#i KNOW this show like the back of my hand and i know i'm fucking good in it. also i'm a diversity hire so that would slay.

[gifsbysimplysonia]

Hola. Long rambling feedback behind the cut as well as

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

I think this is so beautiful. Anyone who is a creative knows how difficult it can be to find a muse. So for this person to inspire a twitch in Logan after YEARS? That's just a very beautiful thing.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him.  Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

And this is for BOTH 1) thinking it's not ok to be into art??? OK BUT CAVEMEN CARVED INTO WALLS, SIR and 2) "you're nothing if not inspiring" *screamingggggggggggggggggggg*

The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises.  Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

I love that this fits with the Logan I know, the demand on self for perfectionism and the refusal to accept anything but. But it's especially important cuz he wants to do right by YOU/HER. *swoon*

And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

Sigh. Oh Logan. Always thinking he's not worthy while he holds everyone he cares about up on pedestals. I both adore him and wanna shake him for these habits.

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He gets Rogue to show him Instagram for reference photos. HOW CUTE!

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

This is soooooooooooooooo beautiful. It is just a loud beacon of what Logan's heart really is. It's also really precious that he finally produces a drawing of her that he's satisfied with which then produces ANGST in him. Cuz he can't leave it out cuz what if people see? But he doesn't want to hide it cuz what if it smudges? Watching him go back and forth about it and the STRESS shows how much it means to him not to mess it up but ALSO, I think, how much it means to him to be back drawing. As a creative who goes through the longest dry patches, when a period of productivity comes up? OH DO I WANT TO HANG ONTO IT. And probably try so hard that I make it slip through my fingers.

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again.  He could give it to you. 

DO IT LOGANNNNNNNN!

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

YOU care, sir! And people who love you will SEE that and care too!!! Don't we all wish he valued himself and his opinions more.

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him.

It's so precious to me, how relatable this is. Anyone who is a creative can relate, I'm sure. How nervous creatives are before they publish or they post or they even just share with someone they are close to. I wanna hug him.

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it.  Sappy motherfucker. 

Some day, someone needs to tell him he can give himself permission to BE sappy. Corny is part of life and it's a blessing.

He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door.  So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart.  It’s soo stupid. 

It's annoying to read Logan's antiquated views on masculinity here. Completely understand that it fits with his character and how he has aged and evolved but omggggggggggg, it's just frustrating lol

You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

The way we can convince ourselves of the worst possible outcome, eh? *smh*

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing.  You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

SHE IMMEDIATELY TREATED IT AS SOMETHING PRECIOUS!!! SHE WANTED TO PROTECT IT JUST LIKE LOGAN WANTED TO PROTECT IT!!! BUT SHE LOVES IT TO THE POINT SHE MADE HERSELF A COPY TO CARRY IT AROUND WITH HER AT ALL TIMES!!!!!

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that.  But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?”  You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

To see the similarities in how they DON'T see themselves fully is kind of sweet and makes me root for them.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.”  The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is HILARIOUS and KILLING ME because I also make rules for MYSELF that are different from the rules I have for EVERYONE ELSE lmao

He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

Logan being an Acts of Service person makes ALL the sense in the world to me.

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

The curse of the sequel! I think a lot of creatives can relate to this type of self induced pressure which means nothing you produce is good enough.

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.” He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

She already has a frame for the new drawing cuz the frames came in packs of 2 and she will NOT STAND for someone not absolutely FAWNING over it and I love that from her. It's doing Logan's heart SO good to see how much she adores what he's created.

If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you. Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

Our man is S-M-I-T-T-E-N and I love that for him. Cuz look what it's brought back into his life?

“I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it. “No one else knows.” You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

This is so intimate. And he's finally comfortable all the way with her. She knows it's him and he's fine with her knowing it's him.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

I appreciate that Logan is just the tiniest bit "selfish" here because this has been such an emotionally taxing ordeal for him. And she really really admires his talent and is THRILLED that it's him and that he sees her the way that he does.

From here the story slips into the Rated R portion of the story which is both hot and very sweet. The buildup means that I feel a genuine connection and intimacy between the 2 that feels "earned," if that's the right word. Cuz it doesn't feel forced or rushed or like we skipped a whole bunch of stuff to get here.

I also love that there's open dialogue. Often, the only talk between lovers is dirty - which I am a big fan of and absolutely fine with - but that here we have sweet confessions, constant check ins, and reassurances; these all fit with the journey we've been on with these two and I just really enjoy that aspect.

There's also good dirty talk, balanced give and take and praaaaaaaaaaaaise which I enjoy thoroughly. Logan also tends to take the possessive "my girl" over and over which just melts my butter!

@selfcarecap thank you so much for creating and sharing this! Thank you for following YOUR muse through to the end of this tale and then being brave enough to slip it under all our doors *bad dum tss* I really loved this look at Logan, his vulnerabilities, his abilities and desires beyond his powers / "job" and what allowing himself to create ultimately gifted him with. Well done smut that I also very much enjoyed too.

And thank you to K for putting it on my dash!

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[pedropascallovebot]

Challenging

Luigi Mangione x reader

✧˖°.

a/n: i do my fanfic writing on ao3 now- including ceo killer smut, but i saw that blindfold video and i knew what i had to do and i knew the tumblr girlies were the crowd for this. i'm so sorry i don't know which depraved part of my brain this came from it just happened

cw: blindfolding, edging, author whipping her head back and forth as luigi and reader go back and forth on who the hell is the dom here

⋆˙⟡

It had started off as a joke, really.

Well, no- not a joke. When you quietly told your boyfriend you'd thought he looked "bite-able" in that blindfold, you had said so with a laugh to give yourself the excuse of being totally joking if he wasn't down to let you try the whole concept out in the privacy of his bedroom.

It normally would've been disappointing to leave your friend group's get-together so early- after all, you had movies and drinks planned, but wouldn't you know; an hour after your innocent comment in his ear, your neighbor coincidentally needed a ride to the hospital. Crazy how these things work out.

No, it was not disappointment you felt this time. An all too familiar sensation built between your thighs when his hand gripped the steering wheel, driving a little too fast back home.

You had almost asked your friend for the blindfold, but then you would of had to hear her ask why you'd need one when you were going to drop your neighbor off at the hospital, and you figured it'd be easier to just make do with something from your closet. Which you would- your brain was already brewing with ideas of different scraps of fabric you could use as a makeshift blindfold.

Back to your current predicament: soaking through your underwear, Luigi's fingers the star of the show you're playing in your mind as he drives you both home, and the bulge in his jeans.

"Tell me what's on your mind, love," he smirks, and then he's dragging his free hand that's not operating a moving vehicle up your thigh. Your breath hitches as he runs a thumb gently over the fabric covering your skin.

You stay silent, because if you speak you might just break immediately and beg for him to pull over and fuck you stupid on the side of the road.

He hmphs, delivering a firm smack to your thigh, and you let out a whimper at the stinging.

Luigi is normally a very safe driver, but it is nothing short of an absolute miracle that there were no cops out on the road to pull him over for a speeding ticket. It feels like you're parking and pulling out your apartment keys before the stinging sensation stops lingering.

You both say hello to your neighbor and his dog, about to go on a walk, and then shut the door.

"He looks remarkably well for someone needing to go the hospital," you joke, reaching your hands up to thread your fingers through Luigi's curls.

He leans into your touch, pinning you against the wall by the door in the process. This leads to your mouth being absolutely devoured by his own; your boyfriend is kissing you so desperately that when you pull away, a whine releasing from the back of his throat.

That blue checkered shirt, while fitting him exceptionally well, is unbuttoned and abandoned on the floor before you even drag him to the bed, wasting no time turning on any light except the bare minimum to see his shaking hands and achingly hard dick straining in his pants.

Pushing him down on the bed, you climb in on top of him, straddling his hips and shoving his shoulders down so his head meets the pillow. His arms go to find the hem of your own shirt, assisting you in pulling it off and then reaching to get the rest of your clothes off.

When the both of you are left in your underwear, your wetness is more prominent to Luigi, and he takes a breath, going to reach to help you out, but you're off his lap and hurrying to your closet.

"Baby," he mutters, his hand going to rest over his boxers.

Bingo. An old scarf- or, to better describe it, the idea of a scarf, because you had started crocheting it and then just never finished. However, it was perfect for the debauchery you had planned for you and your boyfriend.

"What's wrong?" you asked sweetly, stalking over to him and slowly climbing back on the bed to resume your position. "What can I do to help you out?"

You take his hand off his bulge, resting it on his side, and he shifts, his breath deepening.

"Need you so bad, please," he mutters. You drop the scarf while you place kisses down his jawline, eventually making your way to his ear.

"Lay back for me."

He obeys.

Luigi's eyes drop to the scarf, a smile building in the corners of his mouth makes you blush. There's no way you'll be able to keep your composure and not let him fuck your brains out, but you gotta keep it together long enough that you can get your boyfriend whining and moaning for your touch. You press another kiss to his lips, and tie the blindfold around his head, securing it in the back before ruffling his hair and grabbing his chin with your fingers.

"Not that you would know, but every single girl there was staring at you with that blindfold on," you remarked, your other hand running down his chest.

"Is someone j-" Luigi's voice falters when your fingers reach the waistband of his boxers, tracing over them.

"Hmm?"

You continue running your fingers over the skin, not bothering to take the fabric off until he can manage to form some words for you.

"If you were j- fuck- if you were jealous, you hid it very well," he says, hips raising so you can slide off his boxers.

Not jealous. Maybe a little annoyed, sure. But those girls were back there, and you were right here, with Luigi on your bed, your name falling from his lips, begging you to touch him.

"Or maybe that's why you were practically in my lap afterwards, huh?" he continues. "Wanting to show everyone there that I'm yours? Don't wanna share me?"

You're the one on top, you remind yourself so you don't melt in his hand and let him roll over to pin you down on the sheets. You look down at his dick, hard and standing at attention, waiting to be dipped into your warm, wet pussy.

Not yet. Not yet.

You move your mouth back down to his neck, right behind his ear, and bite down lightly.

Luigi gasps, but you quickly shush him and repeat the action on the other side of his face, a little harder this time.

"I told you I wanted to bite you," you admit, smirking when he throws his head back at the soothing kisses you leave over the teeth marks.

He twitches when your thumb finally runs over the tip, hands fidgeting at his sides. You watch his mouth open and close when you gather some of the precum, spreading it all over his length.

Breathtaking. He's truly the most beautiful man you've ever seen.

You feel more wetness gather between your thighs when you look at how hard he is, and how muscular his thighs are, and how you'd love to lower yourself on to him and take what you wanted. Instead, you wrap your fingers around him, pumping the length until his hands go to grab your waist.

You freeze, and Luigi whines again, bucking his hips up into your hand.

"Did I tell you that you could move, baby?" you scold him again, your free hand grabbing the nape of his neck, moving your lips closer to his. When he doesn't answer, you ask again.

"No- no, you didn't, fuck- baby, baby please keep going-"

Luigi's voice grows more desperate, filling you with a high that feels intoxicating. His precum soaks your fingers, his breath shaky- you want him so bad. Patience is becoming an unbelievably challenging attribute.

"Be a good boy and keep your hands to your side," you order.

He does. You watch the way his face contorts as you make him feel good, reveling in his moans. You continue stroking him until his whines get to a higher pitch, until he's involuntarily thrusting up into your hand.

You don't think you've ever been this wet.

When you know he's about to cum, you slowly pull your fingers away, licking all the precum off of them.

"No-" he protested, squirming and gripping the sheets so he doesn't reach and finish the job for you. "I was good- please- I wanna cum so bad, please."

You run your thumb over his cheek, tutting at the desperation in his voice.

"Maybe if you sit still, I'll think about it."

Maybe your newfound confidence is due to your own overwhelming urge to orgasm. Hearing him fall apart under you like this certainly helps as well. You adjust yourself in his lap, gripping his arms to support yourself in your quest to get a bit more comfortable, and then you pull of your own underwear.

However, you don't slide him inside you. Your own fingers go to run up and down your slit, and you sigh at how wet you are. It's incredibly tempting to use them to get yourself off, but knowing that Luigi's are right in front of you makes yours worthless by comparison. So you opt for grinding your pussy against his thigh, coating it in your slick.

You take a breath when you hit just the right spot, and you don't even say anything when your boyfriends hand shoots out to your waist to stabilize you and guide your body.

He whimpers when you grip his shoulders, quickening your pace as you use his thigh. Any other thought that wasn't about cumming like this was out the window, and it didn't help Luigi was coaxing it out of you, cursing and whimpering for him to let him help you out, for you to just take his blindfold off-

You snap back into reality before you finish, and with every single ounce of self-control you can muster, you pull yourself back.

Dipping your fingers into your pussy, you collect the wetness that's dripping out of you and bring it to Luigi's lips.

"Open," you command, and he eagerly takes your digits in his mouth, licking them clean and whimpering at how good you tasted.

It will be a cold day in hell before you forget that vision: him blindfolded, hand gripping your wrist and sucking on your fingers like it was candy.

You tug his hands back down to his side, ordering for him to keep them there, but he speaks up.

"Please, I need to feel you," he cries, squirming underneath.

You find a little bit of sympathy for him, because he asked so nicely.

So you only bring him to the edge one more time, as opposed to your original plan. He's trembling underneath you, whines and whimpers tumbling out of his mouth when you pull away again right before he cums, but you go back down again, this time with your mouth.

Luigi fucking sobs, hands pawing at the sheets and your hair and everywhere he can reach as you take all of him in, licking and bobbing your head up and down.

When he cums, it's everywhere. You think you have most of it in your mouth, swallowing it with the feeling of absolute ecstasy running through your body, but it's on his stomach, on yours, in your hair..

"You should see yourself, Lu," you tease, collecting the white off his chest and licking your fingers clean.

He doesn't respond for a minute, too out of breath. When he finally comes back around, he lets out a relieved sigh.

"Was the blindfold really that arousing?" he half-joked, rubbing his forehead and getting a little bit of cum on the edge of the scarf still tied around his eyes.

You shake your head yes, but then realize he still can't see you. When you go to answer him verbally, he starts again.

"Take it off me," he orders quietly, and you know you're about to get it.

When you finally let him have a look at you, he smirks.

"There you are."

He looks so angelic laying there, that you almost forget you haven't finished yet, and there's an ache between your legs that's begging to be quelled.

"Let's get this thing off you," he continues, taking the bra that you hadn't bothered to remove before and discarding it on the floor.

Luigi scoots you closer up his body, and you realize where he's going with this.

"Baby-" you plead, whimpering when his hands dig a little too hard into your hips. He smiles innocently up at you, the same kind of smile you gave him before blindfolding him and ruining his orgasms.

"M'just gonna make you feel good," he mumbles, and you gasp when he pulls you up onto his face. "Be a good girl for me."

[eilomilo]

stoned

billie eilish x fem!reader

sexual themes, cannabis usage 🍃, stoner!billie, praise, high sex, swearing, fingering, pussy slapping, very brief oral (r receiving), pet names, softdom!billie, mommy kink, dirty talk,

you took your last hit of the joint that was placed losely between your fingers, inhaling it deeply, causing the end to burn a bright orange.

billie lay next to you, her head rested against your chest as she traced the waistband of your panties with her fingers.

she looked up at you, and upon seeing that you were high out of your mind, she took the joint from between your lips and put it down next to her.

"baby, i think you've had too much," she says, and you lazily grin, shaking your head at her even though you knew she was right.

you let out a long sigh, gently running your hands through her hair.

she nudged you, "how you feeling?" she asks and you smile, "m'horny. ." you mumbled, "but i'm so tired. ."

she kisses the top of your head, "want me to help you with that?"

your head spins round to look at her. she cocks her head to the side and you mumble, "if you're suggesting sex then. . there's no point cuz. ." you let out a slow exhale, "m'gonna fall asleep before you've even started."

she snorts, "and why do you think that is?" she raises her eyebrow at you and you groan, "don't act like it's my fault, you were the one that got us high in the first place."

she nodded, "but you were the one that had too much."

"and do you really think that you being asleep is gonna stop me princess?" she asked. watching you roll your eyes at her.

she lifts up her hand in front of you, "only gonna use my fingers baby."

you shake your head at her, "no. i wanna be awake when you do that."

she moves on top of you, swiftly pressing her lips against yours before whispering, "then stay awake."

you huff out of annoyance causing billie to chuckle because she thinks it's cute. she lays on top of you, her right hand travelling down your body before resting in between your aching legs.

"gonna take these off," she said, tugging down your panties before cupping your pussy, sliding her fingers between your slick folds.

"jeez baby." she groaned, "this wet and we haven't even started. ." she tuts at you but you ignore her teasing.

in retaliation of you ignoring her, she thrusts two of her fingers inside of you, pumping them at a slow pace, back and forth before calling out at you, "hey pretty girl, mommy's talking to you,"

as soon that name fall from her lips, she felt you clench around her, your legs squeezing around her wrist. you prop yourself up on your elbows, lifting your hips so that billie can go deeper.

"good girl," she whispered, curling her fingers inside of you, causing you to let out a needy moan, "gonna make a mess baby?" she pants, making you nod in response.

her fingers pumped faster, "then show me. i know how fast you can cum when you're this stoned baby."

that wasn't a lie, you never lasted long when you were high, no matter how much you tried to control it. . you couldn't.

"fuck!" you yelled out as her palm pressed flat against you, the moment from her hand caused it to lightly rub repeatedly against your clit. you groaned, rolling your hips in a desperate attempt to get more friction,

"billie. ." you whined out pathetically as her fingers were roughly fucking in and out of your swollen pussy, "yeah angel?"

your head dropped back, "i can't-" she cut you off, placing her head in between your thighs and running her tongue up from your hole to your clit.

"fuck!" you yelped, your hips frantically rocking against billies hand as your orgasm hit you. she whispered "good girl" over and over against your cunt, making you whine.

you were out of breath, still and motionless, letting out small whimpers as she cleaned you up with her tongue. licking the insides of your sticky thighs and climbing back on top of you, before giving a quick slap to your sloppy cunt.

you were numb, you couldn't move, couldn't think. your eyes were squeezed shut as you tried to focus on getting your breathing back to a normal pace.

billie planted a wet kiss to your cheek before resting her head against your chest.

"hey baby?" she muttered, causing you to open your eyes, "hm?"

"you didn't fall asleep."

© eilomilo, all rights reserved.

[ultravioletrayz]

KINKTOBER

╰┈➤ DAY EIGHTEEN: DIRTY MASSAGE w/ KENTO NANAMI

"What's the matter?" Kento mutters, brows furrowing in curiosity as he glances up from his book to look at you limping down the hallway. He has one leg over the other as he leans back on the couch, glasses sitting on the edge of his nose, but the frames are unable to hide the immediate concern on his face at your strained movements.

You've just gotten out of bed, hair messy and eyes still droopy. Any other day, you'd be beaming to see your husband comfortably entertaining himself in order to let you sleep in on a Saturday morning. But his gentlemanly act only serves to make you roll your eyes and huff.

"You're the matter, Ken'." You laugh, leaning against the wall to still your quivering legs. It takes Kento a few seconds to absorb your quick comeback, before his eyes widen and he immediately gets up to walk over to you.

"Come here, my love. I'm sorry. I knew I should've been gentler last night. I got ahead of myself." Kento rambles as he pulls you into his arms, patting your head and burying his nose in your hair. You giggle at his instant remorse, pulling away from his chest to smile up at him.

"I'm kidding! I'm not mad. Just in pain." You say gently, filling Kento with a sliver of relief, but he's still kicking himself for putting you in such a state. By no means does he regret the things he did to you in the moment, he just wishes he had maintained at least a smidge of his composure to not render you completely helpless come the morning. It's a sweet sight, but overall, it's a little distressing for the poor, sweet man.

Nanami Kento physically can't have you so weary and wounded on a perfectly good Saturday. No, he needs to make it up to you.

"Let's lay you down for a bit, and I'll massage that pain away, alright?" Kento coaxes gently, already leading you back to the bedroom with a hand pressed to the small of your back before you can respond.

"What're you gonna do about my pussy, Ken'? She's real beat up." You coo teasingly, glancing up at Kento with a sly little smile that has him rolling his eyes.

"Don't you worry about that, sweetheart. I'll take care of you."

. • ☆ . °.•°:. *₊° .☆. °.•°:. *₊° .☆

"Shit- you're so tight, honey." Kento hisses, and you're too fucked out to register whether he's talking about your knotted shoulder blades as his thumbs knead your sore flesh... or your drooling cunt as he fucks you into the mattress.

You're lying flat on your tummy, arms folded beneath your face and hands clinging to the sheets beneath you. It had started as an innocent massage, with Kento perched behind your ass and straddling your legs while pressing his digits deeply into the ridges of your back. But each time you made a show of writhing beneath him and "accidentally" lifting your ass off the bed to graze his stiffening dick, Kento lost more and more of his restraint, until he found himself frantically shoving his cock between your legs and dealing with your poor, achy cunt.

Kento's body smothers the back of yours as you're forced further and deeper into the mattress with each churning, wet thrust. One of his hands come down to grip the globes of your ass, trying to still your desperate movements as you nudge your hips back against him. Seeing how much you need him makes Kento's head spin, and he knows he'll be creaming within the valley of your sweet pussy if you keep backing into him like that, your plush thighs flexing each time you do so.

His other hand, the only part of his hazy body that remembers his original task, still soothingly rubs the top of your back, massaging your aching muscles while his hefty cock massages your gooey, sloshing cunny with his long, lingering strokes deep inside your core.

You're getting closer, the throbbing in your lower tummy building up into a mind numbing tightness that radiates throughout you. Each passionate thrust sends shudders rolling through your body, the moans spilling from your lips muffled by your arms. Kento carefully grips a handful of your hair and pulls it back into a messy, makeshift ponytail, nuzzling his nose against your neck as he groans and pants against your skin.

"There you go. M- My sweet girl..." He whispers, dragging his teeth along your jawline as his other hand squeezes your shoulder as he fights the urge to cum the second he feels your pussy clinging around his girth.

It's safe to say that you're no longer thinking about the soreness in your thighs and back, Kento's fat dick always and forever occupying the best of the real estate in your pretty brain...

me when i'm still working on kinktober in january 2025: ☹️🫣😢

me when i realise it still counts as me posting content: 😜😁🥳

[olderthannetfic]

Hi OTNF and everyone,

I am finding that it's harder and harder and harder to get into anything - book, show, movie... most things seem, you know, to just not be doing it for me, be it fanfic or original stuff.

In part, I think, it's a general restlessness and that it's become harder to give anything enough time to get into the stories, the characters, the settings, the narrative voices... I guess you can call it attention deficit on my part, just a need for stories to deliver those sweet, sweet hits quickly, but they're not.

I'm not currently ficcing but I did for years (might again in the future, who knows), and it's made reading, specifically, harder. It's like I've become more aware of what goes on behind the scene, I guess? I feel like I can see the writer giving up on a sentence, skipping a scene because fuck this, trying hard to not repeat a word although it's the only one that fits, etc.

Or maybe it's just the *everything* around us in the world that is weighing on me too much? I could say it's adult life, but then again I have more free time than most (and boy do I need hours of doing nothing to survive the other hours), and no family/partner (all that would put even more pressure on me): what is wrong, to make everything so UGHHH?

I feel like I'm stuck in a rut with a brain moaning feed me, feeeed me, and whatever I try to give it, it spits everything out. (Yes, I've tried hobbies, and nothing sticks there either. I've never really found rewards or satisfaction there, so...)

Decades ago as a kid, I was a voracious reader, although studying literature took the pleasure of it away from me. It took time and discovering fanfic that brought me back to reading, but at the time the internet was starting to be a thing, too, and it can't have helped the attention thing. AFAIK I'm not ADHD but then again, I couldn't get a proper diagnosis (the therapists I saw were either dismissive or just about The Talking, which was pointless for me).

I just wonder how it all disappeared, you know? Sometimes I find something that catches my attention for a while - a book (but I read quite quickly when motivated), a fandom... but it's been a while now, and it's just so frustrating! When is it going to come back? Will it ever? *gulp*

I know that books were escapism when I was a child, and then fandom was escapism, but at the moment I find myself grabbing at air and my empty hands are mocking me. Give me my escapism baaaaack!

So, uh. Anyone here with me?

--

Yes.

I felt like that during part of lockdown. Anhedonia is common in those kinds of circumstances.

Getting your mojo back is certainly possible, but you may need to go see a professional about depression and have some chemical assistance (yes, even if you don't feel sad per se), or you may need to change your lifestyle to one that doesn't have the thing causing you to need eleventy billion hours of downtime.

Aside from serious interventions like that, you can consider a social media detox. Remove every source of doomscrolling and time wasting of that type. When the attention span is zero and nothing brings joy, the tiny and useless hits from finishing a game of solitaire or seeing one more instagram post become very attractive. This is a trap. It will suck what little energy and joy you have and make your muscles flabby for the work of getting into an in-depth book/hobby/experience.

I know the feeling of being able to see how the sausage is made, but... well... first, being in a better mental state will make that matter less, and second, reading prose that is more competent will make that less of an issue. A lot of mainstream tradpub genre fiction is not, in my opinion, very well written these days. Obviously, people are still enjoying it, and that's fine, but if you're noticing writers fumbling around, it might be time to check out some literary fiction or some other category known more for prose quality than anything else.

It's also important to have some structure and some things to look forward to. Even if you feel tired, overwhelmed, and busy, sometimes, the answer is to do more... But it must be things that are distinct and significant and that get you off of the couch, like going to one museum every weekend.

I saw some advice once about this kind of thing that phrased it as "One big adventure; one small adventure."

Every week, you should have those two things to look forward to that matter. Check out a new coffee shop. That could be the small one. Go to an event: a gallery opening, a concert, whatever.

Physical exercise and doing some things that aren't as verbal and conscious thought-involving is important too. Painting is a better hobby for zoning out than writing is. Taking long walks in nature is good for most people.

--

The kind of intense, obsessive love I had for reading as a child and that I sometimes have for fandom requires a lot of attention and some time. It's escapist, but that masks how much work it actually was. It didn't feel like work only because we were in training.

If you've filled your brain and your day up with a thousand petty annoyances or minor and useless attempts to feel something, you won't have the capacity for those deeper things.

Because you are already at a point that's equivalent to a bad sprained ankle, trying to get back to running right now won't work. You have to stay off of the ankle for a bit, then build your strength and stamina back up.

[miange1]

I NEED MORE BRIAN MOSER AHHHH

Brian Moser, with a lover that's "too sweet"

male leaning reader, brian is a freak, being nervous more than shy, arguments, accidental guilt tripping, manipulation(at first), reader gives off innocence but they're not they're just a virgin, fake names, being overly touchy, blow jobs

note: had an idea so i just used this ask as an excuse to finally post it. also if you notice typos no you don't im not fixing them

— You were his first actual relationship in which didn't involve murder or trying to get closer to Dexter. Or so he remembers, he probably had that intention at first yet completely forgot about it due to his own feelings.

— Meeting you felt like a bunch of perfumes and flowers were thrown at his face— you were smiling and speaking with him like he was your long lost friend or your boyfriend, like you knew him since forever.

"Oh! Rudy!" He instantly felt his heart speed up, feeling more nervous than he's ever been in his entire life and you weren't even calling out his real name. He needs to calm down, seriously he's sweating way too much.

"I missed you so much, how have you been?" He felt your arms wrap around him tightly, yet ater the hug your hands took his and held them as if they were the most delicate things in the world, besides you.

The man could barely get his words out, stuttering every now and then and looking away from you often. Your thumb was swiping softly over the top of his knuckles, why were you looking at him like that.

— Getting with you was the most romantic thing he has ever thought of. Taking you out to a place where it was peaceful yet beautiful, and he could confess to you and actually mean it.

— It was the best place he could find, it was hot but lovely. When he confessed, you stayed quiet for far too long and he thought you didn't want him. You were just in so much shock, it's been a bit since someone was this genuine to you.

— Floating on air is what he felt like each time he was with you. When you were able to visit his work, you showed him with kisses each and every single time even after arguments which was something he would have a heavy weight on his shoulders about.

"Debra doesn't at all have a thing for me, what the hell are you talking about!" You were blinking back heavy tears trying to see his side as best as you could, yet everything just went a bit too far. From understanding to a plain bicker.

"It's obvious she does, and she's in your office more than I am!" He rolled his eyes, his fingers on his nose and pinching the bridge. He knew Debra had a thing for him, but what he didn't know was why he lied seeing you fight for him like this. He liked seeing you get jealous.

"Because it's her job." Yet you protested, "I understand that but.." you couldn't get the rest out, starting to cry and you instantly felt embarrassed. "Sorry— shit, I'm sorry.." His upset look rested, sighing as he went closer to you for an embrace.

"No, it's my fault." He admitted, his arms squeezing your frame in a comforting manner as you cried into his chest.

He was so turned on right now.

— Brian had a bunch in which you were a virgin, he just would have never guess he was actually right about it.

— All he wanted was a small make out for a bit, yet it had escalated and you were on your knees. God, you looked so pretty.

"Ah, ah, your teeth.. Good..that's it." He leaned his head back, the warmth of your mouth and tongue working at his girth. For your first time even giving head you were real good at following his directions. You did it just how he liked it. Tongue swirling, spit mixing with what leaked from him, it was heaven.

He jutted his hips forward a bit, catching you by surprise and giving you the urge to wanna pull back, which didn't happen due to Brian's fingers tangling in your hair— and pushing your head back forward. "Doing so well, fuck.." you practically weren't evenoving anymore, and if you were you had just been going ragdoll and moving along with Brian's pulls.

His dick twitched in your mouth as he heard a gargled moan, fuck he was gonna cum just from hearing that alone. Then he'd hear you whine, almost impatiently. "Hush you're fine, just keep on— God, yes.." eyes rolling back, feeling your nose poke at his pelvis the deeper he pushed you down when he came. Letting go of your hair, he let your head fall back a bit before he forced your mouth closed.

"Swallow."

— Sooner or later he would then wonder why you were a virgin in the first place, yet you did date people for long periods of time.

"I don't know, when I asked after break up they said they just couldn't."

— He got the hint for himself.

[ropebunnykant]

god okay. let's get into it. i'm analyzing the boat scene shot by shot. click under the cut for more.

since i first watched the eclipse, i have been utterly in awe of first kanaphan as an actor. his ability to embody his characters is truly a masterclass in acting everytime, and throughout the whole show he has played kant expertly, down to making it clear anyone paying attention when kant is being fake and when he's being real, but god the boat scene. the boat scene is an insane feat and before i say anything about it i need to give first his flowers because holy fucking shit. holy shit. i had chills the whole time i was watching it because his performance was so real and raw and incredible. everything first has done in his portrayal of kant has led to this moment and it's so, so heartbreakingly beautiful.

the scene opens with kant waking up on the boat. he takes it in, the camera pans out to show the audience where is as well, and then we're back on him.

we have kant, waking up. kant, taking it in. and kant, fucking terrified. it all happens so fast but his fear is fucking PALPABLE in this moment.

he's disoriented, he's just woken up from being under sedation, he doesn't know for certain yet who even did this to him or how he got here, but what he knows is he's on a boat in the middle of the ocean and he's fucking terrified. and then he tries to move only to discover his hands are tied!

kant stands up and his breathing is so erratic and he sounds and looks like he's so close to crying, i mean just look at his face here.

it's a little blurry because he's moving, but you can SEE the fear and the panic and the building tears in his eyes.

and the thing that gets me the most is that when bison steps out, kant doesn't even notice him right away. he's in such a state of fear and shock and panic, that he looks back and forth before his eyes even land on bison.

bison is in plain sight, walking toward him with a gun, and kant doesn't even see him at first. that is how fucking scared he is in this moment without even knowing that bison is there.

but then he does see him. and bison is looking at him with such a purposefully blank expression but his eyes are red like he's been crying or he's about to and god, yeah, khaotung deserves his flowers for this scene, too because GOD

that's the face staring kant down when he's at his most terrified. and i think i just have to let the next screenshots speak for themselves because the facial journey kant goes on in the next shot is just. so much

you see kant, just before he registers what's in front of him. you see him realize it's bison. you see him realize bison is pointing a gun at him. like the way his face almost crumples seeing bison but then the fear is back in an instant.

bison looks at him. straightens his head like he's daring kant to speak.

and kant says his name. because what else can he say? he can probably put together himself that bison knows the truth now, so all he can do is try to get bison to calm down, to listen to him, if he can just explain. but the fear and panic are still there, so clearly.

and makes it even more explicitly clear he knows the truth, calls kant a traitor, mocks him about it. but it's also so heartbreaking because it shows how much bison doesn't believe any of it is real anymore. do you still remember my name? the thing you asked me for on our first night that i didn't give you? did you ever actually care what it was, or did you just need it for this too? has it ever mattered to you who i am?

and god this next part. this gives me such fucking chills the most.

you can see the moment kant starts to dissociate. in this two second shot, before the camera goes back to bison, you see kant lose his focus and start to shut down. he's running completely on autopilot, trying to distance himself from where he is and whats happening so he can try to get out of it.

there's still some emotion here, some focus in his eyes as he tries to get bison to calm down and let him explain, but he doesn't look to be as close to tears or as panicked as he was just a second ago.

but bison's not having it. everything out of kant's mouth is bullshit as far as he's concerned because he's been working for the police. why would anything he says now be true, either, especially since bison has a gun pointed at him? he'll just say anything to get out of it, won't he?

and god this next moment is soooo chills inducing too

kant looks around. he settles back. he realizes nothing he can say is gonna work. the camera goes briefly back to bison and then.

there is nothing behind those eyes. it's actually fucking chilling the way you can see how much kant is separating himself from this moment. how completely he is dissociated. everything else he says in this scene, which isn't a lot, is said in a complete deadpan. he is not. even. there.

bison is pointing a gun at him. bison is angry and wants to know who forced him. but kant doesn't flinch. kant's not even looking at him, he's looking through him. he's so subdued and out of it because he has to be. if we talk about fear responses, kant in his most terrified is subject to freezing.

bison looks almost confused here. he doesn't get why kant isn't telling him, why kant is so petrified. it's ironic, really, because bison brought him here on purpose. he knows that kant is scared of the ocean. but i don't think he realized how scared of it he was. how traumatized by it kant was to the point of completely shutting down. to the point that he literally cannot possibly explain himself right now.

unfortunately i've hit image limit, but i still have so much to talk about here, so you can find part two of this post here.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie decided to pull out all the stops to ask Steve out. He borrowed heavily from the Labyrinth, including making himself an outfit and affectionately 'kidnapping' Dustin with a scavenger hunt for Steve to follow. . .

"I'm not doing it, Robin," Steve said, slouching back against his couch and crossing his arms. "I'm not playing his games. If he wants to ask me out, he can come to me."

"Yeah, sure, but what about Dustin?" Robin asked.

"Eddie's not going to hurt him," Steve rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but he might pump him full of sugar," Robin pointed out.

"Goddamnit. . .okay, show me the first clue," Steve said, and Robin handed it to him.

"Green, green envelopes the man and hugs him tight as much as I wish I can. Given to him by the pox ridden sloth who despises him unjustly, this is the place with the boxes full of visions and where the man made of stars is wrongfully imprisoned. . .a prison I fight every day to free him from. . .my next note lies where the sloth never looks. . .," Robin read. "He's certainly theatrical."

"I know," Steve said, smiling and biting his lip. "Family Video!"

"I'm sure that Keith would appreciate being called a pox ridden sloth," Robin said. "Alright, let's go."

"You're coming with?" He asked.

"Vickie's out of town. There's nothing on TV. . .entertain me, peasant!" Robin exclaimed.

"You and Eddie. . .both theatrical," Steve said.

"Says the drama queen himself," Robin replied. "After you, your bitchiness."

Steve and Robin went to Family Video. They went in, brushing by a disgruntled looking Keith arguing with a customer, and went straight for their hidden candy stash in the storage closet. Tucked under the box was another clue. They took the clue and walked out, quickly moving past Keith getting put in a headlock by a small elderly woman. They opened the clue in the car.

"This is the spot where I turned you away. Regretfully, I did, not knowing of the magic you buried deep inside. Sent by the enemy, I thought you were. . .oh, if I could turn back the hands of time and awaken the fool that I was, trapped in the grave of my own making. . .if I had said yes, then. . .awaiting in the stacks is my eternal regret and the very next clue. . .," Robin read. "Okay, what the hell is he talking about?"

"Hawkins' Public Library," Steve muttered, blushing.

"I feel like I'm missing some critical information here, Steven," Robin said.

"Uh, freshman year, I wanted to do something different. . .you know, in addition to basketball and the swim team. I thought Hellfire sounded like fun, but when I approached Eddie in the library. . .," he trailed off.

"He thought you were fucking with him," she realized.

"Yeah, he said that me and my stupid hair have better things to do than to fuck with him, like beg Daddy for money," Steve said.

"Jesus," Robin said and paused. "I'm starting to think that maybe it's not just asshole jocks who are judgemental. I mean, now that I'm thinking about it. . .how could you possibly know everyone in the school. . .how can I call you asshole for that, especially when I made myself unapproachable? I made a snap judgment."

"Everyone does, Robin," Steve said. "You decided not to stick to it. Some people aren't smart enough to do that."

Robin beamed at him and squished his cheeks before placing a kiss on his nose.

"My dingus," she whispered.

"My Robin," he smiled.

"Let's go get your fool of a man," Robin said.

Steve and Robin went to the library and walked in, awkwardly waving at the librarian who had a one night stand with Hopper. They quickly scurried past.

"We don't know for sure that actually happened, Robin," Steve whispered.

"According to Erica, Hopper was a bit of. . .," Robin whispered.

"Making snap judgments again, Robin," Steve teased.

"So, I don't suppose you remember which aisle he rejected you in, do you?" Robin asked.

"I actually do," he blushed. "It's right over here. . ."

"Oh my god! The romance section?!" Robin giggled. "Oh, it was definitely meant to be."

"Look, here it is," Steve said and grabbed it before handing it to Robin.

They quickly moved out of the library and back into Steve’s car.

"Beauty within and beauty without, he makes this games appealing to me. A warrior, glistening and shining like the stars he's made of. . .the cloth he wears hides almost nothing. . .this place he fights and plays to win but also for the love of the people. . .my heart, it's him, the gladiator that he is, and this is his arena, where the next clue awaits. . . Does my dear sweet gladiator fight his fate?" Robin read.

"The basketball court," Steve said, snapping his fingers.

When they showed up to the entrance to the gym, it was blocked by Jeff and Doug. They were sitting in chairs, reading. When they caught sight of Steve, they tossed their books aside and quickly stood up.

"Finally!" Doug exclaimed.

"Well, I wasn't going to play along, but I got curious," Steve said.

"I told you," Doug said to Jeff, who rolled his eyes. "Why isn't Gareth doing this?"

"Because he's hanging out with Will again," Jeff said and nudged him in the side. "Come on, man, play along."

"Fine."

"Oh, sweet Steve, you have arrived, and now you have a choice to make, this door of mine or this door of his?" Jeff asked.

"One door leads to your utter doom," Doug said.

"And the other leads to your destiny," Jeff said.

"Trick question," Steve said before they could finish, his hands on his hips. "Both doors. He's both my destiny and my doom."

Jeff and Doug bowed low before stepping aside. As Steve and Robin went inside, they heard them whisper.

"Dustin wasn't kidding. Steve really is a genius at figuring out Eddie's next move," Doug said.

"Yeah," Jeff said. "It just means it's true love. . .that's also why Steve doesn't play D&D. He tends to call Eddie out on it."

Steve and Robin moved further into the gym. In the middle, there was a long plastic table. On it was a pink dress, much like Sarah's dress from Labyrinth except that it wasn't quite so big. It looked handmade, so whoever made it worked with what they had, and Steve thought they did a wonderful job. Anyone else would look down on it, but Steve could see the love and the care that went into it. To Steve, it was perfect. Pink, Steve thought, one of his favorite colors.

"Ooh, there's a note. . .oh, thank God, I don't have to put it on," Robin said and pressed it into Steve’s hand.

"My dear sweet gladiator, in order to prepare for battle, one must wear armor. You are in your arena. . .meet me in mine," Steve said, and he smiled. "Oh my god, what a fucking dork."

"There's a bag under the table," Robin said.

Steve pulled it out and unzipped it. Inside was a pair of heals, makeup. . . And his bat!

"Hey! I was wondering where that went," Steve said.

"You know you don't have to wear any of this," she said in amusement.

"Please, Robin," Steve scoffed. "You know I'm going to."

He stripped down in the middle of the gym, replacing his clothes with the other garments. He eagerly put on the makeup Eddie provided and then slid on the heals. He didn't need any help walking in them.

"This isn't your first time wearing a dress or heals is it?" Robin asked.

"Of course not," Steve said.

"Like I should automatically know this about you when you haven't told me?" Robin asked.

"I have a couple in my closet," he said.

"I thought those were trophies," she said.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Steve asked. "I just like dressing up sometimes. . .my dad never let me join theater."

"Do you feel like a woman sometimes?" She asked.

"Sometimes. . .but other times, I feel like a man like even when I'm wearing pants or dresses," Steve said, and then his eyes widened. "Hold on. . .are you saying like I'm bisexual. . .I could be bi. . .gender?"

"Yeah, I guess, if that's what feels right to you," Robin grinned.

"Awesome," Steve beamed, and she grabbed the bat from Robin.

"Nothing like a pretty girl who could also kill you. . .and I still mean that platonically," Robin said. "By the way, that's faster than when you realized you're bisexual."

"I'm learning," she replied.

"So, not only was this a road to love, it was also a road to self-discovery while I, Robin Buckley, also continue to learn more about my platonic soulmate - ,"

"Robin, stop narrating, and let's get to the drama room!" Steve yelled.

As they moved down the hallway, they ran into Jonathan and Nancy.

"What are you doing here?" Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin asked at the same time.

"I asked you first," they said again.

"They found my favorite sweater in the journalism classroom," Nancy said.

"And then we can say we're done with this school for good," Jonathan said. "More importantly, what are you doing?"

"Oh, Eddie kidnapped Dustin. I'm rescuing him," Steve replied.

"I have more questions," Jonathan said. "Why are you wearing a dress?"

"You've never seen him in a dress?" Nancy asked.

"No, have you?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah, tons of times," Nancy said and then turned to Steve. "Your boobs look fantastic in that dress."

"Don't they?" Steve agreed, scrunching up her nose. "Eddie made the dress. . .Robin!"

Steve gasped as her hands disappeared into the dress.

"What?" Robin asked.

"They have pockets!" Steve squealed and twirled around.

"We'll let you get back to it, I guess. Good luck rescuing Dustin," Jonathan said.

"Thanks," Steve beamed.

Steve ran past them, pulling up the dress of her skirt so she could run better.

"Jesus, you can run in those heels?!" Robin shrieked. "How?!"

Steve ignored her and continued on to the drama room. She burst into the room, her heart pounding with adrenaline. It was completely dark. Steve jumped when music started playing, and a spotlight flickered on. The light was over Eddie's old throne, the throne that now belonged to Dustin. Eddie was sprawled out on it, one leg over the arm of the chair. He was wearing skin-tight leather black pants and a gray vest. His hair was even wilder than usual, and he wore eyeliner that made his eyes pop. Steve bit her lip. God, she wanted to fuck him right there in the chair. If only Robin and Dustin weren't there. Oh, right, Dustin. He was sitting in a plastic chair, reading, and drinking Yoo-hoo. He was also wearing stripped pajamas, almost similar to the ones the baby wore in the movie. Boy, Eddie really was going all out with this.

"My dear sweet gladiator, you made it to the final act," Eddie said, standing. "Are you ready to face your final test?"

"Depends on what the test is, my little hairy butt," Steve said, her hands on her hip.

"It's supposed to be a cute nickname!" Eddie shrieked.

"Wait, does Eddie really have a hairy - "

"You're supposed to be kidnapped, Henderson!"

"Right."

Eddie grinned and moved closer to Steve. He held out his hand.

"A fight. . .to the death," Eddie said.

Steve grinned and took his hand. Eddie pulled him into his arms, his other arm wrapping around her waist. Steve heard the music stop and then someone changing the tapes. As the World Falls Down by David Bowie started playing.

"This feels a lot like dancing," Steve teased, and Eddie shushed her.

"There's such a sad love. . .Deep in your eyes a kind of pale jewel. . .Open and closed. . .Within your eyes. . .I'll place the sky. . .Within your eyes. . .There's such a fooled heart. . .Beatin' so fast. . .In search of new dreams. . .A love that will last. . .Within your heart. . .I'll place the moon. . .Within your heart," Eddie sang.

"This is nice," Steve whispered and pressed her cheek to his as they slow danced.

"Do you feel properly seduced?" Eddie asked.

"Absolutely taken," Steve giggled. "So why Labyrinth. . .I know how much you love it, but. . .I feel like there's more to it."

"When we went to go see it together, it was just us. . .no kids, no Robin, no exes. . .," Eddie said and paused. "I realized that it felt like a date, and I wanted it to be, I wished so badly that it was."

"So. . .you want things to change?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"No more casual sex?"

"No more casual sex. . .I just wanted to prove to you how much you mean to me," Eddie said. ". . .how much I want you."

"Proven," Steve said and paused. "How much would it mean to you if I told you that sometimes I'm a woman?"

"What?" Eddie asked.

"I like wearing dresses and make up, I feel like a woman, but even when I'm wearing what's considered man clothes, I feel like a woman, just like sometimes when I wear skirts or dresses, I feel like a man who likes go wear dresses. . .so it's not the clothes that make me feel this way but it's an added bonus," Steve said. "With Robin's help and yours with the dress, I realized that I might be, I don't know if that's the word, but. . bigender?"

"I never knew you liked dresses," he said softly.

"Skirts, too, I never told Robin either," Steve said.

"Just when I thought you couldn't make me more in awe of you. . .you did it, babe. So fucking metal," Eddie whispered and she laughed.

"So, would you gladly call me your girlfriend right now?" Steve asked.

"Fuck yeah," Eddie sighed.

Eddie spun Steve around in and dipped her before kissing her deeply. Steve sighed against his lips, her fingers curling into his hair. They broke apart when Robin cleared her throat, and they turned around. She was flipping through Dustin's book as she sat next to him while Dustin snoozed on her shoulder.

"The baby's finished his bottle, and now he's down for a nap. . .if you want any more of my services, I charge by the minute," Robin said. "I add on extra if you want me to get him out of here so he doesn't have to hear mummy and daddy fornicate."

"How much sugar did you give him, Eddie?" Steve asked, frowning.

"Not much," Eddie shrugged.

"He's in a sugar coma, Edward," Robin said.

"You love me, right?" Eddie asked Steve as he smiled innocently.

"Yeah. . .as long as you explain this to Claudia," Steve scoffed, and her face softened. "This was amazing, Eddie. I loved it. I love you. . .I fucking love the dress. . .God, I want to blow you so hard for adding the pockets."

"Gah! Take me home!" Robin yelled and then smiled softly at them. "Happy for you two dinguses but I don't want to witness anything."

"We should get the kid to Claudia, anyway," Eddie grinned.

Steve smiled as she walked out of the school with her best friend, the boy she thought of like a brother, and her new boyfriend. This was the best day ever, and she was glad that she had decided to do this. . .she also loved how many people were willing to help out. . .hold on, were Jonathan and Nancy here for her sweater?

"Oh, hey, look! It's Hop!" Dustin exclaimed.

Sure enough, Hopper's police car was in the parking lot. . .curious, they met him halfway.

"Well, we got reports that Dustin was kidnapped," Hopper said, squinting his eyes at them. "I'm guessing that's not the case."

"Nope!" Dustin exclaimed.

"Goddamnit. . ."

Steve shared a grin with Eddie. They were definitely having a better do than he was. Steve gripped the bat in her hand, ready to face whatever came their way.

"Shit," Eddie muttered. "I knew I forgot to tell someone about the plan. . ."

[songmingisthighs]

[12.44] nerd!seonghwa × popular!reader (m)

⇀ you just can't help but help the inexperienced nerd explore himself

⇁ i'm just indulging my impulses at this point

genre : smut

warning : mdni explicit smut, dirty talk, (y/n) being condescending, unprotected sex (no latex no go), semi-public sex ?? (kinda dry humping and handjob in the hallway), kinda subbish seonghwa?, inexperienced!seonghwa (not a virgin), implication of cumming inside (mentioned)

wc : 0.8 k (on the dot !!)

buy me coffee ?

It was absolutely adorable how Seonghwa was moaning like a needy little bitch into your mouth, absolutely devouring the fact that the hot, popular girl was giving him all the attention while the jocks stood by the corner, glaring at him with jealousy when you pulled him into a less crowded hallway on the second floor.

His moan got louder when you pulled his hair, effectively detaching his delectable lips off of you, making you regret it slightly because you began to miss its pillowy softness. "Mm, do you like that, big boy? Do you like your hair being pulled by me?" you purred cockily, feeling your pussy clench at the sight of his eyes rolling to the back while his cock was pressed directly into your core, pressing, prodding, as if begging for permission to enter you. As if you won't give it to him in the first place.

"Yes, yes, oh fuck, yes," Seonghwa whimpered. The raspiness of his voice paired with the flush of his skin and the position you two were in was enough to get you all riled up. Needy inexperienced nerds were always your favourite but Park Seonghwa was different. You might be addicted to him.

Slipping your hand into his pants and past his underwear, you could feel his slick erection, twitching in your hand. You couldn't help the smirk that grew on your face, amused. As you started stroking him, Seonghwa's neck went slack and his face dropped to your shoulder, his hips rolled against your hand as if trying to get more from you desperately. "Aww, poor baby. So desperate, so pliant," you mockingly taunted, "I'm gonna fucking wreck you tonight."

Almost immediately, Seonghwa felt his cock get harder and he whimpered out a needy moan, "Yes, yes, yes, please." "Do you want me to show you things your virgin cock was created for?" Seonghwa's breath hitched when you swiped your thumb on his tip, "I-I- I'm n-not a virgin," he swallowed. Though it was embarrassing for Seonghwa to have to clarify himself like that, for some reason Seonghwa was more... entranced by you for putting him in such a position, he wanted more and not just to prove himself to you, but also to please you. You clicked your tongue at him, wordlessly dismissing his statement, "Trust me, baby boy, your past experience was nothing. You were and always have been a virgin until I fuck you," quickly, you slipped your hand out of his pants to cup his face, bringing him so close that your lips were practically touching, "You're mine from now on."

Seonghwa's body tensed and thought you were no longer stimulating him, Seonghwa found himself cumming in his pants. Thanks to your bodies being pressed up together, you could feel the warmth of his cum spreading on his crotch.

While Seonghwa's eyes immediately drop due to embarrassment, yours lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh sweetie, did your virgin cock give out on you?" you taunted. This time, Seonghwa was damn near crying from holding himself back. The image you have been drawing for him was almost too much and he had a feeling that the reality of your skill would send him to an early grave.

With slightly trembling hands, Seonghwa reached his hands out to your chest and groped your tits, almost clumsily, "I told you I'm not a virgin," he huffed, trying to look angry but you know he's anything but. "Mhm, doesn't matter anyways because now I'm going to fuck you," you smirked.

Excitedly, Seonghwa nodded, "Yes, please, let's get out of here," he whimpered. You raised an eyebrow at him, "Get out? Honey, there are empty bedrooms here," smirking, you began pulling him into one, "Don't tell me you're embarrassed to be seen with me?" you pouted, detaching yourself once you got inside the room.

Almost frantically, Seonghwa rushed forward and crashed both of your bodies onto the bed, completely forgetting about the door. "No, no, no, of course not! I- I just..." he looked away bashfully, "I just don't want to make a mess in someone else's bed." You had to bite your bottom lip to prevent a squeal from coming out because you just couldn't stand how adorable he was. "Well, we'd just have to be considerate and not make a mess now, won't we?" You suggested as your hands slowly worked to get Seonghwa out of his clothing; from his star wars hoodie to his undershirt, then down to his sweatpants, freeing his cock for you to ogle at. "H-how are we going to do that?" Seonghwa asked with his voice almost cracking due to the effect of your touches.

In one swift move, you flipped him over and smirked, "You're just gonna have to cum inside me."

network :

@sandsofire @kflixnet @pirateeznet

permalist :

@kodzukein @phenomenalgirl9 @skzatzloveismonsterous @memorymonster @surveilenceysystem @dreamlesswonder86 @maddiebabyxoxo @imababywolf @do-you-actually-care @marievllr-abg @ilsedingsx @wasteitonserendipity @bbymatz @noonaishere @honeyhwaaa @ateezourstars @yoonjunshi @yoongiigolden @camillelafaye @charreddonuts @kpopnightingale @starryunho @atinct @mirror-juliet @hyuckilstan @jayb17 @kpoplover718 @haatohwa @x-bluee @erinaimeexx @blackb3ll @mingiholic @itasluv @vampcharxter @meowmeowminnie @marvelous-llama @kawennote09 @hongjoong-lovebot @stopeatread

[mattsobvimyfav]

neighbors (matthew sturniolo)

pt 10

A couple of days had passed and Nick just posted the vlog from our drive around LA. Charlie and I were lounging on the couch, scrolling through our phones. My notifications had been blowing up all day. Every few seconds, a new comment popped up, most of them about the kiss Matt and I had shared in the vlog. The hate comments didn’t faze me—they were ridiculous and honestly kind of entertaining. People had too much time on their hands.

“Oh my God,” Charlie said, leaning over to peek at my phone. “They’re actually mad about a kiss? Like, of all things to care about.”

I shrugged, smirking. “Apparently, I’m public enemy number one. Should I frame this?”

She laughed, but before either of us could say more, my phone started buzzing. Matt’s name flashed on the screen. I answered quickly, putting the call on speaker.

“Hey,” I greeted casually, expecting him to laugh about the comments with me.

“Have you seen my comment section?” His voice was tense, his tone clipped.

I sat up straighter. “Uh, yeah. People are being dumb. Who cares?”

“I care,” he snapped. “It’s not just about you, Y/N. They’re not even saying awful things about me. Its just about how I ‘picked the wrong girl’ or whatever. It’s everywhere.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow at me, mouthing, ‘Seriously?’

“Matt, they’re just bitching,” I said, trying to stay calm. “You know none of that matters.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” he shot back. “Your TikTok isn’t flooded with comments about how I ‘deserve better’ or how you’re ‘using me for clout.’ It's pissing me off.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Okay, so what do you want to do? We can’t control what people say.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before he spoke again, his tone softer but still firm. “Troll back. Lets just start making whatever we are way more public give them a real reason to be mad.” 

I hesitated, glancing at Charlie, who was already nodding eagerly as if to say, ‘Just do it.’

“Fine,” I said finally. “Let’s do it, I love being a dick online.”

Matt let out a breath, some of the tension easing from his voice. “Deal. I’ll come over later.”

As I hung up, Charlie smirked at me. “Hes gonna make you do porn on tiktok.”

“We havent even fucked,” I said, rolling my eyes. 

“WHAT?” She yelled jumping up sitting straight up “What the fuck was going on the other night than?” 

“He just ate me out and oh my god the hottest thing ever, he was so turned on that started jerking off. Just to eating me out” I said feeling a warmth between my legs rethinking about the night me and Matt shared.

“Wow. Thats really fucking hot, hes inlove with you” Charlie said looking away from me “Im picturing it in my head. I'm jealous” I laughed at her response as we laid back down going back to our phones. 

Later that night, Matt came over, his irritation over the comments still lingering but hidden under his usual calm demeanor. I greeted him at the door, grinning as I waved him inside. "Ready to show the internet who's boss?"

He smirked, shaking his head. "You mean, ready to show the internet that I don’t care, but also kind of care? Yeah, let’s do this."

Charlie, lounging on the couch with her popcorn, chimed in. “Make it iconic, okay? Something that makes the haters cry.”

Scrolling through TikTok, I landed on the “A boy who’s jacked and kind” trend. I turned the screen to Matt. “How about this one? It’s simple, it’s bold, and it’ll get them talking.”

Matt glanced at the screen, then at me, his lips quivering into a smirk. “You really think you can handle me lifting you like that?”

“Please,” I scoffed. “The question is whether you can handle me.”

Charlie snorted from the couch. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

We set up the phone, positioning it on the kitchen counter for the perfect angle. Charlie jumping around on the couch in the back, I stood in front of Matt as the trend’s audio began playing. The line “A boy who’s jacked” came up, and right on cue, Matt’s hands slid to my hips. With a swift, practiced motion, he lifted me effortlessly, placing me on his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me as I balanced on his shoulder, gripping onto him for support. The audio continued, transitioning to “and kind,” and Matt gave the camera with a playful grin, tapping my leg lightly.

Matt walked over grabbing his phone while I was still on his shoulders, added the caption: “my lady” and hit post.

Charlie shrugged, looking over Matt’s shoulder. “I like my cameo.”

Matt gently lowered me back to the ground, his hands lingering on my waist. “Think that’ll do the trick?”

I leaned into him slightly, grinning. “Oh, it’ll definitely stir the pot. But at least this time, it’s on our terms.”

We flopped onto the couch next to Charlie, refreshing the post to watch the views climb almost instantly. Matt wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer as the first wave of comments rolled in.

As we sat on the couch, watching the likes and comments roll in from Matt’s TikTok, I turned to him with a mischievous grin. “Okay, now it’s my turn. We’re making one for my account.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Alright. What’s the plan?”

“You’ll see,” I teased, grabbing his hand to pull him up. “We need a parking lot for this one.”

Without hesitation, he stood, grabbed his keys, and intertwined his fingers with mine.  I laughed as he practically dragged me to the door, his excitement contagious. 

“BYE LOVERS! Chris and Nick will be here when you get back!” Charlie yelled from the couch.

“Bye baby!” I yelled back to her

By the time we reached the car, I was giggling uncontrollably. “You don’t even know what we’re doing yet.”

“Don’t care,” he said opening the passenger door for me. “You said parking lot, so we’re going to a parking lot.”

The drive was filled with us singing to old songs wed listen to in college. His curiosity clearly bubbling under the surface. “So,” he finally asked, “are you going to clue me in, or do I just wing it when we get there?”

I smirked, looking out the window. “You’ll know when the time comes.”

He shook his head, chuckling as he turned into a small, dimly lit parking lot. “This good enough for your tiktok?”

“Perfect,” I said, hopping out of the car. I grabbed my phone and propped it up against the tire, adjusting the angle until it captured the open space behind us.

Matt leaned against the car, watching me with amused curiosity. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s the move?”

I pulled up the audio and played it for him, explaining as it went. “Okay, so, I start spinning in the frame when the music begins, and then you run in, pick me up, and keep running off-screen.”

He nodded, walking away.

I laughed, hitting record and jogging into position. The audio started, and I spun slowly, my arms outstretched as the music swelled. ‘You better lock your phone-’ Right on cue, Matt dashed into the frame, scooping me up effortlessly. I squealed in surprise as he kept running, the camera capturing the two of us disappearing into the shadows.

When he finally stopped, both of us were laughing uncontrollably. “That was perfect,” I said, catching my breath as he set me down. 

“Obviously,” he teased, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Now, let’s see it.”

We walked back to the car, reviewing the footage together under the soft glow of the streetlights. The video was exactly what I had imagined.

“You’re posting that, right?” Matt asked, his arm draped casually over my shoulder.

“Absolutely,” I said, uploading the video with the caption: “my future baby daddy.”

As we got back into the car, I glanced over at him, grinning. “You really don’t question anything, do you?”

He shrugged, kissing my forehead. “Not when it comes to you.”

When we got back to the house, the sound of voices and laughter greeted us as we stepped inside. Chris and Nick were now sprawled out on the couch with Charlie, the TV playing in the background.

As soon as I walked in, a wave of excitement hit me. Everything had been going so well lately, and I couldn’t help but feel like life was finally falling into place. “Guys!” I yelled, throwing my arms up in the air. “We should celebrate tonight!”

Nick perked up, looking intrigued. “What are we celebrating exactly?”

“Everything!” I exclaimed. “Life!”

Chris laughed, shaking his head. “Yes Y/N! I LOVE CELEBRATING LIFE!” Chris jumped up wrapping his arms around my shoulders behind me as we jumped like school girls.

Nick’s face lit up. “Well, if we’re talking about celebrating, I know Tara Yummy is throwing a party tonight. Should we go?”

Charlie’s eyes widened with excitement. “I’m in! We haven’t been to one of her parties. We've only ever dmed her a few times about a collab”

Matt looked over at me, smirking. “You good with that?”

“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation, “Let’s go, I can tell Chris is gonna match my freak tonight” I said while patting his arm that was hanging on me.

Charlie laughed at me and Chris jumping around, we exchanged a quick glance before I turned, pointing toward the door. “Alright, you three. Go home and get ready.”

Nick groaned but stood up, dragging Matt with him. “Fine, but you better not take forever.”

“No promises!” Charlie called out as the boys headed out, leaving us to start planning our outfits for the night.

The moment the boys left, Charlie and I raced upstairs to start getting ready. The excitement of the night buzzed between us, making us laugh and talk over each other as we dug through our closets for the perfect outfits.

“I’m thinking something bold,” I said, pulling out a burgundy strapless corset top that hugged my figure and showed off just the right amount of cleavage. I paired it with a tight black cloth skirt that barely covered my ass and my black heeled boots. “What do you think?”

Charlie whistled, grinning. “Matt’s going to fuck you infront of everyone.”

I laughed, tossing a pillow at her. “We’re celebrating life, remember? What about you?”

She held up a black crop top with thin straps that fit her perfectly and paired it with a jean mini skirt that showed off her long legs. She added a pair of cute ankle boots. “How’s this?”

“Absolutely stunning,” I said with a grin. 

We got to work on our makeup and hair, After straightening my hair and leaving it sleek and shiny, I turned to Charlie, who was curling her hair into loose waves.

“You’re going to have every guy at that party eating out of your hand,” I teased, spraying her hair with setting spray.

“Please, as long as Chris is that's all I care ‘bout,” she shot back, but her smile was wide.

By the time we finished, we took a couple pictures in the mirror, grinning like excited to finally meet Tara, and get drunk.

“Let’s do this,” I said, grabbing my phone to text the boys to let them know we were almost ready.

“They better not keep us waiting,” Charlie added with a laugh as we headed downstairs, our heels clicking against the floor, excitement building for the night ahead.

Charlie and I were halfway through our second nip of vodka, as we danced around the kitchen. The boys walked in just as I tipped the tiny bottle back, the liquid burning slightly as it slid down my throat.

“Starting without us?” Nick teased. Chris followed close behind, already laughing at the scene.

Matt came in last, his eyes locking on me immediately. I caught the smirk tugging at his lips as he walked over. Just as I was placing the empty nip on the counter, his hands slid around my waist, and one moved down to grab my butt firmly.

I shrieked, startled, and spun my head around to glare at him, but he leaned down to whisper in my ear, his voice low and teasing. “Let’s go.”

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down my spine, and I turned back around, trying to hide my flushed face as I reached for my bag. Charlie wiggled her eyebrows at me but said nothing as she grabbed her purse and slid her phone into it.

“All set?” Chris asked.

“Matt’s driving,” Nick said with a grin. 

“Lucky me,” I said, giving Matt a playful smirk. “That means you can take care of me when I'm hammered.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled, gesturing toward the door. “Per usual.”

Charlie and I followed the boys outside, the cool night air hitting our skin as we clicked down the driveway in our heels. Matt opened the passenger door for me, and I slid in, adjusting my skirt as he walked around to the driver’s side. Charlie climbed into the back with Chris and Nick, and we were off, heading for Tara’s party.

The car was filled with excitement and music as we drove, everyone hyped for the night ahead. I leaned back in my seat, sneaking a glance at Matt as he drove, his hand gripping the wheel tightly, the other holding my thigh. 

The house was packed with music blasting through the speakers and groups of people talking and laughing in every corner. As we walked in, the energy was electric.

“Y/N! Charlie!” A high-pitched squeal came from across the room, and Tara was practically sprinting toward us. She threw her arms around me first, then Charlie, her excitement contagious. “I was so excited when Nick told me you guys were coming! Finally, I get to meet the infamous Y/N and Charlie. You’re even prettier in person!”

Charlie and I exchanged amused smiles. “You’re so sweet, Tara,” I said, hugging her back.

“Come on,” Tara said, linking her arms with ours. “Let me show you where the drinks are. We’re getting started right now.”

She led us through the crowd, leaving Matt, Nick and Chris to socialize with other people, to a makeshift bar setup on the kitchen counter, complete with every type of alcohol imaginable. Tara wasted no time, grabbing shot glasses and pouring tequila like a pro.

“Let’s go, ladies,” she said, holding up her shot glass.

“Cheers!” we all yelled, clinking glasses before throwing back the first shot.

And then the second.

And then the third.

Before long, Charlie and I were fully committed to a shot-for-shot competition with Tara, each round getting harder to keep up with her.

“Come on, lightweight!” Tara teased as Charlie hesitated before the seventh shot, but I wasn’t about to back down. I threw our shot back, wincing as the burn hit my throat.

By the time an hour had passed, the three of us were absolutely obliterated. Tara was laughing so hard she was leaning on the counter for support, and Charlie and I were clinging to each other to stay upright.

“I love you guys,” Tara slurred, throwing her arms around us. “You’re my favorite people in the world now.”

“You’re my favorite!” Charlie yelled back, equally as drunk, before dissolving into giggles.

I nodded enthusiastically, my head spinning but too far gone to care. “Best friends forever,” I declared, raising my empty shot glass in the air like it was some kind of victory trophy.

The party was in full swing, the music pounding in my chest as I stumbled my way through the crowd, drink still clutched in my hand. My vision blurred slightly, but I was riding a wave of tipsy confidence—until I spotted him.

Matt.

He was leaning casually against the wall, talking to some girl. She was laughing at something he said, leaning in just a little too close. A flash of annoyance surged through me, cutting through the haze of alcohol. My mind betrayed me, flashing back to our college days—Matt fucking girl after girl.

Fueled by jealousy and bad judgment, I stormed across the room, stumbling slightly but determined. “What the hell is this?” I blurted, my voice louder than I intended.

Matt straightened up, his brows furrowing as he looked at me. “Y/N—”

“No, seriously,” I slurred, gesturing wildly at the girl. “What’s happening here?”

The girl blinked in confusion, clearly caught off guard. “Uh, I’m gonna go...” she muttered, excusing herself quickly as the tension between Matt and me became palpable.

Matt’s jaw tightened, and before I could say another word, he grabbed my wrist. “We’re not doing this here,” he said firmly, his voice low but commanding. He pulled me through the crowd, ignoring my protests, until we were in a quiet, empty room.

He let go of my wrist, closing the door behind us. Turning to face me, his eyes were sharp, his tone clearly pissed. “What the fuck was that, Y/N?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” I shot back, swaying slightly on my feet. “Talking to some random girl like I don’t even exist? What’s the deal, Matt? Back to your old habits?”

His hands went to his temples, rubbing them in frustration. “Are you serious right now? She’s just a friend! And even if she wasn’t, that’s not what this is. You’re drunk and making something out of nothing.”

“I saw the way she was looking at you,” I accused, my voice trembling. “And you weren’t exactly pushing her away.”

He took a step closer, his voice lowering as he leaned in. “Y/N, you’re drunk. You’re not thinking straight. Chill the fuck out.”

As Matt’s words echoed in the small, dimly lit room, I could feel the tension building, the weight of everything from the party to my frustrations pressing down on me. But then, unexpectedly, the alcohol made everything feel lighter.

I giggled, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably from my chest. "I love you," I blurted out, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Matt looked at me, eyebrows raised, clearly taken aback by my sudden shift in mood. "What?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and amusement.

I shrugged, the smile on my face turning mischievous despite the still-present anger in my head. "I mean, I do," I said, a silly grin stretching across my face. 

He stood there, speechless for a moment, his eyes searching mine. His lips quirked upward into a small, amused smile as he let out a deep breath. "You’re drunk, Y/N."

"Yeah, I know," I said, still grinning, "but I still love you."

He shook his head, chuckling lightly, before stepping closer. "You're lucky you're cute when you're drunk."

"You still love me, though," I teased,

"Yeah, I do," he admitted, his expression softening. "But let's get you back to the party before you start loving everyone."

I laughed again, “How about you just let me love you..” I pushed Matt back as he stumbled onto the bed.

“y/n don't… you're drunk.” Matt said as I walked towards him, placing myself on his lap.

“Just shut the fuck up Matt and kiss me” 

And when he finally gave me what I wanted, his lips crashing against mine as he moved against me, the world disappeared. There was only Matt—his touch, his voice, his everything. 

Matt’s hands gripped my hips, his hold firm but controlled, as if he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding me. 

His body was flush against mine, every inch of him radiating heat. “Wait till tomorrow,” he murmured, his lips brushing against mine, teasing but not giving me the kiss I desperately wanted. “I refuse to fuck you this drunk, y/n. And you are making it oh so hard”

“Shut up,” I whispered, tugging at his hair to start kissing his neck as I grinded my hips into his.

His hands roamed over my body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His touch was both gentle and possessive, a reminder that in this moment, I was his and his alone.

“Get off me before I go against all my morals,” he said, his voice rough and full of promise. “I say full of love and respect.” he moaned out as I perfected my last hickey on him.

“There, I just needed you to shut up so I could show people. You belong to someone” I said as I leaned back looking at my work.

“Good to know.” Matt said as he leaned down, starting his own art peace on my chest. 

Once he was finished he grabbed my hips standing me up. “Lets go baby” He grabbed my hand pulling me towards the door. I stopped in the mirror fixing my hair and seeing Matt's two hickeys, one on each breast. Matt walked over to the mirror inspecting the couple I left trailing down his neck. “God you are so sexy” He said, kissing my cheek as he guided me out to the party. 

As Matt and I stepped back into the party, the loud music and chatter hit me like a wave. The room felt like it was spinning a little, but I held onto Matt's arm for balance. We were just about to make our way back to the group when Chris spotted us from across the room.

He ran over with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "There you are," he said, stopping in front of us. His eyes flicked between Matt and me before landing on me. "Y/N, I need you bad."

My eyebrows shot up, and Matt's posture immediately tensed beside me, sensing something was off. Chris, however, seemed entirely unfazed by the undercurrent of tension.

"I'm sorry," Chris said with a playful shrug, glancing over at Matt, "No, not like that anymore. I need you as my beer pong partner." He laughed realizing how bad his first sentence sounded.

Matt's grip on my arm tightened, but before I could even ask what he meant, Chris waved a hand dismissively and added with a wink, I couldn't help but laugh, feeling the tension ease a bit. "You scared me for a second there," I joked, shaking my head at Chris.

Matt let out a small laugh too, his shoulders loosening as he realized it was just Chris being his usual, over-the-top self. "Yeah, she’s off-limits for now," Matt said, his tone affectionate but teasing. "But you can have her for beer pong."

Chris grinned and pulled me toward the game, but not before giving Matt a quick look. "Don't worry, I only need her to win this game. And you," he added, glancing at me, "are the best person for the job."

"Let’s do it then," I said, grinning and ready to dive into the chaos of the game, trying to push any lingering doubts aside.

Chris, despite being a bit too drunk to focus, had an energy that was hard to ignore. He bounced on his feet, grinning like a madman as he lined up to take his first shot. “Alright, we got this, Y/N,” he said with way too much confidence, raising his beer.

Across from us, Jake and Tara stood ready, both giving us playful smirks. Tara was already holding her own drink, clearly just as drunk as me, while Jake had a look of determination on his face, obviously eager to win. “You’re going down,” Jake said with a laugh, tossing the ping pong ball up and readying himself to launch it across the table.

Nick and Matt stood off to the side, cheering us on. Nick was practically jumping up and down in excitement, while Matt pushed himself off the wall, going behind me whispering in my ear. "Come on, Baby" 

The game started off slower than I expected, with Chris getting distracted by anything and everything—whether it was a drink on the table or someone else at the party walking by. But even in his drunken state, he was surprisingly good. Tara missed her first few shots, but Jake was still hitting his, making me sweat a little. I had to focus, but thankfully, Chris and I managed to keep our heads in the game.

We took turns, and each time, I felt the tension rise. Tara and Jake had their competitive energy going, but it was clear Chris and I had the upper hand—probably because Tara and Jake were having more fun than they were serious about winning. Chris finally got it together after a few more missed throws, throwing his ball with incredible force and sinking it into one of the last cups.

“Fuck yeah!” Chris shouted, stumbling and almost tipping over. I had to grab him to stop him from falling off balance.

In the final round, it came down to one last shot. Jake was up, and I knew he was going to give it everything he had. He took a deep breath, lined up his shot, and threw the ping pong ball—only for it to bounce off the rim and miss entirely. The room fell silent for a second before Chris and I erupted into cheers.

“We did it!” I yelled, laughing as Chris grabbed me in a half-hug and spun me around. “I can’t believe we won!”

Nick and Matt, who had been watching from the sidelines, immediately started clapping and cheering. “FINALLY!” Nick shouted, high-fiving Chris.

Tara and Jake laughed good-naturedly, though I could tell they were a little disappointed. “Alright, alright, you guys earned it,” Jake said, tossing a playful glare in our direction.

An hour had passed, and the energy of the party was starting to get to me. I could feel the buzz starting to wear off, and I was ready to head home. I looked over at Matt, who was leaning against the wall, talking to Nick. He caught my eye, and I gave him a small nod, silently telling him I was ready to go.

I walked over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. "Matt, I think it's time to head home," I said, trying to keep the smile on my face, but feeling the exhaustion from the party creeping in. The lights were too bright, the music a little too loud, and I just wanted to go back to the comfort of my place.

Matt nodded, his hand immediately finding mine. "Alright, let's get out of here," he said, pulling me toward the door. We waved to Tara and a few others as we made our way out of the party and into the cool night air.

Nick, who went to get Chris and Charlie, was already making his way to the car, pulling Chris and Charlie along with him. We all piled into the car, with Matt driving, me in the passenger seat, and the rest of the crew in the back. The ride was mostly quiet, everyone content in their own thoughts after a long night.

As we drove through the city streets, I could feel the tension finally easing. The party was fun, but there was something about heading home with Matt, knowing the night was winding down. I leaned my head against the window, watching the streetlights blur past as we made our way home.

Matt glanced over at me, a small smile on his face. "You good?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Yeah," I replied, smiling back at him. "Just ready to be alone with you."

We drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the sounds of the car and the occasional laugh from the backseat filling the air. The night had been eventful, but now all I wanted was the peace of being home with Matt.

tag-

@tbfaptbfae @ch0lliess @2muchofaslvt @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @mattscore @watercolorskyy @urfungi @slut4christopherr @mattsturnii @christmastreecake @izzylovesmatt @larnieboox88 @christophersstar @realuvrrr @namelesssav @matts-girlfriend

[straykids-2001]

Could you please make a Dom!female!readerxmin-su (player 125) who has a mommy kink? You don't have to if you dont want to

Mommy??

Warning ⚠️, mommy kink, dom reader, sub min su, talk about roleplay, talk about breading knik, blow job, hand job, watching min su masturbate, begging, I guess some fluff at the end, mention of daddy kink but not used,soft dom reader

Y/N had gotten home not too long ago. I was a bit sleepy. I walked to mine and min su shared room but stopped, when I heard whimpers and moans, peaking in through the creaked door, my eyes widened slightly as I show min su masturbating.

Min su didn't notice you watching. He kept going faster, my back arched off the bed as he moaned out your name, his other hand holding onto the bedsheets.

I bit my lip and tilted my head, watching him, making sure to be quiet so he didn't know I was there.

"Mommy fuck please." Min su moaned loudly, his hips buckling and he grabbed the sheets tightly, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was holding the sheets

He gasped and arched his back, his hand working quickly. He whined your name, "Mommy~"

I gently pushed the door open and walked in, closing it behind me, walking over to the bed and sitting on the bed. "Min su?'

He blushed and covered his face, hiding under the covers completely. He was clearly embarrassed to be caught.

"You have a mommy kink?... Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, moving closer to him, sitting my hand on his bare thigh. He whined and moved his hand away from his face, looking at you with pleading eyes. He was a complete mess. "I-I didn't want to freak you out..."

I gently moved the covers and scotted closer to the smaller boy, grabbing his cock, and slowly jerking him "I won't have been freaked out my love." I cooed out softly, watching him with a small smile.

He whined again, the feeling of your hand on him making him arch his back more. He whimpered and squirmed under your touch* "Mommy~!"

He couldn't believe this. He couldn't believe that you were ok with this, that you weren't jerking him about what he likes, He bit his lip and moaned, his eyes rolling back as you moved your hand faster, he was a complete mess of moans and whimpers, your touch was driving him insane

"So you just been faking, huh? When we were in bed that you wanted me to call you daddy?" I asked him lowly.

He let out a shaky breath and nodded, he couldn't even speak, he was a panting mess "Y-yes~ I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable, I didn't want you to be disgusted with me.."

I bit my lip and spat on his tip, rubbing it in. "You look so much cuter like this." I muttered, taking him in my mouth, groaning around his shift.

*He let out a high pitched moan as you took him in your mouth, his hips bucking up slightly, he gripped the sheets again, his eyes closed tightly, tears brimming in them* "A-ah! Mommy~"

I hummed and bobbed my head up and down, grabbing onto his thighs, He continued to whine and whimper, his thighs quivering as you gripped them, his head was spinning with pleasure, his body twitching"M-more, mommy please~!"

I pulled back and leaned up, kissing his soft lips, I held his dick in my hand, rubbing up and down slowly

He moaned into the kiss, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly, his hips trying to buck up into your hand. He was getting desperate for more. "Please.. I'm so close~"

"So much more into this." I moaned against his lips, squeezing his balls gently, I glanced down and rubbed my thumb over the precum lesling from his tip

He moaned loudly, his hips stuttering as you squeezed his balls, his eyes rolled back again and he whimpered "Please let me cum mommy.. Please, I need to cum.."

"Cum, my love, cum for mommy." I whispered in his esr softly, moving my hand faster, He let out a choked moan as he came, his body tensing up and his hips bucking, he whimpered as he rode out his high, looking up at you with teary eyes

I gently wiped the tears with my clean hand and got up, grabbing and rug and going to wet it, I came bsck and cleaned him up

He was still trying to catch his breath, his body was trembling slightly, he was a bit overstimulated but he didn't say anything, he just laid there and let you clean him up

I slid on some shorts for him and laid down, spooning him, holding him tightly against me. "You could have told me I won't have judged you, you know, right?" I whispered, rubbing his stomach.

He cuddled against you, resting his head on your chest. He nodded softly and mumbled a small 'I know. "I was just so scared that you'd think I was weird.."

"Do you have any other kinkd I don't know about?" I asked, running my fingers through hid hair gently, He blushed a deep shade of red and nodded again. His voice was soft and a bit embarrassed.

"I have one other.."I hummed and licked my lips "Yeah what is it?" I asked with a smile, looking down at him. He hesitated for a moment, burying his face into your chest, his face completely red. "Promise you won't laugh..?"

I nodded and tilted my head, waiting for him to speak, He took a deep breath before whispering it. "I have a breeding kink.."

I bit my lip and hummed "Wait so like you want me to breed you.... or do you want to breed me?"

He blushed even more. He was a blushing mess at this point. He hid his face completely in your chest now. He was too embarrassed to speak.

"Come on, tell me. and I tell you about one I have." I muttered, pulling him closer to me, tugging his hair softly, He let out a soft whimper as you tugged his hair, he took a shaky breath before speaking up "I want you to breed me, I want you to fill me up with your cum.."

"Maybe I can order a strap with fake cum and well try it yeah?" I smiled at him, kiss him on his lips

His eyes widened a bit, his cheeks were a deep red, and he was completely flustered. He slowly nodded, looking up at you. "I-I'd like that a lot.."

"Ok, and I have a roleplay kink, I like to roleplay, a lot." I told him and chuckled, covering my face a bit in embarrassment

He smiled and moved your hand away from your face, giggling a bit. "Really? That's actually pretty hot.."

"Maybe when I breed you, we can roleplay, maybe cop and bad guy?" I suggested and cuddled him, He blushed at the thought, biting his lip as he nodded again."Yeah, that'd be fun.. And hot~"

"Ok, sleep now." I whispered, tighting my grip on his waist. He nodded and yawned, cuddling up against you. He was already starting to fall asleep, and he mumbled a small 'I love you' before drifting off.

My eyes softened, and I smiled, pushing my face in his neck. "I love you to so much more than you know." I whispered against him, closing my eyes and difting off to sleep

He let out a soft hum as you spoke. He felt warm and safe in your arms. He slept peacefully through the night, holding onto you tightly,

Got a bit lazy. Sorry 😞, I hope you like it still though, you guys can request from different shows if you like, my request are open right now, so yeah 😀

I'm going to be putting more stray kids stuff out, too

BYE 👋

[hapan-in-exile]

It's so obvious, I'm your Number One

A Mandalorian One Shot

Another Tale from the Dark Garden

Yeah, I know your little secret...

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

Reader: You are a courtesan at the Dark Garden, Coruscant’s most prestigious pleasure house. Owned by the Mandalorian's employer, crimelord Boss Set’ki, and operated by his lieutenant Mistress Anassa. After years of meaningful glances and missed connections, Din Djarin finally claims you as his own. But now…he’d like to switch up the roles.

Word Count: ~9K

Pairing: sub(ish)!Din Djarin x (soft)femdom!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Warnings: Bondage, blindfold, oral sex (everyone receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slapping, hair pulling, choking, biting, unprotected piv, rough sex, orgasm denial, prostate play, explicit consent, aftercare.

No extreme degradation. Lots of checking in! Lots of praise!

A/N: This is Part 2 in the Tales of the Dark Garden anthology. Read Part 1 (softdom!Din Djarin x sub!fem!reader), or just dive in with this entry!

No description of skin, hair, or eye color; no description of age or body shape.

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

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with this? I can keep the blindfold on.”

Thankfully, you’d already adjusted the shuttle’s climate controls. You’re wearing your favorite pair of knit stockings, a wrap sweater, the silk sash of your robe tied around your eyes…and absolutely nothing else.

The Mandalorian tore off your underwear a few minutes ago.

You can’t see him—can’t see anything—you simply gravitate toward the heat of his body as he leads you across the cabin.

“If teeth are going to be involved, I think it’s in my best int—” Mando’s words are cut off by a dull thud and the sound of the bed frame scraping across the inlaid tile floors. “Gah–” he snarls. “Fucking farrik, that stings!”

His grip on your wrist tightens as he dips forward to reclaim his balance. 

“You okay?” Reaching out blindly, your hand collides with his taut stomach, nails catching on his tender skin. “Shit, sorry.”

But Mando only laughs, gathering you against him.

“Turned the lights off too soon,” he murmurs, resting his chin atop your head. After a swift kiss, you feel him bend over to massage his knee, or shin, or whatever he’d knocked painfully into the bedframe. “I can’t see shit in the dark.”

“We can rethink—

“Hush,” he silences the prevarication with another kiss on your lips. It’s gentle, and so sweet, it feels lonely when he pulls away. “Once we make it to the bed…there’ll be no reason to leave it.”

The promise of that excites you so much, that you almost forget you’re supposed to be stepping into a role. Show some dominance! So you slide both hands up and over the hard bulk of his chest and shove. 

“I’m going to make you feel so fucking good.” 

You try to push him playfully onto the bed, but the Mandalorian is about as pliable as a statue. He resists and instead uses the momentum to hold you closer, sweeping you into his arms when you lose your center of gravity, so his powerful limbs are the only thing keeping you upright. 

It’s a reminder that this is a game. The only dominance you have is what he allows. That’s fine by you. As long as you can make him whimper into your ear and cry out your name. Hearing him beg could be fun.  

“Here.” The bounty hunter lifts you by your thighs and wraps your legs around him, one hand splayed across your lower back. You have no choice but to cling to his shoulders. The mattress dips and creaks when he sits down, pivoting his legs onto the bed, before Mando situates himself propped against the headboard, with you straddling his hips. 

Burying his face into the crook of your neck, his lips trace over your jaw until he finds your ear. Mando breathes his warm breath into it, then covers your throat with kisses and his questing tongue before returning to your lips. Breath catches in your throat, and you sigh into his mouth as he opens for you, tongues tangling together. 

You shift forward onto your knees, wrapping your arms behind his neck.

The soft fabric of his shorts presses into your thighs as his erection builds. He’s wearing a clean pair from the overnight bag he brought with him—which delights you to no end. First, that the mighty Mandalorian has an overnight bag (?!); and second, that it’s thrown onto an armchair in the corner of the cabin he’d claimed as his own.   

You sense the movement of his arms when they pull away from you, putting on his own mask, before he reaches behind your head to untie the silk sash from your eyes. It takes a while for your vision to adjust to the utter darkness. All the lights in the shuttle are turned off, but he’d left the skyline window open so that the ambient glow of the megalopolis casts everything into haze and shadow. Coruscant is at its most spectacular at night.

Bathed in soft yellow, violet, pink and blue hues, the Mandalorian remains a dark and indistinct figure to your blinking eyes. Except for the mask.

It’s rare for you to take on more…adventurous clients, but you kept several face coverings amongst your professional accouterment. Some men wanted to be a stranger to themselves—someone who didn’t care about cheating on their spouse, someone who loved to say and do filthy things. 

Some clients simply wanted to watch without being perceived. 

You’d given the bounty hunter a black hood. Thin enough that he could see and breathe through the mesh weave. Large enough for it to cover him as thoroughly as the Beskar helmet. Mando had taken the hood and torn it—folding the fabric so that it only hid his face from forehead to nose. 

It’s too dark for you to see him in any distinct detail, but that decision—that he could have covered his face in complete anonymity and did not—seemed to communicate a desire for intimacy. He wanted the use of his mouth, to feel your fingers threading in his hair and the brush of your lips against his cheeks.

So that’s what you do. Your fingers roam through the soft waves of thick brown hair framing his ears. 

It’s still damp from the fresher, encouraging a curl in the tendrils along the back of his neck. Longer than you expected. You always imagined that he kept it short for the sake of simplicity. 

You’ll be able to get a good grip.

“Gorgeous,” you murmur without thinking. 

“My hair?” Mando asks in disbelief. “You like it?”

“I do.” Massaging his scalp delicately with your fingernails, you lean forward to kiss the corner of his coy smile. “I like everything about you.” 

“You braided yours.” He raises both hands to trace the messy coil laced down your back. 

“So it won’t get in my way,” you grin. 

“You look very sexy in these,” the Mandalorian caresses the fuzzy Endorian goat wool tugged up to your thighs. “And this…” his hands fumble with the neckline of your sweater. It’s loose enough to pull aside, and soon you feel his fingertips, rough against the skin between your breasts. “Whatever this is,” the moisture of his breath stirs the hairs along your neck, “it’s beautiful. Did you dress up for me?”

“Maybe.” You take his face in your palms and trace your thumb over his lower lip, searching for the fullness of his mouth in the darkness. “I wanted something soft.”

“You’re soft everywhere,” he sighs, before sucking on your thumb. A rippling tide of desire surges in your belly.

“Is there anything you want?” you ask, sounding determined to fulfill his every secret yearning.

“I’m sure you know what I like better than I know myself,” Mando replies, his voice a heady rumble vibrating between you.  

But that’s not a real answer. You can feel the nervous energy in his body—almost giddy. The slight tremble in his fingers as they settle onto your waist, his muscles tightening with patient expectation. Perhaps he preferred not knowing.

Then he dips his head, his mouth closing over your nipple, already peaked with arousal, as he speaks against your skin. “You can do what you want with me.” 

Whoo! It’s going to be a challenge to remain in control. You feel ready to melt into his arms, squirming in orgasmic bliss. You’re realizing domination requires a lot of purpose and attention.

“I should warn you, my training at Dark Garden included more poetry, than bondage.”

His mouth quirks into a smile. “So you’re going to torture me with poetry?” 

“I’ll have you know the Tales of Hallëvala are absolutely filthy. Written by total perverts.”

You both burst into laughter. The bounty hunter’s chuckles come from so deep within him that you bounce precariously on his lap until he regains his focus.

“I trust you. Do to me what feels good to you.” 

What feels good to you…after your last round of fucking, he knows exactly what you like. And how rough. He’d asked to switch roles this time. Show me why you like it. But, perhaps he didn’t feel comfortable enough to say what he wanted out loud. You’d bet money he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this reversal in dynamic either.

You lace your fingers around his neck, thumbs pressing against his throat. Not too tight, but enough to claim his attention. “It’s good that you trust me, Mando,” you pronounce seductively. “You’ll need to remind yourself of that when you start to feel afraid of me.” 

His laughter is dismissive, as though the very idea is ridiculous.  

“Submission requires putting all your trust in me…trusting that I know how much you can take. Giving yourself to me. Completely.” 

Gathering his wrists in your hands, you haul them over his head and pin them against the headboard. The Mandalorian takes a sharp breath through in surprise, his breath becoming shallow. 

Leaning forward, your lips drift to the hollow of his throat, trawling your tongue through the rough stubble of his beard to the tip of his chin. “Your body will resist. You’ll doubt whether or not you can truly surrender, whether or not you really want to.” 

When your tongue finds his lips, you kiss him ravenously, stealing whatever breath remains in his lungs. You kiss him like the hunger of starvation, thrusting your tongue into his mouth. It’s unlike any of your other kisses—fearsome—teeth knocking against each other as you shove your tongue down his throat. It’s a violation, made to overwhelm him. He tries to turn his head, but you take him by the chin, fingers tightening around his jaw to hold him firmly in place. 

With only one hand to pin his wrists, the Mandalorian could easily overpower you. He doesn’t. Instead, he arches into you so hard, his bare chest crushes your breasts. The sensation of his skin rubbing against you is like a fire coaxing embers to burn.

Never breaking the kiss, he finally begins to breathe through his nostrils, and you pull back. But not before dragging your sharp incisors over his lower lip until you taste blood. 

Mando gasps, startled. He tries to hide it with his laughter, but it’s sporadic. Anxious and uncertain. 

“You might start to think I’m crazy,” you whisper in his ear. “Or that maybe you are,” you smile lasciviously, unsure whether he can see through the mask. “But doubting me is the worst thing you could do…” drawing the tip of your nose over his earlobe, along the shell of his ear, you close your teeth around the helix. 

He tenses, waiting for the bite.

“Don’t think. Don’t question. Just submit to me.”

He’s already rock hard between your thighs. You can feel the whole, hot length of him press insistently against you. Your wetness welcomes him, soaking through the thin fabric of his shorts. Instinctively, his hips roll upward. 

“Wait,” his body tenses and stills. “Before…you said it’s exhausting, playing a role. That’s not what I wanted to—”

The tender concern in his voice is enough to break you from the fantasy.

“This is different,” you assure him. “Being with someone you care about always makes it different. And I do care about you, Mando. Very deeply. I’m going to slap you. Bite you. I might even hurt you, but I will always keep you safe.” 

With that, you spread his arms wide, pulling his wrist through a loop of rope tied to one corner of the headboard, and then the other.

“You’re going to feel powerless without the use of your hands. That’s why I’m tying you up. Because you’re giving up power. And I’m taking it.”

Suddenly, his muscles tremble in a surge of trepidation. Remember, this will be difficult for him. In his line of work, bondage means capture. Defeat. You need to be careful not to trigger those defensive impulses. 

“It’s a gift you’re giving me, Mandalorian, but you can reclaim it anytime. See?” you slip his hand back out through the rope. One quick roll of his wrist, and he can free himself.

“I think we should use colors to check in.” You reach between your legs to stroke his hard cock gently over his shorts. It throbs eagerly against your palm. Warm and thick. “Green is when it feels good. Does this feel good?”

You lower yourself onto him more with each stroke, until you’re so close you can feel the heat of his breath in your mouth.

“Very,” he nods against your temple, breaths coming shallow and quick.

“Yellow is for when things start to get too intense.” This time, you squeeze harder, curling your fingers around him, and he gasps, stomach contracting in alarm. “Then we can pause—talk about it. Reset if necessary.”

“Mmmph,” Mando groans.

“Do you like this?” you ask, knees digging into the mattress with the momentum of every fervent twist of your wrist.

“Senaar’ika, I love this,” he laughs, ducking his chin to lick at your collarbone. 

You suck his tongue into your mouth, claiming his lips before tugging hard on his cock. 

“Nnngh! Fuck me,” he growls in a surge of arousal and frustration, thrusting roughly into your fist. “Dammit, woman.”

“When you say red, I stop immediately.” You remove your hands from his cock and place them lightly over his chest, the rapid beating of his heart drumming against your palms. “We can talk about it or not. You never have to explain why you want to stop.” 

“Okay,” he murmurs, still sounding apprehensive. No wonder! An elite bounty hunter. He’s probably never this vulnerable by choice. 

Then he surprises you. “If you’re worried about keeping me safe…Is this something you’ll enjoy?

“Yes!” you insist, laughing. “Giving you pleasure, watching you come so hard and for so long that you black out and forget your name…is something I will enjoy very much.”

“Is that a threat?” he tilts his head, grinning. “Or a warning?” 

“I just hope you have it written down somewhere since, as far as I understand, you’re the only one who knows what it is.”

At that, you lean forward to whisper into his ear once more. “I will take your body, and I will use it to satisfy my needs. But I promise to cherish it, even as I force it to conform to my desires.” 

Then your mouth closes over his again. This kiss is not as obscene. When your tongue passes his lips, you explore more slowly—the roof of his mouth, the seam of his lips, the tip of his wet tongue. Kissing deeply until he adapts to breathing through his nose. You’re gauging how long he can comfortably hold his breath before drowning in your cunt.

Your lips leave his to trail along the Mandalorian’s chin, his jaw, down his neck, and across his shoulder. As you move, you drag your open mouth over his skin, letting him feel the scrape of your teeth. Testing. Nibbling. Then biting—just hard enough to leave him gasping, but not hard enough to leave a mark. All the while, your hips roll your naked flesh, drenched in heat, to stroke along his cock. 

You moan at the feel of him, thick and heavy between your thighs.

“I fucking love it when you make that sound,” he says, breathless, thrusting his hips upward to meet you.

“You better find some discipline, Mando.” You press your forehead against his cheek and whisper into his neck, like you're telling him a secret. “You’re already so hard. I can feel you leaking onto my belly.”

“And you’re so wet I can feel it through my shorts.”

“I’m thinking about what I’ll have to do to you, if you come without my permission.”

“This would be easier if I hadn’t spent every night of the past five years dreaming about you.” 

“Sweet,” you tell him, flush with praise. “But that won’t save you from punishment. I will use discipline if you can’t obey.”

“It’s what I deserve,” he says roughly. 

Merely hearing those words brings you to the brink. Your cunt flutters. A hot, molten sensation spreading heat to every inch of your skin. Part of you wants nothing more than to simply sink onto him and ride him to release. Another part wanted to take him all night and never let this end. 

Fucking hell, you’ve got to get a grip! It’s just…never felt this urgent before. You can’t remember wanting a man’s body so badly.

“Don’t worry,” you drawl. “I plan to take you slowly.”

You drag your tongue along his throat, trailing a wet path down the column of his neck to his shoulder. This time, you lick and suck strong enough to leave bruises—pulling his warm skin between your teeth until you bite down hard around the ball of his shoulder. He surges against you, cock throbbing with need.

“I think…maybe you like the pain.”

The growl that rumbles in his chest is sweet agony.

“Does it excite you?” 

“Yes,” he confesses in shallow breaths, panting. 

“But tonight…you come for me. When I say so. You understand?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

You grab a fistful of hair in your fingers and yank his head back. “You want to try that again?”

“Yes…mistress,” he says uncertainly. 

But in your world, the title of Mistress was reserved for women like Anassa, keeper of the Dark Garden, who was a figure of ruthless authority. That’s not how you see yourself. This business so often divided women into sweetly eager sluts or cold-hearted dominatrix. Those could not still be the only options. Not tonight. Not with him.

“Call me senaar’ika when we’re together.” His little dove. You loved to hear him call you that. It’s not authoritative or intimidating, but it feels right. “What should I call you?”

The Mandalorian chews on his answer for a long while. 

“Cyar'ika.”

“Shar-ee-kah,” you roll the syllables over your tongue. “What does it mean?”

“Guess you’ll have to learn more Mando’a.”

“Hmm,” you chuckle. “But the ika is diminutive, right? So…something sweet. Is that how you’d like me to fuck you? Hard and sweet?”

“Little dove, I—” 

You pull back your elbow to slap him across the face with an open palm.

“Too bad I don’t give a shit about what you want.”

The Mandalorian huffs. “No, senaar’ika,” he says through gritted teeth, trying to hide his shock. You’d bet the last person who slapped him, probably lost their hand. Suddenly, you begin to see the appeal of domination. It’s arousing, watching him twist himself into knots, resisting his deepest impulse to hit you back. All that power bridled…for you.

His jaw shifts and straightens, “Tonight is about what you want.” 

“That’s right,” you cup his face in your hand, soothing the tender skin of his reddening cheek. “Tonight, you exist only to please me.” Something eases in your chest when he nods, nuzzling into your palm. 

Holy shit, that was intense! Exhilarating. Your body is flooded with adrenaline. It feels anathema—wrong—to enjoy hitting someone you care about. Even if it’s just pretend, it feels so real. So fucking real! But he seems to be enjoying it as much as you do. 

“Good,” you coo. “You’re doing so good. Right now, you don’t mean it. But you will.”

He laughs, incredulous. “I—”

“You’ll say the words, and I know you’ll want to mean them. But you won’t. Not at first.” Wetting your lips, you soothe the marks and bruises you’ve left on his body with gentle kisses.  “But you will. You’re going to learn. I’m going to teach you.”

Then you push up from your knees to stand over him.

“Where did you go?” Mando’s voice is longing and a little helpless. For the first time, he struggles against the ropes, testing their hold. 

“I’m staring at your beautiful body,” you answer truthfully. Shifting your weight carefully onto one leg, you lift your other knee and begin tracing every corded muscle of his chest and abdominals with your stocking-clad toes. Despite the thick wool, you feel his skin shiver and twitch—breath hitching whenever you sweep your foot lower and lower across his sensitive skin. “You look so good when I touch you.”

When you circle your toes around his navel, his stomach quivers, and his cock pulses.

“I’m fairly obsessed with this curve along your hips, defining your slutty little waist.” 

He let’s go of some tension then, laughing deep from his belly. “What is slutty about my waist?”

“How to explain…? Your shoulders are so broad…” you draw a line with your finger between his chest, down to his groin—his body undulating wherever your fingertips touch him. “And then my eyes travel to your slutty waist, and all I can think about you burying it between my thighs.”

“That’s all I ever wanted,” he says, looking up at you. “All these years…to feel you wrapped around my cock.” 

“Poor, cyar’ika,” you shake your head. “Still thinking about what you want. But I’m going to teach you better.”

Unlacing the ties of your sweater, you shrug it off and let it fall onto the bed. Somehow, the fact that you’re still wearing the stockings makes your nakedness feel more profane. Your hands thread into his hair and pull, forcing his head back so you can thrust two fingers inside his mouth. 

He’s so unprepared it makes him gag.

“Your body is beautiful…so powerful. But soft. Just like your beautiful face. Strong jaw. Sharp nose. Soft lips. I’m going to rub myself all over them when I fuck your face.”

In response, the Mandalorian, something between a moan and a sigh, escapes his lips. Something like a whimper. Your face breaks into a broad grin.  

Mindful of your balance atop the mattress, you settle your right knee onto his outstretched bicep.

“Would you like that? If I came in your mouth? Fucked myself on your tongue?”

“Yes.” He says before adding, “Please, little dove.”

“Show me,” you respond coolly. “Stick out your tongue for me. Good. Make it soft, like velvet. ”

Flexing the muscles deep in your belly, you tuck your hips and position yourself over his mouth. 

“I’m going to use you, and you’re going to sit there and take it for as long I need you to.”

With that, you rub yourself against the length of his tongue, stroking it across and in between every slick fold. You roll your hips wantonly to feel him from every angle, growing softer and wetter as his saliva becomes indistinguishable from your come, leaving you soaked and sopping. Soon, you lose yourself to the flood of exquisite sensations coursing through your body from the delicious friction of his ridged tongue. Pleasure seizes you, forcing you to steady yourself, gripping the headboard. Your breasts bob with each thrust of your hips as you grind into his mouth.

Gods, you could do this for hours. But you sense him growing impatient with passivity. He’s eager to use his lips and mouth. Eager to taste your climax. 

“You like this? 

“Mmm,” he moans, pouring his hot breath into your wet center. 

“Tell me how much you love it.”

“I love your come in my mouth. I want to drink from you.”

“Then put your tongue inside of me.”

“Annngh!” you cry out at the thick stab of his tongue. You rock yourself over it, hips writhing. A coiling knot of tension is winding tighter and tighter inside you. 

You can barely recognize the words streaming out of your mouth, but you cannot miss how much the Mandalorian seems to be enjoying this—the sounds he makes, the consuming way he sucks at your clit, the scrape of his stubble against the soft crease of your thighs.

“Lap up my come,” you command, then nearly collapse when his tongue makes hot trails through your opening, over and over, until he’s gasping for breath. “Don’t you dare fucking stop!”

Mando’s mouth moves even faster now, even harder, and you’re nothing but heat and pulse. Everything else is far away. Pleasure tightens—blazes—inside you.

“Flick my—” he parts your flesh with his nose, burying his face between your drenched folds until his mouth closes over your clit. “Fuck, you’re so good at this.” 

The leg bearing your weight begins to tremble. Your fingers tangle into his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your fists clench tighter, not caring whether it might hurt. All you can care about is the need to hold onto something while you ride each cresting wave of pleasure as it surges. Every muscle inside your body coils and tightens as the sweet and heady pleasure builds.

“Yes, fuck me with your tongue. Ha-aah. Circle—fuck—fuck yes!”

And then you come so hard you can’t care about anything. You can’t think, can’t breathe. You desperately try to gather air into your lungs, only to sob from the ecstatic release.

Your head falls back, but before you can come down, before you’re able to breathe and see again, you feel Mando’s grip behind your knee, keeping you pressed against his mouth. You pull back instinctively, away from the painfully sweet stimulation, but his fingers dig into your calf.

With each thrust, each lick of his tongue, you feel yourself breaking apart—until your second orgasm hits you so hard you scream, and a hot spurt of liquid covers his face. 

“Fuck, that was so hot! I want this come around my—” he begins, but the words die in his throat when you slap him hard across the face.

Both feet planted on the bed now, you hold yourself over him, knees shaking from the voltage of your orgasm, but your voice is firm. “I told you to sit there and take it. And instead, you disobey me. Do I need to remind you who’s in charge?”

Chastened, he tucks his chin, turning his handsome face away from your harsh words. 

Snatching a length of rope from the side table, you walk to the foot of the bed and grab his ankles, using all your strength to yank him down from the headboard so that he’s propped against the pillows. He grunts in shock, and you wonder how much he can see through the mask. 

You brush the rough coils of rope against the delicate pads of his feet, and his whole body shudders. “Behave, and I won’t have to use this to tie you down.”

The bounty hunter takes in a deep breath that pours forth from his lips. “I’ll behave,” he mumbles, fighting the submission.  

A dizzying wave of lust washes over you, rippling across your skin. You suddenly become aware of how hot it is in this cabin. You’d set the temperature too high. Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the fine hairs that had escaped your braid stick to your cheeks and neck. Your heartbeat pounds against your eardrums. 

Was this the electrifying thrill of domination? To see this powerful, capable man, who clad himself in armor and wielded violence, gathering every ounce of strength he possessed to leash himself under your collar. It was a heady rush—almost frightening—to see how badly he needed this. 

It feels like a privilege to see this side of the Mandalorian. It strengthens your resolve. Don’t disappoint his desires. 

You crawl back onto the bed and over his supine body, biting harder on his nipples, sucking them fiercely into firm peaks, gnawing at his hip bones. “Fuck!” he gasps, a hint of fear lacing his voice. But his arousal was evident.

“I think you wanted to be punished. I think you wanted to test me. To see if I’m capable of hurting you.”

Mando’s so hard he nearly juts out from his shorts. Tugging them down, his cock bounces, slapping against the bare skin of his thigh. You trail wet, open-mouthed kisses down his groin, teeth grazing the delicate skin there.

“Do you believe that I could hurt you?”

Rubbing your face over the tip, you feel the slickness of his pre-come wet against your cheek. 

There is nothing more perfect than Mando’s expression right now—what you can see of it. Lips slightly parted, looking hopeless. His hands clench into fists as you open your mouth to take him in. Delicately, you tense your teeth around the head of his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’ve never been this hard.”

“Are you afraid?”

He nods.

“But excited too. You’re excited thinking about what I might do to you.” You run your tongue over the seam of his balls before sucking each heavy sack into your mouth. Using your tongue, you press the tender skin behind the backs of your teeth.

The Mandalorian draws in a sharp breath. “Yes!”

Something about your wet, messy face makes you defiant, “You don’t want to see what I can do. I know how to break a man like you.” You pull back, lifting your chin so he slips from your mouth, his cock blood-dark and glistening. Your brow arches, “With archaic poetry.”

“What?” he asks through a lusty daze.

“Something from the Guan-jii period, I think.”

”You are evil.”

“But first…” you spit onto his shaft, coating him in saliva—thick and viscous from having him in your mouth. “You’re so big. I have to get you nice and wet before you’ll fit inside me.”

His hands flex wide and then curl back into fists. “Fuck, I want to grab you by the throat.” 

Your chin tilts sympathetically. “You could be rough, cyar’ika—slip your wrists free, hold me down, and fuck me senseless. But you won’t. You know this is going to feel so good.” 

Positioning your left leg over his thigh and tucking your right knee under the other, you bite down on your bottom lip and slide onto him—inch by inch, until it burns. He’s so big that it almost hurts as he stretches you out, opens you wide. 

“Fuck! That’s it,” he whispers as he thrusts himself the rest of the way inside you, up to the hilt. “Just like that. Yes!”

You pinch his nipple tightly between your thumb and forefinger. “Be still.” 

“Nnngh,” he growls in response. 

“Remember, your body is mine. To use for my pleasure.”

“Yes, senaar’ika” he replies.

“Then spread your legs.” 

At first, he’s unsure how to comply, but he doesn’t resist when you push his thighs further apart. 

“This position is called the Blooming Lotus pose. Our legs intertwine like the unfurling petals of a lotus blossom.” This angle gets him even deeper inside you, until he’s buried so deep you’re sitting on his balls.

“Mmmph…Oh fuck, that’s amazing.”

“Ha-aah!” you gasp, losing your concentration as you feel him everywhere. It burns. It aches. It’s so fucking good you could scream. “You’re so thick. Ha-aah, I love stretching myself over your cock.” 

Then, you begin rolling your hips, grinding yourself onto him. 

“Bet you never get it like this,” you look down at him, sprawled beneath you. “I bet everyone expects you to put this big dick to work. And you never get to lie back and get used like this.” 

“Yes,” he moans. “Keep fucking me, little dove.”

“These lines were composed by Mason Hamlin. Dedicated to his lover, a witch of the Night Sisters.”

Incredulous laughter bursts from his mouth, “You are an evil, evil woman.”

“But you love it.”

My lady,

You begin, letting the words spill from your lips like beads of water from a cataract.  

Whose brown eyes hide mystery, Beneath her red mask,

You push right his knee up to his chest and sweep your tongue over the tender arch of his foot, drawing his big toe into your mouth to suck. This feels so unhinged, but you love it—watching his powerful body writhe with pleasure. 

Dark lips, 

“Oh shit!” he gasps as you slip your tongue between his toes. “Oh shit, I didn’t think that would feel as good as it does.” 

Her gyrating hips,  On her knees, on top, over me,

Returning to suck his toes, all the while, you circle and rock your hips against his length, twisting side to side, clenching around his thick cock until he throws his head back.

“Nnngh,” you groan. “I love the feeling of you deep inside me. Rubbing my clit all over you.”  

“You are fucking unreal, little dove.”

Pink hellfire pussy, Wet cunt of midnight,

But you don’t want to come yet. That would be letting him off easy.

You shift weight onto your knees, pulling yourself up the length of his shaft, only to slide back down, sheathing him deep inside you. You keep up the slow rhythm—sliding up then plunging onto him again—over and over. 

“Slower,” he begs. “You have to go slower.”

“Can I tell you a secret? No one’s ever been this deep inside me before.”

“Mmmph, you can’t say shit like that, senaar’ika.”

“I’ll do as I please,” you grin, sinking down onto his straining sack. 

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck! Oh fuck! Nnngh, I wish I could see…unngh, my cock pumping in and out of you.” 

I sell my soul willingly.  Take it all, And fuck me for eternity.

Your back arches, shoving your breasts against his mouth like an offering. In answer, Mando leans forward, struggling with the bindings on his wrists. His mouth catches your nipple, tugging it. He laps, tongue swirling, and then he opens his mouth wider to suck. It only lasts a moment, but that’s long enough to send a surge of pleasure ricocheting through your core, all the way from your nipple to your clit.

“Gods, I love your cock.” The pressure and pleasure build inside you with every thrust of your hips. “You’re so deep. So deep!”

“Mmm…maybe I like poetry,” he declares, in rapture.

“You like how I fuck you?” you ask between heaving breaths, body slick with sweat.

“Hmm,” moans. “I love it. This is all I want. To spend the rest of my life inside you.” 

Your muscles flutter and clench around him.

“Mmmph, your walls are so strong,” he groans. “You’re squeezing my cock like a fist.”

“Tell me what it feels like to be inside me.”

“Inside your pink hellfire pussy?”

“Yes,” you snort through your nostrils.

“W-warm,” he slurred, lost in his own pleasure. “Silken. Impossibly wet.”

“Careful. If you grit your jaw any tighter, you’re going to lose some teeth.”

“Not much of a choice, or I’m going to come too fast.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“You feel so good. You’re so wet I can hear it. Fuck, I can smell it.”

He’s right. The cabin is filled with an obscene squelching sound every time you rock your hips, coating him in your slick heat.

Through the mask, you stare at each other, breaths mingling until he closes the space between you to claim your mouth and kiss you—deep and languid. 

When he pulls away, he whispers, “Come for me.”

His tongue reaches out to flick against your nipple, and your head falls back, fingers gripping his shoulders, urging him to take more, take harder.

“You’re a terrible submissive.” 

“But you love it.” Again you thrust, so hard that he clutches at the headboard, fingernails digging into the wood. “Fuck, someone should come. Please. Please let me come inside you.”

Yep, you do like hearing him beg.

“I just told you, your cock is mine. Don’t tell me what to do with what’s mine.” 

“Aaah—fuck! You have to tell me when you’re close…I’m trying. I’m trying so fucking hard. But if you come, it’s just gonna make me…nnngh!”

“You’re going to be good and wait for what I give you.”

“What the fuck are you doing to me, woman?”

“Whatever I want.”

With that, you lift your leg over his thigh and settle it underneath him so that both your knees press into the mattress with him straddling your waist. 

“You’ll do as you’re told.”

You brace the heels of your palms against his hipbones and anchor all your body weight forward into your arms, raising yourself higher until your wet nipples press into his cheeks.

“Wider,” your elbows push into the insides of his knees, spreading him open. “This position is called the Wild Akkadian. Named after the tribe of female warriors on Ryloth who would capture men for breeding and mount them, demanding complete submission.”

Tucking your pelvis, you slide back onto his firm cock. Drenched in your come, the head glides over your clit, between the folds of your cunt, teasing the entrance. The friction is just enough to make you start panting again. 

This position doesn’t let you take him as deep–only the tip of his cock and the first few inches can fit inside you with your legs pressed together between his thighs. And it requires a lot of bouncing on your knees, contracting your lower abdominals, to thrust yourself onto him. But it feels so fucking good! The shallow, rapid thrusting that rubs the head of his cock against your entrance, sliding over your clit with each stroke. You’re riding him so fast that your breasts shake, and your entire body starts to sweat. Your thighs ache, and your arms grow sore, but you keep up the pace—faster and faster.

“Mmmph, please,” he begs, reeling on the edge of pleasure. “Please, I’m so close.”

The Mandalorian is completely helpless. Unable to move his hips. You’re truly using him now—using him like a toy to get yourself off. Whatever you give, he has to take it. All of this stimulation concentrated onto the head of his cock.

“Not yet.” 

“Farrik, this is torture. Are you ever going to let me come?”

“Why should I?”

“You said if I behaved, you wouldn’t hurt me,” he throws his head back. “This feels pretty fucking hurtful.”

“You’ll come when I say so.”

Warmth ripples through you in waves. Every muscle in your body tightens, on the brink. You cry out—one long cry you can’t control—as blood rushes to your clit. The rapid friction spirals. Soars. You gasp, dizzy as everything else falls away, and then there’s nothing left of but the orgasm that takes over. Your cry turns into a scream as you come, your head swirling in the rush of pure ecstasy. Without anything to clench down on, you continue thrusting onto him throughout your climax. 

“It’s too good,” he groans. “It’s too good—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—unngh!” 

You both shudder as your bodies surrender to the intensity of your shared orgasm. With his cock this shallow inside you, you feel each hot spurt of come weeping out of you and dripping down his shaft. 

It’s so fucking hot in this cabin! What were you thinking? The wool stockings probably aren’t helping, but he said they look sexy. You’re covered in sweat, but so is Mando—his soft brown curls clinging to his neck. Your bodies had grown slick together in desperation to chase release.

Somehow you find the strength to get up onto your knees, letting his spent cock slip out of you before sitting back on your heels, still nestled between his thighs, their coarse hairs tickling your sensitive skin.   

“What do you have to say to yourself?” you gasp, trying to sound furious. Not really selling it.

The Mandalorian doesn’t mind. He smiles, mouth open wide in a sly grin. 

“Punish me,” he says.

You slap his cheek. Not as hard this time. Teasing. Playful. 

“Look at the mess you made. I think you should have to clean it up.”

“Yes, senaar’ika,” he says eagerly, as if wanting nothing more. 

Which is a relief. You’re testing the boundaries of degradation—but you can’t help it. The idea of him swallowing every bit of come he’d pumped inside you is fucking hot! As hot as this fucking shuttle.

“I’m not going to hold back this time,” you promise him.

Guiding one foot, and then the other, over his naked body—you position yourself on your hands and knees so that you’re straddling his chest with your back toward him. Presenting yourself. Despite your warning, you start by keeping most of your weight on your knees, staying still as he begins, his tongue licking and thrusting, his lips sucking and kissing. But soon, you grow volatile and start to rock against his mouth.

“This is how you learn,” you say between thrusts, getting back into the role, ending each word with a slight huff of air. “That you’re mine.”

Your toes slide under the pillows to slip beneath his neck, cradling his head in the arches of your feet. Tilting your hips, you shove yourself onto his face, and the Mandalorian’s mouth comes down over your pussy to suck out his come.

Pure pleasure ripples through you, almost blinding in its intensity. Mando starts to swallow, his jaw tensing with each deep pull. The suction is devastating! He wants to bring you to the brink of ecstasy and hold you there forever. If anyone can do it, he can.

You want him between your legs for hours. But you also want to ease this insistent aching tearing through you.

“Oh shit,” you brace yourself on his muscular thighs, fingernails digging into his skin as you grind down harder. “Gods, that tongue!” Your hips twist and writhe to get him deeper between your folds, using your feet to hold him pressed against your cunt. Right there! Right there!

Mando responds by sucking faster. 

You push up onto your hands and open your mouth in search of his cock. Nuzzling it with your cheeks, your lips slide over the tip, still covered in your come, painting your face with it. He moans, and the vibration against your swollen clit, is what sends you into climax, thighs quivering. 

You shout, “Aanngh!” and then come, filling his mouth with heat. Quickly, he gulps it down, every drop, the action almost lost to you in the spasms of pleasure echoing through you, as your body trembles.

There is no strength left in your muscles—you just collapse on top of him. 

“You did so good,” you tell him breathlessly. “So so good.”

“Did I earn your forgiveness?” he asks, his breathing also ragged as he wipes his face along the pillows. You’ve made such a mess of him! He’s going to need another shower.

“Yes,” you moan, unable to take him back into your mouth until you can catch a full breath. All you can do is stroke his cock. Exhausted, you let your head fall onto his thigh, lapping at his skin and running your tongue under his soft sack. 

Mando arches his back and spreads his legs wider. You flick your tongue lower. Then, the bounty hunter draws his knees up, and you take it as an invitation. Do to me what feels good to you.

You circle your tongue, coaxing the tight, puckered skin of his asshole. His cock pulses back to life, growing hard and pressing against your throat. Yet you want to be cautious and give him the opportunity to say no if this makes him uncomfortable. Instead, he moans and digs his heels into the mattress.

“You want me to kiss it?”

“Yes,” he says—his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes, please.”

“You should say please again, cyar'ika,” you demand gently. “I like hearing you beg.”

His lips brush against the curve of your ass, and then he bites. Not hard enough to bruise, just enough to take a bit of skin between his teeth, before kissing you. He truly is a terrible submissive!

“Please.” 

Honestly, it’s perfect! You need a break before your calves cramp up, or you pull a hamstring. Still lying prone over his body, you start licking his asshole in lush strokes with your flat tongue. It tastes a little like soap, and you realize he’d cleaned himself to prepare for this. He’d been secretly hoping you would do this for him.

You are happy to oblige. Fingers spreading his cheeks, you flex your tongue to dip it inside him. 

“Fucking farrik!” he shouts, his body jumping underneath you.

His excitement gives you new life. After four orgasms, you can make an attempt to even the score. 

It’s a bit awkward climbing off of him, crawling up the bed, and squeezing yourself behind him despite all the pillows. Why do you own so many goddamn pillows? 

“What are you doing?” he asks, pleading for your attention as all the blood rushes back into his cock. It bobs hopefully between his thighs, growing harder.

You spread your legs open as wide, so you can situate the Mandalorian more or less into your lap, with your knees placed on either side of him, tucked under his arms.

“Here,” you say, wrapping your arms around his long, lithe torso. “Lean back.” 

Mando obeys, letting himself fall against your chest, breasts pressing into the smooth skin and the pattern of scars lining his back.  

“How are your arms doing?” You feel the tautness of his muscles and set to work soothing them, massaging your hands in aimless patterns over his shoulders, biceps, and forearms, then around his chest to smooth the flat muscle of his pectorals. 

But the bounty hunter remains silent. Unable to voice his desires. 

“Relax,” you whisper, feeling his heart pounding like a drum under your wrist. “You’ve made me so happy. I’m so pleased. Allow me to reward you.” You cup the tender skin of his inner thigh in your palm, drawing upward until the tips of your fingers press gently against his wet hole. 

When he moans with pleasure, you ask, “Have you done this before?”

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head. 

“But this is okay? You like it?” 

He nods enthusiastically but says nothing. 

“Green?”

“Green.”

You flick his ear lobe with your tongue. “It’s going to feel so fucking good. I’m going to make it sweet and easy for you.”

You start with delicate circles using the pads of your fingers. Your other hand wraps around the base of his cock, tightening and loosening your fist as you move up the length of his shaft. Twist and grip, teasing the ridge around the head of his cock with your thumb.

He breathes out hard and lets his head slump against your shoulder. You ask, “Is this enough?”

The Mandalorian clutches at your legs, thrusting urgently into your hand. “More.”

Oh! Well, in that case… 

Reaching an arm out, you slip one of his wrists free from the bindings and guide his hand down between his legs, placing it over his throbbing cock. “I want you to stroke yourself, while I play with you.” Then, your other hand closes over his mouth to pull his head back even further, exposing the long column of his throat.

“Moan for me,” you breathe into his ear. “Let me know how much you want it.”

You place your fingers inside your mouth, sucking on them shamelessly before returning to rub them in tight, ceaseless spirals around his puckered skin.

Then, he does moan—a choked sob against your palm. His muscles relax, and your fingertips dip deeper. His flesh is soft and yielding. You have to resist the urge to make a joke about how you expected his asshole to be tighter. Your knuckles knead and part his flesh, and this time, he whimpers—a definite whimper—that escapes between your fingers.

The Mandalorian had neatly trimmed his nails for you—even his toenails are immaculate. You, on the other hand, have long, polished tips in accordance with the standards of elegant femininity required for your work. He wanted more, but you don’t want to hurt him, so you remove your hands from his body to tear open one of the condoms from the bedside table.

“You like this?” 

“Green,” he gasps, continuing to draw his fist over the length of his shaft. “Fucking forests—fields of green.”

You laugh, relieved that he seems to be enjoying himself. If he really wanted more…

Clambering over his outstretched legs, you position yourself once more between his thighs, lying flat on your stomach. It gives you an amazing view of his absolutely gorgeous cock and surprisingly well-groomed ass cheeks. Oh, he’d definitely been hoping for this! Mando, your little butt-slut. You slip one finger—okay, maybe two—inside the condom, using the lubrication to ease him open.

“Haa!” the Mandalorian whimpers again. “Mmmph!” 

Gods, that’s hot! The noises he’s making and the way his body writhes in pleasure has your stomach clenching. You press your thighs tightly together against the pulsing throb between your legs.

“Fuck,” he gasps. You feel him squeezing around you. Thankfully, the spot you’re seeking isn’t that far inside him.

“Just breathe. That’s right. Arch your back. I knew you’d love this. You’re doing so good. Push that sweet hole onto my fingers.”

Even through the latex, you can feel that small, firm little pebble of tissue under your fingertips. 

“Oh, holy shit!” he shouts again.

“It feels good there, doesn’t it?”

Very slowly, you twist your fingers inside him—gently drawing them out and slipping them back in so he can feel more friction against his nerve endings. He starts to quiver, the muscles in his legs tightening and trembling like a bowstring.

“Doesn’t it feel good when someone else fills you up?” You ask him in a low, sultry voice. “When you can just lie there and take it.”

Tentatively, you start massaging inside him, working your fingers back and forth. The Mandalorian writhes atop the mattress, "Haa!" twisting from side to side, moaning in pleasure. “Haa, hmmm, aah!”

“Don’t worry about how much you can take. Cause it’s not up to you.”

You rise onto your elbows so that you can look upon his face. Because reactions like these really need to be seen to be understood.

“Alright cyar’ika, you’re going to fuck my mouth while I finger you.” It’s not open for debate. “I want to feel your cock throbbing in my mouth. And then, you’re going to swallow every last drop.”

“Annngh!” he cries out as every muscle in his abdomen contracts at once, pushing your fingers out with the force of his surging climax.

“That was almost a word,” you say sarcastically.

“I will,” he groans.

“Do you love eating come, cyar’ika?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

He submits. “I love eating come.”

With a satisfied smile, you take him into your mouth and begin to suck. He’s so huge that you can barely use your tongue, but you bob your head, doing the best you can while pushing your fingers back inside him.

“Fuck, right there. Holy shit, right there.” With each stroke, you alternate softening your touch when sucking harder, pressing harder when you lick slowly. “Oh shit, that feels so fucking good.”

Mando’s free hand cups the back of your head, fingers threading in your hair, and he starts thrusting. His girth forces you to open your jaw all the way, the velvety head of his cock sliding into your throat so that you can hardly draw breath.

“Maker, I love it when you take me deep.”

He fills you all the way to your throat. You gag around him, but he just keeps going. “That’s it…” The Mandalorian thrusts in harder as he tugs on your hair. “Choke on my cock.”

Okay, he’s maybe reclaiming too much dominance, but you’ve no urge to check him. Let him have this! He’s earned it.

You suck harder, massage your fingers faster inside him. Salty come slicks the inside of your mouth, moistening your lips. You brace an elbow against his leg—his thigh muscles rock-hard with tension and use your other hand to start working him, twisting your fist around him with every stroke, pumping his cock.

“Fuck! Yes! Fuck that’s perfect. Don’t change anything. Keep sucking my cock. Don’t stop. Fuck! Please don’t fucking stop. Nnngh!” 

You feel every vein, every throb. The combined sensation of your hand, mouth, and fingers is too much for him. He shouts out your name, and then he comes, filling your mouth with each hot, salty spurt. You hold it under your tongue, saving it for him.

“Keeping sucking. Aah, aah, aah. I’m gonna come again. Fuck I’m going to fill your mouth with come. Haa-aah.” 

You marvel at the bulge of his calf muscles as he digs his heels into the mattress, vaulting his hips off the bed. He lets out a stream of incomprehensible words. Prayers—profanity—you have no idea. You really should learn more Mando’a. 

The bounty hunter collapses back onto the pillows, still shuddering through every wave of incomparable pleasure. Crawling up his body, swaying your hips, you grip his face tightly between your fingers, forcing his jaw open with your thumb. Then, you gather the well of his come onto your tongue and spit it into his open mouth.

“Say thank you,” you lean forward and purr into his ear teasingly. But it’s the wrong thing to say.

“Red.”

The Mandalorian slips his other wrist free from the binding and grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you back onto the bed underneath him. Panic floods your body. Is he going to hurt you? Some men become angry after realizing how much they enjoy something others tell them to be ashamed of. Some men make masculinity into a prison.

Tears well behind your eyes. You don’t want to be brutalized by this man you care for so deeply. But he gathers you into his arms and kisses your hair. 

“Fuck, woman, you sucked me dry.”

You feel hot teardrops pooling against your neck. Not yours—they’re his. He’d come so hard he was crying. “Hold me,” he pleads, and your arms spring up to wrap around him. Nestling his forehead against your shoulder, you stroke up and down the length of his spine while his body shudders, saying nothing as he chokes back sobs.

“I feel empty,” he says, finally breaking through the silence. “Not hollow…but like…there’s nothing inside me, no tension left in my body. It just…exists.” The Mandalorian’s voice is so profoundly contemplative. “Is this what being relaxed feels like?”

You both stare at each other before bursting into hysterical laughter. You fall onto the pillows, the laughter trailing off, only to rise again out of the silence. Mando laughs until his body seems to ache, until he collapses back, limp and wrung out, glistening with sweat.

You let your head fall onto his chest, listening to the hard rasp of his breathing.

“Can you go again?” he asks, whispering into your ear. And fuck, if that doesn’t nearly set you off again.

“Don’t tempt me,” you laugh. Your voice is hoarse from all the screaming—and taking his cock down your throat.

“I’m not tempting,” he says somberly against your hair. “I’m giving. I want to give it to you sweet.”

You drape an arm over him and prop your chin up against the back of your hand. “Sweet can be a little kinky.” 

“Part of me wants you to bite me hard enough to leave a scar…so that every time I look down, I’d remember how wild you got, riding my cock. Your wet cunt of midnight. But…please,” he sighs, brushing the tendrils of sweat-soaked hair from your face. “Please. I need to be sweet.”

“Whatever you need, Mando.”

“I know you know my name,” he whispers against your temple. “I want to hear you say it.”

You turn your head to look at him. “I want to give you everything, Djarin. Everything you need.”

The mask hides his eyes, but you feel them searching your soul for answers.

“I need you,” he says. “You’re what I need. ”

-----------

Until next time...

[genderqueerdykes]

Do you have like, some nice words?

Like I’m just so tired of how constant tme/tma speak is on my dash. Posts about how transfems should leave friend groups of “tmes” because they will inevitably be bigots

Why are half the popular transfems on this site horribly transphobic in their own right the moment a transmasc dares exist in their vicinity

Sorry I’m basically just venting in your inbox, thank you for being a breath of fresh air

i'm sorry you're dealing with this. it's natural to be worn down by this behavior, it's literal transphobia and intersexism and people just don't seem to care.

the tme/tma (transmisogyny exempt/transmisogyny affected) binary doesn't work. the issue is that in real life, most queerphobes you come across are assuming you are a trans woman. the average person associates the concept of transness with transfemininity on average, unless they personally know some transmascs or trans men, or are one. it's very rare to find a stranger who gets it. every time i come out to a stranger, they immediately switch to she/her pronouns, call me ma'am/miss/girl/etc., and ask what my "real" name is. it's really weird

transmasculine invisibility is a genuine issue offline. certain pockets of the internet are obsessed with hating trans men but that doesn't mean that the vast majority of people in the offline world know a damn thing about any of this. i do not ever have anyone understand that i mean i'm transmasculine when i say im trans. as i'm transmasc and transfem i don't really challenge it, but it sucks that people have one assumption and one only.

it happens with other queers. i moved in with a bunch of perisex trans femmes and was dating one for a while and flirting with a few others. my other roommate was a perisex cis gay man. i was the only intersex person who was there at the time, and i think a very small handful of others were around regularly, so there was a high chance that people should've been pretty informed about the existence of intersex identities. i know some people who came around pretty often were intersex, at least from my memory

the second people found out about my physical anatomy, they switched how they treated me. everyone thought i had a penis for some reason? and were made wildly uncomfortable upon finding out about it. when i revealed that i'm intersex & genderqueer, and that i'm bigender: a trans man, and a trans woman all hell broke loose suddenly nobody knew what to think or feel or anything.

people honest to god just defaulted to misgendering me.

and treating me like i was stupid as fuck.

this was the hardest part. i was being treated like i was dumb as HELL and it frustrated me to no end.

my emotions were "too much". i kept getting told i was too needy or whiny or possessive or that i needed too much of sometimes time or that i was touching the wrong things around the house. i kept being criticized for moving objects that impacted an environment i was allowed to work at. i was criticized for organizing a bookshelf i was asked to organize. i was ridiculed and insulted. my roommate and a girl who was flirting with me questioned my dissociative identity disorder, which i have plenty of medical records spanning back to 2017 from various doctors in various states and hospitals showing my diagnostic history with dissociation and dissociative disorders, and he also questioned my schizophrenia when i have records dating back to 2015 showing my history with severe psychotic episodes and the development of schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type

i was no longer the arbiter of my own lived experience because everyone found out i didn't have a penis. i'm a vagina haver so i'm stupid. i'm dumb. i'm a cis woman. i'm faking. i'm not actually a man. well i am a man. i'm evil.

i'm breaking this silence on this garbage. it's time stop treating trans men and mascs this way. we're real people. we have real experiences. we are also being talked over. it really is possible to speak over us. it's happening right now. it doesn't need to. trans men talking about how we don't need to be seen this way isn't hurting trans women. we're being misgendered. we're being hurt by transandrophobic and misogynstic behavior. one does not need to hurt trans men in order to heal from one's own trauma with manhood. it won't help. it doesn't do anything

this is such a goddamn long ask but i wanted to thank you for this because your honesty and bluntness is what's needed right now. thank you to every trans man and transmasc speaking up about this right now. please feel free to send your own experiences with this because it's over. i'm not humoring it. i'm going to keep talking about it until people calm down and understand that conversations have multiple participants

i now more than ever want to actually focus on uplifting transmasculinity and trans men. i have been forcing myself to try to focus on a broader range of topics to avoid backlash but let's not start 2025 thinking we have to do this anymore. we literally don't. it's over. trans women are allowed to talk about the struggles we face. always and forever. but a trans man talking about their own experience is not an attack on you. and sometimes a trans man will give you criticism. and sometimes... you have to take it.

sometimes you have to take a trans man's criticism.

you really, really do.

and it's not the end of the world.

if a trans man tells you you're talking over them, you really should actually stop and step backwards and reassess what you said to them. you may have done it on accident. actually listen before you keep talking. if a trans man tells you they have a health condition, listen. don't participate in this behavior. there's literally no reason to think that trans men and mascs are too stupid to articulate our own experiences. it's ridiculous. that's how society treats women- you don't want to be treated that way! please don't do it to other people, especially people you view as women...

anyway i hope that this helps in any way. i'm just tired of this shit. i'm happy to start 2025 by completely and totally breaking the silence on transmasculine and trans male erasure. join me. we're not doing this shit anymore. we're starting this year off being more compassionate. we're starting off this year accepting that manhood isn't what has traumatized any of us, it's toxic masculinity, it's patriarchy, it's specific men. let's ditch this shit

[markantonys]

I can't remember what Rafe has hinted/what has been leaked/what you've speculated re Matt getting the Ashandarei. On a personal level I really don't give that much of a fuck if he gets a "real" Ashandarei or keeps his DIY dagger-and-spear version from s2, but at this point I want him to get the book version ASAP just so the bookcloaks will stop bellyaching about it.

yeah i don't know if we've had any hints one way or the other! all i can think of is there was an interview with the production designer and he mentioned that it was important to get the design of the DIY spear right because it's the weapon mat will be using "for the rest of the series" but then later in the same interview he said it was the weapon mat will be using "for the rest of the season" so i didn't get a definitive sense on whether he actually meant it would be mat's weapon for the show's entire run or whether he only meant that it was an important spotlit prop for this particular episode (plus english isn't his first language so idk how much stock to put in his precise word choice of series vs. season. heck i think even native english speakers use them differently depending on region, thinking about how taskmaster calls it "series 1" "series 2" etc where an american show would use "season 1" "season 2" instead).

so yeah, i'm not sure what to predict myself! i could see it falling into the same category as what you (i think it was you) were saying about mat's ancient memories, where the show clearly made it so that he got them already from the horn and it's silly for reddit to be expecting him to get them from the finn next season. maybe this is a situation where he got his ashandarei already and it's silly to predict he'll get another, different one next season. on the other hand, the DIY spear wasn't as obvious a substitute as the hero memories, so it's a grayer area. back to the first hand, iirc the bedpost he used IS carved with ravens, which feels like kind of a giveaway that this is indeed THE Ashandarei™ since that's the design it has, unless they only designed the DIY one the same way as easter-egg-y foreshadowing.

back to the second hand, mat still needs to get his medallion. but back to the first, he doesn't have to receive them together, so maybe medallion + answers are his only finn gifts, or maybe he picks up the medallion from the tanchico museum (no reason it can't just be a ter'angreal artifact already lying around in this realm of existence) and only gets answers from the finn. i'm also not even completely sure mat needs the medallion at all if Hating Channelers isn't an entire personality trait of show!mat lmao but it IS such an iconic part of his whole Look that i don't see why they wouldn't include it.

overall, i too don't care either way! i remember i made a post a while back that was like "i can't believe people are actually worried that mat won't get his real ashandarei, come on guys do you think he'll be using a DIY spear for the entire show? be serious" so if he actually does use a DIY spear for the entire show i will be embarrassingly humbled yet again jdkfjg but in my defense, the thing i thought was absurd about that was "mat using a knife taped to a stick as his permanent weapon", it was the unstable temporary craftsmanship that was absurd to me, not the general idea of him making his ashandarei himself rather than being gifted it. all we need is a 3x01 scene of perrin properly blacksmithing knife & stick together (doubling as a good mat-perrin solo bonding scene) and my sole objection would be resolved!

there's also the question of the dagger. would it narratively work for the dagger to be stuck with mat for the rest of the show? i thiiiiiink it would, because rand's already been stabbed, i think fain's already been corrupted, and i kinda doubt they'd bother with elaida's corruption because she's already got enough internal & external factors to make her do crimes without also needing to be corrupted by mashadar. so maybe mat can retain custody of the dagger forever now if no one else needs to come into contact with it. but if not, they could have perrin fashion a new, normal spearhead and weld it onto the stick.

in conclusion, now that i've pictured perrin helping turn DIY Knifestick into a proper permanent weapon, i want it so badly! i want mat's signature weapon to be imbued with the power of friendship and homoerotic stabbings!

[ugh-yoongi]

the great british fake-off | xmh

you thought the guy in the hawaiian-print shirt who seems physically incapable of being quiet would be the most annoying person here, so imagine your shock when it's xu minghao, who has seemingly decided you're the enemy and keeps sabotaging you. a baking competition for charity might have others on their best behavior, but what's a little sugar without some spice?

❆ pairing: minghao x reader ❆ genre: great british bake-off, holiday au; crack, fluff ❆ wordcount: 5.5k ❆ rating: e for everyone ❆ warnings: some swearing, minghao is a saboteur, idiots abound. ❆ credits: this netflix psd template for the banner. this recipe for the yule log; this recipe for the gingerbread house; and this recipe for the entremet. divider from here. this post for the divider. this was roughly edited by me, so any and all mistakes are my own. ❆ written for: the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories as they're posted. ♡ ❆ author's note: i had this rotting away in my wips since literally 2021, so even though it started as a completely different story, i'm so glad it's finally seeing the light of day even if it's not what i originally intended. (also, i know the banner says 12 contestants but the holiday specials only had a couple, okay. i forgot when i made it and i wasn't going back to fix it.)

The obnoxious one is wearing an aloha-print shirt.

He’s also extremely loud, his raucous, fake laughter filling every corner of the large warehouse you’ve been assigned to for filming. Makes a show of batting his eyelashes, throwing his head back every time someone cracks a joke that’s not even funny, comes up with nonsensical nicknames for the entire crew just to suck up to them.

“John Davies? Mind if I call you Joe?”

Joe doesn’t even make sense as a nickname for John, but John fucking loves it, apparently. Looks at the annoying guy like he just watched him string the stars in the sky.

But it’s the shirt—god, the shirt drives you absolutely crazy. He’s about to go on national television, be a household name, and some ill-fitting, charity shop Hawaiian print shirt is what he woke up and chose to wear. What’s his angle here? Appeal to the public with some sob story about only being able to afford second-hand clothes so that’s why he’s competing? Needs the money to care for a sick relative?

(The expensive watch on his wrist and his limited-drop sneakers tell an entirely different story, but you’re keeping that to yourself for now. No reason to play your hand so early.)

As much as you hate the shirt, you have to admit it suits him. The colors are garish and unsightly, just as obnoxious as he is, and you can’t stare at it too long because you start going cross-eyed. Looking at him feels about the same as stuffing your mouth with a bunch of sour candies: you get that same burn in the back of your jaw, same scrunched-up, grossed-out look on your face; have to squeeze your eyes shut to blink back tears.

You don’t even know his name, but you hate him immediately.

Your eyes scan the other contestants. None of them inspire the same level of animosity within you as the annoying one does; all of them nearly unremarkable. A variety of ages, appearances, backgrounds. You hear one say they’re a retired investment banker. There’s an accountant, a teacher, a fucking aerospace engineer.

And then it’s his turn to introduce himself. He clears his throat, speaks with an easy, practiced confidence. Completely void of nerves. Makes eye contact with everyone in your conversation circle. Gesticulates wildly as he speaks, immediately endears everyone to him.

“I’m Tim,” he says, and you nearly recoil at how honeyed his voice is. “But you can call me Tim. I’m thirty-eight, originally from a small town. Work as a…”

You can barely stand to listen to it anymore, each “Nice to meet you, Tim!” like another punch to the gut. How can’t these people see right through him? How are they falling for his bullshit? You should’ve known. Producers always throw in at least one bomb to up the ratings—a secret millionaire, someone rude and confrontational, a flat-earther. Even if you’re competing in a charity baking competition, of all things, it’s still reality television at the end of the day.

Just because the bunch of you are going to spend the next few days creating confections out of sugar, spice, and everything nice, doesn’t mean you have to be part of that ‘everything.’

Tim thinks he’s got this in the bag. Thinks he’s going to show up and win easily, the rest of you be damned, and even if you are typically a very nice person, you’re also highly competitive. There’ll be no rolling over done by you, and if Tim wants to play dirty—

Game on.

As you introduce yourself, you feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. Probably because you don’t bother with the faux-humility the rest of the contestants have. Polite and charming but firm, just the way your mother had taught you. You’re not boisterous, don’t crack silly jokes to play up to the cameras the way Tim loves to do, and you know he’s scrutinizing you the way you’d done to him, trying to figure out your angle.

Well, joke’s on him—you don’t need one.

And you really, really hope it drives him crazy.

Except maybe the joke is on you, too, because you don’t account for Xu Minghao.

In true reality television fashion, the tent is boiling hot.

As if the universe itself had looked down on all of you and decided what you all needed was a heatwave uncharacteristic of this time of year, just to up the ante. Not even ten minutes in the tent and you’re all fanning yourselves and wafting air up your shirts. Which is great, really, because it isn’t like you need to use ovens or stand over hot burners. It’s not like you aren’t going to be soaking through your clothes with anxiety sweats, either! Sweat dripping off your brow into your eyes won’t matter because you don’t need to use them.

Everything’s going to be fine!

But everything is not fine. Not only has the universe gifted you with sweltering heat, it’s given you the work station directly next to Tim’s. You’ll have to feel his annoying, off-putting aura near you for the entire competition. There’s always the possibility of him bungling it and making an early exit, but you know that’s unlikely. Obnoxious he may be, you also know a strong opponent when you see one, and something tells you you’re going to be stuck with him for the long haul.

Think of the cats, you tell yourself. All of this is for the cats.

It’s not like you never would’ve returned here of your own volition. No, your first go-round with feel-good, competition-based reality television had gone fine. You hadn’t won, of course, because you wouldn’t be here again if you had, but you placed respectably in the top three. Became a fan favorite, too, which was arguably more lucrative than winning. People make a living on social media these days.

So, it’s not the competition itself that has you white-knuckled gripping onto the edge of your station. It’s the man at the one beside you, cracking all these stupid jokes about the weather and how it’s a horrible day for tempering chocolate, so he bets that’s going to be the first challenge!

You suck in a deep breath. Try to remember the breathing exercises from that one yoga class your sister had dragged you to. It had been about the same temperature then, too—well duh, it’s hot yoga, your sister had said, which was news to you, because you never would’ve signed up for something called hot yoga willingly. Still, you endured it, just like you’ll endure this, and a little sweat is not going to get in the way of you delivering a check to all those poor, sad cats without families.

“Psst, hey,” you hear from behind you. When you turn, a man is smirking at you as he finishes tying his apron around his waist—has to wrap the strings around twice, you notice, because only someone hand-picked by the gods themselves would have that shoulder-to-waist ratio.

You don’t really recognize him. Can’t recall his name or where he’s from; can’t remember what he mentioned doing for a living. Probably something artsy, if you had to guess—he definitely has the style and demeanor of a creative, with his trendy shag-mullet and the multicolored, glitter-y snowflakes decorating his nails.

You aren’t sure he introduced himself at all, but the confidence with which he holds himself—easy, like it’d take a national emergency to rattle him even a little—implies he doesn’t really have to. Most of the people here already know him, if you had to guess, and he gives the impression that he’s not fussed with impressing any of them.

If only Tim was so inclined.

You clear your throat, vaguely aware you need to respond. “Yeah?”

“Are you nervous?”

“Ah, I don’t think so? We’ve done this before, after all. We should be seasoned veterans by now.”

He smirks. “Should be,” he emphasizes. “Feels different when it’s for charity. Extra serious, you know?”

“Right,” you agree, taking a look around the tent. “Anything for the cats.”

There’s an immediate shift in the atmosphere. What was friendly and carefree is now tense; where a smile and a floral giggle sat on the man’s lips has been replaced with a crooked scowl. And it doesn’t make sense, all you’d done was agree with what he said, but then the producers are yelling something at the front of the tent, cameramen are rushing to their equipment, and a woman appears at your side and starts clipping equipment to your clothes, and there’s no time to question it. On your right, Tim’s laughing and joking around with some crew members like they’re old drinking buddies. It drives you nuts, has annoyance pricking at your skin, flushing your cheeks—

So much so that the woman at your side leans in and asks, “Should I get hair and makeup over here?”

“I—no, it’s fine.”

The unnecessary members of the production team scatter away after a loud countdown. Hair and makeup don’t come to wipe the sweat tracks from your skin. You already know Man Behind You is standing there looking perfect because he’s equally as attractive as he is mysterious. God truly has favorites, and this guy somehow made the top five.

You stare down at the instructions in front of you, confident in your ability to read but not so confident in your ability to make sense of any of it. And it’s your own recipe, which is the worst part. You’d typed this recipe yourself. These are your hand-written notes in the margins. You’ve conceptualized, tweaked, baked, and eaten this recipe more times than you can count, and now all you can do is thousand-yard-stare into the ether.

In the time since you were on the show, you’d somehow forgotten about the chaos. Not unlike that hormone women have that makes them forget about the pain and agony of childbirth, you reckon.

In addition to being one of the most bothersome people in history, Tim apparently doubles as a prophet.

Because it is a terrible day to temper chocolate, and you’ve got a bûche de Noël on the horizon that requires you to do so. You can pivot, maybe make some kind of buttercream, but a basic chocolate buttercream is not going to win you a world-renowned baking competition even if it is Swiss meringue. A child could make that.

You sigh. Push that wave of panic to the back of your mind. In a setting like this, you have approximately ten seconds to come up with a back-up plan and execute it and you wasted your time thinking, so you’re just going to have to temper the stupid chocolate and stick to your original plan. God, you have a headache.

But the show must go on, so you do too.

Step 1: Preheat the oven.

Easy enough. If nothing else, you can preheat an oven.

Step 2: Make the sponge.

Not as easy, but you’ve made so many sponge cakes throughout your life you could probably do it in your sleep. Whisk attachment on the stand mixer. Four eggs. Sugar meticulously weighed and added to the bowl. Sugar and eggs whisked together until the mixture is the color and consistency you’re looking for. Flour, cocoa powder, and salt sifted in. Metal spoon to fold it all together as delicately as possible. You won’t have a sponge cake if you beat all the air out of it, now will you?

“Good enough,” you mutter to yourself, staring down at the bowl.

At least you’d had the foresight to grease and line your baking tray, because the entire entourage arrives at your station just as you’re meant to be pouring the batter into it and sticking it in the oven.

“Ah, we meet again,” the group choruses, genuine smiles peeking through as if you’re old friends separated only by time and distance.

That’s the weird thing about being on television. For as long as you’re able, you exist within a microcosm of daily life. A world exists outside of your bubble, you know, but you don’t see much proof of it. All of your meals are eaten together; all of your conversations are had with one another. You share temporary living quarters and oftentimes too much of yourselves, and you’re thankful the show encourages teamwork and kindness because that’s the kind of thing that can grow sour if you leave it unchecked too long.

And then it just—ends.

Bubble burst, you all go back to your regular lives. You look back on that time fondly, but the friendships are thinned out by time and distance. Eventually it all starts to feel like a dream, except every now and then something breaks through the haze to remind you it actually happened: a stranger recognizing you at the store, a message on social media, the casting team contacting you to ask if you’d be interested in competing in a holiday special for charity.

“We certainly do,” you retort, smile matching everyone else’s.

All things considered, you are happy to be back. Even if the tent is crowded and far too warm, the atmosphere is unmatched, especially when it’s decorated for the holidays.

“What are you working on?”

You explain the general workings of your yule log: chocolate sponge, hazelnut liqueur cream filling, and chocolate icing to top it off. You aren’t sure how you’re going to decorate it yet—you’ll figure it out once you get there, depending on how much time you have—but you guarantee them it’ll look festive and professional.

Satisfied with your plan, they wish you luck and move on to the man behind you. It’s so great to see you again, Minghao, someone says, and you’re grateful they’ve spared you the embarrassment of having to ask for his name. It still doesn’t ring a bell, and you can’t recall what season he’d been on for the life of you, but he speaks with a patience and a gentleness that is so unlike Tim that you nearly drop to the floor in thanks.

But as the commotion of the tent reminds you, you don’t have time to waste thinking about Minghao. You’ve only been given an hour for your signature, and you’re going to need all sixty of those minutes if you have any hopes of presenting a finished product.

It doesn’t register at first.

It doesn’t register at second or third, either.

In fact, you’re sure you’re hallucinating when you open the oven door to pop the sponge inside and you aren’t hit with a blast of hot air. Room temperature. Perhaps a bit on the cooler side, if you’re being honest.

And that can’t be, because you know you preheat your oven. It was the first thing you did, because it’s always the first thing you do. It’s just… automatic, like opening your mouth to eat or washing between your toes in the shower. Instinctual. Not something that needs to even be considered, because it’s always the first thing you do.

No, this cannot be. Forgetting to preheat the oven is a rookie mistake and you’re not a rookie.

…Could it be?

Perhaps you were so caught up in the lights and buzz, the thrill of returning to the tent, that it had slipped your mind? Perhaps you’d pressed the wrong buttons and turned the wrong dials? While it’s not likely you’d somehow bumped into the oven and turned it off, nothing is impossible, so… maybe?

“Shit,” you hiss through your teeth. The producers are not going to be happy about your swearing. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Everything okay up there?” Minghao asks from behind you. When you turn, he’s got a flour-dusted towel thrown over his shoulder as he nurses a cup of tea, and his composure in the face of your hysteria has your head spinning.

Your mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. Minghao is drinking tea without a care in the world and your oven isn’t even halfway to the temperature you need. “I—yes? No? I don’t know. I could’ve sworn I preheated the oven, but—”

“Don’t panic,” he offers, his top lip catching on the rim of his mug. “You got this. Work on something else while you wait.”

Something else. Right, you can work on something else. Both the filling and the frosting still have to be made, and quick mental math tells you there should just be enough time to get everything done if you’re efficient. Of course, that’s a big if, but that’s why you’d chosen a yule log, after all: sponge cake doesn’t need that long to bake, and anything can happen (and go wrong) in this tent.

So, you get to work on something else. Measure out a sheet of parchment paper, dust it with cocoa powder, and set it to the side. Decide to get to work on the frosting, because if one thing has already gone wrong, you don’t trust the universe to let you temper chocolate correctly.

The chocolate is halfway melted when the oven dings. A small harrumph of victory and you’re finally good to go, setting a timer for twelve minutes. Minghao offers you a discreet thumbs-up, fingers covered in something sticky you assume is marzipan.

Time flies after that. You get both the frosting and your filling made, and it’s only through divine intervention that your sponge cake comes out perfectly and with enough time to score and cool. When you dare a look around the room, everyone seems to be in a similar position as you: frazzled and covered in powdered sugar, making frantic trips to and from the refrigerators, chucking seized-up caramel into the trash and starting over for the third time with a pained expression.

A holiday special—it was supposed to be more laid-back, more for the vibes and festivity than actual competition, but it looks to you like everyone’s taking it just as seriously as your first go-rounds.

“Fifteen minutes!” someone calls, and your competitors fade out of focus. You’ve got a yule log to ice and fondant to roll out.

You make it by the skin of your teeth.

It isn’t perfect, of course, as few things on this show ever are, but it’s more than acceptable. It looks great and tastes even better which is all you can hope for. Much to your dismay, Tim also gets top marks, but it’s Minghao that shocks you all. His stollen wreath earns him a handshake and a lot of clandestine, private glares, but he’d been kind to you earlier, helped untangle that knot of pandemonium, so you return the thumbs-up he’d given you earlier with a smile that feels akin to getting away with murder.

Something is wrong.

On its own, this is not necessarily surprising. Gingerbread, tasked with bearing the weight of an entire house, can be fickle. On any other day you wouldn’t blame it if it wanted to rebel and go sideways, but the thing is—you’ve made gingerbread before. Tons of times. Another thing you could probably make in your sleep if you absolutely had to. So it doesn’t make sense when you look down in your mixing bowl and it just… doesn’t look right.

You tell yourself it’ll get better when you knead it. Maybe the color just looks off because it’s underworked, and a few good punches will set it straight.

But it doesn’t. The dough sits at your station like a sad, formless lump, giving you no indication it intends to become anything at all. Which is, admittedly, a problem. Your technical challenge is to build a gingerbread house—one complete with little windows and golden-toned nightlights, a scalloped roof dusted with powdered sugar to look like fresh snow, a working door!—and you’re far from an engineer, but you don’t think you can have a gingerbread house without gingerbread.

You sneak a peek at Tim’s station, where he’s well into measuring an immaculate-looking dough with a ruler. The contestant in front of you is in a similar place, too, so it’s with an oh fuck I’m doomed sigh that you turn around and hope to find a comrade in Minghao again.

“Hey,” you whisper, trying not to draw attention to yourself. “Does this look right to you?” You jerk a thumb in the direction of your dough-lump. Minghao, bless him, looks around you and tries his best to hide his grimace.

He does not succeed.

“Um. Well, no.”

You sigh. Place one flour-dusted hand on your waist and pinch the bridge of your nose with the other. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. I’ve made gingerbread a million times.”

“Looks pale,” he offers. Of course, this is the exact moment he dumps his own dough—his beautiful dough, flawless chestnut brown—onto his station to knead it. “Was the sugar right?”

A strangled, disbelieving laugh escapes you. Was the sugar right—of course the sugar was right! Dark muscovado sugar. Everyone knows that's what you use for gingerbread, so of course the sugar was right because no one, both in their right mind and at this stage of competition, would use anything else.

Before you can respond, Minghao’s pointing at your jar of sugar. Your jar of pale, producer-supplied sugar, which even a blind person could tell does not resemble dark muscovado sugar.

A million thoughts race through your head at once, but it boils down to instinct, you think. Your brain had seen flour, butter, and sugar and went into baking mode, not stopping to take in the color of anything. Maybe a smarter, more perceptive person would put two and two together and get sabotage, but you don’t have enough time to play detective.

“Here, here,” Minghao says, hurriedly handing over his (correct) sugar. “It’ll be close, but you should have just enough time to redo the dough.”

You’re going to throw up.

In the end, a chunk of chocolate buttons is missing from the roof and the piping around the edges is far from your neatest work, but it’s passable. You already lamented your loss during the signature bake, because anything less than perfection was not going to win you much of anything, and you’re now 0-for-2 on showstopping, unbelievable, awe-inspiring confections.

Just like the devil, your fall from grace will be studied.

Overthinking isn’t going to get you anywhere, but you can’t help it.

You collapse sideways into a chair, immediately face-planting into the catering table. Everyone else buzzes around you—animated conversations that have your head spinning, words that jumble together and start to sound like nothing at all—but you’re a million miles away. One mistake is out of character for you, but two? It’s unheard of. Something you would’ve said was impossible if it didn’t happen to you just a few hours ago.

This is something you need to file away for later so you can think about it just as you’re about to fall asleep, horror and embarrassment there to keep you company when it keeps you awake until the wee hours of the morning.

A chill runs down your spine.

“Hi. Do you mind?” You startle. Bang your knee on the underside of the table. “Sorry,” Minghao apologizes, but he doesn’t look sorry at all. You shake your head. Gesture to the empty seat across from you as if to say it’s all yours. “I brought you some tea,” he continues, setting it in front of you. “I find it’s easier than coffee when you don’t know how someone takes theirs. Less chance of getting it wrong.”

You smile. Wrap your hands around the Styrofoam cup and delight in the warmth. “Thank you. This was very kind of you.”

“Seemed like you had a rough day.”

Groaning, you try to wave away his words. “Please don’t speak of it.” Minghao jokingly salutes you before miming his lips sealed. “Anyway. Let’s talk about something that is not reality television or baking or a reality baking competition.”

So, you do. Most of the talking comes from you, to be fair, but Minghao is a good listener: nods along, chimes in when appropriate, keeps the spit in his mouth where it belongs. You talk about your hometown and what made you apply for the show the first time. He tells you about growing up in Haicheng and all the things he grew up baking with his mother. You swap stories from your respective seasons; Minghao shares anecdotes with a straight face that have you clutching at your stomach.

Hours pass this way, and you end the night feeling like you’ve made an honest-to-god friend.

Xu Minghao ends the night feeling the guilt weigh him down like an albatross.

In retrospect, it is probably a bad idea to make another sponge, but no one can accuse you of learning from your mistakes.

“It’ll be a patterned joconde sponge with two mousse layers—chocolate and raspberry—and a raspberry jelly. Then I’m going to attempt to top it with chocolate and raspberry decorations.” The judges blink. Are you sure that’s a good idea? you know they want to ask, but this is a holiday competition for charity, so they’re trying not to be pessimists. “Anything is possible through holiday cheer,” you tack on, hoping your smile doesn’t look crazed.

They nod. “Right, right,” they say in unison. “Well, good luck!”

And then they’re off.

Determined to nail this, you triple-check your oven, which is preheating to a crisp 400 degrees; you double-check all your ingredients and confirm they’re correct; when you can spare the time, you watch your refrigerator like a hawk, making sure no one tries to sneak their own work in there and displace yours when you aren’t looking, but everyone’s engrossed in their respective showstoppers.

Tim’s planning a shadow box of sorts, with blown-sugar baubles and isomalt fire. Someone else is stressing over their three-tiered cake, asking the presenter if they think they’ve taken on too much. From what you can piece together, Minghao is making a three-dimensional house, also made from cake that he imported special pistachios for.

“Special pistachios?”

“Mm, from Iran. They have a better color.”

“Iranian pistachios! Can you believe it!”

But you don’t have time to worry about Minghao and his special Iranian pistachios. You have so much to do and not enough time to complete it. Your paste is in the freezer and the sponge is in the oven, but you’ve still got two mousses to make, a jelly to infuse, and little chocolate trees to create—and all of this wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t pointless, but you don’t want to disappoint the cats by half-assing it. They deserve your whole ass, and your whole ass is what they’re going to get.

The result is stunning—not necessarily in stature, but rather craftsmanship and effort. This is what you’re capable of. This is why you came back to the tent. For all your complaining and wanting to put your head through a concrete wall, there’s nothing like seeing the judges ooh and ahh when you present your work to them. There’s nothing like the ego boost of someone taking a bite and watching their eyes light up. There’s nothing like carrying your cake back to your station feeling proud of yourself.

“Great job,” Minghao says, a genuine smile stretched across his face. He also exceeds expectations, of course. Must be those special pistachios, you think, but your congratulations are also sincere.

Production makes a spectacle of judging, much like they always do.

The set is decorated to look like a winter wonderland, even though you’re still in the midst of autumn: a giant Christmas tree in the center decked to the nines with garland and baubles; warm, golden bulbs strung from every awning they could find; all the participants bundled up tight in festive sweaters and scarves all the way to your chins, cheeks and tips of noses dusted with red-pink blush to mimic the cold that’s nowhere to be found. Fake snow falls from the sky, and it doesn’t feel real, but it does feel magical.

One of the hosts catches you by the elbow, asks who you think is going to win. “Oh, I’d have to say Minghao,” you answer, because you’d rather die than give Tim the satisfaction. “His showstopper was incredible, but he was really great the whole competition.”

In the end, however, neither of them wins—it’s Jeon Wonwoo, three-tiered cake guy, who comes out of nowhere to claim first place. He’s bashful as he accepts his prize and says he’s going to donate the prize money to an organization that provides underprivileged kids with video game equipment. No one has a whole lot to say about that.

Once most of the hubbub dies down (and you give Tim a half-assed you did great, so sorry you didn’t win), you find Minghao near the refreshments table. He’s frowning around another mug of tea. “Alright?” you ask, helping yourself to some cider.

“For some reason, I’m no longer feeling very festive,” he replies, which is a very funny thing to say while wearing a hat with a little pom-pom on the top.

You roll your lips to keep from laughing. Sidle in a little closer and knock his shoulder with your own. “Ah, I know how you feel, but you really did do great. You were my pick to win, for what it’s worth.”

“Please don’t tell me that. It only makes me feel worse for losing.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “Would’ve been nice to donate some money to the cats, but shit, if I didn’t know better, I would’ve sworn some dark force was sabotaging me. Like, come on—forgetting to preheat the oven? Using the wrong sugar? Not even a kid would’ve made those mistakes.”

Two things happen in rapid succession: beside you, Minghao goes very, very stiff, and you realize you had been sabotaged. And not by some dark, evil force, either. You were sabotaged by the very man standing beside you—the man you shared thumbs-up with and thought was your friend. The man whose cake you complimented and picked to win. The man who is now standing ramrod straight, as tense as a corpse, and the thought of sabotaging someone in a charity baking competition is so ridiculous and unbelievable that you just—

You just laugh.

At first, it’s a bark of stunned laughter. Then, the more it sinks in how absurd, how nonsensical all of this is, you can’t stop. Tears are rolling down your cheeks. You gasp for breath as your stomach begins to ache. People are staring, including Minghao, who sort of can’t believe what he’s seeing, but none of it does anything to deter you.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, “I can’t believe it was you—”

Minghao groans. “In my defense, it was for the cats!”

This was not the answer you were expecting. It makes you laugh harder. “What do you mean it was for the cats?”

He swallows. Removes the mitten from one hand to run it through his hair as if that one tic was enough to distract you from everything that’s happened in the last sixty seconds. (It is.) “Listen, you told me you were going to donate the money to a cat charity if you won and I just—so was I, was the thing. I was also going to donate the money to a cat charity if I won—”

“Okay, but which one, though?”

“The Cat’s Paw-jamas.” Much to Minghao’s horror, this sets you off again. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Minghao,” you try to choke out, but you can barely breathe around the cramp in your stomach. “Minghao, that’s the charity I was going to donate to. Oh my god, you sabotaged me and I was going to donate to—to the same fucking place. Jesus Christ, this is some Gift of the Magi shit.”

Your saboteur, who has gone deathly pale, is quiet for a very long time. Every now and then he’ll open his mouth like he’s going to say something before it snaps shut again. When he does manage to speak, what comes out are mangled apologies that sound like gibberish, and you wave all of them away. “It’s water under the bridge.”

“I—I really don’t think it should be?”

“Minghao, it’s fine, trust me, this was just for fun—”

“No, I really insist.”

You sigh, good-natured and exasperated. Something about the fake snow has you feeling romantic and a little bold, so you turn, grab him by the lapels of his coat. “Please tell me if I’m misreading this, but if you insist, maybe you can start by taking me to dinner…?”

This was clearly not what MInghao was expecting you to say. Dazed, he recovers quickly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a half-smirk. “Dinner, hm?” You nod. “I think I can manage that.”

You smile. “Great. How do you feel about cat cafes?”

[beef-brisket]

Adam laughed as he exited the party, waving to a few of the guests. In all of his years in Heaven, he never thought he'd enjoy parties. That's not saying Heaven didn't have any, but they were very different fmto the ones in Hell. Alcohol definitely wasn't allowed. But Adam won't lie. He enjoyed being drunk, it was unlike anything he's ever experienced.

He could do without the hangover, though.

Tonight, he was able to get out of his head and stop worrying about Steve and Lucifer. And his meeting with Asmodeus tomorrow where he finds out where on Earth he'll be going. That's if he even gets there. He wasn't too sure if Ozzie's plan for putting a different "mispelled" name would work. Lucifer's an idiot, but he's not THAT stupid.

Adam sighed and wrapped his arms around himself as he walked back to Verosika's house. He could feel that anxiety prickling at his skin. That worry flooding back. After everything he did to get rid of it, it comes back like Adam didn't just spend nearly six hours getting wasted.

Adam: Fuck me...

Speaking of, he didn't even get laid. He was still getting used to this "needing sex for energy" thing, but he just doesn't feel like it.

Adam's been away from Steve for nearly a week, and he could feel the need pulsing through him. He could ignore it for now, but hopefully, he would be on earth before it becomes unbearable.

Sighing, Adam looks around, watching other hellborn do their thing. Stumbling out of bars, singing loudly with their friends as they walk down the street, lining up outside food vendors.

He hoped that one day, his life would be normal like that. A day where he'd have no worries, he wouldn't be scared to go out, afraid of who he would run into.

Groaning as his stomach grumbled, he decided a good meal should help with the anxiety. At least, he hoped.

-

Adam: WHAT?!

Ozzie sighed as he placed the paper back on his desk: I'm sorry, Adam-.

Adam: Declined?! He declined it?! He- I thought you said he's never declined an application before!

Ozzie pinched the brow of his nose. He fucking talked to Lucifer about this, he was only going to drive Adam away. And even the Sin could tell he was struggling down here.

Ozzie: He doesn't. He hasn't... stupid bastard... he's an idiot, babe. Look. You don't want to be here, I understand-.

Adam covered his face with his hands: It's not that- I just... my manager... I was hoping to get away from him, too. And now... I'm fucking stuck here.

Ozzie: Your manager?

Adam nodded: He's been... close to finding me. I can't hide at Ver's place forever. She has her own shit to do. I'll have to go back to-.

Shaking, Adam couldn't finish his sentence before he started crying. He was terrified to go back to Steve to see him again.

Ozzie: Oh, darling.

Adam cried more when he felt himself be softly embraced and pulled into a warm hug. He just wanted this to be over. He was trapped in Heaven, and just when he was finding himself in Hell, Steve took advantage of his new freedom. And now, Charlie, Vaggie, and Nifty just HAD to tell Lucifer about him. So now, he has two crazy assholes on his ass.

Ozzie: I'm so sorry, Adam. Really. I am.

Adam: I-It's o-ok-okay-.

Ozzie: No, it's not. You're the first man. The commander of the exorcists. Nothing should scare you. But you're petrified. You're in my ring, Adam. You're one of my people now, and you know what? I like you. Really. You're an interesting person, and the Lust Ring could really benefit from having you here.

Adam slowly looked up at Ozzie: R-Really?

Ozzie smiled: Really. I want to help you, Adam. There's five other rings in Hell. All of them filled with the horniest fuckers ever born. I'll help you set yourself up somewhere else. Or, if you like Lust, I'll employ you.

Adam: Employ me? What does that mean?

Ozzie: You can still do your shows, or you could sing at my bars. And get all of the sex your heart desires. And be paid, of course~.

Adam: A... bar singer...?

Ozzie: I know it may seem like a downgrade, but their all very fancy. Trust me. I only ask one thing in return.

Adam: What's that?

Ozzie smiled: Of you're comfortable, I'd love for you to model some sex toys for me. All for advertisement, of course. You're a very attractive man, Adam. And you need to be seen. But of course, all of this is only with your consent, even if you say no, I'd love for you to sing and perform at my establishments.

Adam thought about for a moment: ...Okay. I'll do it.

He smiled up at Ozzie, who smiled back: I'll write your contract up then. I'll have my receptionist bring you in when it's ready.

Leaving the room, Adam felt a wash was relief. He was finally doing something that he was actually excited about. He's never performed in front of a small crowd before, but he was willing to do anything to make a name for himself, his way.

That didn't mean he didn't want to kill Lucifer for declining his application, but he was ready for this next step. He didn't need Steve, and he sure as hell didn't need Lucifer.

Succubus au

@beef-brisket

@fanofstuff01

(This au was originally on @things-aren't-what-they-seem66blog and was originally thought of by an anonymous ask)

The roaring of the crowd and the playing of his guitar deafened his ears but the incubus didn't care. He loved the way they cheered his name while he shredded on his axe. With one final strum, his song was done. He raised his arms and gave the horns, to which his fans reciprocated, and bid them all goodnight. He walked away his hands still raised until he was out of sight from them. Adam sighed heavily and wiped the sweat with his forearm as he made his way to his dressing room.

Once there he flopped onto the couch and groaned. Though Adam loved being a rockstar and having adoring fans, he wouldn't lie to himself, each performance, especially concerts, can be quite draining since he always had to prepare with mic checks and making sure he sounded right. Steve, his producer/manager/on-and-off-again fling, always assured him that these were mandatory. Just one of those sacrifices that come with being a star. Still, Adam felt a little like shit and he needed a drink, a hard one. Unfortunately, his evening wasn't quite over yet as knocking was heard from the other side of the door then a voice called out.

Assistant: Excuse me? Commander? I'm sorry for bothering you but I brought the VIP guests here with me.

Adam sighed completely forgetting about that. Almost all VIPs get access to meet him after every show. Though he loved his fans coming to him and saying how much they loved him, maybe even getting some head from the older crowd, tonight, he didn't want to. However, he knew that he didn't have much of a choice. Unless he wanted Steve up his ass, and not in a good way. Letting out a long groan he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and yelled out to her.

Adam: Bring them in.

He closed his eyes and sighed once again as he heard the door open and feet shuffle in. He prepared himself for the immediate responses of squealing and clamoring over to shake his hand. However, he was not prepared for a familiar voice to call out his name.

Charlie: A, Adam?

He opened his eyes and standing in front of him were Charlie, Vaggie, and a one-eyed sinner.