beskar feels cool against your palm and the pads of your fingertips. You hadn’t realized how flushed you’d become with your heart beating this fast. The insistent yearning between your thighs matches each pulse coursing through your veins.

“I am here to satisfy your needs. Whatever the Mandalorian desires is his for the taking.” 

While the bounty hunter remains stubbornly silent, you can hear his breathing grow shallow through the modulator.

Having made your supplication, you draw back. “If it is tranquility the Mandalorian desires, perhaps I could play the valachord or sing for him?” 

“Sing?” he huffs, sounding amused. It’s funny, hearing the smirk on his lips.

Well, at least he’s not completely immune to your charm. 

“Pleasure takes many forms,” you say, flashing him a demure smile. “As such, we courtesans are skilled in many arts. I’ve been told my voice is exceedingly lovely. And I know all the Twelve Ballads of Kiergaard.”

You shift onto the edge of a thick cushion to pour yourself some tea. When you raise the cup to your lips, the look of elegant femininity slips—just for a moment, so he can see the earnest hunger filling your gaze. You fix him with your most smoldering stare, “Though I can certainly think of other ways to please you with my mouth.”

The tea tastes bitter on your tongue, but you hardly notice, waiting for his reaction.

The Mandalorian says nothing as he pulls the rifle over his head, settling it against the door frame. He walks over in a slow saunter that makes his hips dip and sway. Slowly, he extends his hand to take your face in his leather fingers, lifting up your chin. 

“You want me to fuck your mouth?”

Your breath catches in your throat. A wave of arousal courses through your body, emanating from your clenching belly until it ripples over every surface of your skin, pinching your nipples.

“If the Mandalorian—” but he cuts off whatever beguiling line you intended. 

“I thought this was about what I wanted?” he demands.

Suddenly, you’re too flustered to speak, confused by the sudden shift in dynamic. All his polite reticence had been an act. He was done testing you. He wanted to assert dominance. 

In answer, you lower your gaze.

“That’s right,” he says cooly, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You’re remembering what you’re for.” The Mandalorian takes the cup from your hands and tosses it aside. “There’s no more need to talk. Don’t open your mouth unless I tell you.” 

Then he reaches down to his belt and unbuckles it. 

And to think you worried he’d be too self-conscious for roleplay. This is going to be so good.

“You’re here to give me whatever I want?” he asks, his tone gruff and intimidating.

You don’t look up, just nod.

He laughs, “I’m glad we understand each other.” 

With your gaze locked on the floor, you watch the tread of his boots make their way to a lacquer armchair in the corner of the room. His knees splay wide as he leans back in his seat. “Answer my question.”

“Whatever the Mandalorian desires, I will give him.”

“Because tonight, your body is for me.”

It’s not a question, but you find yourself nodding in confirmation. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

You answer truthfully. “That you’re a dangerous man, and I should do my best to please you.”

“Smart girl,” he says in a rough whisper. “But don’t worry, I have no intention of harming you. I’m going to make you come. Then you’ll sing for me, senaar'ika.”

Senaar'ika. Little bird. 

Your whole body flushes with heat.

“What do you know about Mandalorian customs?” 

When you hesitate, he adds, “You can answer me.”

“I know that it’s a sacrilege to look upon your face. That to touch your helmet, even by accident, is to forfeit my life.”

“Then you’ll understand why I need to tie you down.”

At that, your head snaps up to look at him.

“Or tie you up. I haven’t decided yet.” 

Part of you is terrified by the thought of being captive to this man for hours, splayed wide and helpless. The other part of you wishes he’d do it this second. 

“You can undress while I make up my mind.”

Obeying his command, you stand and reach behind you for the lacings of your bodice.

This, at least, is an art in which you can make your mistress proud. The trick is to envision it’s a private ritual, something deeply intimate. That you always loosen the silken knots this slowly. That each row of the lacings must be pulled free, one—by—one. 

You lift your elbows so that he glimpses the soft curves of your breasts as you move. Slip your right arm from its fitted sleeve, then the left, until you’re certain the dress will fall, cascading over your body like waves caressing the shore. 

Only then do you turn, rolling your hips and then your shoulders, displaying your nakedness, before you finally look over to where he’s sitting, as though you’d forgotten anyone was watching. 

At some point during your performance, the Mandalorian had leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped together in wrapt attention. 

“That was beautifully done,” he murmurs. “You may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Your heart swells, hearing his admiration—perhaps because it sounds so genuine. Suddenly, all you can think about is how best to please him, the things you’ll do with your lips and fingers.

“I understand the Hapan courtesans from Dark Garden are the most expensive, the most prized companions in all of Coruscant.” The hunter’s voice sinks into a low, husky rasp as he says, “But tonight, I’m not interested in your talents, though I’m sure you have many. This is about what I want to do to you. Tonight, you belong to me.” 

It’s just as well he demanded your silence because you can’t speak. 

You know he can see you breathing, shallow and fast, from the rise and fall of your breasts. See your pulse thundering against your throat. He’s feeding off your fear, you realize. That’s why he keeps trying to catch you off guard like this. The Mandalorian wanted to shatter your artful calm and see something raw and real in your eyes. 

You know you should be afraid—and you are—but you’ve never been more turned on.

So when he gets up from his seat to approach you, you don’t bother hiding the way your whole body trembles in trepidation.

The Mandalorian crouches to pick up the belt from your discarded robe.

“Give me your hands.” 

He uses the fabric to tie your wrists together, wrapping the belt around and between them in a complicated knot. Then, his strong hands pull you under one of the lanterns suspended from the ceiling. 

Cupping it in his palm, he lifts the glowing orb from its hook to set it down beside the abandoned tea service. The cabin grows dim, like he’s wrapped you in shadows.

That’s when you realize what’s about to happen. Unspooling the cable from his whipcord, he loops it through the empty hook. He’s going to suspend you from the ceiling by your wrists. 

The breath coming from your nostrils is so fast now that it’s the only thing you can hear in the close, quiet cabin of your shuttle. But you say nothing. You can’t protest; you can only submit. 

After securing your bound wrists to the cord, he inspects the knots. 

“Not too tight?”

You release a deep breath and shake your head no. 

“You remember the signal?” Mando asks with concern, breaking from the fantasy entirely. 

“Yes,” you smile up at him with more confidence than you really feel—trying to ignore the insistent throbbing between your legs. 

“You can stop me at any time.”

“I know.”

“Alright,” he says before his voice drops into a rough whisper. “You’re giving me total control. Anything I want is mine.”  

Fuck, just hearing him say that makes you ache with need. That same trembling emanates from inside you, fear and arousal, two halves of the same coin. You don’t know precisely what the bounty hunter plans to do to you—and the suspense just makes the fantasy feel more real. 

Within seconds, you’ll be tied up, defenseless against him and his desires. The only way to stop him is to say the safe word, and you already know you won’t. You want it too much. 

You’ve spent months building up to this—years, really. It’s my choice, you’d told him. It’s different when it’s my choice. 

“Yes,” you whisper breathlessly.

Then he pulls down on the whipcord, and your arms lift above your head. 

For one panicked moment, you think he’s going to haul you entirely off the ground, but your feet remain on the floor, bearing your weight. You remind yourself that this is his domain. He knows how to bind, what the body can withstand. 

And for now, the tension feels manageable. Slack enough so you don’t feel the strain in your joints; taut enough so you can grip the cord to steady yourself. 

Yet you remain utterly helpless, unable to turn your head or move without losing your balance.

He takes a few steps back, leather boots creaking, and you watch as the Mandalorian strips his gloves off before removing the Beskar from his arms and chest.​​​ The fabric underneath outlines every contour of his powerfully muscular body.

Though not as graceful as your tradecraft, he certainly knows how to build anticipation. Each time his hands grip, pull, and tug, your stomach clenches. 

Soon, you feel volatile, ready to explode, waiting for him to touch you. When he finally does—when you feel the tip of his calloused finger tracing over the length of your spine, it burns through you, down to your core, so hot your cheeks flush scarlet. 

“It’s a good thing we have all night,” he murmurs. “There’s a lot I want to do with you.”

As he circles, the view plate sweeps up and down your body as though inspecting some prize captured in a snare. All you can do is stand there on display, completely exposed, until he makes a satisfied sound, a hummm that vibrates through the modulator. The hunter, pleased to discover what he’s caught.

“I feel deeply honored to receive you as my reward,” the Mandalorian sounds eager, standing behind you, voice full of hunger. “Now spread your legs.”

The breath catches in your throat, hearing that tight ache—the same raw yearning to match your own. You want to obey. 

But there’s no give to the whipcord. The bindings on your wrist pull tighter the farther your feet draw apart. Though you can still balance, your shoulders start to burn from the stretch. Slowly, you rise onto tiptoes. But not fast enough—

Wrapping an arm around your waist, the Mandalorian lifts you from the floor. 

“Wider,” he commands, gripping you roughly by the knee to pry open your thighs with his other hand. You have to bite back a scream. By now, you’re so wound up that just the sensation—the air cool against your wet center, his powerful chest pressed against your back, his fingers digging into your skin makes you drunk with lust. 

“You’re so wet already, senaar'ika. It’s slicking down your thighs,” the Mandalorian groans, breath warm against the back of your neck. His hand gripping your knee slides upward between your legs, tracing toward the heat of your skin. “No wonder you were begging me to fuck you.”

His fingers part and probe—massaging in slow, firm circles that spiral until you’re panting. Every stroke sends pleasure pulsing through you, and you can’t stop yourself from whimpering. 

“You like it when I use my hand?” he asks, voice maddeningly calm. Only the persistent throbbing against your hip, matching each beat of his heart, betrays his arousal. When you release a sigh in desperate delight, he says, “Maybe this is how I should start.”

And fuck, if Mando doesn’t knows exactly where to touch you—how much to bear down and how fast to go.

“Mmmph,” a moan of deep satisfaction escapes his lips as he thrusts two fingers inside you, sending a gush of wetness welling against his palm. He pushes them in and out, obviously relishing the obscene squelching sound.

Wait! When did he take off his helmet? 

No. No, this is forbidden. This is dangerous. 

You couldn’t move your head to look at him even if you wanted to, but your eyes shut tightly just the same. The fear of seeing his face, the dire consequences, amplify every panicked thought running through your mind, heightening every sensation—his fingers curling, his thumb pressing down over your clit.  

Your breaths come sharp and shallow now. All the blood in your body rushing between your legs. The stimulation is almost too much to bear, the excitement and panic roiling within you—the Mandalorian dipping his fingers inside, slipping them out to circle and stroke. Drawing a wet line between your cunt over and over.

Desire ripples through you in waves. Your body tightens, muscles clenching. Your bound hands keep straining in their futile urge to grab his wrist, your knees fighting against him to shut tight around his thrusting fingers. 

You’re close now. So close, you’re on the brink.

He kisses the back of your neck, “Don’t worry. I’m going to take good care of you.”

“Aaangh!” That’s when he presses harder, circles faster, and you come, “Haaa-aah!” 

Your orgasm crashes through you in a tidal wave that upends gravity. You cry out desperately with all the air left in your lungs—the relentless pounding of your heartbeat against your eardrums making you dizzy. 

“Haa-aah! Aaah!” 

Losing equilibrium, you sway, and the bindings pull painfully around your wrists. You’re at the limits of your flexibility, fighting to keep your balance before the Mandalorian’s muscular arm tightens around your waist, until he’s bearing enough of your weight to keep you upright.

“I’ve got you,” he says gently, pressing a tender kiss over your head. “Stand up. Come on. Legs spread. You know what I want.”

You shift on your heels, testing your unsteady knees. “I can’t—” but your words break off into a gasp when he clasps his hand around your throat, warm and sticky with your come.

“Shhhh,” he whispers against your temple. “I told you not to open your mouth unless I said so.”

His tone is soft, and he kisses you tenderly again through a tangle of damp hair, your forehead glistening with sweat. But his fingers grip tighter in warning. 

“Don’t speak unless you’re begging me for more.”

You nod once in understanding.

“Smart girl,” he says, and without the helmet on, you can hear the wry grin on his lips. “I’m glad we understand each other. It’s going to make everything so much easier. But just to be sure—”

His wide palm fans out from your waist, gliding down your body to slip over the curve of your buttocks. 

Then he brings it down in a sharp smack that echoes through the quiet cabin. Hearing that slap, feeling the sting on your skin, the burning heat that radiates from his handprint—shakes you from the hazy lust. 

It’s not enough to want to obey. 

“I’m going to take good care of you, senaar'ika. But you have to do as you’re told.”

While he’s playing a role, the pain is very real. Yet this fantasy is about your powerlessness. Whatever the Mandalorian wants to do to you, you have to take it. Yes, the pain is undeniable—but the adrenaline?—it sharpens the hunger.

When you finally regain your balance and tilt your pelvis forward at just the right angle, your ass brushes against his straining erection, and he groans, a low vibration you feel through his chest. Arousal arcs through you, and you gasp responsively. Even now, as your body tingles numbly in the aftermath of climax, your cunt still aches, longing to be full of him.

With his entire body sealed against you, you feel the firm pressure swelling against your ass. It throbs, heat radiating through the canvas flight suit. The coarse fabric is rough, rubbing over your slapped skin. 

“You feel that?” he whispers, grinding the entire length of his cock against you. “That’s what you’re going to take for me.”

Holy fuck, he’s huge. Thick, too. Your mind reels at the impossibility; can you really fit him inside you?

“You’re going to take it all,” the bounty hunter huffs, as if he’d heard your thoughts. “You’re going to come with my cock buried in your ass.”

Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! 

It’s something you’ve talked about, something you said you wanted and prepared for, but….you’ve never had anyone this big up your ass before. He’s going to tear you apart. 

“Are you scared? Because trust me, I’m going to make you ready. You’re going to beg me for it. Then you’ll come so hard with my cock in your ass, nothing else will ever feel as good.”

The hormones that suddenly surge through your body make arousal indistinguishable from panic. You should be so afraid, and yet, you want this. Under the fear, you’re still full of need, urgent, and emphatic.

“After that, if you’re lucky, then I’ll fuck your mouth.”

Shit! Shit, that’s…you try to banish away the shame washing over you. He’s going to claim your body in every way imaginable, use you filthy—and it feels like you shouldn’t want this. But you do. 

“Don’t worry,”  he sighs, voice sounding softer now, gentle. “I’m not going to rush this. First, I want to explore your beautiful body.”

You feel the cold Beskar plates against the backs of your thighs and shiver.

His hands slide outward along your shoulder blades, curving down and around just enough for his fingers to lightly brush the sides of your breasts. Then, the Mandalorian’s arms circle you, reaching up to grasp them in both hands. Arousal rekindles as he kneads and squeezes, pressing them together tightly. Igniting as he tugs and pinches. 

And when your nipples are so tender you whine, “Mmmph!” he soothes them in his wide palms. 

“You—are—so—beautiful,” he moans, kissing the curve of your jaw. 

Behind you, his lips trail soft, open-mouth kisses down the back of your neck, between your shoulders, along your spine, and lower, until he drops to one knee. His hands trace over your ribcage, your sides, the indentation of your waist, and the flare of your hips. 

The pads of his fingertips are coarse but tender.

“Look at you. Legs spread. Open and wet for me. When I dream of you, this is what I’ll see.”  

Then he crouches between your knees to press lighter, softer kisses up the inside of your thighs, teasing you until you grow desperate with anticipation. “Haa!” you gasp, already panting. 

Spirals of arousal coil through you, so dizzying you have to grip the whipcord for balance. 

Soon, you’re lost to anything but the desire for him to taste you. That he’s risked so much by removing his helmet is the only thing keeping you from breaking position, regardless of the punishment. That’s how much you long to tilt your hips and rub yourself against his mouth. 

Don’t speak unless you’re begging me for more. Would he like it if you begged?

“Please,” you whimper, voice full of desperation. 

He groans in satisfaction before making one long sweep of his tongue, right through the very center of your urgent longing. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes!”  

“I like hearing you beg.” Then his lips press firmly between your thighs, enfolding you in his warm, wet mouth.

Okay, wow, he’s good at this. He’s really, really good at this. 

The Mandalorian’s tongue searches for your clit, stroking and circling in a rhythm that drags you back to the brink almost instantly. But slowly, agonizingly slowly, to hold you at the edge of pleasure—like he could do this, keep you suspended there—forever.  

“Show me how much you want it,” he says, hot breath tickling against your delicate skin. 

If you could bury your fingers in his hair, you would. Instead, you shift all of your weight onto one leg, using what remains of your equilibrium to drape the other over his shoulder, feeling the rough stubble of his beard and the shell of his ear press against the inside of your thigh. 

Helping you balance, one strong hand grips you by the hipbone while the other slips over your knee before guiding his mouth between the sopping wet folds of your cunt. 

You tense every muscle, digging your heel into his sinewy back to try to keep him there. Right there! 

He rewards you by lapping faster—and then, when you cry out, speeding up even more. “Sing for me, senaar'ika.”

Every throb of pleasure ripples through your body from your nipples to your scalp, all the way down to your toes, until you can’t help yourself from rocking your hips, increasing the pressure just a little more. You feel each bob and turn of his head as he keeps at it, caressing you in spirals as a long, luscious wave of ecstasy swells inside you.

Mando’s fingers tighten around your thigh to hold you in place. He keeps going, maintaining his rhythm so that you can ride each cresting surge. It builds low, climbing and arcing higher, and when it finally overwhelms you, when you let go, and it rushes through you—you do sing. You cry out in one long wail that lasts the length and breadth of your climax.

Your body goes limp once the orgasm fades, and just like last time, the Mandalorian is the only source of strength to keep you upright. Hands clutching your hips, he pulls back to place a wet, sticky kiss low on your belly, then says, “We’re not done yet, little dove. Not nearly done yet.”

Gods in heaven, how much more of this can you take? You’d love nothing better than to sink to the floor in post-orgasmic bliss…but his cock is still in his pants. 

Too afraid to look down, you feel his body shifting between your knees and wonder, what next? Should you offer to reciprocate? Fuck, you want to. Right now, you want him in your mouth so badly that it’s all you can do not to beg for it. 

Your lips part, the words ready on your tongue—

When suddenly, he lifts you by the back of your thighs, settling you on top of his shoulders. You barely have time to gasp, to grip the braided cable between your hands—to think—before he buries his face between your thighs again.

“Oh, gods!” you gasp. “Oh, haah…!”

The tension in the whipcord keeps you from falling backward, but you feel precariously weightless sitting on his shoulders. Reeling, overstimulated from your last orgasm, you instinctively try to writhe away from the press of his wet tongue, his hot mouth, the coarse hair of his beard, and nearly lose your balance. 

Mando steadies you, wrapping his arms around your lower back, ass braced against his thick biceps as he works, tongue parting the soft creases of your cunt to find your sore, throbbing clit. 

This time, he holds nothing back, laving and shaking his head until your vision starts to blur; the pleasure is so intense it’s blinding. 

Oh shit! Merciful gods, this might break you. It’s too much. Too much. But you can’t move. Caged in his arms, you have to take what he gives. It feels so good. 

You don’t think it can get any better until he starts to suck. After that, you can’t think about anything anymore. Your mind is just blank. Static. White noise.

Fuck! You’re at the brink again—so fucking close—your heartbeat is thundering against your ribs. The muscles of your inner thighs lock, clenching around his jaw. Your body is poised right there. Right there! That exhilarating moment before—

And at that's when the Mandalorian slips a finger, slick with your come, inside your ass. 

The sensation kindles alarm, and your entire body tenses in response. All your instincts awaken in primal fear to remind you just how vulnerable you are.

Okay! It's okay! Just relax. 

In answer, his other hand begins sweeping up and down your thigh, caressing and soothing the tension away. 

That’s right. You have to relax. He’s doing this for you, to make you ready. Right now, your pleasure is the only thing that matters. Focus on his tongue circling your clit, his finger gently caressing millions of tiny nerve endings. 

But he slides up so seamlessly, so deep inside you, the pressure pools in your abdomen, and you gasp, “Oh, gods!” again.

Don’t resist the sensation—yield to it. Work with it. Take what you need.

Pulling on the whipcord for leverage, you thrust your hips against his mouth. He groans in encouragement, responding by sucking harder, licking faster—and then, spearing his tongue inside you.

Okay, yes. Yes! Gods, yes! You have never come so soon after your last orgasm, but he’s going to get you there.

That’s when he adds a second finger. 

You feel it stretch you, but your body doesn’t resist this time. And when he starts working them back and forth in rhythm with the thrusting of his tongue, it starts to feel so good. So good.

Each rut of his tongue and stroke of his fingers sends heat coursing through you, so flushed now that your skin seems to be on fire. Your hair clings to your sweaty cheeks. But nothing is as hot as his breath between your thighs. 

So you move faster, rubbing yourself against the raw stubble of his chin, the tip of his nose, drowning him in your cunt. All the while, he increases the pressure of his fingers just a little more, massaging inside you. 

You start to shake, the muscles in your legs trembling, as the Mandalorian twists his hand, rolls his wrist, and you feel the brush of his knuckles against the tender skin of your asshole. 

Then, he sucks your clit between his teeth, and you come in a burst of ecstasy so sharp it makes you scream. There’s a second when your vision goes entirely white—like staring into a bright sun—and your heart thumps so hard you hear the blood rushing in your ears.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your stomach.

His fingers gently slip out of you so he can grasp you by the ribcage with both hands, bracing you as you shudder through the ricocheting aftermath of your orgasm. 

“You taste like heaven.” 

He would know. His face, his hands, his neck, and shoulders are all covered in your come.  

“I told you I’d take care of you,” Mando’s broad hands stroke the length of your back, and the sound of his voice melts away any lingering doubts. He knows when to be gentle and when to be rough. You can trust him with this. 

When the bounty hunter ducks his head out from between your thighs, you think you’ll have to stand up again, get back into position. And you know you’ll be punished—but you can’t. You’re shaking too much for that. 

It doesn’t matter. Your feet never touch the floor. Bending you at the waist, he slings you over one broad, muscular shoulder, so that you dangle limp and dizzy, upside down as he steps into a lunge to lift you both off the ground. Tearing your wrists free from the whipcord at last, your arms fall numbly behind him, blood rushing back into your digits.

Draped over his shoulder like a hunter’s prize, he strides across the cabin toward the bed. 

Perhaps you’re delirious—you must be after three orgasms. Or maybe it’s because your fingers are so desperate to find new life. But when you look up (or is it down?) to see his perfectly sculpted ass outlined in dark gray canvas about a foot from your face…weak as you are, you can’t stop yourself from reaching for it. Your hand stretches lower until you feel its firm contours press satisfyingly against your palm. And gods help you, but you squeeze. Hard.

The Mandalorian chuckles, a deep booming laugh that has your knees jostling against his chest. You’re breaking from the submissive fantasy, but maybe he won’t—

“I knew you wanted it,” he laughs, voice full of triumph as—fingers splayed wide, he slaps his hand down over your ass cheek—the exact same spot as last time—so hard the sting brings tears to your eyes. 

Fuck! Your jaw drops. The pain sharpens all of your senses, bringing everything into focus. Your thighs squeeze together, cunt clenching against the sensation. Fuck that stings. Right. He’s back in the role. Time to be rough.

“You’ve wanted my cock inside you since the moment I stepped through that door. Haven’t you?” 

When he tosses you onto the bed, you fall onto the mattress, flat on your belly. But before you can get to your hands beneath you, he presses a knee down between your shoulder blades to keep you from moving. 

“You want to beg me some more, senaar'ika?”

The silk belt of your robe slips over your eyes, and he lashes it tightly behind your head. 

“Tell me!” he demands, like he’s making you confess to something. 

“Yes,” you whisper into the sheets, words muffled by the bedding. 

“Yes, what?”

“I want your cock.”

“Where?” he asks, and the sound of him tugging down his zipper fills your ears.

“Inside me,” you gulp. “I want your cock inside me.”   

You hear him tearing open the condom wrapper, “That’s right. Beg me to fuck you.” 

“Please—”

Then he’s on top of you, hands pressing into the mattress on either side of your face, his knee lifting from your back to part your thighs, his massive weight pinning you underneath him. 

Reaching between your naked bodies, he wraps a hand around the base of his shaft to rub the swollen head of his cock along the cleft of your ass, back and forth, slicking the entrance before he pushes inside you.

You cry out in shock. 

So does he.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, that’s so tight! Haa, haa!”

Leaning forward, he places a soft kiss atop your head, pausing with just the first few inches of him inside, letting your body stretch to fit him. 

“You okay?” he whispers quietly against your cheek, his face damp with sweat. 

When you nod, he begins tracing his tongue over your earlobe, kissing your jaw and the corner of your mouth. His beard is still drenched with your come.

“This feels amazing,” his breath is hot in your ear. “Just this. You're gripping me so tight.”

You’re tempted to stop here, to say the safe word. And you trust Mando to stop; you know he would. That’s why he’s reminding you. And this does feel amazing, his body enfolding you, the rub of his bare skin over yours, the feeling of every firm muscle pressing into your soft curves—the pressure inside you. 

But you want this. You want all of him.

“More,” you moan.

The aching burn is so intense as his enormous cock plunges deeper inside you—slowly, but without ceasing. “Oh fuck!” he gasps. “Fuuuuck, that feels so good. Almost, ha-aah…almost. It’s almost in.”

The burn as he opens you—the way the entire universe narrows to this bodily sensation, until you perceive nothing but its fantastic pressure—only anal sex does this for you. But its so hard to trust someone to be careful, to make you feel safe in spite of being so vulnerable and powerless. Mando does that. 

“I’m going to start, haah…I’m going to start moving, okay?” he says, panting from arousal and restraint.

Adjusting his weight onto his elbows, he rolls his hips gently, strokes building. There’s so much lubricant on the condom; each shallow thrust is frictionless, but you’re still trembling like one of the strings of your valachord. 

“Haah, you feel so good. So—nnngh—so fucking good!” Threading his fingers through your hair, his forehead drops against your neck, and the heat from each ragged breath spills over your shoulders. “Anngh!”

Then he starts fucking you in earnest. He pushes deeper now, pulling out further to feel the grip of your asshole squeeze up and down the length of his shaft. Already, you feel arousal peaking within you with each long, slow stroke. 

Mando’s width and length stretches you, makes you burn. And you moan, fingers twining in the sheets as the pleasure becomes indistinguishable from the pain. 

“You like this?” his voice is teasing again, getting back into the role.

“Mm-hmm,” you moan, unable to form words. 

It’s like you can’t feel anything but him moving inside you, pleasure surging in ebbs and flows, like a tidal current. It’s hard to describe. The barrier between your anus and cunt is so thin you feel him everywhere. It burns, this inner blazing heat. 

It’s a sweet agony, like the handprint on your ass, making everything tingle with sensitivity, amplifying every sensation. Even the pressure of the mattress against your clit is enough to send a thrill through you.

“Is this the biggest cock you’ve ever taken?” 

You cry out in torment and desire as he shoves into you harder this time, and your whole body bends and turns in a desperate effort to accept every inch.

“Yes,” you want to sob into the mattress. It aches. It’s so fucking good you could scream.

“You’re taking it so good,” he whispers as he sinks in even deeper. “That’s it.”

And he’s finally all the way inside you now, so deep that when he starts thrusting, you feel the slap of his sac against the dip of your cunt. Each stroke presses you harder against the mattress—hitting you where it feels best inside and out. 

And strong, so strong he pushes your body upward on the bed.

“I want to fuck you like this all night.” His voice is tight with strain—just barely holding on, waiting for you.

But he’s not moving fast enough for you to come.

“More,” you whimper into the damp folds of silk.

Mando pushes in again, burying himself balls-deep inside you before whispering against your shoulder, “What's that?”

You need more. “I need more…I need—”

“You worried I won’t fuck you hard enough?” he laughs, plunges in deep, and bites the soft flesh of your shoulder. It’s not enough to break the skin—but you cry out from the painfully sweet ache of it.

“Beg me, senaar'ika,” he says, sitting back on his heels, filling his lungs with each heaving breath. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

But this time, you don’t want to obey. You don’t want to say please. You want to find out exactly how hard the Mandalorian can give it to you. If you want to come with him, you need more, and you know how to get it. 

You turn your head so he can see the jut of your chin, fill your voice with challenge and say, “Mercy of the gods, shut up and fuck me harder.”

The bounty hunter scoffs in shocked bemusement.

His arm hooks around your elbows, pinning them behind you, “You’ll regret that, little dove.” 

Then he yanks back on your arms, pulling you off the bed, and against his chest. Your ass presses into the bowl of his hips, thighs sealed against his. His other hand slides up your stomach and between your breasts to clasp around your throat. A touch that means possession. 

The Mandalorian owns you now, and he knows it.

Mando slams into you, and you want to cry out—but you stifle it somehow. You don’t want him to stop. You’re so wound up that tears well against your eyelids, dampening the blindfold. It scares you how much you want this. Gods help you, but you do. You fucking love it.

His thrusts remain slow at first. Deliberate. Punishing. Yes, punish me! His pelvis clashes against your buttocks like the snap of a paddle. But the tempo increases as he starts to get into it. Soon, he pumps into you so hard that it makes your breasts bounce, and your entire body starts to sweat. Your hair swings around your face, tendrils sticking to your neck, your flushed cheeks and forehead.

He never loosens his grip. Your shoulders start to ache from being pulled back so far—your throat throbs against his palm—and yet you want nothing more than the slap of his body, the feel of his cock filling you. It’s like he’s reaching to the core of your very being with every thrust.

Yes, you think, fuck me. Make me take it.

The bounty hunter’s hand tightens around your throat—unconsciously, you think—because of how close he is. Each ragged breath vibrates against your back. You can still breathe, but his grip keeps you dizzy and light-headed. 

A sharp thrust, and your arousal climbs. Another, and it goes higher. Mando bucks and bucks, and the world behind your eyelids becomes bright and sparkly around the edges. Sensation shivers upward through you, strengthening by the moment.

The climax builds from somewhere deep inside you, and you sink into it with every thrust, slipping deeper into pure instinctive sensation, until it claims your whole body in white-hot ecstasy. When you come, the desperation in your wordless cries transforms into a feral scream as you fall forward, tumbling back onto the sheets when he releases you. 

The silk feels so cool and smooth against your feverish cheeks. 

“Haah, aah! I knew you’d love it,” he groans triumphantly. “Nnngh!”

But he’s almost at the brink himself—his body contracting, abdominals clenching. That’s when he pulls out, denying himself release.

The mattress dips and creeks as he climbs off you, and off the bed. 

“I’m not done with you yet, senaar'ika. We’re not even close.”

You hear the snap of latex when he removes the condom.

What next? You’re limp and dizzy, lying sprawled across the covers. Will he make me come so hard I pass out? Fuck me until I can't walk straight? You shouldn’t want that as much as you do, but complete surrender can feel so sweet. 

“I can do this all night,” Mando pants.

Then, he lunges across the bed and grabs your ankles so tightly you feel the press of his thumbs dig into your bones as he drags you down the mattress, until your legs dangle off the side. The tips of your toes brush against the floor. 

“You thought you could push me?” His voice has lowered almost to a growl. “But that’s not how this works. You belong to me.”

He pushes your thighs apart roughly, then clutches your hair and tugs back hard enough to bring renewed tears to your eyes. Bent over the edge of the mattress like that in front of him, you feel his other hand seize you by the hip, and with that, he shoves the whole thick length of his cock inside you.

“Aaah!” you cry out as he starts thrusting faster. His fist in your hair tightens as he pumps into you, and already you know you’re going to come again. How is that even possible?

“That’s right,” he pants. “You know you have to take it, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

Yes, make me take it. Gods help you, but you fucking love it. There’s nothing you love more than the slap of his body, the feel of his cock. “Yes!”

"Because you're mine. Mine to fuck."

"Yours...I'm yours."

Mando fucks you so hard and so fast. Your ass would not have been able to take this. Shallow rapid thrusts until, growling, he rams his full length into you. Then he’s pumping inside you again and again. By now, the shame you think you should feel at being taken like this—held down by your hair and fucked with every ounce of strength in his body, every bit of force he can put into it—this has been eclipsed by the pleasure surging within you. 

Every single goddamned stroke of the Mandalorian’s cock sets you on fire. A wildfire so hot it consumes you, burns you down to nothing. You press your face into the mattress and feel the tears welling in your eyes spill down your cheeks, pooling against the sheets.

The only sounds in the cabin are his guttural grunts of pleasure and the slap of your bodies against each other. Just hearing it turns you on even more. 

He’s moving faster now, and you’re nothing but heat. Pleasure tightens, blazing inside you. 

Mando fucks you, and fucks you, and then you’re coming again, clenching around his cock. "Fuck! Oh, fuck! Holy shit...it's so good!"

"Mmmph, you like that?"

"Don't stop...please don't stop!"

You come so hard that consciousness is nothing but white light, white noise. Your cry is muffled by the sheets and blankets, but you wail it out anyway, unable to hold back.

“Yes,” he whispers as he pistons even faster than before, his hand on your hip gripping tighter. “Fuck, yes—yes!”

The Mandalorian groans as he throbs inside you. He goes tense, makes an animal sound that seems to come from low in his belly, and slams into you one more time.

Then he’s pulling you off the bed and onto your knees. You feel his wet cock press against your face. His voice is hardly more than a whisper, trembling with need. “Open your mouth.”

His fist in your hair doesn’t leave you much choice. You open, and Mando pushes inside. "You're going to swallow all of it."

It’s all you can do to take him in, to brace your palms against his thighs. You taste your come slick around his cock as it slides between your lips. He’s so huge that you can barely use your tongue, but you bob your head, doing your best as he thrusts, shallow and then deep.

The Mandalorian's grip takes control, sometimes pushing no more than the head of his cock into your mouth, and you suck, hallowing your cheeks—then shoving into your throat, making you choke and gag around him.

It doesn’t take long.

"Haa-aah! Aah!"

He shouts out, and then he comes, filling your mouth with each hot pulsing spurt. You swallow it down, every drop, the sensation of him throbbing between your lips, almost lost in the spasms of pleasure still echoing through you.

The Mandalorian pulls out then. The fingers buried in your hair release their grip. Pausing one long moment to regain his breath, he brushes the sweat-soaked hair from your cheeks. 

“You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

Really? Blindfolded. Flushed and sweaty, legs tangled beneath you, slumped against the bed frame?

But the honest tenderness in his voice has you pressing a hand to your chest. 

His cock is still half-hard, nuzzled against your cheek, and there’s a second when you’re tempted to pull him down to slide back onto it. But…you’ve reached your limits. 

And the Mandalorian is in no better shape. You hear him collapse onto his knees beside you on the floor, crawling over on his hands and knees to reach for something. His helmet, maybe?

But it’s not his Beskar. 

Gently, he drapes the soft folds of your robe over your shoulders and gathers you in his arms. He leans back, sitting propped against the bed, settling you onto his lap. You let your head fall against his chest and delight when he rests his chin atop your head. 

“Are you alright?” he murmurs. 

“Yeah,” you manage to form words. “Just give me a second. I’m…melting.” 

That makes him chuckle, and for a while, you both stay like that, laughing, breathing hard, barely able to move.

“I wasn’t too rough?”

“No! No, you were perfect. I loved it. It’s like—like you read my mind from that night we met. It was everything I wanted. You took such good care of me.”

His voice remains concerned. “But you’re shaking all over?” and his arms wrap tighter around you.

“It was just so intense.” 

“Here,” he says pressing a cup of tea into your hands, then lifting it to your lips when your fingers tremble too much to grip it tight enough. Fatherhood has softened him.  

“Are you?” you ask timidly.

“Am I what?”

“Are you okay?” You feel strangely shy in front of a man who just fucked you senseless. “I mean, was it okay that I asked you to do this? Are you okay with being—with what we did?”

“It was amazing,” he sighs, kissing your temple. 

But that doesn’t really answer your question.

Honestly, this is the part you were most afraid of…that it would change everything. That no matter how good the sex had or hadn’t been, you thought, afterward, he’d lose respect for you, and it wouldn’t be worth it. 

You don’t want his judgment or pity for needing this.

But there's no contempt in his voice. He doesn’t sound righteous. Or cold, or callous. And he doesn’t seem intent on sneaking out to leave you alone in regret. 

“Before, I was worried that I might hurt you…and that was hard to balance against my instinct to protect you," the Mandalorian says thoughtfully. "But you made more than enough noise to let me know how much you enjoyed it.”

“Oh gods,” you laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth, absolutely mortified. 

“That was the best part,” Mando lifts your hand from your face, tilting your chin up to kiss your nose, then your lips, not shying away like some men do, after they've come in your mouth. So you part your lips and feel the brush of his tongue against yours. His fingers wrap around your neck, deepening the kiss, and pulling you closer.

It’s not the unbridled passion from before–it’s tenderness and longing. Two lonely hearts finding shelter in a precious moment of fragile intimacy.  

“I was just surprised, given…”

“Some of my clients never touch me. Some have hurt me—said horrific things. Most are rich businessmen,” you shrug. “Nervous about cheating on their wives. Regardless—given what they pay, they all expect a performance... 

So it’s nice to let someone else put in the work,” your lips tug into a sly grin. “Seriously, five times? And your dom talk is shockingly good! The growling is very hot!” Guess it's true what they say about the quiet ones. "Now I get why Anassa keeps offering you a job."

"She told you that?" He scoffs.

"Hmm, she likes to tease me about having a crush on the Mandalorian."

Nestled into the crook of his arm, you feel the rumble of renewed laughter building in his chest. 

"She told me I could keep the armor on."

You reach a hand behind you to stroke his jaw and bury your fingers in his hair. "I'm glad you didn't."

Mando's head turns in your grasp to place a soft kiss against your palm.

“And you don’t think differently of me for…wanting this?”

"I know the difference between fantasy and reality," then he leans forward to stroke your earlobe with the tip of his nose. "And I bet I could make you scream just as loud, taking you soft and sweet."

Now why does that make you blush redder than your slapped ass?

“Maybe next time, we can switch roles. Then I’ll understand better why you like it.”  

Next time? You love that! He’s already thinking about the future. 

Your brow arches, “Maybe I'll tie you up—borrow one of Katlin's whips to smack that tight ass of yours.”

“Oh, yeah?” 

There are no words for the wicked anticipation in Mando’s voice. 

Next time...

****************

Thanks so much for reading!!

[mightbeimpossiblenotto]

Show - Oct 30 - @rosekillermicrofic - 808 words - Warnings: none

“Will you please stop by Spellbinding Sound for me?” Pandora begged as soon as Evan picked up her call.

“‘Hello, Evan, my dearest brother,’” Evan said dryly. “I think you’re supposed to greet me at the very least before asking for a favor.”

Pandora sighed noisily. “I just need a new pack of reeds for my clarinet, and you know which ones to buy.”

Evan sighed back at her. “I suppose it is on the way home. I’ll drop by for you, if you make me dinner.”

“Deal,” Pandora said, hanging up immediately. Evan looked at his phone blankly, offended for a moment, before remembering she was probably in the middle of practicing when she called.

Spellbinding Sound was a small music supply shop that Pandora favored, and Evan had been sent there a few times on errands for her. He usually didn’t mind; the owner, an older man named Albus, was kind and patient. When Evan entered the store, though, he was already helping a customer.

“Would you like me to restring the instrument for you?” Albus was asking the man in front of him. The man was shorter than Evan, with dark, tousled hair and several face piercings: two on his lip, another on his eyebrow, another on his nose, too many to count on both ears. He was wearing a graphic band t-shirt over ripped-up jeans, a leather jacket slung over his shoulder. His bare arms were covered in tattoos, and they continued up his neck and down his hands. Evan found himself wondering where else the man was tattooed.

“No, thanks,” the man said in a smooth voice. “I like to do it myself.”

He picked up his strings, which Evan assumed were for some sort of guitar or bass for his punk band, based on the man’s appearance. The man nearly ran into Evan when he spun around and walked towards the door with a swift gait.

“My bad,” the man said, worrying one of the lip rings between his teeth for a moment. “I’m Barty.”

Confused as to why the man gave his name, Evan responded with his own. “Evan.”

Evan tried to step around Barty, but Barty stepped into his path again.

“You like music?” Barty asked, and before Evan could answer, he continued talking. “You should come to my show. Friday night at the Slytherin Stage. I hope I’ll see you there.”

Evan watched him walk out the door, raising both eyebrows at the man’s gall. Inviting him to a show was one thing, but leaving directly after the invite was just dramatic. Evan shook it off and stepped up to the counter and greeted Albus.

“Does Pandora need new reeds?” Albus asked knowingly, his eyes sparkling. Evan nodded. They chatted amicably while Albus grabbed the reeds for Evan, and processed the payment for them. Soon enough, Evan was on his way home to Pandora.

Evan didn’t even know why he was attending the concert. He wasn’t a punk music person — but something about Barty had made him want to learn more. Maybe it was his overconfidence or attractiveness, but Evan felt compelled to come to his show that evening. He was surprised that attendees were dressed so nicely, and he was glad that he had come directly after work, so he was still wearing his nice work slacks and a button-down shirt. As he took his seat in the audience, in a gorgeous emerald-green auditorium. He was starting to think he had greatly misread the man he’d spoken to, because there was no way he was about to see some sort of punk band performance.

Nerves flew in his stomach as he wondered what he had signed up for, just as the curtains pulled back and revealed an entire full symphony orchestra. Evan scanned the faces of every single person until he found Barty, sitting at the very front left. He was first chair violin, the goddamn concertmaster. Evan had him pegged completely wrong.

To make matters worse, Barty looked even more attractive in the emerald green suit and tie, with his instrument propped on his knee and his bow in his other hand. Evan had been so stupid to assume he played the guitar, when clearly Barty’s body had been made to hold the violin. The conductor raised his hands, and then lovely music filled the auditorium as the orchestra began.

Evan was entranced. He watched Barty throughout the entire performance, never taking his eyes off Barty’s graceful movements. He ended up lingering by the side stage, waiting for Barty after the show. When the man emerged, he looked surprised to see Evan there.

“You came,” he said softly, before seemingly shaking confidence back into himself. “You liked the show, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Evan said. “I really did.”

And then he stepped forward and kissed Barty.

[leathercollectionus]

Custom Made Race Suits

Motorsport has a remarkable history that began in the late 19th century after the invention of cars and motorcycles. Much advances have been made in the technology, design, format, and rules of the sport since its inception, but nothing is more exciting than a motorcycle race. It involves science, speed, commitment, vision, passion and a lot of risks too. Despite all the risks, motorcycle racing is considered the most important motorsport, not only the most important motorsport but also one of the fastest-growing sports in the world, which is gaining popularity among everyone regardless of gender and age. In order to enjoy the games, you need to practice practicing techniques, technologies, and especially safety on the circuit, not only to minimize the risks but also to regain confidence in the sports discipline.

You cannot eliminate the risk factor because the unfortunate event will happen no matter when. However, you can minimize the impact by having protective equipment that meets the athletic and athletic requirements. For motorcycle races on the track and on the road, for beginners, passionate or professional, we recommend a full kangaroo or a cow leather that you choose. The leather racing suit with all its protective armor is resistant to abrasion, cuts and impacts. With a high-tech leather racing suit you can test the limits of your own and that of your machine. Getting a leather racing suit isn’t a huge problem these days. You can visit nearby stores or order online and have delivery to your address. Almost all of the major brands of motorcycle leather clothing have online services to save their customers time and money, which is very impressive. But even after buying a racing suit, something is still missing. This can be leather quality, durability issues, ergonomic inconveniences, size and fit issues, standard safety armor, poor stitching, and especially disappointing customer service. Leather Collection, an emerging global brand, has filled these gaps with years of experience and a dedicated team.

Custom Made Race Suits

[rayshippouuchiha]

Mafia land arc has to be

Reborn and Colonello: *being Arcobaleno and trying to seduce Ed into being their Sky and failing*

Ed: *absolutely Not Having It and making that fact Very Known*

Skull: *arrives*

Ed: *pausing being the most obnoxious person he can bc he knows good leather when he sees it and this Not Baby is giving Vibes Ed wants* Where do you shop?

Skull: *always down to talk clothes and is grateful this pretty blond Sky is distracting Reborn and Colonello* Well, all my clothes are custom made

Colonello and Reborn: *absolutely flabbergasted*

Ed and Skull: *bonding over clothes*

Al and Tsuna: This makes complete sense

Reborn: I'll take you to Italy, get you a custom-made suit

Ed: Boring

Skull: Wanna go back to my airship and look at my combat boot collection?

Ed: Thought you'd never ask

Reborn:

Reborn: This time I really am going to kill him

[rottenpumpkin13]

How do you think ASGZ and the Turks+ Rufus would dress if they were ordinary people living in the real world? (My personal guilty pleasure head cannon is Sephiroth loving leather jackets and V-necks… imagine him in all black, leather jacket, dog tag, some bracelets, black jeans and combat boots… ahem sorry it’s late at night and my thoughts are going weird places)

Sephiroth's go-to outfit: All-black and minimalist is his go-to style, so he does like leather jackets, long coats, and black pants. He wears v-necks sometimes, but prefers button-ups so he can alter how constrictive his shirt is (not the case when he's at home because this man lives for comfortable clothes).

Angeal: I told you this event required you to wear a shirt.

Sephiroth, wearing a button-up that's only fastened at the bottom last button, leaving his whole chest exposed: What's wrong with my shirt?

Angeal: WHAT SHIRT?

Genesis' go-to outfit: Red leather jacket (he has so many of them), a button up/turtle kneck, and knee-high boots. All designer. He accessorizes with jewelry (all gold) such as necklaces, bangles and tons of rings.

Angeal's go-to outfit: sleeveless tee, jeans, boots, and a flannel he either commits to wearing or ties around his waist. All thrifted. Bonus points if the top is DIY'd or tie dye. He's a compulsive tie dyer.

*Zack leaves one of his white shirts out and walks away*

Angeal: Hm.

*Zack comes back and his shirt is tie dye*

Zack, alarmed: MAGIC

Zack's go-to outfit: A fitted tee, baggy pants, fingerless gloves and combat boots. He wears his dog tag as an accessory and hates jackets unless he can roll the sleeves really high.

Zack: I'm ready to go!

Angeal: You cannot wear that shirt out. Go change.

Zack, wearing a shirt that reads "DYSLEXIC WITH TICE NITS": Man, why you gotta be so judgemental?

Sephiroth, still wearing his chest out: Genesis claims he is allergic to good taste.

Angeal: I'm leaving you two at home.

Rufus' go-to outfit: It's a designer suit or nothing; preferably white and pristine, preferably custom-made. He's also likes to wear a kimono and hakama sometimes.

Reno's go-to outfit: A leather jacket, gloves, a button up that's either red or white, gold chain, and jeans, and combat boots.

Rude's go-to outfit: A leather jacket (him and Reno are matching), gloves, wearing all black, usually a button up since he's not a fan of t-shirts, and dress shoes. He likes to accessorize with chains.

Tseng's go-to outfit: No one has ever seen Tseng wear anything other than a suit. Work? suit. Party? suit. Beach? suit. Reno nearly died on the spot the day he and Rude ran into Tseng at the local coffee shop and he was wearing a t-shirt beneath his blazer, no tie, and a silver chain.

Reno: WHO ARE YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH TSENG? Tseng: Why are you and rude wearing matching couple's t-shirts?

[creamflix]

biker! boyfriend aventurine headcannons ; — part two here – masterlist here ☆～（ゝ。∂）

biker! boyfriend aventurine who customizes his bike like a portfolio: constantly tweaking parts, not for style but performance. every modification feels like a risk that pays off, much like his job.

biker! boyfriend aventurine who’s always calculating risks: before long rides, he checks the weather, road conditions, and traffic. but he leaves it ambiguous if he’s being cautious or just considering the potential thrill.

biker! boyfriend aventurine with a high-end bike with minimal flash: his bike is sleek, built for performance, not showing off, but the subtle design choices scream expensive taste. think matte black ducati with customized rims.

biker! boyfriend aventurine who picks routes like investments: loves back roads where the stakes feel higher—tight curves, unpredictable weather, and long stretches without traffic, all calculated risks that add excitement.

biker! boyfriend aventurine who prefers night rides: there’s something about the quiet risk of riding under dim streetlights that mirrors his mindset—when the world’s not watching, that’s when the biggest plays happen.

biker! boyfriend aventurine who keeps his bike documents like business files: everything is in order—insurance, maintenance logs, and modifications—just like he keeps tabs on his investments. if there’s ever an issue, he’s got proof ready.

biker! boyfriend aventurine negotiates for every part: he’ll walk into a dealership and haggle like he’s closing a business deal. when the salesperson starts sweating, he knows he’s won.

biker! boyfriend aventurine whose jacket is tailored: a leather jacket, form-fitting, almost as if it’s part of a well-fitted suit. it’s never over-the-top, but always catches the eye with its understated quality.

biker! boyfriend aventurine who never checks the map twice: takes detours and risks on unfamiliar roads because he’s confident the payoff will be worth it—even if it’s just a more scenic route.

biker! boyfriend aventurine who takes bike risks like a gambler: he loves testing the limits of his bike's engine, calculating how far he can push it before something breaks—but he always knows how to pull back just in time.

biker! boyfriend aventurine who keeps an emergency fund: not for the bike breaking down—he always expects things to go wrong, but for when they do, he’s got spare cash stashed in his trunk.

biker! boyfriend aventurine who views every ride as a bet: he tells you that every ride is a gamble with fate. “how much thrill can we handle today?” he’ll ask, revving the engine with that same sly grin you’ve fallen in love with.

biker! boyfriend aventurine who takes you to high-end biker spots: not your typical diner but upscale spots where other risk-takers and business types gather—places where deals are made over drinks as expensive as his tastes.

biker! boyfriend aventurine who keeps a low profile in the biker community: no flashy tattoos or loud boasts, but the way he handles his bike and his cool demeanor gains him respect silently.

biker! boyfriend aventurine who avoids sentimental conversations: mid-ride, when you try to get him to open up, he’ll dodge your question with a smooth shift in speed.

biker! boyfriend aventurine keeps his cards close: even with you, he doesn’t let his guard down fully. you’ll catch him glancing at you after a long ride, smile hiding the deeper thoughts you’ll never fully uncover.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[mac-lilly]

MegaCon JATP Info dump:

How they imagined the ending:

Reggie takes over the Hollywood Ghost Club

Luke stays with Julie

Willie & Alex cross over

What Hogwarts House would their characters be in:

Reggie -> Hufflepuff

Alex -> Slytherin

Julie -> Gryffindor

Madi to the guys: Uhm?

Owen & Jeremy, in sync: Gryffindor!

If they could make any advice to their characters, what would it be:

Jeremy to Reggie: Make that country album!

Owen to Alex: Take one day at a time and lean on your friends.

Madi to Julie: Girl, he's a ghost.

Favorite Song to film/record:

Owen -> Stand Tall

Jeremy -> Now or Never

Madi -> Finally Free

Favorite Outfit:

Owen: Zip pants & Hoodie

Jeremy: Leather jacket (it got customized to be more stretchy so he could move and jump around)

Madi: 'I got the music' outfit

(Owen and Jeremy both talked about how much freedom they got with the outfits. Kenny wanted them to feel comfortable in their clothes.)

Random stuff:

Jeremy jumped off the stage for the Now or Never scene so often his knee started hurting

During the rehearsal for 'This Band his back' Jeremy stumbled over Charlie's guitar while jumping on the chairs. He fell and cut his hand, so in the filmed version, Reggie has a band-aid on one of his fingers

The suits for Stand Tall cost over $3000

'Nothing to lose' got almost cut bc they didn't have enough budget to film it. But Kenny somehow made it happen.

Originally, Reggie was supposed to lose a shoe instead of his shirt. But nobody would have seen that, so they changed it to losing the shirt.

Most awkward moment: For the dinner scene, the guys had to hide in a tiny closet, and Jeremy and Owen were staring into each other's eyes.

They really tried to make a tour happen

Owen was terrified of filming 'All Eyes on Me'

Off-Topic: But during Jeremy's voice acting panel, Owen was hanging out in the audience to watch it.

Cameron Boyce memorial BOOMSHAKALAKA 😭😭

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for 🦕; the one where Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Mmm, well, if it’d keep you distracted from your dastardly supervillain jailbreak plans . . .” Kon teases with another smirk, walking his fingers up Bernard’s chest as he squeezes his ass with his TTK. “You know, that’s really just part of the job description. Just being bait in a bad-guy trap and doing traditional superheroic self-sacrifice and all. I don’t really dress all that scantily, though, am I gonna need a costume upgrade for this one?” 

“Don’t worry, man, I’ll pack you something,” Bernard says with another grin, stroking his hand down the side of his neck. Kon’s breath doesn’t quite catch, but he definitely has to actively stop it from happening. “Nice gold lamé loincloth, maybe? Matching collar I can put my future supervillain emblem on? Or maybe just an ‘R’, considering, since you’re gonna be bird-bait and all. Bet I could do it in pink K for him. Match the setting in that nice pretty plug I promised you.” 

Kon swallows under that hand, and Bernard grins again. 

“Unless you wanna stick with your usual straps and black leather look, anyway. Keep the brand strong and all,” he adds easily. “Because I understand the importance of branding, professionally-speaking. I’m sure I could figure out something along those lines. Leather is also very traditionally queer.” 

Bernard traces his fingers down Kon’s collarbone and chest like he’s tracing straps that aren’t there, and Kon leans down heavier into the contact without really thinking about it. He’s not sure if Bernard’s just, like, talking about the belts and straps he usually wears and his jacket, just without his suit under it all, or if he means, like . . . something a little more customized, or something. Like . . . something he means he’d dress him up in, or . . . 

Like, it’s just a jokey made-up fantasy scenario, obviously, and not even anything they’re gonna actually, like, scene, so it doesn’t really matter, but . . . just, he’s kinda wondering what Bernard’s picturing when he says it. What he’d be thinking if he ever used it as a real fantasy and jerked off to it, just . . . whenever. 

Just–after this, Kon means. Once he’s handed over the pink K to Clark to lock up somewhere in the Fortress, and he’s not . . . not allowed to do . . .

A camera flash goes off, and Kon reflexively startles, just for a second.

[exhausted-eternally]

Book Commissions

In addition to making whatever suits my fancy and selling it in my Etsy shop, I also offer custom-made books! I charge for cost of materials plus $10 an hour for labor. See below for materials costs and what I offer for options! Please feel free to send me an email if you have any questions.

* Want a book but can’t quite decide what you want the cover to look like? Feel free to browse my portfolio for ideas! * The dimensions and number of pages given in the descriptions below are merely the default. I can also make custom-sized books. * Please note that I do NOT take fanfic binding commission requests. I will, however, bind works in the public domain. I may also accept rebinding/repair commissions for existing books, which I will take on a case-by-case basis.

PLEASE NOTE THAT I DO REQUIRE COST OF MATERIALS UP FRONT

For 8.5x5.5 journals/9x6 sketchbooks:

Each book contains 50 sheets (200 pages). I use 20lbs printer paper for journals, with a choice of lined or unlined pages, and white or cream for paper color. I use 50lbs/74g medium-tooth sketch paper for sketch books. Each book comes with hand-sewn endbands and a ribbon marker.

Paper & bookcloth - $25 Full bookcloth - $35 Bookcloth & leather - $45 Full leather - $60+

Tea- or coffee-dyed papers +$10

Leatherbound books-

- cord or tape binding +$1               - metal leaf +$2               - raised shapes +$2               - punched with underlying paper/fabric +$5               - resin +$5               - painted designs +$10

For 8.5x11 journals/12x9 sketchbooks:

Each book contains 100 sheets (400 pages). I use 20lbs printer paper for journals, with a choice of lined or unlined pages, and white or cream for color. I use 50lbs/74g medium-tooth sketch paper for these sketch books. Each book comes with hand-sewn endbands and a ribbon marker.

Paper & bookcloth half-bound - $50 Full bookcloth - $70 Bookcloth & leather half-bound - $90 Full leather - $120+

Tea- or coffee-dyed papers +$20

Leatherbound books-

- cord or tape binding +$2               - metal leaf +$5               - raised shapes +$5               - punched with underlying paper/fabric +$15               - resin +$10               - painted designs +$10

If you're interested in a commission, please feel free to send me an email!

[devonpink]

Suited

Husbands, Dave and John, swiftly needed suits for a close friend's sudden impromptu wedding. Luckily, the brand-new suit store that had just opened near them was available all night. They rushed over, intending to be in and out as fast as possible, but unbeknownst to the nieve couple, they were about to have a life-changing shopping experience that would quickly eradicate all strive for haste.

When Dave and John first stepped inside, they were immediately assaulted by the thick smell of intense cologne emanating from every corner. The scent was overwhelming but highly masculine, giving their cocks a pleasant twitch. To their surprise, there wasn't a single other customer or shop assistant in sight, but not overthinking it, pursued on.

The overabundance of suits intimidated them, having only worn basic t-shirts and jeans, but they eventually found ones they liked and, most importantly, could afford. They couldn't wait to leave; the intense smell of cologne was beginning to make them feel lightheaded. But, while trying to find a shop assistant, they encountered the endless racks of dress shoes, halting them in their tracks. They had some old, borrowed dress shoes in the car, but the new, freshly polished ones were hypnotically dazzling, begging to be admired and purchased.

As they contemplated which pairs to buy, their minds became more deliriously lightheaded from the cologne, turning them on. The added scent of fresh dress shoe leather intensified that arousal further, excitedly making the hairs on their arms stand up, and their cocks stiffen. With no soul around to stop them, they gave each other a knowing look, and without hesitation, they brought the dress shoes up to their noses and inhaled deeply. After which, they both moaned in dopey satisfaction, the intense masculine scent making their stiff cocks leak pre.

Dave and John were in perverted heaven, enthusiastically sniffing the dress shoes and playing with their stiff bulges. The thrill of potentially being caught pushing their horniness even further. They felt like they were going to explode with lust. They needed release. They needed each other. With looks of total horny desperation, they tossed aside the shoes they were sniffing, along with their picked-out suits, and began ferociously making out. They grasped each other's asses and rubbed their tight bulges together, French kissing and moaning like complete perverts. They wanted to fuck so badly, utterly intoxicated with how horny they felt.

Dave and John, too consumed in their lust, didn't notice the tossed-aside dress shoes and suits had vanished from the floor and materialized onto their bodies, replacing their clothes. They stuffed their hands into each other's pants and stroked one another's throbbing cocks, oblivious to the fact that their clothes had magically changed. Their brains felt like mush, blissfully unaware that their messy hair had magically slicked back to quaffed perfection.

They staggered into a nearby fitting room, unable to stop French kissing and jerking one another off. They needed to fuck, desperate for it. However, catching a glimpse of their reflections in the big, lit-up mirror quickly broke their lustful concentration. Finally, they realized their clothes and hair styling had changed entirely. They gave their reflection and then each other a bewildering look up and down, utterly slack-jawed.

Instantly, as if by divine force, they felt their bodies ignite with an overpowering need to cream their dress pants. Without giving it a second thought, they dry-humped each other, and French kissed even more ferociously than before. It didn't matter that nothing made sense; they were too dumb and horny to care. Besides, it wouldn't matter if they cared or wanted to stop, for the store wouldn't allow it. The store had its hooks in them too deeply, and there was nothing to do but give in entirely.

With ferocious, manly roars, they blasted their hot, sticky loads into their dress pants. However, they didn't just empty their balls but their minds, ejaculating their free will and way of life. For they now belonged to the store, freshly purchased.

Dave and John, or Davey and Jonathan as they both like to go by now, never did end up attending the wedding. Neither did they ever see their family and friends ever again. As the proud owners of the brand-new suit store, they need to give all their time and attention to their beloved business. Gone are the days of lounging about watching mindless sports and playing senseless video games, but instead, putting all their blood, sweat, and tears into their store and no longer wearing plain T-shirts and jeans but rather flashy dress suits. Their hair is now always slicked back to quaffed perfection, never messy like before. Goodbye, worn-out old sneakers and flip-flops. Hello, perfectly polished dress shoes and leather boots. For now, they were perfect, never to want anything the store didn't see fit.

They're looking to hire, by the way. Any takers ;)