#experienced waterproofing

[californiaquail]

they have got to stop calling shit waterproof that is water resistant at best it's so fucking annoying. also does anyone have recommendations for rubber boots that don't crack open and become useless within 4 months

[sezja]

God I love the island sanctuary.

[darkstaria]

The Friendship Bracelet

Just a short thing written out of an idea I had :)

Oh and the soul animal au Taglist got updated! Hopefully your name is in there if you intended for it to be!

----

You stared down at the object Damian offered to you, bemused.

"A friendship bracelet?" You asked.

"A token of our companionship." He all but confirmed. He pushed the 'bracelet' into your palm, curling your hands over it.

It was a watch. A sleek black thing. You weren't too experienced in digital watches but even you could tell it was very expensive.

"Damian... This is a watch. There's no way you made this." You attempt, a small furrow in your brow.

Damian frowns. "You reject it?" He asks. His bottom lip quivers, a subtle, little gesture.

Ah. You regret your words.

"No no!" You sputter, trying to salvage the situation. "I never said I didn't want it!" A flash of memory taunts you, Dick confiding in you that Damian didn't have many friends. You couldn't ruin this for him.

You grab the 'bracelet', strapping it on. "See, see! Here, let me strap it on." You speak placatingly, hoping to pacify the situation.

He grins back at you. "Thank you." It fills you with relief.

You smile back, but the moment is interrupted by a tightening in your wrist, the 'bracelet' giving off a loud, click!

You stared down at your wrist for a moment.

Silence.

"Damian."

"Yes?"

"Your bracelet just made a really loud click noise."

"Do you like it?"

"Why did it make that noise?"

You start fiddling with the straps. They don't budge. Yanking at the watch provides no give. It's stuck on.

"Uhm. I can't get it off?" It's more of a question than a demand, confusion evident in your voice.

"Why would you want to get rid of it?" He asks. You pause for a moment to stare at him.

"I'll need to take it off eventually Damian, I mean, what do I do when I need to shower?"

"It's waterproof."

"That was not what I mea-"

"It's a token of our comradeship." He interrupts.

"Yes, I get that but-"

"You reject our companionship?"

"No, but seriously-"

"Then I see no issue here. Come, let us go feed Batcow." His wrist grips your hand free of device, tugging you away.

"Wha-" You sputter. "Damian! Damian!!"

[band--psycho]

Sylus x Reader -Black Tears And Pleasure

Masterlist / Sylus Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Please be kind (it's been a while since I've written a smutty story); reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continued support and I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over.

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms

For the lovely @the-slytherin-poet who requested this a few days ago! Thank you for the request!

Warnings: Kinks, choking, edging, overstimulation, smut, swearing (18+), smut without plot

Sylus had kinks and he wasn’t ashamed of them, nor was he shy in sharing them with you, this time was no exception. 

That’s why you couldn’t help but knowingly smirk at him from across the room after noticing that all of your mascaras had been replaced with non-waterproof ones. 

You knew he’d been the one to do it; and you knew why. 

He couldn’t help it. 

Out of all of his kinks; watching mascara mix with your tears as you cried in pleasure was one of, if not the biggest kinks he now had. 

You knew that tonight, you were in for a long, blissfully torturous night; one that would leave you absolutely ruined…and you were so ready for it. 

So ready, that even though you’d spent the past hour or so getting ready, you didn’t actually want to go out anymore.

“Maybe we should stay in tonight,” you temptingly suggested, seductively walking over to Sylus, who was sitting in his chair; completely captivated by you. 

“Really?” he answered; quirking an eyebrow, an all too familiar glint gleaming away in his ruby eyes at your words.

He was hoping that you would say that. 

He was hungry. 

But food could wait. 

Especially if it meant he got to ruin you sooner.

“Yeah…” you breathed, placing yourself on his lap, allowing you to feel his already hardening length, before leaning in and kissing him.

It didn’t take long until the expensive black dress you’d purchased for tonight had been ripped from your body and discarded to the floor, as though it was nothing more than dirty laundry.

“That was expensive,” you scolded playfully between kisses. 

“I’ll buy you another one, kitten, don't worry,” he chuckled darkly; revelling in the small gasp that fell from your lips when he lightly touched your already swollen clit through your panties.

In the space of ten minutes he’d tied your wrists to the bedpost and made you cum over and over again until you were nothing more than a moaning mess for him; and he’d done so without even properly touching you yet. 

That was something that he prided himself on, ruining you…wrecking you to the point that tears were falling from your eyes because you were experiencing so much overwhelming pleasure. 

And the best part was, he was the only one that ever got to see you like this. 

Desperate.

Needy.

Begging for his touch.

Willing to do pretty much anything he told you to do. 

After what felt like hours of agonizing teasing, he finally got on top of you; wrapping one his hands around your throat (not tight enough to cause you any pain, but tight enough that it made your head feel a little woozy from the lack of oxygen), and fucking you. Hard.

This wasn’t the first time you’d had sex with Sylus, in all honesty you’d lost count of how many times you’d been intimate with him. 

One thing that you did know though, was that every time he seemed to fuck you better, taking you to a new high each and every time. 

This time was no different. 

He was edging you so much, you could already feel the tears brimming in your eyes from the overstimulation.

“You look so pretty like this,” he groaned, ramming his hard, thick dick in and out of you, relentlessly. 

He watched you with lustful eyes, as the tears began falling from your beautiful eyes, mixing with the black mascara you’d put on a few hours prior. 

He could've cum right then.

But he wasn't done with you yet.

He needed you to cum at least once more before he could even consider reaching his own high.

You looked like a wreck; but right now, you didn't care, and neither did Sylus. 

He loved it. 

You were so lost in your pleasure that all you could do was moan in response to his words.

He knew you were close, he could feel your pussy tightening around him like a vice, so after an evening of edging you, he thought he would allow you to have what you were clearly craving so desperately. 

“Why don’t you be a good girl and cum for me?” 

Almost instantly your body obeyed him; allowing you to reach the release you’d been chasing for most of the evening.

He reached his own release soon after; not being able to hold back any longer, especially not when he saw your mascara stained cheeks. 

“So fucking perfect,” he drawled, moving his hand from around your throat to your face, smudging the black tears that had were still falling down your cheek. 

Tagging some people who might enjoy this:

@xacatalepsyx @book-dragon03 @fangirlsfandomsss @albert-moriarty-fan @elegantangelenthusiast @worm-in-a-bug @darkphoenix2332 @deathkat657 @xenasolos @tasha-1994 @randomruff @mrs-masen-cullen @okaydokey @taronyuhunter @reverbsworld @serenitymaria @babygirl-panda19 @themagicafox @kisukiis

[theaologies]

spinning my chair around and sitting in it backwards: GOOOOOD MORNING CLASS

FIRST AND FOREMOST: this is not a panic post. It’s an informational preparedness post. Don’t panic. Just be prepared for this like you’d be prepared for an earthquake but you know it’s coming and it’s wet.

I’m 30, lived in Central Florida for the first 26 years of my life, and have experienced more hurricanes and tropical storms than you can imagine. Never in my life did I think I would have to discuss HURRICANE SAFETY again after moving to LOS ANGELES from FLORIDA and yet HERE WE ARE-

(This information is accurate as of 8/17 at 9am PST)

SO models are still early but it seems like as of last night, Pacific Hurricane Hilary is rapidly intensified AND has shifted its track pretty severely inland. Originally SoCal was predicted to get some bands off the coast but this does NOT seem to be the case anymore

As our good friend Jim Cantore mentioned above, if Hilary DOES make landfall in SoCal, it will be the first tropical storm to do so since 1939. Fucking yikes.

THE GOOD NEWS:

It isn’t looking like Hilary will make landfall anywhere as a strong hurricane. If it makes landfall in central Baja it looks like it’ll be a Cat 2 which isn’t great but still- better than the Cat 5 it’s currently strengthening to.

As for SoCal, we’re not predicted to get anything over a Tropical Storm. And mountains tear up tropical cyclones like crazy. It’ll (probably) be weak and, wind wise, no worse than the Santa Ana’s

THE BAD NEWS:

Our Cone of Uncertainty is currently pretty wide- this fluctuation matters as it determines which side of the storm hits us. Is this significant? Yes. The right side of a Hurricane is considered the “dirty” side- it’s the side that is most likely to produce severe weather, such as severe thunderstorms and tornadoes. It’s still too early to determine what side will affect us the most but it’s something to keep in mind.

Also, I can’t speak for the rest of SoCal, but I would not bet on the LA infrastructure doing well even with a weak tropical storm. Which is why I have brought you here today, to run down the IMPORTANT HURRICANE CHECKLIST

NOTE: I made this several years ago for FLORIDA so not all of it will be accurate to SoCal. Most of us live in apartments and have no say over tree trimmings and the likes. If the storm is feeling like it’s going to get bad, I would recommend moving important things and electronics away from windows and hanging out in areas of the apartment that have the least amount of windows. I don’t think boarding up windows or anything will be necessary but here’s information if you need/want it

ANOTHER NOTE: if you have the means, please check up on your unhoused neighbors and immediate community groups that do so, as well. As always, they will be the ones most affected by severe weather. Tarps, anything that rises up off the ground, waterproof bags, etc would be good to grab for them. I am not an expert here and would recommend following the lead of your community groups that work with your unhoused neighbors to find out what will be needed most.

I don’t at all think we’ll see any shutdowns so if the rain does get bad be prepared for dangerous driving conditions. I know it’s dangerous to drive any time it rains in LA but, you know. The Weather Channel isn’t predicting a TON of rain at the moment (for LA) but, just like our winter/spring this year, be on the look out for flash floods.

And again, this is all JUST IN CASE. It’s better to be prepared than not. SoCal’s infrastructure is not at all prepared to handle a tropical event so who knows! Anything is possible. If I was in Florida I wouldn’t at all be worrying about this but I’m not anymore and our wet winter absolutely fucked our roads in LA so I’d rather everyone be safe than sorry.

I’m sure it’ll all be fine and now you just have more safety information, which is never bad! Because frankly climate change is very real and I would not be surprised to see this happening more and more in the coming years. And it does have me worrying that El Niño this year is going to be worse than we imagined.

[dontlookatmytmntcollection]

Michelangelo (NSFW Alphabet)

Michelangelo (NSFW Alphabet) 

Bayverse Mikey x F!Reader

Word Count: 3200. Warnings include: one-night stands, size-kink, hypersexuality, multiple orgasms, lots of explicit descriptions of sexual activities, and additional warnings of angst, flashbacks, and violent trauma.

I have been so, so excited about this one. 

Mikey is so close to my heart, and it might result in him being a bit of my muse. Being sexual in nature isn’t always a bad thing, especially if doubled with discipline, honor, and a sense of personal safety. All of which are Michelangelo's core values. 

Mikey is the most intrepid of his brothers. He loves society and going topside and despite his unfortunate position, it’s easy for him to connect with people. He’s outgoing, adventurous, playful and flirtatious, and is happy to leave his comfort zone.

It wouldn’t take him long to gain worldly, interpersonal, romantic and SEXUAL experience that exceeds all of his family members combined. He’d be an experienced, attentive and loving partner, whether it would be a one-off, third date, or an everyday weekend with your boyfriend. Dominant, submissive, risky, kinky, vanilla, just a goofball here to make you feel good- sex with Mikey leaves you feeling relaxed and recharged. If not completely breathless, sore, and completely blown away. 

I write this from the perspective of Mikey being in his late twenties, with a long-term girlfriend just getting sexual with him. 

Enjoy!

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) - Not only does Mikey already have waterproof bed-sheets, but he has the rolled up towels in the bed stand, he’s got the tiny trash can, and your water bottle is already being handed to you. He’s been ready. But he is reluctant to leave the bed, because he likes to keep holding you, and he needs the physical connection to wind himself down. He loves to kiss you and make you smile before you get up to go to the bathroom. He complains to you about leaving him, even though you just got up to pee. If you want to shower he’d beg to go with you and clean you himself. While he’s happy to go to sleep after, he likes pulling you in to watch tiktoks or a movie or chat after. Pillow talk is the best talk. 

B - Body-Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) - On himself, Mikey likes his arms, his abs, and his dick personality. He loves it when you hold his bicep as you walk, or when your eyes train distractedly down his chest and patterns, or your face when he picks you up like you're nothing. On you? Anything he is allowed to kiss and hold. Which is pretty much everything. But like c’mon, breasts are the world's first and best stress toy, and he will fucking show it. Give him them titties. And he loves fleshy bits. He loves tummies and thighs and ass, anything that gives him that jiggle. He loves having you laid back while he leans back and watches your flesh bounce while you take his dick. You're so gorgeous like that. 

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum basically) - It takes Mikey a while to get there, if he gets there at all. It is completely normal for you to have come at least twice before he starts getting close. He tends to zone out, and loses a little bit of control when he starts to get there. He likes to grab and hold you close, force you deep on his dick for a little bit before he starts to ask if he can come, and he does ask. Even if he’s inside wearing a condom, or getting a bj or just rutting against the mattress while he eats you out, it’s his warning. You could even be tied up with a ball gag and he’d still squeeze your knees up to your chest and beg, “Please, baby, please.” It gives you a brief moment to give consent, or direct him to where you want him. 

D - Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) - He has gone on soooo many one-night-stands, all behind his family's back at first. His secret rendezvous soon gets found out though, much to the unimaginable shock to his brothers. He’s had a couple of friends with benefits, but he never really went anywhere with them. He knew what he wanted in a long-term partner. 

E - Experience (How experienced are they?) - Mikey is the complete opposite of his brothers. He’s had one-offs, threesomes, he’s been with guys and girls alike- He knows what he likes and doesn’t like. He knows what makes a good sexual partner and what makes a bad one. He knows tips and tricks and he definitely knows how to give someone a good orgasm. He also knows how to make someone feel safe. Mikey is still good at getting people out of their shell, but he can tell when something is going too fast or if they need a break or if everything should just stop. Consent is his number one, and if you aren't feeling sex, that is completely fine with him because, guess what? He’s here to make you feel good, and that’s not a problem if feeling good just means some cuddles, a movie and some laughs. He’s experienced in that too. 

F - Favorite Position (This goes without saying) - This boy ain’t consistent. He might have a favorite position for like…a week. Then it moves on to something else. Same thing with activities. He might be super into BDSM for a bit, then he’d move on to a cuddly, slow sex phase the next month. Sex is similar to pizza. It is good, no matter how it is served. 

He likes doggy, missionary, standing-sex, maybe a bit of lotus or something goofy like butter churner to make you guys both laugh. But the positions you two find yourselves in the most are the ones that get you to cum, and cum hard. So while crazy positions are fun, he’s their to watch you cum on his dick, fingers or mouth, so if that means y'all are gonna be curled up in missionary for a bit with a vibrator against your pussy and his mouth against your ear, he can be there all day if that's what it takes. 

G - Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous) - Mikey is ALWAYS a goofball. Yes, there are moments when you two are just focused on not hurting one another or being too loud-  but most of the time Mikey is making you laugh and blush. Sex is one of his favorite things in the world but he can’t take it too seriously. Because sex by nature is a silly thing. He knows that sex is sexiest when it’s not pressured to be sexy, you know? It also helps him feel safe with you and you feel safe with him. This ain’t a performance, it’s a request for connection. We don’t have to be perfect. 

H - Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes etc.) - Turtle boy is bald as can be okay, no hair. But, when it comes to you, he’s developed a taste for the natural. He knows that it takes a girl a lot of time and effort to shave, wax, mosterize, all that stuff. It doesn’t sit right with him that his girl would be spending that much time changing her appearance just for him. Besides, he likes the fuzz. He likes the fuzz, your ears, your extra toes and fingers- he likes you. So if it helps you to wax and go bald, he won’t stop you. But he prefers the bush.

I - Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) - Because of Mikey’s easy-going nature, he rarely needs intense sex. It is also easy for him to forget that you might need those sincere love making sessions. Yunno, the eye-contact, pressure, the wordless-ness, the whole nine yards. So it might be something you would have to talk to him about. Mikey loves love-making just as much as the next person. But he has a lot built up inside- you know? 

That kind of intimacy can open up a lot that he might not be all that prepared for, so he would need his own aftercare and recovery afterwards. It easily leaves him feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable in a way he…honestly rarely is, nowadays. He’d need to hold you, and be held back. He wouldn’t want to get up or do anything afterwards. He would need to be there in your arms for a bit. 

J - Jack-Off (Masterbatinon Headcanon) - Depends. In the past, all the time. All the time. Borderline sex-addict when he was first getting sexually active. But now, he can go a very long time without needing relief, and he doesn’t like to go to anything but you for it. It doesn’t hit as hard without a partner, and he likes that he can go to you for help. But those moments when he desperately needs it, he’ll either call you or text you, asking for help. If you are on the phone he’ll have pictures or videos of you that you gave to him while you talked him through it. 

K - Kink (One or more of their kinks) - Through trial and error, he’s learned what he likes and doesn't like, and what he LOVES.  He loves oral sex of any kind. Loves tasting you and getting you to cry and shake from the intensity. Makes him proud. He loves manhandling you and picking you up, especially while fucking you. Loves the look on your face. Loves the size difference, loves how long it takes to get you ready to take his giant cock, and your noises when you take him. 

He also loves to talk. He loves praising you and talking you through your orgasms. If you start to talk to him, it gets him to cum so fast. But his absolute favorite? Watching and listening to you. Watching your body or pussy, or your face when he pushes inside, and your noises will drive him to do anything for you. Your moans live rent free in his head always. 

L - Location (Favorite places to do the do) - He prefers his bedroom. He likes having the freedom to walk naked and have snacks and TV and phone chargers nearby. Helps with the multiple rounds, you know? He likes having a nice mattress and his blankets and pillows. But if your being overly flirtatious, literally anywhere would get anywhere good enough- 

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) - Even if it’s in the middle of a family gathering, if you pull him in and whisper to him you need him ‘Please, baby. Right now.’ he will give you this wide eyed, awe struck look before he makes it happen. But certain dresses and outfits, ones that hug your thighs, ass, belly and tits- he’s a fucking dog.  Skin tight dresses, shoulderless or backless, and certain outfits like crop tops, anything that gives him some skin to touch and kiss. 

N - No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) - Mikey has a few turn-offs that he has learned about himself- and they are not usually even sexual. But one particular turn-off that Mikey possesses- that is actually kind of serious- is that he does not like to choke people. He understands that choking isn’t inherently a bad thing during sex, but it sure does feel like a bad thing. He’s seen and heard a lot of violent things in his life. So having his hand wrapped around your neck is the perfect segue into flashbacks, dissociation and a lot of emotional baggage he’s slowly working through. Thing’s like you getting hurt by someone else, or him hurting you like this. How fragile you are, and how dangerous it is out there. While all the boys struggle with those scary, intrusive images once in a while, Mikey struggles with them the most. It’s horrible and it breaks your heart for him. It can mess him up very quickly. But he’s working on it. He’s good like that. 

O - Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, ect.) - When I tell you that Mikey is the King of Oral Sex, I mean it. First of all, there are some tips and tricks he’s learned throughout the years that give him the magical ability to get you off in seconds. Where to crook his fingers, how much pressure to use, rhythm, and how to not immediately suck on your little clit but around it- he is a master. Not only that, but he is also really, really good at slowing down and getting you to open up and teach him how to get you off. Who knew communication, vulnerability, patience and understanding could result in the best orgasms in your entire life?

P - Pace (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, ect) - While Mikey cares greatly about your comfort levels and how safe you feel in the moment, and he will always stop or slow down the moment you need it, he is a fucking sucker for fast, rough sex. He loves to sit up on his knees, thrusting hard and fast and deep while he gets to watch your eyes find the back of your skull, your tits bounce and your legs shake while they struggle to stay open for him. He often bites his lip hard when he looks down to watch your pussy cum all over his big fat dick, because fuck doens’t that get him going. 

Q - Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, ect.) - He loves quickies. He loves the feeling of the rush and excitement and desire, and sometimes he wants a little relief, you know? But the older he gets, the less he initiates those. He prefers to flirt and drag things out. It takes a lot to get under his shell, you know? But something that can get him to easily crack is you. If you are begging for his dick this moment, god knows you will have it. 

R - Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, et.) - He used to be wayyyy more risky. It didn’t matter the time or place, if he wanted sex he would ask. Even if all it did was make you blush; and he’s still like that. The older he got, though, he grew more considerate of other people's comfort levels, especially that of people who he wasn’t having sex with. Friends, family and others of that nature. And of yours. He knows that asking for sex in uncomfortable situations could pressure and terrify one person while it would excite others. Everyone is different, and he is extremely intuitive in that sense. He will learn you in and out very fast in that sense. 

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) - Mikey is an actual superhero who loves sex as much as pizza. He could have you every day for every meal for the rest of his life, no cap. Good or bad times- through thick or thin- sex will always be there for you the moment you want it, lmao. 

T - Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) - He LOVES toys. He loves sex products of any and all kinds. He’d kill to walk through a sex shop, he’d spend so much money, and not even just cause he’d use everything. It’s just fun to have everything! But forreal, he owns a few sex card games and dice. He has one of those classic vibrating wands he uses a lot. The kind that plug into the wall. And he has a spreader bar leaned up against the wall in his room. His brothers are completely oblivious to what it is everytime they are in the room. It’s so funny. He has a pair of those cute pink feather hand-cuffs, and he bought a cheetah print blind fold. Mikey is also the type to buy those edible treats like edible body paint or panties- he thinks they are so funny and fun. He has lots of strawberry flavored lube, condoms, and personal wipes just waiting in his nightstand. He’s experimented with rings and fleshlights before with other people, but he was disappointed to find out he is way too large for most sizes. Big enough condoms were a struggle to find, let alone any specialized toys. 

U - Unfair (How much they like to tease) - Mikey is an enormous tease, mostly in the form of flirting and pick up lines, but if the environment allows it, he's a little more handsy and talkative. He’d pull you in close to his chest and trace the edges of your cloths, telling you how fucking beautiful you look right now…

V - Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) - Mikey isn’t as loud as you would first think, but he still moans and makes noise. He can’t go long without trying to talk to you, saying things like “Yeah? You like that? Fuck, babygirl you’re doing so good. So good for me, fuck-” when he gets carried away, he’s less of a whimperer and more of a growler and grunter. He knows that a vocal partner is a happy partner though, so it isn’t often that he wants either of you to be quiet.

W - Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) - Mikey didn’t exactly keep his sexcapades a secret. At first he would brag about it a little, try to give his brothers advice or get them out of their shell. But they did NOT believe a word he said. They’d roll their eyes, whine or tell him to shut up, Mikey, that’s gross. 

While it hurt him, he kinda thought it was funny to see how far it would go. It took a few years until one of his brothers, probably Raph, found himself in a situation that could go sexual. Raph was probably venting about how crazy the girl was to want him like that or something, and Mikey would chime in with some extremely specific advice. “Our turtle junk ain’t the problem dude. Girls like a guy that can take things slow. Go by her pace and listen to her-” And Raph would roll his eyes and go, “Oh, yeah? And how would you know that, wise guy. You’ve never even met a girl-” Then Mikey would probably be making a face at the TV. Raph would freeze and stare at him.

The silence would be DEAFENING. 

X - X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) - I am team cloaca. The cloaca is under where his plastron ends between his hip bones, and it keeps his fucking ENORMOUS size safe and away from harm. He’s dark, dark purple down there, and his tip is wide. His crazy size taught him very quickly that sex doesn’t always have to be penetration, and that patience is extremely important. 

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) - His sex drive is through the roof, and while he didn’t have that much higher of a sex drive than any of his brothers, or any guy his age for that matter- he is far more happy going out of his comfort zone and actually make things happen. He wants you all the time sexually. But he connects extremely deeply with people, and as a long-term relationship, you are far from exempt. He thinks about you all the time, with or without you there. He wants to do good by you. He’s an awesome boyfriend. 

Z - ZZZ (...how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) - He’s a super, super active dude. He’s more often than not doing something active in his free time. Despite this, he could cuddle up with you all day. After sex, he is perfectly capable of doing something else after, but he prefers not to. He likes to be in bed holding you close. Sleep comes very difficult to him, so it takes a long time for him to start drifting off. He prefers to lay here, listening to your breathing, feeling your chest and pulse against his skin. Feeling you alive and here with him. 

[interregionalgyminspections]

For trainers, you can typically figure out what equipment is best for your skill level by looking at the packaging on the equipment.

Equipment for relatively inexperienced trainers typically have a symbol of a regular pokeball on the packaging. These have lots of extra safety features, and in the case of stuff like multitools, the knives and such have sheathes.

Equipment for moderately experienced trainers typically have a symbol of a great ball on the packaging. These have a normal amount of safety features, and are about the same as standard tools and equipment.

Equipment for very experienced trainers typically have a symbol of an ultra ball on their packaging. These are made with the assumption that you know exactly what you're doing. Very good if you know how to use them.

There's symbols for specialized equipment as well. If you've ever wondered why so many waterproof things have dive balls on the packaging, this is why.

[makeitmakesomesense]

You Can Call Me Dwayne

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Meet Cute Fluff.

@fluffyfebruary Day 1, Snow.

Words: 800

On the 3rd of December, you walked home from work. This was normal. You had earphones in. This was to be expected. The upbeat summer music juxtaposed nicely with the cold snowy day surrounding you. 

She was walking ahead of you. Waves of red hair escaping from a dark woolen hat. There was a white bobble at the end of it, bouncing with every step. It caught your attention easily. Your eyes tracked every bounce.

Her thick grey winter coat betrayed the chill that had descended mercilessly upon the city. It was evidence that she was temperature aware.

Her hands were bare. You watched them hang loosely by her sides. It was noticeable enough, personally offensive enough that you rolled your eyes at the stranger's back.

Who didn't wear gloves in sub-zero temperatures?

Worse still, you saw thick, waterproof winter gloves shoved into her left pocket. She'd deemed them useless.

One glove balanced precariously, too chunky to really fit in the pocket. It threatened to fall with every step.

In this way, all the cards played out just like they’d been dealt.

.

The glove fell elegantly into a disgusting puddle of slush. You bent over and reached in, soaking your own fabric glove to retrieve it. You found yourself half skidding on icy patches as you hurried to return the damned glove to a stranger with poor judgement.

You made brief contact with a gentle tap on her shoulder. 

In the next moment, you felt your back slam against the paved sidewalk.  All the air left your lungs. Your earphones jerked from your ears, clattering beside to you. Dimly you wondered what wrestling move you'd just experienced.

The woman peered over you. The world darkened slightly as she blocked out the sun. Her eyes widened as she saw the glove still gripped in your hand. Her mouth opened slightly as she put the pieces together.

She was beautiful.

‘Shit.’ She muttered.

You let out a pained wheeze. 

She offered you a hand. Her eyes were green.

She was really beautiful. 

You took her hand readily, figuring she could only slam you to the ground once before it lost some fun.

You climbed shakily back to your feet before handing over the wretched glove.

‘Thank you.’ The woman said, expression full of concern. ‘I’m so sorry. Are you okay?'

You were still a little bent over. Your ribs had had better days. At last, your lungs filled with enough air for an extended wheeze. 

‘Are you okay?' Who doesn't wear their gloves in winter?’ You muttered unthinkingly.

Something shifted in the woman’s face. Her lips twitched.

‘But I like living dangerously.’ She answered after a moment, her voice going deep with teasing.  

‘Yeah, well you are clearly superhuman.’ You muttered, straightening your back tentatively. 

‘I wish.’ The woman said, mirth barely hidden behind her small smile. ‘But I’m just Natasha’

You rolled your eyes, letting yourself wallow in the moment.

She’d slammed you into the ground. 

‘Uh huh. And what’s that short for? ‘Natasha ‘The Rock’ Johnson?’ You grumbled, rubbing your back pointedly.

Natasha gave a short sudden laugh.

She was so pretty. 

‘Natasha Romanoff.’ She supplied after a moment. 'But you can call me Dwayne.'

It took a moment for the penny to drop. Your eyes widened.

‘Oh, wow. Fuck.’ You marveled to yourself. The beautiful woman laughed again. A pleasant thrill ran up your spine.

‘You’re lucky to be alive.’ She teased you openly now. 

It took a moment for your brain to unscramble. At last you pulled it together.

‘Nah, ‘I’m Y/N.’

You had to pull off your damp, bedraggled glove when you shook her cold hand. 

.

A year later, Natasha met you on your way home from work. 

You spotted her immediately. The red hair peeking out from a dark woolen hat. You couldn't miss her.

She broke into a wide smile as she walked over to you.

You watched a piece of snow melt on the tip of her nose. You grinned at her. Natasha grinned back. Her cold, bare hand found your gloves ones.

‘You need to wear gloves.’ You reminded her. Natasha rolled her eyes. You smiled as her head pressed against your shoulder.

‘But I like living dangerously.’ She protested halfheartedly. You made a skeptical noise. 

You felt her thumb rub small circles against the thin fabric covering the back of your hand. The bobble from her hat brushed your cheek.

‘Wow.’ You deadpanned. ‘I can’t keep up with your reckless lifestyle.’

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

eye for an eye

pairing: leon x reader

cw: noncon, angst, p in v, degradation, victim blaming, mentions of past noncon, light allusions to possible csa, leon is both the abuser and the abused (same w/reader)

summary: after experiencing SA as leon's subordinate at the DSO, you decide to get "justice" by giving him a taste of his own medicine

a/n: if noncon is a trigger for you, do not read! not putting noncon in the tags bc i fear it will get filtered out of other tags, so please note the warnings above!

wc: 1.8k

thank you to @d10nyx for beta reading <3

Leon has you bent over his desk, hands sliding under your skirt, snarling filth into your ear. You’ve learned to bite the bullet and take it. Breathe – in… out… in… out… – it will end, like all pain. You keep ice packs in a cooler in your car, you still end up sore whether or not you choose to put up a fight. You eat your sandwich in the passenger seat with your feet on the dash. You do not cry anymore. You grab the sweatshirt from the backseat, scream into it once and walk back in. The routine works well for quite some time.

It’s worse when there aren’t any other women in the office, or at least, women of Leon’s status who would be able to report him. He’ll fuck you against your will in the privacy of his office, but not outside those four blank fucking walls – you’ve memorized the way the paint chips – if he thinks he’ll get caught. The sick bastard still cares about getting in trouble.

If there’s no Hunnigan, Sherry, or Helena in sight, Leon follows you into the women’s room. You’ve thought about pissing in the men’s room instead – you’d be more likely to have a witness if Leon dared to touch you there. You’ve thought about pissing in his fucking trashcan just out of spite, but he’d probably like that because he’s pure 100% pervert.

He pushes you up against the bathroom sink so hard the automatic hand dryer goes off. Once, he kept his hand under it the whole time to make sure no one heard the sounds of your struggle. You don’t struggle today. You don’t comply either, you just stand there limp, the only muscles that work are the ones that crinkle in disgust – you have to watch yourself in the mirror as he fucks you. You don’t cry for your own sake. You watch the lines in the corners of your eyes. They haven’t changed. Your pupils do, they’re emptier now, black voids. Eyes are not the windows to the soul, at least not to yours. You painted those windows shut. Not Leon’s either, you doubt he has a soul.

His hands wrap around the column of your neck as he jackhammers his cock inside you. The tip doesn’t kiss your cervix, it fucking punches it. Your IUD – you got it earlier that year in case Leon ever “forgets” to pull out – pokes the head of his dick and you have to stifle a laugh as he winces. Fuck you. Fuck you for fucking me. He buries the pain and shoves himself deeper, hits the little string again and a drip of blood falls from your uterus. Whatever. It does that once a month. Funny, he can’t hurt you as much as your own body can. Well, he could, but he hasn’t tried yet. He could kill you. You consider that fact all too often – what you’d be willing to do for him if he held you at gunpoint.

When he’s done, he hands you a wad of toilet paper to wipe his cum off your ass. He thinks its a courtesy. He leaves the bathroom before you do. Aftercare, for you, means five minutes of peace and quiet. He can’t get his dick back up immediately, he won’t come back and fuck you again, not yet. Aftercare means relief. Deep breath.

You allocate two to three minutes for crying. Your waterproof mascara is worth the twenty five dollars you paid. You cover your mouth with your hand and sob. You check the clock on the phone, times up. Look in the mirror, pull yourself together. You mouth the last three words to your own reflection. You have sympathy for the woman who stares back at you, but it’s tough love now. Nothing about you is soft anymore. You made the mistake of being kindhearted. It’s what led you here.

The next couple of minutes are peace. The post-tears state is orgasmic, truly. You feel sleepy, a tired smile graces your face. You capture it and keep it in a bottle for safe keeping. You run your fingers through your hair, wipe up any smudged makeup and return to business as usual.

You come to find that your indifference to his actions bothers Leon tremendously. It feels like you’re winning. You don’t like what he does to you. If you liked it, he could call you a whore and embarrass you. You don’t struggle, and force him to hold you down, a situation wherein he wins. You remain as silent and still as possible and it pisses him off to no end.

His only victory comes when you refuse to meet his eyes when you come into his office looking for something to do. He can see how he’s broken you down. He’s winning.

You find a solution. It’s sadistic, it’s sick, it’s morally reprehensible- illegal, too. But the other things you tried never worked. HR? No, Leon told them you lied. Putting up a fight? He’s stronger than you. Trying to get yourself to enjoy it? It’s something you can’t force. You looked up “how to induce Stockholm syndrome” and couldn’t find anything.

It’s an eye for an eye, baby.

Leon’s an idiot for getting wasted in front of you. You already have the upper hand, especially since he slurs out pathetic apologies while he throws himself a pity party.

“I’m sorry. You must hate me,” he says, “I’m a terrible person.”

“Yes, you are.”

You take him by the collar of his shirt and force him onto his living room couch. You rip his shirt off, making sure the buttons pop off to inconvenience him later.

Fuck your nice shirt. I hate you. I hate the way you look in it. I hate seeing you behind me in the mirror of the bathroom with the top button undone.

At first, he seems to enjoy it. Until you bite his neck too hard and his eyes well with tears. You overheard him telling someone once that he hates the feeling of anything touching his neck, so you make sure to choke him a bit while you do this. You don’t physically injure him ‘cause you’ve still got at least half a heart left.

You tear his pants down and shove his dick inside you. He likes it. You hold his wrists down and spit in his face. You can’t tell if he likes that or not.

Something in his face changes when you reach around to grab his ass. You haven’t fully committed, even mentally, to the act – it’s more of a scare tactic.

“You look fucking pathetic. At least take it like a man.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m fucking you, dumbass. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Not like this…”

“You don’t get to choose,” you say with a wicked grin, “you remember when you told me that?”

He doesn’t respond. He winces when he feels your finger enter him.

“Look at what you’ve made me into,” you whisper.

His lip quivers. “I’m raping you Leon, and you like it. I can feel you inside me.”

You promptly remove him from your hole. You scrutinize his dick. You could tell him it’s small, but it almost hurts more to not hear you say anything at all. Your sigh hurts worse. Pity.

You stroke him, lazily, pretending to be indifferent to the existence of his dick, when in reality, you find it repulsive. It’s the weapon he uses to penetrate you. You think about taking a knife to it, but you’re afraid. Of so many things.

You watch as his tip leaks. “You gonna cum?” you ask, sounding excited.

“Uh-huh,” he says. You can’t tell if he’s enjoying it. He fucks up into your fist. He’s almost there. You’ve memorized the sounds he makes when he cums, you’ve studied him.

You retract your hand. He looks like he’s going to cry. You laugh, really laugh.

“You think I’d let you cum?”

He looks genuinely surprised.

“You don’t even deserve to see me cum.” You pause, then add, “Not that I could. Not with you.” You frown at him, making sure it looks genuine.

“Feel free to take care of it yourself, but I’m going to leave now.”

“I’ll-” you know he wants to say he’ll call the cops, he’ll tattle on you, whatever.

You walk back over to him, stare him in the face, and echo his words, “No one will ever believe you.”

You turn around and leave.

Leon doesn’t meet your eyes on Monday. You’ve won.

Only half of Leon wants to do this to you. The half of him that still exists. The vile, horrid, fucked-up part. You remind him of himself and that’s precisely your mistake. You have a certain hope, an innocence he wants to tear away from you. He can’t steal it for himself, but he can force you to empathize with him. A victim, just like him.

When you squirm, he holds you down tighter. “Take it like a man,” he hears it loud and clear, after all this time. You’re not a man, so he tells you to take it like a “good slut” when he forces you down on your knees.

Tears prick in your waterline.

“I bet you like this,” he says, though he doubts it’s true.

Your answer is muffled by his cock down your throat anyhow. Whatever protests you have are null and void.

“You look pretty when you cry,” he says as he smacks you on the cheek with his cock, wet with your spit. Pretty boy, they called him. Shoved up against the lockers, held down on the turf, gun to his head once.

For the first time, he’s the one in charge.

“Please, stop,” you cried the first time. You stood between Leon and his desk.

“You don’t get to choose,” he said because he’s the boss, and despite how fucked up reality is, you don’t get to choose. You wouldn’t have chosen this.

Leon chose you on purpose. You looked like the type of girl he could break in. The dress you wore to the interview reminded him of one his mother use to wear when he was little, and she was young and pretty, and alive. He didn’t make that connection until later.

When you come to his house that night, he’s sorry, really. The part of him that he lost all those years ago lives at the bottom of the bottle. He, idiotically, takes you fucking him as a sign of forgiveness. Until your hands are around his throat and your finger is in his ass. When you’re rough, it’s boot camp, but when you’re tender it’s his mother sitting atop him. Your hand is soft like hers and he can’t decide if he likes it.

It’s easier to think about her when you touch him like that because at least he can pretend she loved him. In her own fucked-up way. He knows all those guys back in the barracks didn’t think of him as more than two holes plus a dick. And you, you fucking hate him and he can’t ignore that anymore.

He tries to ignore it, tries to ignore you entirely. He doesn’t lock eyes with you on Monday. He eats lunch in his car. Alone. Just like you.                     

[witchofthesouls]

Can you explain how preening works on bots? For someone who new to the idea of it.

Preening is a real-life bird grooming behavior that extends the life of their feathers as well as waterproof them using an oil secretion from a gland and a bonding activity, too. Transformers fandom likens the Seekers to birds, so I'm doing my duty and expanding on it lol

For Seekerkin, preening is a grooming behavior that satisfies multiple functions: a social activity for the trine and flock, a necessary and vital part of maintenance to check out the responsiveness and state of their flight systems, and trains the very young or very new on how to handle environmental influx, both passive and active. It's typically guided by the more experienced hand: mentor to student, parent/guardian to child or newbuild, elder to newcomer, trainer to trainee. A pair of hands skims and go over the expanse and edges before using their talons to pick out the slag in the fine seams as they test out various sites and sensor response.

It's an activity that actively builds social cohesion as it takes a lot of trust to allow someone else around appendages packed with a variety of sensors. It feels good as well. Not a sexual pleasure. It's more akin to good massage or very nice body scrub. A great source of stress relief under an at-home health check. Of course, that also fosters relationships between kin, trines, cohorts, and flocks.

Arcee and Bumblebee have their own sensory panels to care for, and it's a job for a second pair of hands. Ratchet has similarities with his own servos.

Miko is too much of a young menace to realize others don't have her own War-Forged physiology, so she's allowed to go ham on the heavier armored Autobots because she's mimicking the care she's receiving.

[psybrepunk]

Testing The Sealants (Nick Valentine & F!Sole Survivor)

Summary: The sole survivor becomes exhausted with Nick's refusal to take care of himself, and decides to take it into her own hands to clean up the good ol' synth.

Wordcount: 547

Tags: Pining, Eventual Suggestive Themes

"Hey, Valentine.  Are you waterproof?"

Nick looked up from the case file in his hand, automatically ashing the cigarette that was in his other.  His brows knit together in momentary confusion. Then again, he knew what Nora was like.  Her mind was always running a mile a minute, and he never knew what the journey to the destination might look like until he asked.  "Now where did that come from?" he drawled, and sat the file aside, leaning forward on his elbows.  

Nora rose from her seat across the Agency, and settled into the chair across from Nick at his desk, crossing her legs.  "I asked you a question, detective.  Are you waterproof?"

"So you're the one doing the interrogating around here now?"  Nick smirked, drawing on his cigarette.  

Not in an unfamiliar fashion, Nora completely ignored his question. "I'm not taking you to the Memory Den looking like this," she said, pointing generally at Nick and fixing him with what she hoped came across as a mock glare.  "Irma will have my ass.  Look at you.  You have cigarette burns on your collar.  There is actual dirt embedded in your neck skin. You still have someone else's blood on your shirt, and presumably the panel underneath.  And I can see a coolant stain on your arm right now."

The synthetic detective grimaced.  He nervously adjusted his hat with his intact hand, but in doing so was met with a sight of the deep blue stain that ran down his pallid forearm.  A low grumble of frustration rumbled through his - apparently blood-stained - chest.  He knew she was right.  He afforded so little thought to actually caring for himself physically.  The average person was so off-put by his visage either way that he hardly ever felt like it mattered - who cared if the local decrepit synth had blood on his clothes and stank of bicentennial tobacco.  He was still the local decrepit synth.  

But Nora was different.  Even from the first moment they had met.  He had never seen in her what he had seen written on a hundred faces when regarding him - the fear, the disgust, the general distaste that even the people who acted civil often couldn't quite hide.  From the very beginning she had only ever treated him like a person, with curiosity rather than mistrust, and soon with a fondness that he had experienced so little of in his synthetic existence.  

"Fine.  No need to make a man feel good about himself," Nick growled.  His metal hand drove his cigarette butt into the nearby ashtray.  "To answer your question, yes I'm relatively waterproof. I've got sealants galore.   Nothing really reaches the ol' circuits, at least not the ones that matter.  But I get tired of trying to dry out the metal bits before they rust.  So your idea better be good."

Nora waved away his concern.  "I have an actual shower in my old house at Sanctuary Hills.  And a blow dryer.  One of those fancy ones they used to make pre-war.  We'll have to ask Sturges how much water we can pump for the shower, and the blow dryer runs on a very small generator, but I imagine it'll do."

"And let me guess, there's no arguing about this with you is there?"  

[thesuperiorgenshinaddict]

Vox N$FW Alphabet

AN: yeah i never thought i would actually post on tumblr but boom here i am. sorry for shitty layout because i just want to pump my hcs out and get it done w/ kekw also i think i made him a bit more of an asshole than ppl usually do so sorrryyy maybe idk Pairing: Vox x GN! Reader Warnings: Sexual content, Top! Vox, Mild degradation, not sure what else idk A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Lets be honest, this dude would NOT do aftercare whatsoever. He'll just go take a shower or something (yes he's waterproof if you say otherwise you're wrong L + Ratio) and when you blankly stare at him like 'wtf bro' this dude will not catch on until you straight up tell him to help you out. Once you successfully got the dude to consistently do aftercare, he'll get you a towel and clean you up and shit.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) This man is a raging narcissist. Probably looks in the mirror, fixes his ugly ass bowtie and does twelve different practiced poses every morning to make sure the public knows he's fucking sexy. He probably loves every part of him besides his side profile, or maybe he would like it because it's 'sleek, modern, state of the art' or some technology bullshit. Loves his claws though. He'd probably be really into ass. Thighs too, but slightly less. I have no clue why but I am convinced he fucking loves legs and all of that. I think he'd like your expression too, mainly because he feels like a god knowing that he makes you feel like that. Don't do mirror sex if you want him to focus on you though, because he's looking at himself more than he's looking at you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) It glows blue. Same shade as his claws and is electric. Don't put it next to fire, it'll burn the fuckin' tower down. Tastes mildly salty and has the same effect as pineapples where it feels like it's biting back. For body parts he likes to cum on, he probably would do it literally anywhere. Inside, on the stomach, on your face, ANYWHERE. Maybe not bukkake because he doesn't want it to get too messy and have to clean it up, that's too much work for a quick jizz.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Secretly finds you attractive romantically. Is it even a dirty secret? He'd just be too scared to do anything besides flirting and sex and shit for a long time. Maybe appeal to him enough and he'll take you on a completely romantic and sweet date that doesn't involve him blowing your back out afterwards. Christ, why the fuck is that somehow more appealing than having a one-nighter with him? Maybe I'm tweaking. Ignore this if you want. Go on and live your life with sweet husband Voxxy dookers buddy, I'm not judging too hard. Probably.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Pretty experienced. Unless you have some wild ass kink, chances are, he's probably smooth as fuck with it. Go wild.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Mating press. I originally thought I was just biased as fuck since I love the whole thought of mating press and shit, but apparently a good amount of people agree with me. He probably loves being close to you and mating press lets him fuck your brains out. Wants to be as deep as physically possible in you, and you're vulnerable to him and he's looooving it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Definitely is leaning on the more serious side. If he's joking around, it wouldn't be in a 'haha funny' way, it'd be more of a condescending way where he's making fun of how pathetic you are. Or horny, or something along the lines of that. I feel like he'd do makeup sex, so if that's the case, I can assure you he is not cracking jokes. Maybe cracking your legs apart though. Fuck, that wasn't funny.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. No hair. He wouldn't grow hair there. Uh. Anyway, I don't want to have so little shit written here, so when he was alive, he probably was pretty well taken care of down there. I think a bit more hair than trimmed, but not the whole ass Amazon forest, ya get what I mean? Why the fuck did I say that? Okay. Regardless, I think of him being like dark brown hair when he was alive. Probably was a few shades darker on his dicky wicky cocky okay seriously I have to stop wtf

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) He'd be physically close to you, but if you're a one night stand, expect NOTHING emotional from him. Nada. Nothin'. On the other hand, if he was dating you or married or whatever your delusional ahh comes up with, he'd be just hardcore fucking you with a ton of horny ass compliments, but you'd be able to look into his eyes and just kinda tell he really loves you past all that horndog shit. Not really intimate sex for the most part imo, but if the both of you guys are in a shitty mood and it's not hate sex, he might say a few really sweet compliments and all that jazz. Fuuuuckkk I read that and he sounds kinda assholey (he is one though cope seethe /j don't get mad at me pwease) so if you're upset I half meant that in the 'he won't be bawling his eyes out during sex out of sheer love' way. Boom

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) He has cameras everywhere in Hell. Did you even think of the mere possibility that he's not jerking that shit constantly? Kidding. I feel like he'd be busy working a lot, but if you're not there to help him out after work and shit, he'd jerk it. Maybe a few times a week normally. If he had time and he was lonely though... Bro's going ham on his poor footlong. He has a lot of videos and whatever to look at. I think he'd thrive just off his imagination too.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Dry humping (receiving), Mild degradation (giving), Voyeurism, Shock play (giving, duh), Hypnosis (gee i sure wonder if it's giving or receiving woahhhhh /s), Power dynamic, I definitely have a lot more but it depends heavily on your relationship to him :p

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Desk. Now. Besides that though, he's probably fine with a lot of places. I feel like he'd be somewhat against public or semi-public sex because it could make his reputation worse, but anywhere else is fine. His office isn't really risky because he knows when people are about to enter using his lil' cameras.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) A lot of things. Many, many things. For the most part though, if you tease him by wearing some revealing shit or acting like a bitch, he's getting a hard on.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Anything that puts him in a situation where he has little to no control. He's not willing to show that much vulnerability, no matter how well you know him. You can try domming, sure, but just know he has the full ability to do a 360.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Receiving. He'll occasionally do giving, but if you start calling him your submissive bitch or something, he'll spit and fucking leave. But regardless, he shoving his dick down your throat. Face-fucking is probably his favorite. Solid 6-7/10 in terms of skill, bonus points since his tongue is long.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Definitely rough like a good 90% of the time. The pace depends on his mood, but he'd go with medium to fast for the most part. Maybe slow if he magically has a break (That'll almost never happen. Poor dude loves his work so much, probably chronically online just because of how much time he has to spend with computers). Don't piss him off though, he doesn't have a speed cap on this type of shit. Random thing I wanted to add in, his typing speed is fucking insane. 300 something and higher when he's arguing on the internet. Would definitely participate in those arguments of who's the goat of sports or whatever. Also random flex but my typing speeds at like 200 wow I'm so cool everyone clap

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He barely has time to do anything, so quickies a lot of times end up being the only option he has to get off. Hella often. He enjoys an occasional slow sesh, but speedruns are his go-to.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Hell fucking yes. Always willing to try new shit out as long as it's not too risky. If it won't destroy his company, he's down for it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) This dude consumes more caffeine than humanely possible. He could probably go forever if it wasn't for his job, but he'd probably settle for 4~ rounds on a normal workday. If he's feeling excited though, expect more.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) Definitely owns quite a bit. Probably only his company's products though, he wouldn't want to support other businesses. I don't think he's one to use them all that often since he'll normally just call you over to suck his dick, but piss him off and he'll shove a dildo in you and leave for a few hours, just to see how long you'll last.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He's such a brat. Taunts and makes fun of you constantly. Poor you, he loves to see you overstimulated and sobbing your eyes out.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) I feel like he wouldn't be that loud himself, definitely some breathy groans and shit, but on the other hand... If you're not loud enough, he'll make sure you're screaming out his name until he's satisfied. Maybe a little glitchy sounds. Before he comes, he probably becomes a little staticky.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) Willing to fuck you with his aux cords. Would find it fun as hell, especially he can shock you easier.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) I think some of you guys don't remember that this man is 7ft. If he was human, it'd probably be around 7 inches, but he's tall as fuck. Expect it to be 9 inches minimum and probably larger. Average girth with thick veins running down the side. Pretty sure I said a good amount about it earlier.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Insanely high because he's always pent-up while working. Gets hard from the slightest bit of teasing. I have no clue what to write, but I want to write more so he's the type to get hard when he's comfortable. Cuddle with him and he's probably hard just because he's feeling cozy and shit.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He'd sleep a few minutes later, depending on how much he trusts you. If he doesn't trust you much, he's leaving to a different room. If he likes you though, he'd just go nighty-night. AN: hope you enjoyed thanks like and follow for more banger content /hj

[vincentbriggs]

Hey can anyone who's more experienced with leatherwork tell me what you use to trace patterns?

Because none of my fabric pencils leave any mark at all on the smooth side, especially since I can't press too hard without stretching the lambskin out of shape. The best I've come up with is waterproof drawing pens on the light stuff and white gel pens on the dark stuff. I know I could use fabric pencils on the rough side, but for gloves I want to be precise, so I prefer the smooth side.

Edit: To clarify, I am only making gloves, so my leather is all quite thin and stretchy and my lines need to be fine.

[lifenconcepts]

KWAZII HEADCANONS !!

Has a habit of snacking on other people’s snacks, it began accidentally but soon just turned into a subconscious little trick. 

Keeps a little book of fun pirate stories and beasts by his bed. 

Probably puts stuff under his bed so there isn’t any space for a monster to reside down there.

Ends up being the one who always takes the leading characters in video games, or the ones that most consider ‘better’.

Has an irrational fear of losing.

Probably enjoys betting outrageous things on very unlikely scenarios, such as willing to give up the rest of his ear to prove he can ‘totally’ find a super rare species that toootally exists.

Occasionally wears ear mufflers to sleep better as his ears pick up on more sound than the others and he can’t sleep when it’s noisy.

Hears the hum and buzz of electrical machinery.

Enjoys dim lighting.

Purrs when content.

Has tried to learn many languages and gave up on all of them, but does recall a few occasional words here and there from the most obscure languages possible (both from existing and long extinct ones).

Has incredibly realistic dreams and often comes awake fully believing that what he just experienced was real life and tend to casually make references to them when talking to the crew.

Liked colouring books.

Fantasises about getting transported into a sci-fi world.

Likes to sit or lay down in incredibly strange ways and spots, often finding the most uncomfortable of place comfy and taking naps in positions that make him look passed out.

Is apologetic whenever he scares some skiddish creature with his pirate tales and tries to calm them down as best as he can, often being a bit sad he has to admit they they’re not real (because other than that he whole heartedly believes some of his stories, even if most of them are for show and to get a fun situation going).

Occasionally bites the rain.

Loves to feel different textures and at times brings a bunch of random things into his room just to feel the bumps and ridges on them, from drift wood, to especially cool rocks, to uninhabited shells.

Liked to pretend he can roar, despite knowing full well it can’t intimidate anyone.

Has a spirit box and at times likes to pretend he’s a ghost-hunter.

Sometimes sits in the middle of a room with his eyes closed as he focuses his entire attention on what he hears, ears moving around his head as he takes a mental picture of all the noise that is present around him.

Has on countless occasions taken a random stick from a beach and waved it about with an imaginary opponent like a sword.

Hates flashing lights.

Has at times licked himself clean (and barnacles).

Is a storm chaser and commonly begs the crew to let him go out in the Gup-B whenever a warning pops up on the storm tracker. 

Likes to drink (non alcoholic) alcohol.

Stretches at basically every single opportunity he gets, wether he gets up from somewhere, sits down, goes somewhere new, is all settled up, or is in the middle of an adventure.

Wears a bullet on a necklace from one of the adventures he and calico jack had.

Is proud of himself and tends to not apologise for being himself or happy but does know when he crosses a boundary and deals with it accordingly, usually knowing what things are out of bounds for what people.

Likes to eat with his paws.

Has cool waterproof pirate stickers he loves to stick everywhere he goes and practically no place above not under the sea is safe from his tomfoolery.

Loved to crack his knuckles and spine but is incredibly assertive about not doing the same to his neck as he worried he might snap himself dead that way.

Has atleast one missing tooth.

Secretly really wants a unicycle

P.S I won’t be making any age/sexuality/show related headcanons but rather stuff that fits their personality. ALSO THEY ALL HAVE AUTISM. ALSO THEY ALL HUM TUNES.

Source? I said so. I am litterally going off nothing from the show apart from the vibe :3

[a-certain-romance]

Characters/Ships: Arlecchino, Ei, Miko, & Ningguang x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut written by a minor, strap ons (Arlecchino), cockwarming (Arlecchino), crying (Miko), Face-sitting (Ei), Dom reader (Ei), mention of toys (Ningguang)

A/N: Oh sweetie, my dignity died at my first post. I had a lot of fun with this one, I tilted the scale between fluff and smut with these 4. Ik one or two might be a bit overused so I tried to add a little something extra to ones I considered to be obvious to their character

- Sometimes she’ll open that big, fluffy coat of her’s and embrace your body against hers for more warmth. She normally does this when no one is around. But if someone stumbles upon this, her glare will scare off any unnecessary gossip

- Speaking of, Arlecchino is very protective of you. Being in this relationship is not only dangerous for her but for you as well. If you aren’t experienced already, she might teach you a few basic maneuvers to protect yourself. She knows it wouldn’t be enough to ensure your safety, but it helps put her mind at ease. No one would ever dare to cross you and get away with it. Arlecchino is well equipped with the resources to make someone “mysteriously disappear” if needed.

- Many of your dates might involve the arts in some way or another. Seeing an opera, walking through an art gallery, maybe you can convince her to stand still for a caricature.

- Arlecchino likes having you on her lap. She’d tell you to stop squirming when you’re cockwarming her strap as she’s looking over documents. It’s the perfect position for it, no one will ever notice how deep she’s buried into your cute cunt. Just make sure to keep you voice down.

- Ei is extremely touch starved. Please hold her when you can! She loves having her hands on you whenever you allow it. Praise her while you’re at it too. Tell her how much you love the way she trembles when she’s grinding on your face, whimpering how “it’s too much” for her to handle.

- Ei’s dominant side starts to show up more as the relationship progresses. But when you’re first exploring each other, she’s pure putty in your hands. She loves it when you take the lead. It’s so cute how obedient Ei is for you: spreading her legs without a second thought, offering up her body for you to tease, moaning near your ear all the dirty things she wants you to do to her.

- I can imagine Ei prefers slow and sensual sex over the fast and rough kind. Ei’s divinity shapes her perspective of time; when she’s with you, she truly believes she has all the time in the world. Nothing will have to feel rushed or forced (unless you’re into that, to which case she might accommodate). That being said, she isn’t the biggest fan of quickies.

- She enjoys cuddling with you in her fox form more than she lets on. If you scratch or rub Miko in her favorite spots, she’ll reward you with content purring. Care for her gently though. Being too rough will make her squirm around and move to a different spot. She’d nip at your fingers any time you would try to get them close to her fur and would refuse to lay anywhere near you out of pettiness. Worse case scenario, Miko would transform out of her form. So try to avoid putting her in a grumpy state.

- She always wears a perfume she thinks you would like. She experiments with different kinds and uses it as an excuse to be closer to you. Miko tends to spray it on her neck so you have no choice but to lean in real close to her.

- You know this picture? :

- Miko would do that. Always putting waterproof mascara/eyeliner on you so it doesn’t run down your cheeks when you cry from her sweet torment. She’d use you as a test subject. Miko’s stuck between to lipstick shades? Let her mark up your neck to see what will leave the better impression. You’ll sit still for her, won’t you?

- You are a breath of fresh air. When Ningguang’s with you, she’s no longer the Tianquen buried under a thousand responsibilities. You’re her favorite stress relief. Your presence alone makes Ningguang unclench her jaw and relax her posture. Whether it’s a quiet night in, or a loud one, you are enough to keep her sane.

- Ningguang loves doing mundane things with you. Yeah, she has 3 secretaries who have her covered in almost all aspects of life. But whenever she can, she loves carving out time to cook a meal with you. She loves taking walks around nearby mountain ranges where it’s more secluded. Simply cuddling with you after a weary day makes her heart melt.

- Ningguang likes sending you gifts. As the Tianquen of Liyue, she won’t always be present. But that doesn’t mean you’ve ever left her mind. Every time she feels that same ache from your absence, she’ll send flowers with a heartfelt card written with the finest stationary. All the pieces of jewelry she sends for you is not only hand crafted, but the jewels specifically hold different types of meanings.

- She seems like the experimental type. With all that money, why not invest in pleasure? She’ll try anything once. That includes buying you anything you’re interested in. But if you prefer the more vanilla route, she’s happy to oblige and leave the kinky stuff behind for you. Anything to keep you moaning her name.

[vibratingskull]

Your name spells l.o.v.e.

Part1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34

Tags : Reader is disabled, fluff, self-doubts, ptsd, cuddling, hurt-comfort, ice-skating, heavy make out session

Your day started rather well but derails quickly. But Thrawn is never too far away to help

FemaleReader x Thrawn

You let the water roll on your body, eyes closed, appreciating the warmth wrapping around your body. Fortunately, your legs are waterproof, it would be such a pain either way. The vapors rise in the glass cabin, blurring your vision. You sigh in delight, letting your stress melt under the water. You’re mentally reviewing what you will cook for this morning. 

What would Thrawn like? You really should take note of his favorite dishes to cook them regularly, “Cooking is a good way to keep your man happy” your mom told you before when you helped her in the kitchen. 

You don’t know enough recipes, you should buy a new cookbook and practice. You shouldn't start worrying about acquiring new skills when you have a baby in your arms.". Also, you should be able to cook at the level of the dish served to him on the Chimaera! What would it say about you if you cannot even do that?  

You purse your lips, you also have the dishes and the laundry to take care of… 

Once your shower is done you wrap yourself in Thrawn’s robe, inhaling his scent deep inside your lungs. What a pleasure. You brush your face in the fluffy fabric with another sigh. You open the basket to find it empty. 

Where are all the clothes? 

You enter the kitchen where you discover Thrawn savoring a cup of caff while reading his datapad. He raises his head at your approach. 

“Cha’cah.” He greets you with a thin smile. 

You stop, getting submerged by the obscene memories of yesterday morning again and your heart starts sprinting immediately. You feel your cheeks flush, remembering how you served him and how he touched you sent you into a flustered panic. 

He tilts his head, amused. 

“Are you not going to greet me properly, my love?” 

He extends his hand to you, and you take it after an hesitation, pulling you into a hug and he captures your lips immediately. He came back to his usual self, showering you with affection, kissing your face, hugging you… But this time he doesn’t shy away from kissing your lips properly, licking them with his tongue and embracing them. 

It makes you melt and you feel like a teen experiencing her first relationship, all shy and giddy. You're glad his affection returned as before, he hugs and nudges you as he used to. These two days giving you the cold shoulder was killing you, and you are so relieved to be in his arms once again. 

He invites you to open your mouth and dances with your tongue delicately and you moan against his lips,earning a faint purr. He squeezes you against his large form, making you feel small, but protected. 

He then parts from you to let you breathe, looking unbothered but satisfied of his effect on you. 

“Did you sleep well, Cheo vir?” 

No. 

No you didn’t. 

Satlove’s head and voice is omnipresent in each of your dreams, haunting you. Sometimes you feel him behind your back when you’re awake, ready to jump on you and finish the job for good this time. You woke up at night, nerves on fire, goosebump all over your skin, refraining a scream to not wake up Thrawn and the neighbors. You hug the cover, nails digged into the fabric, out of breath with a headache. Your nights are either sleepless or full of nightmares since that fateful day.   

But he doesn’t need to know that. 

“Agitated but well.” You respond, circling his neck with your arms. 

You press your foreheads together and he cradles you gently. You look at his close face, with his eyes closed, his purr resonating at your ears.  

He is so handsome and regal…And so nice to you… So tender… 

Sometimes you look at him and want to burst into tears in joy, to have this man be your partner is a blessing of the Maker, even if you don’t believe in it. 

“Do you know where all the dirty clothes are? The basket was empty.” You ask, squirming closer in his arms. 

“I took care of it.” 

What? 

You lean your head over his shoulder and see the dishes are also done. 

“Oh… Thank you.” You say, a bit lost. 

It's the first time one of your partners has participated in the chores. 

That’s not... normal? 

“Fill yourself a cup and join me on the sofa.” Thrawn says gently, kissing your cheek. 

You take your favorite cup, a silly green ceramic mug with a produting tooka’s snoot and ears with the handle mimicking the tail and pour yourself a generous amount of caff before coming to sit on the couch. Thrawn circles your shoulders and presses your body against his. 

“Speak to me, Cha’cah.” He just says. 

“About what?” You ask, chuckling, “What do you want to know?” 

“About your nightmares.” 

Your sip takes the wrong way and you cough. Thrawn observes you, serious as always but you can see compassion in his shining rubies. 

“What?!” You ask with a white voice. 

“I know your dreams are plagued.” He squeezes your shoulders, “I spent all of our nights together cradling you while you cry in your sleep. I know you suffer terribly, as it is natural in your situation, and I want you to share your pain with me.” 

He… 

Oh great, you who thought you could push it under the rug. 

“It’s nothing, really.” You try to cut the conversation short. 

“I daresay it is not. Your trauma is important, and the sequelae are dire. You lost weight and your sleep, and I cannot simply stand by and watch you destroy yourself without you at least sharing the load.” 

You bite your lips, trapped. 

You didn’t tell him about your weight loss and took care not to dress before him, so when…? 

You suddenly want to slap yourself. When you took off your shirt when he had his rut crisis… What an idiot! You were so distressed by Thrawn state you forgot he could see in the barely lighted bedroom. 

Maker, what a dumbass you are! 

And now he has you stuck between his arms! 

Your mind spins at 100 miles per hour, trying to find an escape. 

“Speak to me, my love.” He insists. 

“I…”  

You gulp, suddenly feeling an immense pressure on your body. Your eyes avert his and you feel yourself starting to tremble, so much you have to put down your cup. 

“I…” You try to start, but your voice immediately crashes down. 

You fidget your fingers, digging your nails in the fabric of the robe. You open your mouth only for a strangled yelp to come out. You feel your stomach turning acidic and your breath escapes you. 

You hear Satlove's laugh resonating in your brain… 

“I…” You choke. 

You feel your ribcage retracting on itself, strangling your heart ready to explode. 

“It is alright, Cha’cah.” Thrawn takes your hand to kiss your knuckles, “Do not force yourself.” 

You look at him without understanding. 

“But you…” 

“It is evidently a wound too fresh for you. I should not have pressured you into talking. I am sorry, Cha’cah.” 

He kisses your forehead again in a soothing manner. 

“I simply wished for you to know you could confide in me anything, even your pain. It was distasteful of me and I did not expect it to send you into a panic.” 

“It is… still hard for me.” You concede with a little voice. 

Your heart is still speeding inside of your chest and you wipe your sweaty palm on the robe, but you’re relieved you will not have to talk today. 

You avoid that subject like the plague. 

“As long as you work with your psychiatrist, I am relieved.” He continues, caressing the back of your neck. 

“I don’t have one.” 

He parts with you suddenly, with a mixture of shock, surprise and indignation on his haughty face. It disappears in a split second returning to a deadly serious expression. 

“You do not see a psychiatrist right now?” 

“No?” You stutter, “I saw one for three sessions back at the hospital but that’s it. I don’t have time for that.” 

“Are you aware we have specialists aboard the ISDs?” He asks incredibly gravely. 

“We do?” You’re flabbergasted. 

You didn’t know that! 

He immediately takes his comlink, standing up from the sofa. 

“I am booking you an appointment.” He declares. 

“No Thrawn, it’s good. I assure you, it’s fine” You temper, trying to calm his ardour. 

He gives you a side glance, clearly unconvinced. 

“Permit me to doubt it. Your reaction was truly revealing.” 

You greet your teeth. You don’t want to speak about it! 

Ever! 

It is too painful. 

“Thrawn, please…” 

“Therapy is an efficient way to heal, Cha’cah. They are specialized in war traumas, they can help you.” He gently insists. 

“THRAWN, NO!” 

He turns to you, silent and eyes sharp and inquisitive. You realize you were the one who shouted. 

“I…”  

He tilts his head, awaiting your explanation of your sudden outburst. You hug yourself, still trembling, mouth open, trying to push words out of your mouth. 

You suddenly turn away and run to the bedroom. 

Thrawn calmly follows to find you curled over the toilet seat in your bathroom, vomiting your entrails. You feel his large and warm hand on your back, caressing it gently and soothingly. You try to ask him to get out, but another wave of sickness silences you, shaking your whole body. 

“Please…” You beg. 

“Breath, Cha’cah.” He advises softly. 

With one knee on the ground, he places himself at your side, delicately taking your hair out of your face as you keep puking. 

You gag over the toilet seat, but the sickness subsides slowly. You finally fall on your ankles, panting, flushing the toilet. 

Thrawn applies a wet washcloth on your forehead, his arm circling your shoulders. 

“Relax, Ch’acah. Breath through your nose.” 

“I am sorry…” 

“What for?” He tilts his head. 

“For shouting at you, and… that charming sight and smell…” 

“I have witnessed worse. I can stomach a sickness.” He comforts you. 

You gulp, laying your head on his shoulder, your strength slowly coming back through your limbs. 

“May I ask why you refuse to see a therapist?” He murmurs. 

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and sigh. 

“I do not want to confront those memories…” 

“Why?” 

“Because… They are so painful. I want to bury them, forget them…” 

“You will never forget those memories.” He responds, “But you can advance past them, grow and heal.” He pushes a strand of hair out of your face, “But you will need to confront them.” 

You shake your head, yelping. 

“You can try to push them down and forget them, but those memories will only devour you alive, poison your personality and reshape you in their image. They will make you suffer everyday, deeper and deeper until  irrevocably and drastically changing you as a person, for the worse.” 

“I… I can’t…” Your voice breaks. 

“I know it is hard, Cha’cah.” He presses you tighter, sitting with you in your little bathroom on the cold floor, “Facing yourself and your traumas is uncomfortable and terrifying. But you have to face your deepest fears to mend.” 

His hand comes caressing your hair as you shake. 

“Please, promise me you will think about it.” He asks seriously. 

Is it… Worry that you hear underlying his assured voice? 

“Aren't there any other ways?” You plead. 

“There is not, I am afraid. This is our fate as warriors.” 

You bury your face in the crook of his neck and let silent tears roll on your cheeks. He hugs you tight in response, caressing your hair and back. He remained still for as long as you needed him, for as long as you cried. 

You finally calm down and unfasten your arms around his neck to wipe out the last tear off. 

“Do you feel better?”  

“Yes, I think…” 

“Good. Brush your teeth, I will cook you something.” He says. 

You part with him with a shocked and worried expression. 

“You will… cook?” 

“Is there a problem?” 

This is your domain, your duty. You permitted him to try and play with it for a bit, but it is time order comes back in this household. 

“Thrawn, we both know your strengths aren’t in the kitchen.” 

“You are in no state to manipulate knives, let me help.” 

“Thrawn, with all due respect: No.” 

He purses his lips for a split second. 

“How can I help?” 

You giggle in his arms, touched by his pouty face and will to help. 

“Thank you, love.” You nudge against his large, tall and warm body, like a tooka in its basket. 

“You still need to eat, will you help and advise me in this case?” 

“Alright…” You accept with a tired sigh, “Either way you will poison me.” 

“I humbly admit, cooking is not part of my skills.” 

“Of course, it is my job to take care of that.” You assure. 

He frowns for a split second but doesn’t respond. 

He helps you stand up on your wobbly legs and exit the bathroom while you brush your teeth. 

When you go back to the living room, Thrawn is sharpening the blades adroitly, his tall stature turned back from you. You approach silently and circle his hips with your arms. 

“I am sorry I shouted…” you insist. 

“There is no problem, cheo Cha’cah, I should not have cornered you.” 

Your cheek pressed against his back, you let his warmth spread in your own skin. You sigh again, feeling more at peace with his presence.  

“... Did you go to therapy?” you finally ask. 

“No.” 

“Oh…” you let out. 

“But I had someone precious to me to listen to my doubts and uncertainties.” He continues in a softer tone. 

“Your brother?” 

He doesn’t respond. 

He doesn’t have to. 

“I am sorry, Thrawn…” You press him tighter. 

One of his hands comes caressing your arm in front of him. 

“There is no problem.” He repeats, ever so slightly tenser, “What recipe do you want?” 

--------------------------------------- 

“I never did that!” You scream, unbalanced, threatening to fall face first. 

“Stop agitating yourself. Focus on grounding your feet.” Thrawn slides closer to take your hands and help you. 

“Do not let me go!” You order, panicked. 

“It is simple. Trust your balance.” 

“In case you didn’t notice already, I have no balance on these!” 

You never ice skated, ever. You tremble on your thin blade on the ice, ready to fall at any moment. Thrawn is confident and graceful, assured on his feet he skates with ease and facility. 

Contrary to you. 

You are absolutely pitiful. 

Thrawn pulls you with him, slowly, as you dig your nails in the sleeves of his coat, desperate to not escape his grasp. 

“How do you do that!?” 

“I have skated since I was very young.” He explains, slightly amused by your stressful predicament, “It is second nature.” 

“Well not for me, so do.not.let.me.go!” You insist. 

“It is like me learning to cook,” He smiles thinly. “You need a mentor willing to let you go.” 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” 

But he lets go of one of your arms, letting you agitate it in every direction to keep your balance. 

“Aaaaah…. No, no, no… Why did you let go?” You squeal. 

“For you to gain assurance.” 

As you pathetically try to not fall on your butt and actually skate on the ice, you see all the families all around you, old and young, skating with more or less experience. Some kids were so much more comfortable than you, some even spinning and jumping in the air to land with practiced ease on the ice. 

You cower against Thrawn, holding on to him. He receives you in his arms with a soft chuckle. 

“How do you intend to progress if you do not let go?” He inquires. 

“Do I really need to be able to let go for my first try? We could always come back!” You say panicked. 

“Indeed we could. But gliding with confidence on the ice is such a delightful sensation, I want you to experience it.” He pushes you forward, letting you go completely. 

“No! How dare you! THRAWN!” You scream horrified as you glide on the ice all by yourself. 

You can hear the experienced children laugh at you behind their hands, but you do not care. Your only worry is TO NOT FALL.  

By sheer desperation you push on your feet, skating farther and farther all by yourself. You keep going with the low wall as a finish line in your eyes. 

You crash against it, cutting your breath. 

Finally!Some support! 

You spin on yourself, holding the rail, ready to scream at Thrawn, absolutely scandalized. 

He arrives at your side smoothly, clearly amused behind his stern and respectful expression. 

“How was it?” He inquires, relaxed. 

He clearly appears more at home on the ice than anywhere else you saw him. It’s true his homeworld is frozen, it must remind him of the past. 

“Terrible! It was terrible! How do you do that?!”  

“I learned when I was two.” He explains like it is obvious. 

“How?!” 

“Temperatures used to drop so low that the only way for pedestrians to travel anywhere was ice skating. As soon as I could stand on my feet my parents put ice skates on them, I learned with…” 

The gleam of amusement dies down, and his expression hardens subtly, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

“With?” You ask, encouraging him. 

“It is not important. I mastered this skill early with my family. And now I can teach you.” The tone is just a tad colder and distant. 

You look at his face, gauging him as he awaits your response. 

“You were clearly speaking about someone precisely.” You try, “Who was it?” 

“It is nothing important.” 

“Is it? You have the same face you had when you told me about your brother, back in that cavern.” 

He tenses up ever so slightly. 

Oh… 

“Thrawn, I did not meant-” 

“I know you did not.” He cuts you short, “Maybe you wish to learn by yourself. I will give you some space for you to evolve on your own terms.” 

“Thrawn!” You try to hold him back. 

But he skates away from you with ease and elegance. You look at him going away, helpless. 

Blast! You just needed to keep your mouth shut, and now look at you… 

You sigh. 

‘Congratulations, you idiot!’ 

You look at him, slaloming between people swiftly. Away from you… 

You grumble and, very hesitantly, resume your skating, holding on to the rail for dear life. You laboriously manage to go forward, with the occasional loss of balance from time to time. You greet your teeth and keep going forward, really slowly, but that is still a win for you. 

You’re never going to reach him back at that speed. He will easily complete several laps while you pathetically look down on your feet to not fall. 

When you raise back your head to assert his position on the ice, you see him kneeling on the ice next to a kid. 

The child seems to be crying. 

Did they fall? Are they hurt? You accelerate the best you can to reach them. 

You see Thrawn helping the little ones back on their feet, they’re visibly shaken and terrified. 

You take a deep breath and push on the wall to propulse you in their direction.  

You reach them with more or less gracefulness, but join them nonetheless. 

“What-WOAH!” You yelp, slamming into Thrawn that catches you before you run over the poor kid, “What happened?” 

“She fell in front of me.” He simply explains, holding the little alien girl by her hand. 

The little girl is crying, cheek soiled with tears, holding on to his larger hand. 

“Oh no, poor little one.” You admit, “Are you wounded?” 

“No… I-I don’t think so…” She sobs. “But it hurted when I fell.” 

“Where?” Thrawn asks 

“On my knee.” She sniffs. 

He kneels in front of her and gently manipulates her articulation. 

“Does it hurt when I bend it?” 

“A little…” 

“You have not been scratched, I do not see any blood on your pants. It is a simple bruise, you will be fine.” He raises his gaze to hers with a soft voice. 

“I don’t know how to skate.” She explains. 

“You’re not the only one. I am a beginner too.” you say. 

She looks at you with round eyes. 

“But you’re an adult.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything. It is my first time skating and I am bad at it too.” 

“Judging from both of your performances, my fiance is worse than you.” Thrawn reveals. 

“Hey!” You protest, slapping his shoulder. 

“You’re engaged?” She asks with stars in her eyes, the pain of the fall already forgotten. 

Thrawn looks up to you, meeting your gaze. You do not know how to respond. 

It’s the second time Thrawn called you his fiance, and you both imagined your life together, but… 

“No, we are not.” Thrawn cuts your doubt, “But we are together.” 

“Like a couple?” She insists. 

“Indeed.” 

She gasps, eyes full of stars but suddenly, her expression darkens. 

“Mom and dad aren’t a couple anymore. They got a… a…” She searches 

“A divorce?” You propose. 

She nods, sadly. 

“I am sorry.” You sympathize. 

“Where is the parent looking over you?” Thrawn asks. 

“Not here. Dad left me here cause he has a meeting.” She grumbles. 

Thrawn looks back at you and you shrug.  

“Do you wish for me to teach you how to ice-skate?” Thrawn proposes gently, swapping the subject matter to something less painful for the kid. 

“You would?” 

“Yes.” He stands back on his blades, “(Y/n), take her other hand.” 

“Are you sure? I am still unsure of my own balance.” you argue. 

“Everything is going to be fine. You only need practice.”  

You clumsily walk to her side and take her little hand. 

And off you go. 

You advance hand in hand, at a low speed among the rest of the skaters. It is easier for you to skate while holding someone else, even if you still have some mishaps. 

“See? Even adults can have difficulties, what matters is working to better oneself.” Thrawn stoically points your errors to the little girl. 

She burst out laughing. 

“Hey! Hey! Hey! No mocking!” You bite back, “At least I didn’t fall on my butt, miss.” 

She grins, amused, getting more and more confident on her skates. 

You keep making laps slowly, cradled by the sliding sensation over the ice. 

Thrawn was right! It is pleasant! 

Soon enough, she lets you go, gaining speed, skating away. Thrawn closes the gap between you, a hand coming against your lower back to ground you. 

“There she goes.” He says mysteriously. 

You risk a glance to his face. He is observing her sliding away with a stern expression, but his gaze is incredibly soft. 

You smile. 

“Thanks to you.”  

He shakes his head. 

“She simply discovered it for herself.” 

Is he always blind to the impact he has on others lives, you wonder? Does he not see the good he releases on the world by simply being… himself? 

You seize his hand and squeeze it. 

“No, it is thanks to you, Thrawn.” 

You keep skating hand in hand again, this time he doesn’t let you go. He holds you firmly, but also gently. 

“Byyyyyyyyyyyye!” You hear a shout. 

You both turn your head to the little girl, smiling and holding her father’s hand, waving at you. 

You smile and wave back at the two. 

You flow on the ice with Thrawn’s aid, less terrified now.  

“You are progressing.” Thrawn praises you sternly. 

But the soft pride in his voice is unmistakable. 

“That is not a reason to let go!” You immediately add. 

And he doesn’t. Instead he holds you close to him, skating side by side until you are trembling, frozen. 

“Let’s go home.” Thrawn invites. 

You go back to your little apartment, hand in hand. His hand is large and warm compared to yours, just like the rest of his gigantic body. 

Not to your distaste. 

You bury your nose in your scarf and silently observe people's reactions to Thrawn. Men look envious of his stature and charisma, raising their heads to see him towering over them. And women giggle like young girls on his path, turning back to see him walk away. 

At your arm. 

Hidden behind your scarf you smile blissfully, measuring your chance to be with him. As a power move over all of them you stop him and raise on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He looks at you a bit puzzled by your sudden affection but does not reject you.  

This beautiful gentleman is yours only! 

He gently seizes your chin to incline your head and capture your lips in the middle of the street. You hear a gasp in the crowd as your lips meet immodestly at the view of everyone. 

You puff in the kiss, taken by surprise by his response. 

He leaves you breathless and panting while looking perfectly undisturbed, making you flush profusely. His thumb caresses your lower lips tenderly as he straightens his back. 

“Did you lose your words?” He asks with his typical dry humor. 

You feel your cheeks heating up so much at his carmine gaze devouring you like that. 

“I did not expect you to kiss me in the middle of the street in front of everyone…” You explain, flustered. 

“Why not?” He tilts his head, “You appeared to be craving some affection.” 

“I just thought you would be more secretive in front of others.” You confuse yourself in your reasoning, melting under his burning gaze. 

He lightly chuckles. 

“Why would I? I am not ashamed to be at your arm and even less to show you are mine. I thought you would appreciate me kissing you?” 

You hide your face in your scarf to hide from such inquisitive eyes, your legs feeling like absolute jello. The glowing heat signals of your face are all the confirmation he needs. 

“Come, Ch’acah.” He invites, squeezing your hand and guiding you to your apartment. 

-------------------------- 

You  sigh of relief inside your cocoon, home sweet home. You stretch to make your spine ‘pop’ with great satisfaction. 

“I love being home!” You sigh. 

“It is quite pleasant indeed.” Thrawn approves while taking off his long trench coat. 

“My feet are all sturdy frozen!” You chuckle, “I should have wear thicker socks.” You point at your ridiculous pink flowery socks with a big smile. 

You kept the habit of putting on socks and shoes to not see your mechanical legs. 

To hide them from your sight and forget, at least for a moment...  

“Is it uncomfortable?” Thrawn ask. 

“The articulations are frozen, it’s just hard to keep my balance and walk properly.” 

“Sit down on the sofa.” He orders gently, heading to the kitchen part of the room. 

You let yourself fall on your sofa with a laughing ‘oof’, sprawling on the comfy furniture like a starfish. You observe your red ceiling, hypnotized by the burgundy color. 

“The white ceiling was truly ugly.” You declare, “We did well to paint it all.” 

“You painted it all by yourself.” Thrawn retorts from the kitchen as you hear him rummaging through stuff. 

“You did the whole bedroom.” 

Thrawn reappears in his signature black tank top, a clothe and a basin of hot water and kneels before you. You look at him, tilting your head as he seizes your feet to take off your socks and gently lays them in the fuming water, letting the frost disolve. He gently 'massages’ the metal of your feet, bending your toes gently to test the damage of the frost. 

“No need to take care of it, I can do it myself.” You chuckle uncomfortable, not used to be served like that. 

“Shhhhh. Let me help.” He shuts you down. 

You fix his kneeling form, working on your articulations like he did it all his life. 

“Do you need a massage in return?” You ask. 

“I do not freeze as easily as humans.”Thrawn shakes his head as he looks up to you. “My organism is tailor made for cold climates.” 

You nod. You try to settle down the uneasy feeling in your guts, trying to just enjoy the moment but you can feel your mother's disdain darting on you. 

Why is Thrawn serving you right now and not you? 

You sigh. In some way it was easier to be with Nather, with his army of droids you only had to be a pretty candy in his arms and play the trophy girlfriend, you have a harder time guessing what Thrawn wants in his life. 

As that thought cross your mind you feel a wave of sickness rising in your throat, threatening to submerge you. You press your hand on your mouth to prevent the bile from passing your lips. 

How can you even think that?! 

“Is everything alright?” Thrawn asks, always careful of your health signals and mood swings. 

You nod with a pitiful smile, putting your hand away, trembling slightly with a cold sweat. 

Careful not to repeat this morning error, Thrawn doesn’t insist but you can feel his gaze on you at all time, monitoring your weakness at every moment of the day. 

He keeps rolling your articulations in hot water to test your legs flexibility. You let your gaze travel your cozy little living room, you locate Benedict with her red leaf, going strong and growing with shiny new baby leaves and little white flowers, the numerous art pieces projected holograms all around the room for Thrawn, the old TV screen, and the little coffee table with the poufs. 

“We should buy real paintings.” You say to yourself. 

“Where would we put them?” Thrawn asks, focused on the massage. 

“I don’t know. We can buy little rectangular ones, they slip anywhere! It would be better than holograms.”  

He silently nods. 

“Would it please you? To have some real art in the apartment?” 

“Why not your own pictures?” He demands raising back his gaze to meet yours, “You snap some really good pictures with your imagers.” 

“This old thing? No, not really. They’re just silly images I took in the heat of the action...” You giggle a little embarassed to be complimented on your hobby. 

“They are some really good ones, we could frame them.” He insists. 

You wince, pursing your lips and squirming on the couch. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

He takes your feet out the water to rub some grease on them and dry the metal with the clothe before putting back your socks on. 

“Here. It should feel better.” 

You bend your ankle and toes, testing their flexibility and indeed they now flex properly. Thrawn clears the basin water as you stretch again, fighting a yawn.  Getting cared for like that made you sleepy. 

An idea crosses your mind. 

“What do you think of a holo night?” You ask across the entire apartment. 

“As you wish.” He responds, “We should eat first.” 

You tut. 

“Taratata, you silly man! When it is holodrama night you snack in front of the TV!” You correct him with glee. 

His nostril flares. 

“Snack?” He inquires  

“I’ll make you healthy snacks.” You temper. 

“I’ll help you.” He goes to open the drawer with cutlery but you seize his shoulder and push him out the kitchen. 

“No, no, no! You did the service on my legs, I cook!” You order him. “Shoo, mister!” 

Once you’re alone in the kitchen space, you take out the cutting board and your kitchen knife. 

You open the fridge and takes out vegtables like tomatoes, Balka greens, green onions, carots and Kebroot. You slice them down or cut them in dice, placing them in little bowls to make an entire platter. 

Thrawn leans against the wall, looking at you cooking with his arms crossed on his chest. You turn your head to him and smile, simply happy by that simple life and domesticity.  

He gently smiles back. 

“If you only wanted to cut vegetables you could have let me help.” He argues. 

His cutting game is immaculate but he is a real terror in the kitchen, so you’ll keep him away as much as possible. 

You open the cupboards an take the mustard and olive oil. You mix in some thyme and add June-lime juice and a dash of pepper and salt with garlic powder, you pour drops of vinegar and add the grean onion and red pearls of Borfa and mix it well and thorougly. 

You wipe your hands on your apron and breath deep, preparing yourself for what is to come. 

Under Thrawn curious gaze you walk up to another cupboard and push all the tins and jars to take a box in the back. You brought it to the counter, feeling your hands starting to tremble. 

You brace yourself and open the lid to reveal a piece of meat you hide from him. 

“Where does that come from?” Thrawn immediately asks, “We stopped buying meat.” 

You turn to him with a smile you hope is reassuring. 

“A little surprise for you.” You say casually, hiding your tremors “It’s a family recipe I wanted you to try!” 

You take out the meat to put it on the bowl full of marinade and the simple contact with the flesh sends shivers down your spine. 

Let’s not even talk about the odor. 

You gulp and smear the sauce over the whole chunk, feeling sickness boiling in your stomach. 

You remember your torturer’s fingers gripping your soft flesh, manhandling your body... 

“Ch’acah?” Thrawn calls. 

But you start humming a nice tune, as much to shut him out and push down every sick feelings arising. Once the meat is well coated you take it off the bowl and on the cupboard. 

You wipe your knife clean and get a hold of the meat with your hand, placing your blade over it ready to cut. 

That’s when you see how your hands are trembling, you see the knife shaking terribly in your grip. You take a deep breath to calm down, to no avail. 

A blue hand comes caressing your arm to gently seize your hand holding the knife as you feel Thrawn’s body pressed against your back. 

“Enough Ch’acah.” He says, his gentle voice inviting no rebellion, “You are hurting yourself.” His fingers slide into yours to delicately take the knife out of your hand. 

And you feel your body falling, like the thread holding you in one piece just snapped. 

Thrawn catches and embraces your shaking body, pressing you tight against him, kissing the top of your head. 

“It is alright. No need to force yourself (Y/n).” 

“But I want you to try it...” You whisper out of breath, “That is my jo...” 

You gasp repeatedly, trying to breathe the best you could. 

“Do not inflict that on yourself, my love. There is no need. You are too sensitive yet.” 

“It’s a fa-family recipe...” You pathetically repeat like it would explain everything, “I want you to tas-” 

“Shhhhhhhh.” He craddles you, the knife laying on the counter where it cannot wound anyone. 

“I am pathetic...” You let out, disgusted by your own weakness. 

“No, you are not. You are suffering.” His thumb comes caressing your cheekbone as you slowly calm down. “You are home, safe. With me.” 

You sniff unelegantly, burying your head in the crook of his neck to ground yourself in reality with his warm presence and scent. He squeezes you tight, pulling you away from the meat. 

You hug him back, squeezing him tight. You feel the spasms of your body against his solid and still one. 

“I will throw it.” He decides. 

“No!” You burst into panic before calming down “No... It cost me a little fortune. I really want you to try that recipe, it comes from my homeworld...” 

He looks at you suspicious. 

“You cannot finish that dish.” 

“Let’s wait a bit, I’ll get used to it...” You try. 

“You are not touching that meat again.” He asserts, “If you really want me to taste it I will finish it.” 

Argh! Everything goes downhill here! 

You go to protest but his glare lets you know that your only options are him finishing that dish or him throwing away the meat alltogether. 

You sigh, defeated. 

“Alright...” 

You pour some essential oil on a tissue and press it against your nose to cover the meat scent, sitting at the kitchen table as Thrawn cuts the meat in long cuts, dripping some honey and putting it in a pan to braise. 

You inhale the essential oil, the trembling subsiding, overseeing Thrawn’s cooking. Everything goes rather well for once, he manages to cook both sides of each pieces pretty well all thing considered. 

Until he lets one side burn. 

“I am sorry.” He present you his excuses. 

“It’s me.” You sigh, “I should had kept an eye on you, it was going pretty well and I let my guard down...” 

“It is still edible.” He tells, “Nothing cutting cannot save.” 

He cuts the burned size to expose the inner flesh and dive them back in the marinade and finish by cutting the meat in little dices. 

You brought the plateau of vegetables with some cheese to the coffee table while he takes he meat, hidden under a clothe for your comfort. 

“What do you want to watch?” 

“I have no opinion.” He shrugs, “Anything you desire.” 

You shoot him a mischevious smirk. 

“Even a sappy, melodramatic romantic comedy?” 

“If you wish to watch one.” 

“Because I have an entire collection of those! If you don’t stop me I’ll force you to watch them all with me!” You threaten sadistically. 

He remains unbothered. 

“I am open to anything. Cinema is an art I am not well accostumed to.” 

“Your call!” You snicker maniacally. 

You roam around your collection of romantic dramas until you find your Graal. 

The ultimate romantic comedy among romantic comedies! 

The red roses of bridge Nine! 

You throw yourself on the couch and Thrawn’s embrace as you lauch the drama. 

Nyark nyark! That’s going to be fun! 

This is the sappiest, most sugary dripping, tooth cavity giving drama you have, you cannot wait to see Thrawn exasprerated face at that disaster of a movie! 

You snuggle agaisnt him with a deviant smile. 

The movie is as tooth roting as you remembered, with cheezy acting and dubious quality sets and costumes. The perfect recipe for a good laugh if you watch it ironically or get on your nerves if you take it at faith value. 

Thrawn remains stern, undisturbed by all the nonsense thrown at him. 

Crap! Is anything able to reach this Chiss? 

Laying arms in arms, his gaze travels from the screen to you. 

“You seem disapointed. I thought you enjoyed this drama?” 

You pout. 

“My plan failed...” You complain. 

One small loopsided grin spreads on his lips. 

The incident in the kitchen is long gone in your mind as you laugh your ass off at the holo, snuggling in Thrawn’s hug. 

He tries one piece of the meat under your watch, anxious to know if it would be to his taste. 

“It is savory and sweet.” He sentences. 

“Do you like it?” 

“Indeed. It as a really pleasant taste and texture.” 

You smile satisfied, resting your head on his arm. 

The holo continues until you reach a scene you completely forgot about. 

It’s when you feel Thrawn tensing up against your body that you realize subjecting a man in a rut to a sex scene, as vanilla it might be, is borderline torture! 

“I am sorry Thrawn!” You launch yourself on the remote to cut the drama but Thrawn arms holds you tighter against himself. 

“It is well. No need to panic.” 

But you feel his powerful muscles rolling under his warm blue skin, contracting at the action on screen. His breath deepening like he was trying to contain himself. 

You wince, feeling guilty. 

You suddenly feel his lips grazing your neck and shoulder like delicate butterfly wings, peppering sweet kisses on your thin skin. His arms snakes their way around your form to prevent you from moving away.  

From escaping him... 

He buries his head in the crook of our neck to deeply inhale your musk. You feel him shuddering in agaisnt your back, one of his hand sliding under your shirt to caress your tummy. 

He makes you roll suddenly to get on top of you, trapping you under his weight and captures your lips. You gasp, tacken by surprise. 

This kiss is so demanding! So pressing! 

You have difficulties meeting his eagerness as he licks and bites your lips and tongue, pushing his own down your mouth to hug and dance tenderly. You cannot help but moan in the kiss, circling his neck with your arms and his waist with your mechanical legs. He waves his entire body agaisnt yours, seemingly desesperate for any frictions. 

You let one of your hand travel south, caressing its way along his perfect body to take him and relieve him with some caress but one of his own hand immobilize it on the couch, clasping them and entertwining your fingers together. 

He kisses you urgently, groaning his desire in unison with the fake moans coming from the TV. You can feel his body temperature skyrocketing, getting sweatier as the rut takes the reins of his reason. Trapped under him you cannot do anything but take it. 

Like you wanted anything else more than that! 

You mewl and welcome him, more in tune with his craving now, spreading your legs open to welcome him. As you desesperatly try to breath in the kiss you hear his growl rising in the little room, getting steamier and steamier by the seconds... 

His other hand caress your back under your shirt, letting his warm skin discovering yours. His hand stops over the back of your bra and gently tugs on it, not to open it but rather to evaluate the true strenght he would need to tear it apart if need be...  

He presses down his clothed groin against yours and brushes them together. You mewl again for Thrawn, feeling the fire spreading through your veins and your core demanding attention. 

When you thought it will finally happen he suddenly pulls away with a painful groan, leaving you pantless on the couch, disoriented and clothes in a mess... 

You raise on your elbows, completely disheveled and flustered with swollen lips, observing him looking straight ahead, his hand clasped around his mouth like he couldn’t believe he just caved in his baseless tendencies. 

“Thrawn?” You call for him gently. 

He shudders slightly and passes his hand in his luscious black blue hair, sighing. 

“I am sorry, Ch’acah.” He finally lets out, “I lost control. It will not happen again.” 

He doesn’t look at you. 

“No, Thrawn... It’s alright...” Your hand goes to caress his shoulder but he evades you. 

He feels really on edge. Your hands fall on your knees, powerless in front of your Chiss’ pain. 

“I need a shower.” And he jumps on his feet to disappear in the bedroom. 

You’re left alone in the hot room, excited and frustrated. You cut the movie, not interested in it anymore. You dress back correctly and clear the table as you hear the water running. 

His shower must be icy cold to calm him down. 

You’re focused on the dishes when you feel strong arms circling your waist once again. 

“You’re back.” You note, a tad painfully. 

You hear him smell your undone hair. 

“I should not leave you alone after edging you like that.” He recognizes, “But I needed to clear my mind urgently.” 

You purse your lips, finishing the dishes. 

“Are you mad?” He asks, almost affraid of your response, almost... But you know him. 

“No.” You let him know, “You were clear nothing would happen during your rut cycle.” You turn to him, laying against the counter. 

“I see in your body language you are displeased.” He pulls you back towards him. “I am sorry.” 

“It’s nothing.” 

You’ll take care of it yourself later, you’re used to that. 

A glint of pain flashes on his face, very well aware of his mistake. He presses your bodies in a warm embrace he hopes is soothing to you. 

“Can I do something for you?” 

You purse your lips. 

“I just want a hug from my man...” 

He hugs you tight and eagerly, letting your face rest on his broad chest, still fresh from the cold shower and despite the shirt. 

“Let’s fisnish that movie.” 

You look at him in surprise and suspicious. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I was invested in the drama, we will simply pass the risqué scenes.” He smiles with his signature tight grin, pulling you to the couch again. 

@Bluechiss @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @twilekchiss @pencil_urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @telltale-vixen @obbicrystaleo @germie2037 @exoplorationn @leo4242564 @davesrightshoe @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @empresskrennic