#it feels like so much like I can’t do anything right like there IS no right thing to do no best thing

[dollfacefantasy]

hmmm! thoughts on bruce wayne with a horny wife? 🙈 everything he does is so attractive she just can’t help herself

bruce wayne x fem!reader | mdni a/n: this ask is so real i had to write something out for it. also idk if you had a specific version of bruce in mind, but i kind of imagined christian bale in my head while writing. i think it works for most though just maybe not battinson (so if that's who you meant i'm sorry lol)

"again?" bruce chuckled as your arms snuck around his waist.

you nuzzled against his muscular shoulder blades. down below your fingers fumbled with the belt he'd just fastened into place.

"what?" you asked, feigning innocence. "it's not my fault..."

"it's not? then whose fault is it, sweetheart? is it mine?" he teased right back.

"mhm," you hummed. he could feel the shift of your cheek as you nodded. "you're the one who looks so good all the time while doing literally anything."

he looked in the mirror, a small smirk across his lips while buttoning up his dress shirt. it was only around thirty minutes ago that he managed to finally untangle himself from your loving arms after a couple early morning rounds. he should've known it wouldn't have been enough to satisfy you though.

this wasn't exactly shocking behavior on your part. you could never get enough of bruce. no matter how much time he spent with you, how much attention he paid you, how much affection he gave you, you always wanted more. at galas, you'd stay tucked to his side like there was some invisible binding keeping you there. down in the cave, it didn't matter what he was busy with, you'd worm your way into his lap. in either case, your presence always came with wandering hands and pleading eyes, all in service of trying to get some time where he would focus completely on you.

he wrapped his tie underneath the crisp collar of his shirt and twisted it in to place before turning around to face you. his fingers tapped below your chin, guiding you to look up at him.

"so you're blaming me for your inability to keep your hands to yourself? i don't think that's very fair," he said, his voice low. he leaned in and pecked the corner of your mouth.

"but it's the truth," you defended, your arms squeezing him like a pair of hungry vipers. "i try to be good... but then i see you and i can't help it."

he hummed, pretending to sympathize with your plight. "my poor little wife," he murmured while cupping your cheek. "i'll have to try harder to be more unappealing to you."

"or you could just lemme have what i want," you said.

you ran your hands up and down his chest for a moment before slowly starting to drop to your knees. he tried grabbing your arms to keep you upright, but if he was honest with himself, it wasn't even half of his best effort.

your knees hit the soft carpet covering the closet floor. you gave the belt loops on his slacks a slight tug while gazing up at him with those pretty doe eyes of yours. he already felt a throb down south from the sight of that alone, but then you started to drag your soft cheek across the front of his pants. you nosed at the space where his bulge would be, pressed your lips right to the seam in the fabric.

"i don't need to remind you that i have a meeting this morning, do i? one that i'll probably already be late to because of how long you kept me in bed," he sighed. despite the reluctance in his voice, his hand came down to pet your head.

you batted your eyes up at him. "so what? you're the boss. it'll start whenever you want."

"it's rude to keep people waiting..." he said as you rubbed your palm across his forming erection. you'd done this so many times, you didn't need the outline to know exactly where it would be.

"it's rude to keep your wife unsatisfied. to make her wait hours and hours before you eventually come home," you retorted, flicking open the silver button and tugging down the zipper that kept him concealed.

the beginnings of a groan seeped from his lips. you were already pulling him out of his boxers, stroking his length right beside your sweet face. by this point, he had given up on resisting, but you gave him your best puppy dog look anyways.

"please, brucie. just need a little more before you go," you begged, all teasing stripped away from your tone.

he pet your head once more. sticky drops of precum beaded at his tip as you continued twisting your hand over his shaft.

"well like you said, it would be rude to keep my wife wanting..."

and with that, your lips parted into a perfect little o. instead of responding with words, you slid his cock into your mouth. your eyes fluttered shut as you began to bob your head back and forth.

"you're getting so spoiled," he mumbled before letting himself just enjoy the pleasure you provided.

[jaylaxies]

ENHYPEN: random tropes

pairing: enhypen hyung line x fem!reader

genre/cw: smut, unprotected sex, (semi?) public sex, fingering, kissing, usage of nicknames, everything is consensual!

wc: 1679 words.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni.

requested: here.

a/n: heyyy my lovely angels :3 i’ve been gone way too long (moved countries) but boy do i miss writing, be prepared to see more of me soon and i hope you enjoy this lil reaction fic <33

Heeseung:

⤷ Academic rivals

There’s not much that bothers Heeseung. However, your mere existence, your presence, heck even the sound of your name being called pisses him off to a great extent. Which extends tenfold when you score more than him, doesn’t matter if it’s by one mark.

He doesn’t notice much in the midst of all the rivalry. In fact, he finds you a bit annoying actually. The way you barely have to do anything to get such a perfect score, the way you taunt him, tease him to your heart’s content whenever you get a chance to boast about your own achievements.

It’s safe to say, Heeseung can’t help but want to push you against the wall and smash his perfectly sculpted lips on top of yours just to shut you up—to make use of it in a way that you’ll be moaning his name, begging for more only to never get enough of him.

Which is exactly what he did after you got a better score than him. He simply pulled you into an empty lecture room, closing the door shut behind you before pushing you against it, successfully trapping you with his body, a smirk plastered on his face, “yeah? Been studying like a good fucking girl, hm? Jumping around about how well you did to be rewarded by me? Fuck yes baby, I’ll reward you,” he whispers in your ear, his fingers working on your pussy, cupping it tightly which elicits a moan out of you.

“Hee—” he shoves his tongue in your mouth to shut you up, your mind spiralling with how good it feels, even more so when his thick cock’s tip finally enters your dripping cunt, his arms holding you up with ease as your legs give in to the abysmal amount of pleasure. He doesn’t shove his length into your cunt till you’re crying and begging for it, and then he doesn’t stop till you’re a leaking mess on the floor, a pretty little doll just for him.

Jay:

⤷ Rival families

Attending grand parties was something Jay enjoyed, only if you take out the part where he had to interact with your family, which usually ended in arguments, something the guests quite often looked forward to, especially because of the high ranking companies; both your families took care of.

The sight of you, all dolled up in your silky dress with that long slit which displayed your leg so perfectly, as if you were there to flaunt every inch of your beauty and everyone, especially the gentlemen, seemed to only talk about you, which irked Jay.

Jay stood in the empty hallway, watching you strut around. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, grabbing your arm the second you came close to him, pulling you inside and closing the curtains in the very same second as you gasped with surprise evident on your face.

“You love it, don’t you?” He whispered in your ear, the touch of his fingers warm against your skin, “prancing around like you own the place, hm? Everyone’s looking at you like you’re a piece of meat they can’t wait to devour.”

You scoff with amusement after overcoming the initial shock, “I see you’ve been quite observant too, Park. It seems as if you are,” you paused, looking into his eyes, the same ones you’ve always seen burning with passion for the hate he harbours for you, “jealous. I can’t say about others but you sure look like you wanna devour me,” you chuckled.

“Fuck you,” he seethed out, hating just how right you were before grabbing your nape to kiss you hard enough for his lips to be tainted your shade of lipstick. It was hard to stop, so hard to keep your hands off of each other, especially when his hand landed on your thigh, the slit of your dress making it easy for him to slide his hand up, inching closer to where you needed him the most.

You both weren’t sure if it was hate or the passion that riled you both up to the point you both were eating each other’s faces. It was hot, the noise of music dimmed as Jay breathed deeply near your ear, your eyes closing as you let him shove his digits into your dripping cunt, gasping at how perfectly rough he was being with you.

He soon had you wrapped up in the silk sheets in a room, the softness of the bed juxtaposing the harsh strokes of his cock inside your cunt, the perfect friction had you being a crying and moaning mess, squirting all over him as he smirked, giving you no mercy before going for round two as you both gasped and said, “I fucking hate you.”

Jake:

⤷ Forced proximity

The last thing you expected today was to be stuck in your best friend’s apartment with her brother, simply because she forgot to inform you of her absence for the night. The weather didn’t help either, cliché thunderstorms and hail graced the night, leaving you there with the only guy in the world whom you couldn’t stand. At all.

Jake stood by the door with a devilish smirk plastered on his face, clearly basking in the joy of witnessing you losing the last bit of your sanity. “Why, just why does it have to be you?” You almost cried in distress, while he chuckled, repositioning his glasses which sat perfectly on his angled nose. “Why? Can’t handle being with me, is that it?” He rasped in his deep accent, “I know I'm hot but you gotta chill, princess,” he smirked.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you seethed out, pointing your finger at him as a warning. “What? Princess?” He asked, sliding his tongue on his plush bottom lip, “nah i’ll pass,” he teased further, not helping your temper clearly. “God, I hate you so much,” you mumbled, walking into the room to go to sleep, not wanting to deal with Jake anymore. Only for him to grab your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked. “To sleep of course, let go Jake I swear—” he pulled you into him, “shh, princess. You can’t sleep there,” he whispered, lips touching your ear, sending a shiver down your spine as you froze for a second, trying to move out of his grasp right after, “why the fuck not?” You asked, obviously having had enough of him.

“Cause you’re sleeping with me,” he says, making your heart best out of your chest, face getting warm, “w—what?” you asked, eyes wide. “You want me,” he whispered, and you let out a “oh no, I don’t,” as he leaned in to kiss you, your eyes closing on its own accord, betraying you. He stopped right as his lips touched yours—barely so. “See, what I mean, princess.” He isn’t joking anymore as you open your eyes.

You clearly see how he’s struggling to control himself, as you smirk now, playing with the collar of his shirt, “I think it’s quite the opposite, Jakey, you wanna sleep with me,” you whispered, watching him gulp, mumbling, “fuck yes, princess, I do.”

Safe to say, it didn’t take him long to cup your cheek, his plush lips kissing you with hunger, you were quick to reciprocate, letting all the sexual tension out. You spent the night in his room, head buried in pillow as he fucked you senseless from behind, spanking your ass as you came all over his cock, more than thrice.

Sunghoon:

⤷ Fake dating

A mutual fake contract, especially when it involves dating, is never supposed to get this serious. It was beneficial to you and Sunghoon both, classic in a way how you both wished to make your exes jealous, the fact that they hated each other was more than convenient. Then Sunghoon wasn’t sure why he felt this dull ache in his heart once he saw your ex talking to you.

He got so used to it, your presence, your essence, how real it felt and how much he looked forward to spend time with you, except now that he’s finally woken up from his daydream, he realizes that it was nothing but a fake relationship, his jaw clenching, mind regretful for even bothering to come to this party.

Scoffing in distress, he went upstairs to simply sit in his friend’s room in silence, not noticing how you had seen him already, he was fuming, wondering why he was so upset about it, knowing fully well why. You rushed up and into the room to hopefully find Sunghoon there, scared to see him look so upset when you opened the door, he simply didn’t expect you to come to him.

“Back with him?” He asked, looking at you for a second before looking away, jaw clenched. You were confused, “what?” You asked, walking closer. “Yeah, that’s what you wanted, right? Our deal is over then?” He breathed out. You were out of words, scoffing before you smirked at him, confusing him, almost to the point where he was infuriated.

“Why? Are you perhaps—” you stepped closer, dragging your fingertip on his jaw, “—jealous?” you chuckled, followed by him grabbing your wrist, pinning you to the wall, eyes dark, “don’t.” He warned and you laughed, “don’t what? Are you scared of admitting it? You wanna kiss me, don’t you? I don’t even like him anymore it’s adorable how you’re jealous—”

The confirmation of you not being with your ex was all it took for Sunghoon to smash his lips onto yours in a fervent urgency, as if you’d disappear if he let’s go, your moans filling the room, something he wanted to hear from ages, it was pure ecstasy as you both let go, only to get closer, no space in between you both as you shifted to the bed, him perfectly slotted between your legs, thrusting deep into your cunt which only sucked his cock further, urging him to stay there as he marked you all over, making sure everyone knows you belong to him now.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[moonstruckme]

Mae I have a lil request idea! Can I please get any of the boys with a gf whose inexperienced and she's super stressed about having sex (I just started being open to the idea of dating but I haven't been with anyone in 3+ years and I'm scared/nervous about sex now like what if they hate my body?? Or I suck??)

Thank you for requesting angel <3

cw: smut mdni, body insecurities, reader isn’t a virgin necessarily but is inexperienced

James Potter x afab!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’re trying very hard not to think. To get swept up like you’ve heard you’re supposed to, and in fairness James is doing a very fine job of sweeping you. He’s all strong hands and wet mouth moving over the slopes of your face, your neck, your sides. He’s got your shirt off on one side to expose your shoulder, and you think it’s only a matter of time before the rest follows.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles. It’s believable when he sounds like this, almost drunk, like he can’t lift his lips from you for one second to get it out right.

You burrow your fingers in the curls at the back of his head and try to let yourself be swept. Your body reacts in all the right ways. You gasp, you arch, you throb. You feel the muscles of James’ back, let the friction of his knee between your thighs send electric frissions coursing through you. You relish the warmth of every point of contact and tell yourself that all is going perfectly.

It’s not enough. When James undoes your trousers and his fingers brush the fabric of your underwear, your head is all alarm bells.

You try to enjoy yourself through their wailing. It feels nice, the way he’s touching you. But oh god, what if he cares that you didn’t shave? Do adult men want a bare vagina? Or what if James wouldn’t like it bare, but what you have is too much for him? Is there a universally agreed upon pubic hair length you don’t know about?

The rest of your body is a whole other thing. James calls you beautiful, but he hasn’t seen all of you. What if he takes your clothes off and he doesn’t think so anymore? You know he’d never say anything cruel, but he’s still human, he can think it.

You don’t know what you’re doing. There are so many ways this could go wrong. Even if he’s fine with your body, you could still be too boring or try too hard or be too loud or too quiet or not move right. You could break his dick. There’s no way he’ll want to see you again after that. Not even James could be that forgiving. What if you mess all this up because of one stupid night?

Your heart pounds to the beat of what-if, louder and more insistent until you can’t take it.

“James.” You set a hand on his chest.

He makes a low sound, misinterpreting your hesitance as encouragement. His lips part over your shoulder, fingers teasing the elastic of your underwear. Your breath seizes.

“James.” You push a little this time. James takes the hint immediately, pulling back to look at you.

“Hm?” He blinks. You know his vision must be fuzzy, his glasses on the nightstand, but whatever he can see of your face makes his brows pull in and up in the middle of his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t shave,” you say.

James’ expression relaxes. For a second he looks like he might laugh at you, but presumably your obvious distress keeps him from it. “Okay,” he says, moving his hand a couple inches up from your underwear to run it over your stomach soothingly. “That’s fine, love, I don’t care. I’m a grown-up, I don’t need you to pretend you don’t grow hair.”

This comforts you, but only some.

“I just feel like I need to give you some disclaimers.”

Now James does laugh. It’s just a little one, soft, the way sunlight dapples through the shade of a tree canopy. “You don’t need to disclaim anything.” He kisses you, curved lips against your frowny ones. “But lay it on me, if you want to.”

“I just…” He keeps kissing you, and you speak in between. “Your pasta was really good, but I’m sort of bloated now.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“I also don’t have any, like, moves.”

It’s almost a giggle, the thing that vibrates against your lips. “Moves?”

“Yeah. I’m not exactly well versed in all this. I feel like I’m going to fuck it up.”

“Sweetheart.” James says it all warm and heavy, the sort of tone that usually portends him squishing your face in his hands. This time, he only kisses the tip of your nose with sticky fondness. “If you’re nervous, we don’t have to keep going, but none of these are things you need to worry about.”

You touch his wrist, stopping his hand rubbing your stomach. It sits patiently just below your navel.

“I don’t know what to do,” you say, earnest in the way James always manages to draw out of you. “I need a manual. What’s my job?”

“I promise you won’t need a manual,” he says, kissing you again. “Lovely, your only job is to feel good.”

You frown. “That seems sexist.”

“What?” He laughs. “It’s not sexist.”

“It’s not? You have a job and I don’t. Feels sexist to me.”

“I just told you, your job is to feel good. And it’s not sexist.” James’ mouth moves down to your neck. “It’s a beginner’s pass.”

You swallow as he finds a favored spot below your ear. “I just get that this once, then?”

James pauses for a moment. “Well, there’s also the I’m-in-love-with-you pass.”

“Oh?” Your voice is turning breathy. “What’s that one mean?”

“It means you get to do whatever you want, sweetheart.” He kisses that same spot over and over until you think you’ll go mad. “I’ll love it no matter what, because I love you.”

You give in with a soft whimpering sound. James hugs you close like he means to comfort you, and you take your trousers the rest of the way off yourself.

There are no holds barred after that. You let James put his hands or his mouth wherever he likes, and each time he checks in that something is okay you barely have the air to tell him yes. It feels different than you were expecting, different than anyone else in your history or imaginings, hot but gentle and good in a way that transcends what you thought the word to mean before.

James does get your clothes off, eventually, but you’re not alone in that regard. Being vulnerable with him feels more privileged than frightening then. You can’t believe you ever worried that these hands would find fault in you. You’ve never wanted anyone to touch you so badly as you want James to.

“I love you,” you murmur, against his chest, his cheek, into the hollow of his throat.

James says it back a dozen times. When he calls you beautiful, you know he means it.

[yujisdreamgirl]

husband!nanami who is also the father of your 2 children. dated for 6 years and married for 3–you couldn’t ask for anything more.

husband!nanami who is visibly confused during a conversation he had with his colleagues.

nanami usually avoids the break room whilst it was crowded. unfortunately, on a rare day that he’s forgotten to pick up his coffee from his favourite café, he had to walk into a break room full of a bunch of his coworkers talking about their children’s birthdays. they immediately turn to nanami who was standing in the corner and involved him in the conversation.

“it’s my daughter’s birthday soon. yeah i’m probably getting her one of those dolls and shit—she’s turning 5.” the suited up man takes a sip out of his coffee.

nanami nods apprehensively, wishing to leave the room already. “that’s nice. what are you getting for your wife?” he asks.

“what?” all four of his coworkers turned to look at him, and suddenly it felt like an episode of The Voice.

“…don’t you get your wife a gift when it’s your children’s birthdays??” the only time nanami is ever confused is when he does crossword puzzles. this.. is a whole different level.

his coworkers laugh at the absurd statement, some scoff and one pats nanami on the back.

—

nanami drives back home from work but he was more quiet than usual. he would typically turn the radio on and tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. the car however was dead silent.

“who doesn’t give their wife a gift..? tch.”

“do these young men even love their wives anymore? eugh.”

“y/n always seems really happy when i give her gifts on the girls’ birthday.. i can’t imagine not giving her any.”

—

he arrives home and parks in the garage, sighing and cracking his back before bursting through the door.

“i’m h—” before he could finish his sentence, his 3-year-old twin girls came running to hug him.

“daddy! daddy! you’re home!” they giggle and cling onto his legs as nanami leans over to place his hand on your back and kiss your lips. “hello my darlings,” he smiles.

“you’re home early.”

“just missed my girls a lot.”

—

it’s 11pm. the kids are asleep and you’ve done your skincare, the night lamp on as you lay in bed with your husband.

as you snuggle under the sheets, you suddenly feel big arms snake around your torso. you giggle and pull them closer to you before deciding to turn around and face the man beside you. you lay your head on his chest and he immediately caresses your back.

“my love?” nanami speaks up.

“yeeeees?” you sing. he holds you tighter now, before uttering: “you know how i give you a gift for the girls’ birthday?”

you smile softly at the memory—how could you forget? every birthday for three years, he always manages to surprise you with a gift. he treasures the day dearly. it’s your daughters’ birthday but it’s your birth-day.

“i just found out that not every father does that. at least.. my coworkers don’t.” you look up at him now, seeing his scrunched eyebrows and solemn pout—you can already tell it bothers him. “it’s absurd, isn’t it? what do you think?”

you hum, your eyes never leaving his expression. “to be honest, i’ve never witnessed someone do what you do. it’s not exactly common practice,”

nanami sighs, “i guess you’re right. i just love you so much, you know? i’ll keep showing my appreciation on the day that means a lot to me, to us. it’s the day we became a family and i.. i want to make sure you know how important you are, too.” his voice is soft, as though he's been carrying this thought for a while. you blink, the weight of his words settling in your chest. he doesn't say it often, but when he does, it’s clear he means every syllable.

a small laugh escapes you, touched by his sincerity. “i know, baby. and i’m thankful for it, for you.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you as if he’s trying to hold on to the moment. “me too, darling. more than you’ll ever know.”

͙͘͡★ dividers by @bernardsbendystraws & @cafekitsune 👔

[evesbookshop]

𝐌𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞 ❤︎︎

✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

Izuku Midoriya who starts knitting as physical therapy after his last battle. Who by the time he’s a teacher has insane hand dexterity and is ambidextrous. Whose friends all have their own knit versions of their own merch. Who knits both you and himself little braided rings you both use as place holders until you marry. Which is extremely helpful cause he can just keep remaking his when it falls off without his knowledge or breaks

Izuku Midoriya, who always feels absolutely horrible when he does loose or damage one of these knit rings. And so he spends a few hours when he gets home wrecking you on extremely skilled fingers while whispering compliments and apologies in your ear. “You forgive me don’t you, baby?” Knowing you can’t see straight let alone form works.

Katsuki Bakugou, who despite being an absolute monster with Spicey food , cannot handle even a little sour. Who claims it’s just nasty , and won’t touch one with his friends around. Who falls victim when you give him a war head in place of a regular hard candy and whole face turns red just to twists in shock and betrayal before running out the room to spit it and and definitely not puke.

Katsuki Bakugou who’s a spiteful bastard, and so the next time you have sex, in the middle of moan you find lemon juice being squeezed into your mouth. Shock causing you to yelp and the juice to leak out your mouth. It’s okay though because despite hating the taste, he finds that it’s not so bad when he’s licking it off your throat.

Shoto Todoroki, who’s dense but not nearly as much as people think he is. It took a him a while to figure out he didn’t just really want to be your friend, and then stop ignoring you after the fact. But otherwise very aware of social ques and habits. Who was literally media trained as a child, but he just thinks it’s funnier to blurt things out that should probably stay private. Who acts very lost sometimes but only when it’s beneficial and gets people to leave him alone. And who after getting into a relationship doesn’t do it in private, because he refuses to lie or anything close to you.

Shoto Todoroki who despite not liking to play dense with you in day to day life is more then willing to use it against you in bed “oh right here ? Did that feel good? I’m sorry I can’t quite understand you , love?”

Eijiro Kirishima, who’s a tank of a man , the epitome of typical masculinity out side of his tender personality. Who also eats up trash reality television. Big brother, real house wives, keeping up with the kardashians, toddlers and tiaras, and the holy grail- Jersey Shore. He who has matching meatball shirts with you and that same pair of studded out sunglasses. And who because of said tv shows, has the nastiest reads in the book. A list shit talker when no one’s looking.

Eijiro Kirishima, who comes home one day to see you in the skimpiest outfit known to man, covered in leopard print. And finds himself more horny than he’s ever been in his entire life. Who is in the apartment for maybe 2 minutes before he has you face down, bent over the couch arm.

Denki Kaminari, who’s is actually a little dense and struggles with numbers and letters, due to dyslexia they caught late, but loves to consume literature. Who is might as well be a walking audible commercial. Who is an avid Colleen Hoover hater. Who eats up all sorts of books from biographies to the most jaw dropping smut books ever. Who because of his vast online book collection, is actually really smart just about oddly specific things and people.

Denki Kaminari who drags you into the bedroom because he’s trying to figure out a really oddly worded position in a book, and lets you reap the benefits of his confusion.at least when he gets it right, for the first half it’s mostly maneuvering around each other while listening to the same part of the book in utter confusion.

✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ❤︎︎

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12 P13 P14 P15

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. Kissing, teasing, suggestive.

A/N: Mhmmmmmmmm (hehe)

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P14: Messing With You

Chris’ POV

She looks peaceful—untouchable, even. 

My eyes are barely open, the sun from the window gleaming a little too brightly. Usually, it would annoy me, not right now though—right now it’s making her look heavenly, making my heart squeeze in my chest as I watch her lips puff open with each soft breath. 

I feel lucky. 

She’s here in my bed, in my arms, coming to me for comfort. It feels good to feel important to someone, even better to feel important to her, but it’s also horrifying. 

I can’t tell if it’s butterflies, anxiety, or maybe both swarming in my gut when I’m around her. 

It makes me want to run away. Not that I don’t want her—I do, I really fucking do. 

The thought of calling her mine, having her in my arms, and making her smile—it makes a reassuring warmth spread in my chest, the type of excitement I haven’t felt in a while. 

My lips roll together as I watch her eyes flutter open. She spares me a hazy smile, her hand combing through my hair as I stare up at her. 

God, she’s perfect. 

“Morning,” she hums, lightly hugging my head a little closer. 

I try to bite back a smile, the sensation of her nails lightly grazing my scalp making a sigh of contentment fall from my lips. It’s just so effortless. 

This should be more difficult, I haven’t really talked to anyone, let alone allowed them to hold me like she has since I lost a part of my heart—my mom and Nick. 

“Hm.” I hum, the sad thought making my throat tighter as I swallow thickly. 

Her hands stop waving through my scalp, her eyes opening wider, looking down at me with concern. “What’s wrong?” she asks, the question rolling off her lips as she gazes down at me with soft eyes. 

I miss them. That’s what’s wrong, but complaining about it won’t bring them back. It will just make me feel more, and it already feels like too much. 

“Is it something I did?” 

My eyes perk at her question, my head shaking from side to side, stopping as I realize I’m buried in her chest, practically shoveling myself in her cleavage. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean to—oh god.” I let out, my eyes squinting shut as I feel a wave of warmth crawl behind my neck, onto my cheeks, and to the tips of my ears. 

Her light giggle makes my eyes peek open. The soft smile cascaded on her face makes my chest heave with a deep breath. 

“You’re fine. Now,” she places her hands back into my hair, her thumb swiping along the top rim of my ear as she stares down at me with intent, “-what’s bothering you? Did I do something?” 

The pout tugging on her lips makes my heart clench in my chest. 

I don’t want her to think anything is wrong with us, maybe I should tell her. At least I know she’d understand. 

My lips smack together, opening and closing as I hesitate. “I, um—I guess I just miss ‘em a little more than usual today…” I wince hearing the slight crack in my voice. 

The desperation of the confession makes me feel bare, her eyes seeming so soft, yet so intimidating, each second feeling like hours as I wait for her to respond. 

“I get that.” 

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until she speaks those words, my lungs burning as I inhale slowly, trying to even out my breath patterns. 

She gives me a sympathetic smile. Usually, the sympathy made everything worse, but not when she does it—hers just makes me feel understood. 

My chest slows with deep, calm breaths. The burn in my lungs fading as I let myself melt under her gaze. 

I can’t remember the last time I felt like this, so safe and secure—so free of judgment. 

“Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe we can take Trevor on a walk?” she offers, her eyes twinkling with hope. 

The sadness settles in my gut, but the feeling doesn’t exactly make me feel sick like it normally does. It’s accompanied by a calm wave of comfort—her touch, her eyes… everything about her just making the sadness seem okay. 

“I… could, um—can we…” 

I flinch as I stumble helplessly over the words. Her face scrunches with amusement, her eyes squinting as she smiles brightly. 

“Are you nervous?” she taunts, her eyes flickering between mine as I force a scowl onto my face, my lips scrunching into a tight line as I feel the blush crawl up my neck and onto my cheeks. 

“No, I’m just still half-asleep,” I remark, rolling my tongue along the inside of my cheek as I hear my tone waver. 

I don’t even believe the lie—and by the look on her face, she doesn’t either. 

“Okay, okay,” she laughs, nodding as if she’s accepting the lie without any doubt. My hand on her back finds the ends of her hair, twirling them mindlessly as the soft strands wisp through my fingers. 

Her mouth muffles with a short giggle. She takes a deep breath, trying to keep a straight face, “Ask whenever you’re awake enough, I guess.” 

My eyes roll from her teasing. I rest my head against her, hiding from her gaze as I take a deep breath. 

I’m definitely awake now, but it’ll have to wait. 

___

Y/n’s POV

Something is resting on the tip of his tongue. I can tell he’s fighting inner thoughts, trying to blurt out whatever question lingered from this morning. 

It’s kinda cute. 

His bottom lip is bright pink, his teeth constantly gnawing on the skin as his eyes drift with thought. The hue reminds me of last night, the feeling of those lips on mine, how good it felt. 

I already miss it. Something about it felt so electric yet so comforting—like a warm bath after having numb toes from the cold. It felt overwhelmingly good.

And I really wanna feel it again. 

My body stiffens as I sit on the barstool, my hands on the kitchen island clenching as I feel large hands callous over my shoulders from behind. 

Jimmy. 

“Hey. Want some bacon and all? I got the stuff…” he trails off, yawning with a small smile as he walks around the kitchen and shuffles through the fridge. 

My mouth watering as I recall the last time he made breakfast for me. I nod, blushing as Jimmy laughs, turning the knob on the stove to erupt a flame beneath the pan. 

Chris shifts beside me. He spares me a quick glance, shaking his head. “I—I’ll be back, I’m gonna go shower real quick.” he says, stalking off and down the hallway. 

Part of me is dying to know what he’s wanting to ask, but another part doesn’t want to know. 

What if he didn’t like the kiss? 

Does he just kiss everyone like that? 

Was he trying to find a way to let me down slowly? 

“You good, kid?” Jimmy asks, sparing me a small glance with concern before turning his attention back to the stovetop. 

I swallow thickly, relaxing my clenched hands as I huff out a quick sigh. “Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, my face twitching as more doubts run through my head. 

The sound of water running from the bathroom makes my stomach churn, my heart pumping harshly in my chest. 

I hate this, it’s exactly what I’ve had nightmares of since I had my heart broken by my last boyfriend. The uncertainty, the doubt, the endless loop of questions that made my eyes burn with stubborn tears. 

“Here ya go,” Jimmy states, pushing a plate of steaming food in front of me while curling his lips into a subtle grin, pulling me out of my thoughts as I inhale the smell with greedy taste buds. 

Breakfast. Real food. 

My house is filled with protein bars, protein powder, and probably even protein water for fucks sake. 

Eating is a chore sometimes. Especially when it’s those disgusting protein pancakes that Baylen loves, but that’s always his go-to breakfast.

Jimmy walks towards the kitchen island, setting a plate on the counter next to me. “For Chris when he comes back, but if you steal any bacon, I saw nothing.” he remarks, holding his hands up in defense before stalking off with a different plate of food, heading outside towards the porch. 

Trevor trots behind him, his nose twitching as he follows the sizzling bacon on Jimmy’s plate. “I’ll be outside with Trev. Let me know if you need anything, even if it’s more bacon, you hear me?” he jokes, pointing a finger at me with a stern look interrupted with a smile. 

“Alright,” I puff, chewing more as he closes the door behind himself, leaving me in a quiet room alone. 

The shower water humming from the bathroom stops, the sounds of shuffling making my heart beat a little faster. 

What is he trying to ask me? 

Curiosity bubbles in my gut. My lips rolling together as I stiffen, hearing the sound of footsteps come closer before I feel a waft of air as Chris sits down in the barstool next to me. 

His damp hair brushes against my shoulder. I shiver at the wet sensation, my spine straightening. 

“My bad,” he mumbles, petting over the skin with his warm hand, the touch soothing away the shocking cold wetness. 

Chris starts to scarf his food down next to me. I feel his hand dip between my thighs, pulling one of my legs over his lap. “Chris, what’re you–”

“Here. Now, shut up.” he mutters, placing a piece of his bacon on my plate, his hand grasping at my thigh soothingly, right above my knee. I should be upset that he told me to shut up, but it makes me smile. 

He’s nervous. 

Shoveling the bacon into my mouth, I stare at him from the corner of my eye, watching as he straightens his posture. 

“So…” I trail off, my gaze drifting across the room as I hear him let out a subtle sigh. “What were you wanting to ask me?” 

The question makes him freeze. His hand grips tighter around my leg, his fingers tapping against my skin as he stutters, “I, uh—was… was just gonna ask if you, if you maybe wanted to uh—” 

I guide my hand down to his, pulling it further up on my thigh as I lean forward, placing a kiss on his cheek. His eyes are directed towards his plate of scrapped food. “Stop making me more—stop being so—ugh.” he huffs. 

A giggle purses through my lips. “What? Am I makin’ you more nervous—”

“No.” he interrupts, glaring at me as his hand squeezes my thigh. My breath halts in my chest, my gut tightening as he stares at me with pure intent. “I wanna go on a date with you. I’m not fuckin—’m not fuckin’ nervous. You’re just being difficult.” 

My lips curl into a grin. I lick over my teeth, leaning against his shoulder as I bat my eyes up at him, watching as his face contorts with a slight snarl. “I still didn’t hear a question, Chris.” 

The observation makes his jaw tighten. His fingers tap impatiently against my thigh, his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth as he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Will you—do you wanna go on a date with me?” he asks, his eyes softening for a quick second before returning to his plate. 

“Nah.” 

Chris whips his head towards me. A loud laugh bursts through my lips, my stomach tightening with sharp breaths. “The fuck?” he asks, his face scrunched with displeasure as he watches me clutch my stomach with a tinge of pain. 

“I’m—’m kidding,” I rush out, squeezing my hand on top of his, my nose scrunching as his face relaxes into a bland expression. “Sorry, just wanted to mess with you,” I remark, sitting up straight and moving my leg back into my own seat. 

“Mess with me?” Chris tuts. I look over, yelping as I feel his hand wrap around the back of my leg once more, repeating the action of throwing my thigh over his lap. 

But this time, it’s closer. 

He stares directly at me, his teeth greedily biting on his bottom lip as his eyes float over my face. 

I feel my lungs burn, screaming for air as I forget how to breathe. 

His face leans in closer, his breath hovering over my lips before shifting to the side, his lips ghosting over my neck with light kisses. 

“Chri—”

Before I can call out his name, I feel his tongue swipe across my thumping pulse, right beneath my ear. His lips enclose around the area, a light suction echoing in the room as my ears begin to ring. 

Oh god. 

My hands tangle in his hair out of pure instinct. Before I can pull him any closer, he pulls my leg upwards, lifting and dropping it back onto my own chair. 

I watch as he stands up, my lips parted as I pant for air. 

“What–what’re you doing?” I question, my voice wavering with heavy breaths as he stacks our plates, walking towards the sink. 

Chris shrugs. He sets the dishes down, running a hand through his damp hair and sparing me a soft smile. 

“Just messin’ with you.” 

[lazysoulwriter]

coming home drunk. - pedro pascal. (the morning after)

second part for this one, read first. requested. hope you love it! ♡

---

The groan from the other side of the bed was my favorite sound of the morning.

I rolled onto my side, propping my head up on my hand as I watched Pedro slowly wake up, his face buried in the pillow, hair a complete disaster. He looked deeply unwell.

“Good morning, my little buttered toast,” I teased.

Another groan.

I grinned. “Feeling okay?”

“No,” he mumbled, voice muffled against the pillow. “I think I died. This is the afterlife.”

“Oh, really?” I bit back a laugh. “That would explain why you were confessing your undying love for me last night like a tragic Shakespearean hero.”

Pedro peeked one eye open, immediately squinting like the daylight had personally offended him. “… What?”

I rolled onto my back dramatically.

“‘You’re my oxygen! My light! My toast with butter!’” I mimicked.

Pedro groaned even louder and pulled the blanket over his head. “No. Nope. I refuse to believe it.”

“Oh, it gets better.” I pulled the blanket back down just enough to see his tortured expression.

“You made me feel your heartbeat and said, and I quote, ‘Boom, boom, boom! That’s love, baby.’”

He blinked at me in pure horror. “I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I’m leaving the country.”

I snorted. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. That’s my job.”

Pedro flopped onto his back, rubbing his face like he could erase last night from existence. “Did I at least—please tell me—I didn’t embarrass myself in front of anyone else?”

I hummed, pretending to think. “Well… no, but—”

His sigh of relief was cut short when I added, “You did demand that I move onto the couch permanently because, and I quote again, ‘We live here now.’”

Pedro groaned so hard he rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a thud.

I cackled. “Dramatic much?”

“I can never face you again,” he said from the floor.

“Oh, hush,” I said, reaching down to ruffle his hair. “I think it was sweet.”

He sat up, pouting at me like a big grumpy golden retriever. “I was a fool.”

“No, you were just drunk in love—literally.”

Pedro narrowed his eyes, then slowly shook his head. “I can’t believe I wasted my best poetic material in a blackout.”

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh, but failed miserably. “Well… you did compare me to food several times.”

He groaned. “Stop.”

“You said I was toast with butter, a warm cinnamon roll, and at one point—” I swallowed another laugh, “—you called me your little empanada.”

Pedro fell back onto the floor face-first.

“Oh my God.” His voice was muffled. “Kill me.”

“Not happening, empanada boy.”

He rolled onto his back, glaring at the ceiling. “You’re enjoying this.”

I grinned. “A little.”

Pedro let out the most dramatic sigh yet. Then, very slowly, he propped himself up on his elbows. “Did I at least say anything sexy?”

I tilted my head, pretending to think. “Mmm… well, at one point, you wrapped yourself around me like a human koala and whispered, ‘If you leave me, I’ll shrivel up like a raisin and perish.’”

Pedro collapsed again. “Nope. That’s it. I’m deleting myself.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh, babe, come on—”

“Nope! Don’t ‘babe’ me! I need a do-over!” He sat up, rubbing his temples. “Okay. Okay. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll say sexy things. Like, right now. Hold on.”

I smirked, folding my arms. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

He took a deep breath, straightened his back like he was preparing for a movie monologue, then met my eyes with his most sultry expression.

“You,” he said, voice deep and slow, “are the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Not bad.”

“I crave you like oxygen,” he continued, sitting up taller. “Like my first sip of coffee in the morning. Like the warmth of a sunbeam on my face.”

I hummed, pretending to be impressed. “Alright, I’ll admit, this is much better than ‘empanada.’”

“And,” he said, shifting closer, his voice dropping into a whisper, “I will never—never—stop telling you how much I love you.”

That one got me.

I felt my face heat up as he gave me a smug little smirk.

“Oh, so now you’re good at this?” I muttered.

Pedro chuckled, reaching out to pull me onto his lap. “I just needed to be sober for it.”

I rolled my eyes but kissed him anyway, because, well, he was my idiot.

Hungover or not, I wouldn’t trade him for anything.

---

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

the debate of who’s house you’re going to move your baby into. you want your own little bungalow to be the family home but rafe also wants to buy a brand new home for a fresh start

something that’s ours - rafe cameron

part three of the baby series (send me ideas for series names pleaseee🙏 )

series masterlist

warnings: pregnancy, none just fluff

au: might be my fav series ever to write. and thank you so much for all the love and support!! i started writing fics a few weeks ago so i just started posting them yesterday and since all i’m doing on spring break is swimming and being at the beach, i have lots of time to write (since it is my favorite thing in the world)

word count 512 (she’s a shorty)

You sat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest, watching as Rafe paced the small living room of your bungalow. His movements were slow, thoughtful—less agitated, more contemplative. You knew this conversation was coming. You had felt it brewing for days now, ever since the reality of your growing belly made it impossible to ignore the changes ahead. “We should move,” Rafe said finally, his voice careful, measured. Not demanding—just…suggesting.

Your stomach twisted. “Rafe—” “Hear me out,” he interrupted gently, coming to sit beside you. His hands found yours, threading your fingers together as he exhaled, blue eyes scanning your face. “I get it, okay? I know you love this place. But… don’t you think we should have something new? A fresh start?” You glanced around the room—the familiar creaky floorboards, the warm-toned walls, the windows that rattled when the wind blew too hard. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours. It had been yours long before Rafe. And the thought of leaving it behind, of uprooting everything when you were already bracing for so much change, made your chest tighten.

“I just don’t see why we can’t stay here,” you admitted, voice smaller than you intended. “It’s already home.” Rafe softened. “I know, baby.” He lifted your joined hands, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “But… think about it. A house big enough for everything we need—more space, a yard, an actual nursery. A place that’s ours.” You chewed the inside of your cheek. “This is ours.”

He smiled, a soft, knowing one. “It’s yours. I want to give us something that’s ours from the start.” Your throat tightened. “I hate change,” you whispered. “I hate that everything already feels like it’s shifting all at once, and now you want to take away the one thing that’s stayed the same.” Rafe’s face fell slightly, his brows pulling together. “Hey…” He reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m not trying to take anything away from you.” His thumb brushed over your cheek. “I just want to give you more.”

You inhaled shakily, leaning into his touch. “What if it doesn’t feel like home?” His lips pressed together, considering your words. Then, he reached for your hand, guiding it to rest over your stomach. “It will,” he murmured. “Because home isn’t these walls, baby. It’s us. It’s wherever we are. And no matter where we go, that won’t change.” Your heart clenched. Rafe wasn’t trying to force you into anything. He wasn’t angry or impatient. He just wanted to give you something better, something new—something that was yours together. You let out a slow breath.

“Can we… take our time looking?” A slow, relieved smile spread across Rafe’s face. “Of course.” He kissed your forehead, lingering for a moment. “We’ll find the perfect place. No rush.” AS he pulled you against his chest, his hand resting protectively over your stomach, you thought that maybe, just maybe, he was right. Home wasn’t four walls. It was him. It was this. It was everything you were building together.

[melanchoire]

G!p biker wonyoung🤰🏻 I want her big dick inside me so bad

cw: chocking, degradation, public sex (i guess 😭)

wonyoung being the rebellious girl of the school who has a crush on the diligent student!reader, person who doesn’t want to know anything about wonyoung and doesn’t give a shit about anything about her 😭 wonyoung being the typical pretty girl who has half the school at her feet and the other half feeling attracted to her, but wonyoung wants the person who is clearly out of her reach: you

and of course she is a pain in the ass!!

wonyoung would normally maintain her image as a cool girl who doesn't usually talk too much and she has a lethal face card, but sometimes she can get away from her carefree nature because she loves being annoying and loves seeing how it affects you!

but being a complete sweetheart when it comes to her bike because that’s wonyoung’s baby ☝🏻 she is super careful about her vehicle, always parked correctly in the school parking lot, making sure that no car or other motorcycle is within a dangerous distance that could scratch her bike, going to the parking lot every chance she gets to check on her bike, she treats it like a baby! and technically it is, because if one day something happens to eonyoung’s motorcycle, that day she would cease to exist

so yes, if she starts to take an interest in you after you catch her eye, you would become her second baby! and who knows, maybe her number one priority if you manage to win that over

sorry but wonyoung is a pervert here 😶 flirty and daring CALL IT WHATEVER YOU WANT but she has no problem giving you the occasional flirt or dirty comment

LIKE she would always try to get you to accept her offers to take you home, subtly insisting and always being kinder and gentler with you unlike her usual cocky behavior with the rest of people, but you always end up rejecting 💔 wonyoung making so many illusions and scenarios in her head that she often imagines a time where you accept her offer and just by chance, where it’s a cold winter day where she can lend you her jacket just because! another of wonyoung’s babes; her leather jacket. she is completely careful with it too! always taking all the time in the world to wash it and using the most expensive and best products because she doesn’t want to ruin her precious jacket. so yes, she would love to see you in it

imagine that on a stormy day you’re returning home after a long and tiring day of school, walking in the rain with your umbrella in hand until you hear the engine purr next to you and you don’t even have to turn around to know who it is

“do you need a ride home?” wonyoung would say, tilting her head as she parked next to you

“it’s raining, wonyoung. i’m not going to get on your bike and get wet.”

“rain or shine, you would get wet being with me anyway. so can i take that as a yes?”

you can’t see her face but you swear there is a grin on her face

until one day wonyoung finally gets what she wants! somewhat cliché but you agree to help her with her studies because even though she is somewhat annoying you felt sorry for her low grades, so without hesitation you gave in to trying to create a new version of her

but she doesn’t change at all 😮‍💨 manspreading on the chair with her elbows on the table and resting her chin on one of her hands, looking at you intently with lustful eyes while you explain the topics given in the semester but the gaze that is always fixed on your face seems to fall from time to time to your lips??

“wonyoung, are you–?”

“just shut up.” ohhh, and she takes your face in both hands and kisses you 😵‍💫 you would try to put up a little resistance or pretend to be mature but honestly, wonyoung turned you on in a certain way and you couldn’t deny such an opportunity!

although wonyoung seems to want to fuck right now 😭 making you stand up from the chair and guiding you until your lower back hits the table, trying to climb on top of you on the table but snorts when you try to stop her and make her understand that it’s not a good idea to fuck in the school library ☝🏻

she doesn’t give a damn because she ends up doing it anyway! leaning you over the table and taking you from behind, fucking you like you guys are in some kind of motel or something 🥰 wonyoung was ramming her cock so roughly into your pussy that little by little the table beneath you started to creak or squeak, making you fear about being caught in a situation

she solves! so she makes you get up from the table, sneaking a hand down the valley between your tits and closing her hand on your neck, using her free arm to wrap around your waist and push you back to press you further against her body, giving you zero escape from this

and she grunts and groans against your ear in a way that would easily make you cum right now 🫠whispering the dirtiest things possible to you, making fun of you for always acting hard to get but being an easy slut and giving in to her after a few simple kisses, degrading you for letting yourself be touched like this in a public place by a girl you always claim to “hate”... wonyoung is much worse when she notices how your walls tighten around her cock more after each time she talks dirty to you, enjoying how her treating you like a whore seemed to make you wetter and wetter…

cumming inside you and moaning as she buries her face in the crook of your neck, sinking her cock deep into you and shooting all her cum straight into your belly, filling you completely and to the brim with her seed 😵‍💫 releasing the grip of her hand on your neck, letting you take a breath and enjoying how you have to plant your hands on the table to hold your body up because you were completely destroyed and exhausted

wonyoung taking you to her dorm after a real study session, promising to fuck you like she is been craving for so long 💕 and who knows, maybe she will give you double the enjoyment if you only wear her leather jacket when joining her in bed

[comatosebunny09]

sensitive | sylus

— summary: sylus gets his ears pierced. — cw: reader is not mc, fluff, silliness, self-indulgent, a little suggestive, romantic dribble, inspired by the ear-piercing scene from loveless — wc: 1.8K

You’re surprised he can even get his ears pierced, given his rapid healing ability. 

Still, they look good on him—the onyx studs that take up most of his earlobes, matching his cufflinks. 

You stifle a quiet laugh behind your fist as the twins crowd around him, stars in their eyes. Their body language is animated as they praise Sylus and his fashion sense. He stands amid them, akimbo, smirking like a proud dad, a chuckle in his throat.

You wonder what influenced his decision to pierce his ears. 

That is until a pretty hunter pops her head into the front door behind him, her eyes creasing with mirth. 

She sidles up beside you, beaming like the cat who got the cream. Pats your shoulder, and you smirk at her in your periphery, shaking your head.

Of course.

“Let me guess: this was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“I know. I’m pretty awesome, right?”

You snort over folded arms. Leave it to Emcee to manipulate your boss into doing something so drastic.

—

You can’t keep your eyes off them—his ears.

One, because you’ve always found them to be one of his most adorable features. Two, because they’ve looked more irritated than usual, burning an angry red beneath the heavy gems in his lobes.

He seems uncomfortable with them, too. Wincing in meetings when he positions himself a certain way in his seat. An occasional, barely-there sound drawn from his throat when his hair scrapes his ears. And he’s more irate than what’s typical of Onychinus’ kingpin, lashing out unprovoked or being more quiet and reserved than you’re accustomed to.

You offer him painkillers to ease the ache. Even suggested he take the earrings out a few times; his ears are clearly sensitive, and perhaps the studs are too much for them to bear. 

But he waves you off with a tired smile. Reasons that they’re still healing, so he’ll just have to put up with the discomfort until then. 

—

“I feel terrible,” says Emcee for the umpteenth time, fiddling with the strap of her bag as she walks beside you through the mall.

“It’s alright,” you assuage, “you wouldn’t have known. I don’t even think he knows he can’t just wear anything. You know he’s bourgeois.”

She studies her feet, remorse twisting up her features. “I know. But I picked them out, ya know? And I’m the one who talked him into getting them pierced in the first place.”

You squeeze her shoulder, a reassuring smile curling your lips. “You did good. They look good. Maybe we can find something a little less gaudy, though. Something that won’t make his ears fall off.”

Emcee snorts, nudging you. She seems to be in better spirits, taking you in with those big eyes. “Yeah. Well, hey! Let’s stop here first!”

You don’t protest when she comically drags you into a jewelry store, her somberness an afterthought.

—

You’re as quiet as a secret, thanking your years of training for making you so. 

You slink into Sylus’ study, clutching a palm-sized, black box behind your back. He’s out conducting business, leaving the various trinkets and adornments of his office unprotected.

Giving the room another once over to ensure he won’t appear from the shadows—and that Mephisto isn’t around—you pad over to his desk, strewn with various papers and fountain pens.

Discreetly, you place the box on the edge near his chair where he’ll easily find it, the intricately curled scarlet ribbon catching in the ambient light. You try to make it look inconspicuous. Arrange some papers around it, fussing over its positioning before giving up.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous—it’s just your boss. Sylus, the man who isn’t afraid to sing like a metal pipe dragged over concrete in public. You’ve given him gifts before. Though you don’t think you’ve ever given him something so…personalized.

With your heart in your throat, you flee his study, praying to the powers above that he likes your present as much as you enjoyed picking it out.

—

“I wouldn’t put it past you to plant a bomb in my office,” Sylus teases.

You scoff from the opposite side of his desk. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it four years ago, bossman.”

He quirks a brow, studying you from the safety of his leather, high-backed chair. Seems to consider your words before you give him an exasperated look. 

He summoned you to his office a few hours after you’d snuck in. Of course, his security system picked up everything. You should’ve known.

You watch him fiddle with the box, your chest swelling with anxiety. 

“Just open the damn thing. It’s not a bomb.”

He taps his temple in that customary way, humor tugging at his lips. “That’s something that someone trying to kill me would say.” 

You roll your eyes, growing impatient.

Sylus doesn’t make you wait much longer, and you watch him tug at the ribbon with bated breath. Your heart seems to stop beating as he peels the box open, and he’s stock-still when he beholds what’s inside. 

He appears considerate. Quiet as his expression softens, eyes wavering between you and the box.

“Are these for me?” he queries hoarsely. Almost disbelieving.

You nod rigidly, fear and rejection coiling around your spine. You picked out hypoallergenic studs to hopefully curb his sensitivity. They’re modest yet stylish enough to complement his style.

Does he like them? Shit, does he hate them?

He chuckles something low. Something fond, and you feel it curdling in your stomach. He suddenly pushes away from his desk, and you blink rapidly, alarmed.

Sylus peers at you with a rare tenderness shining in his eyes. Expectant. “Would you like to do me the honor?” 

You gape like a fish out of water, owlishly blinking before you pick up what he’s talking about. “Uh, sure?” 

You inwardly kick yourself for how small you sound, how your voice cracks, and you awkwardly round his desk to stand before him, nerves wound tight. He leans back in a casual slouch, the soft mirth never leaving his handsome face whilst his eyes slide shut.

You step between his splayed legs, heat surging like molten liquid through your body. You pluck the matte box from betwixt his fingers, and you shudder when your skin meets. It’s strange; you’ve been close to him before. So why does tonight feel so…intimate?

Determined, you wet your drying lips with your tongue, pushing out a breath and resigning yourself. You bend slightly at the waist, fingers cautiously grazing over his skin to clasp one of his earlobes. You flinch when Sylus winces, a strained sound torn from his throat. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no. It’s alright.” He turns his head, offering you his ear, pretty lashes fluttering beneath a slightly furrowed brow. “Keep going.”

You swallow thickly past the sand in your throat. Try again, his fingers tightly gripping the armrests of his chair in your periphery. 

You feel awful. Know that his ears are still a little sensitive. But they’re soft and elastic beneath your fingers, and you’re hyper-vigilant as you remove one of his earrings.

His body tenses, legs threatening to lock around your hips as you stand between them. But he stops himself, instead giving you his other ear to repeat the process. 

He seems to relax once you’ve removed both earrings, lips slightly parting with a relieved breath out. You can’t help wanting to run your fingers along the cartilage. Want to rub the pain away. Maybe sink your teeth into it. 

“You’re sure this is alright?” you caution, plucking one of the studs from the box and setting said box on his desk behind you. 

He nods, holding his breath, brows knitting together. You feel like you’re doing something you shouldn’t be. Touching him in intimate places with the way he bristles and lightly gasps as you carefully slot each new stud in his lobes.

You’re grateful it’s over, taking a step back to appraise your work. And dammit it all, if he didn’t look good before…

“How do they look?”

“Hot,” you reply before you can think. 

Sylus chuckles at your brazenness, and the air seems to shift. An arm creeps around your waist, his massive hand finding the small of your back, its warmth bleeding through your blouse. Without warning, he tugs you closer until you stumble into him, your knee propped on the chair between his thighs. 

The look he wears is predatory. His eyes shine like dwindling coals, falling to your mouth before easing up to drill into your soul.

“Wouldn’t you like a closer look?”

His warm breath fanning over your face is dizzying. The proximity of his body to yours, his chest so pleasantly rigid and hot beneath your palms, and that devastating scent he carries is a recipe for disaster. There’s no mistaking his body language, the languid stir of his eyes. 

But you’re you, and this is your boss. Sure, you’ve been attracted to him for a very long time. But you’ve never acted on your infatuation, figuring he would reject you in favor of someone else. You didn’t want to muck up the relationship you’d worked so hard to construct. 

So, you laugh off his flirtations, attempting to quell the thumping of your heart in your throat. “Did Emcee talk you into doing shrooms, too?”

His voice crackles like a hearth fire. “Why? Do I look like I’m under the influence?”

You catch your breath, unaware you were even holding it. “No, but you’re acting kind of…strange.”

“Am I?” His hand makes several expeditions up and down your back, his free hand falling to your waist. 

You gasp, lips quivering, eyes hooded.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, sweetheart,” he murmurs, enamored by your mouth, “feel free to tell me to stop.”

How could you when he makes you feel like this? Witless, confused, hot? The English language eludes you when a slender finger crooks under your chin, slightly tilting your head back.

Your body is under his command as he lures you closer, fully intending to kiss you. Pleasant tingles ricochet through your bones when his lips graze yours, and you’re about to abandon your inhibitions and just kiss him.

Until the door of his study flies open, the heavy oakwood cracking against the wall, and you don’t think you’ve ever moved faster, scurrying away from Sylus to stand rigidly at his side.

“Hey, bossman,” says Kieran, oblivious to what he just interrupted. “Your guest is here.”

You don’t miss the growl roiling in Sylus’ chest, and if looks could kill…

You take the opportunity to slip out of his office while he’s giving Kieran an earful about manners, and you slink against a wall in the hallway once you’re out of earshot. A lovestruck smile crests over your face, your heart pounding beneath your fist curled to your chest. 

Perhaps you should invest in these heartfelt gifts more often if it means having more close calls like that with the object of your quiet pining.

[nina-ya]

hear me out. luffy + "i want to taste you so badly."

Synopsis: Luffy eats you out for the first time. Thats it. that's the fic. LMAO Pairing: Luffy x AFAB reader CW: NSFW MINORS DNI, cunnilingus, Luffy eats you like you're a piece of meat, a hint of overstimulation A/N: thank you aims for helping me get my writing juices back I love you very much ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You don’t know how it got to this point– his hands all over you, his lips bruising against yours, and your body aching to let him go further, but god, you’re not about to stop it. Not when his kiss feels like it’s devouring you, swallowing every breath, every moan, every damn thought. His hands are greedy and possessive, roughened palmes skating over your waist, dipping under your top, squeezing your thighs like he can’t get enough. It’s frantic, it’s like he’s trying to carve his name into your skin with his touch.

The counter bites into the backs of your thighs when he grabs you, hoisting you onto the edge like you weigh nothing. The moment your ass hits the cold surface, his mouth leaves yours, trailing down– his lips, his teeth, his tongue leaving a messy, wet path along your jaw and neck. Every kiss, every bite makes you gasp, makes you arch into him, makes your thighs clench around his sides with need, 

“Fuck,” you hiss when he sinks his teeth lightly into the curve of your collarbone, his laugh muffled against your skin. His hands slide up your thighs, tugging your skirt up like it’s the only thing standing between him and salvation. 

When his eyes meet yours, dark and heavy, filled with so much hunger, it makes your chest tight.

“I want to taste you so badly,” he rasps like the thought is choking him, clawing its way out of his throat. 

Your breath hitches as his hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider. You don’t even get a chance to respond because his mouth is on you again, lower now, trailing down your stomach. Every kiss feels like it's branded into you, like he is marking his territory, staking his claim. 

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, yanking them down in one motion that makes your head spin. The cool air hits you first, then the unbearable heat of his breath, fanning over your soaked folds. His nose brushes your inner thigh as he nuzzles closer, like he is savoring the anticipation. 

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you, his fingers spreading you open to expose everything to his curious, hungry eyes. He’s mesmerized, he’s never seen anything like it so close and personal, and now he’s about to worship it in the filthiest way possible. 

“So… do I just…?” he trails off, his voice uncharacteristically unsure, but it doesn't matter because the first swipe of his tongue is anything but hesitant. It's slow, it's testing, and it's enough to make your hips jerk against him. 

A strangled moan slips from your lips, your hands shooting down to tangle in his hair, desperate to pull him closer, to urge him to keep going. He hums against you, the sound vibrating against you as he does it again, this time with more pressure, and more confidence. 

“Fuck, just like that,” you gasp, your voice wrecked and shaky, your thighs trembling in his grasp. “A little higher– oh, fuck,-- right there.”

Your words spur him on, and any hint of hesitation evaporates. Luffy dives back in, his mouth moving against you with chaotic, unpracticed motions. His tongue explores you in wild, unpredictable strokes– sloppy, desperate, and so goddamn eager it makes your toes curl. He’s all over you, licking, sucking, and tasting like he can’t get enough, like he’s been starving for this and only just realized it. 

When your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up, he responds immediately. His lips close around your clit, sucking experimentally, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that’s almost too much and not enough all at once. The sharp pull of pleasure wrenches a cry from your throat, your head tipping back as heat pools low in your belly.

“Fuck– you taste so good,” he mutters between messy licks and desperate sucks, his words garbled and dripping with awe. His voice is thick with it, like he’s lost in the act, too consumed by the taste of you to bother with coherence.

His hands tighten on your thighs, his grip bruising as he pulls you closer, dragging your ass halfway off the counter so he can bury himself even deeper. His nose nudges against your clit and applies pressure while his tongue laps greedily at the slick that spills from you. It’s filthy, the wet sounds of his mouth working against you filling the kitchen, but he doesn't care, nor does he even seem aware of anything beyond you. 

He’s clumsy, his inexperience glaring in the way his rhythm sometimes falters, or the way he presses too hard or not hard enough- but each misstep only lasts a moment. Your moans guide him, your hips shifting against his face wordlessly tells him what you need, and he learns fast. Each mistake is corrected with an almost frantic determination, his tongue and lips returning to the spots that make you gasp and tremble. 

He’s drooling, his chin slick with spit and arousal, a messy way of showing how utterly unhinged he is in his desire to consume you. The mess only spurs him on, his face buried so deep between your thighs that you can feel every breath, every groan in your soul. 

The pressure building inside of you is a slow and devastating burn, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every erratic flick of his tongue. Luffy devours you like it’s his last meal. His lack of finesse, his insatiable hunger, it is all overwhelming, and he can't help but make up for every imperfection with sheer, unrelenting passion. 

You’re trembling under him, gasping for air, the edge rushing toward you like a wave you can’t outrun. And he just keeps going, keeps devouring, keeps pulling you apart with his mouth like he’s determined to ruin you. 

You try to warn him, your voice tumbling out in a fragmented rush. “Luffy, oh shit, I'm gonna–” The words dissolve into a cry as the tension inside of you finally snaps, shattering into shards of blinding ecstasy. 

Your orgasm crashes through you, a white-hot pleasure that steals the very breath from your lungs and leaves you trembling. Every nerve feels like it's been set alight, your body bucking against his mouth as waves of pleasure ripple through you. Luffy groans low against your core, the sound vibrating against your oversensitive flesh and sending aftershocks tearing through you. He doesn’t pull back, his tongue is determined to prolong every second of your unraveling, dragging you deeper into the flames. 

Your body jerks beneath him, overstimulated and desperate as his lips close around your clit again. His tongue flicks against you, not daring to stop even as your hands fly to his hair in a frantic attempt to slow him down. “Luffy! Fuck- wait, I can't-” The words barely leave your mouth, thin and broken, your voice cracking under the intensity. 

He doesn’t listen. Not even a little. 

Lost in his own maddened desire, he seems hell-bent on wringing every last shiver, every last gasp, every last ounce of essence from you. His hands clamp down on your thighs, pinning you in place as his mouth works you over, ruthless in its hunger. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, your hips jerking involuntarily, hands tugging at his hair in a vain attempt to slow him. You’re spiraling, helpless against his eagerness to please, and it is all too much to even form a single coherent thought. 

It’s only when another broken string of pleas leaves your lips that he finally relents, pulling back with one last lingering kiss that makes your thighs quiver. His face is flushed and glistening, his lips swollen and slick from his efforts, and the pride in his dark, spiraling eyes is undeniable. 

You’re still trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling in uneven bursts, when your gaze drops and that's when you see it. The unmistakable bulge in his pants, hard and straining against his shorts, his hand pressed against it in slow, agonizing circles as if he's barely holding himself together. 

“Looks like someone enjoyed himself,” you rasp, the words tumbling out between breaths as you try to piece yourself back together. 

Luffy blinks at you, dazed before a sheepish grin spreads across his lips. “Couldn’t help it,” he murmurs, “you just taste so good.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, your chest still heaving as you weakly gesture toward his hand. “I’d love to help with that, but…” you trail off, laying back against the counter as you try to steady your racing pulse. “You’re going to have to give me a minute. Someone wore me out.”

His grin widens, unrepentant and unbothered as he continues to palm himself. “Okay, take your time, as long as I get to have more later.” 

It's the way he says it- so simple, so raw, still so full of the hunger that he unleashed onto you just moments prior- that makes your body ache all over again.

[tsunodaradio]

unless you call tonight ⛐ 𝐋𝐍𝟒

THIS IS: FORMULA ONE, A MILESTONE EVENT 📀 lando falls for a busy woman and it ruins his life.

♫ starring: lando norris x pilot!reader. ♫ word count: 4.3k. ♫ includes: romance. suggestive content/off-screen smut, profanity. friends with benefits. @norrisradio requested busy woman by sabrina carpenter. ♫ commentary box: unfortunately, i will never be normal about anything tara asks of me. ever. all my lando's are hers and this is proof. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Lando stares at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. The chat is open— your name at the top, a string of texts below. Nothing crazy, just a couple of messages exchanged over the past few weeks. Enough to keep the line open but not enough to call it anything solid.

He exhales sharply and locks his phone again, as if that will stop him from thinking about you. Spoiler alert: It doesn’t.

He unlocks his phone. Reopens the conversation. Scrolls up, reading over the last thing you sent. Been up since four. Dead on my feet. Talk soon. 

That was two days ago.

Lando flops back onto the hotel bed with a huff. He should text you. It’s not like you’d ignore him. Every time he’s reached out, you’ve answered, even if it’s just a short reply before you’re off somewhere again. 

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? 

He already knows how this will go. You’ll take hours to reply, if you reply at all. Not because you’re uninterested— at least, he hopes not— but because you’re busy. 

You live in the sky, chasing time zones while he chases apexes. He doesn’t even know where in the world you are right now.

You’d met briefly. One of those moments that should’ve been forgettable but wasn’t. He was waiting for his flight, slouched in an airport lounge, when you walked past in uniform, checking your watch. Someone had called your name, and you’d turned just enough for him to catch the hint of a smile. 

He knew, then and there, that he had to at least try. 

“Give me your number,” he had said, leaning against the airport counter, all charm and easy confidence. “So I can let you know when I land safely.”

You had laughed, shaking your head as you tapped your name and number into his phone. “Is that your way of saying you get nervous on flights?”

“No,” he’d grinned, locking the contact in. “It’s my way of making sure I see you again.”

“Don’t be boring,” you warned before handing him off to be handled by some attendant who had probably tried to flirt with him. He couldn’t be sure; he was so caught up with you that he couldn’t see past it.

Lando had planned on being anything but boring. And yet, here he is, stuck in his own head.

He drags a hand down his face, annoyed at himself, at the situation, at you for being so goddamn unavailable. Not in the emotional way. No, that would be easier. But in the literal, physical sense. 

It’s ironic, really. He’s the one in a different country every weekend, but somehow, you’re still the one he can’t seem to pin down.

Maybe that’s what makes this feel different. He’s used to things being easy, casual, within reach. 

You slip through his fingers before he can decide what to do with you.

He types out a message. u free?

Then he deletes it. 

Tries a different approach. what country are u in now? 

Lando deletes that, too. 

His fingers dance across the screen as he jams out yet another thing he won’t send, typed out with the belief that simply putting it out into the world might suffice. 

i miss being inside you, he types, and then he backspaces until it’s just i miss you, and then he just trashes the whole thing all together. 

Lando rests his phone on his chest.

And waits. What for, he’s not sure.  

It’s not like he’s asking for much. A conversation. A distraction. A sign that you might be thinking about him, too.

With a sigh, he locks his phone and sets it aside. 

Not tonight. 

The first time you slept together, Lando hadn’t really thought about what came after.

You’d been in the same city by coincidence. One of your flights aligning with his race weekend, just by sheer luck. The two of you had figured that out quickly enough, and from there, it had been easy.

A drink, a conversation that flowed too smoothly, a brush of your fingers against his when you took his empty glass from him. By the time you were both back at his hotel, neither of you had pretended it was anything but inevitable.

Lando had been more than happy to take his time with you, to let things build and stretch into the early hours of the morning. And, fuck, it had been good. 

You were the kind of person who made everything feel easy, like you’d known each other longer than just the past handful of hours. Like you’d done this before, even though you hadn’t.

So he’d fallen asleep next to you, pleasantly exhausted, fully expecting to wake up to a warm body curled into his.

Instead, he had woken up to the rustling of sheets and the quiet clink of a zipper.

Blinking through his sleep-heavy haze, he had turned over to see you by the foot of the bed, pulling on your jacket. Your bag was already slung over one shoulder, your phone in your free hand. The bedside clock read something ridiculous— barely past five in the morning.

Lando frowned. “You’re leaving?”

You glanced at him. “Yeah. I’ve got a flight to catch.”

“Right now?”

You huffed a laugh and adjusted the strap of your bag. “That’s usually how flights work, yeah,” you had shot back. 

He narrowed his eyes at you, still groggy, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you were actually about to walk out the door like this. “So you’re just gonna disappear before the sun’s even up?”

“I’m not disappearing,” you corrected, “I’m saying goodbye.”

Lando scoffed, unimpressed with the technicality. “Right.”

A brief pause settled between you. He could still see the soft marks of his fingertips on your skin, the messy imprint of the night before. He thought, just for a second, that maybe you’d hesitate. That maybe you’d crawl back into bed, let the morning stretch a little longer.

But you just smiled instead, already halfway to the door. “Good luck on your race.”

And with that, you were gone.

Lando sat there for a long moment, listening to the faint click of the door shutting behind you.

He wasn’t used to being left behind. 

He had finished on the podium that race. Everybody talked about his car, about strategy, but he knew he’d been fueled by spite and the glorious afterglow of a good fuck. 

A part of him had wanted to reach out and ask if you’d seen him win. He didn’t, of course. He liked to think he had some dignity. 

Tonight, though, Lando is convinced that all of his dignity will be damned.

He steps out of the bar, the night air cool against his flushed skin. The noise from inside spills onto the street— laughter, the bassline of some song he should probably recognize, the occasional burst of applause from a group in the corner. He exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders as he leans back against the brick wall, phone in hand.

He shouldn’t be checking his phone. Shouldn’t be waiting for anything.

But he is.

He flicks his thumb over the screen, unlocking it for the tenth time in as many minutes. No notifications. No messages.

No messages from you.

His jaw tightens. He shoves his free hand into his pocket, tilting his head back against the wall. It’s stupid. You have a life, a job that doesn’t leave you glued to your phone, a schedule that barely aligns with his. But it doesn’t stop the frustration from simmering under his skin.

Then, as if the Universe is sick and tired of his moping, his phone vibrates.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ You good?

Lando exhales through his nose, half in disbelief, half in relief. He should let you wait, make you sit in silence the way he had. But he doesn’t. His fingers move before he can think better of it.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ i was starting to think you forgot about me

The dots appear immediately.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Don’t be dramatic. Long flights, long days.

He runs his tongue over his teeth. Yeah, he knows. Doesn’t mean he likes it.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ am i so easy to ignore, hm??

A bit too honest. But he lets it sit.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Poor baby. Want a kiss to make things better?

A sharp laugh escapes Lando. He glances back toward the bar, but the thought of going back in— of pretending he’s not the happiest he’s been in days— feels unappealing.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ ure lucky i’m a forgiving man from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Oh, are you? to: little ms. pilot ✈️ wouldn’t be texting u rn if i weren’t from: little ms. pilot ✈️ And here I thought I was doing you a favor.

Lando scoffs, rolling his eyes at his screen.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ by what? keeping me on my toes? from: little ms. pilot ✈️ By giving you something to look forward to.

He shakes his head. You’re good— he’ll give you that.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ u make it sound like u’re doing charity work from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Aren’t I?

Lando’s stomach tightens at the way you always manage to flip things back on him, like you’re the one indulging him instead of the other way around.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ u r a menace from: little ms. pilot ✈️ You like it.

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers hover over the keyboard as he exhales, glancing back toward the bar. He should go inside, forget about this conversation before it pulls him in deeper.

Instead, he types:

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ i like a lot of things about u :)

A beat.

The dots appear. Disappear.

Reappear.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Careful, Norris. Sounds like dangerous territory.

He smirks. Gotcha.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ only if u make it out to be

No immediate reply this time. He waits for a second, then two, before locking his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. If you want to keep playing this game, fine.

But he won’t be the only one chasing.

Lando sees your name light up his phone, and for the first time in a long time, he considers not answering.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. The problem is that he does—badly. He wants to see you, wants to hear that teasing lilt in your voice when you make some offhand remark that he’ll spend hours thinking about later.

The phone buzzes again.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Layover in your city. Few hours to spare. Busy?

He stares at the screen, jaw ticking with impatience.

This is the moment where he should say no. He should have some fucking dignity, tell you he’s got better things to do than be at your beck and call.

But he doesn’t. 

Because Lando’s never been good at resisting things that feel good in the moment, and right now, there’s nothing he wants more than you.

He barely remembers the drive over, only that his knee bounced the whole way, his mind running in circles around the same thought: He should’ve said no.

When you open the door, it’s as good as over for him.

You're fresh out of the shower, hair damp, hotel robe tied loosely around your waist. You smirk when you see him, leaning against the doorframe like you already know he was coming the second you hit send.

Lando tongues the inside of his cheek. “You’re trouble.”

“And yet you’re here.”

You step back, letting him inside. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing the two of you in. He watches as you cross the room, and there’s a fleeting moment where he wonders if this will be the time it finally breaks him. If this will be the time he won’t be able to pick himself back up when you leave.

Then you tug him forward by the front of his hoodie, pulling him into a kiss, and he stops thinking altogether.

Lando’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if he’s trying to ground himself in the moment. His fingers press into the soft fabric of your robe, but it’s not enough. He’s desperate for more, for the feeling of your skin against his, the way you always seem to make him forget about everything else.

You laugh softly against his lips, a teasing sound that vibrates through him, and for a second, he thinks maybe you can hear the way his heart is pounding.

“Impatient,” you murmur, your voice low and smooth, as your hands slide under the hem of his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath.

“You started it,” Lando replies, his voice rougher than he intended, his breath hitching when your fingers graze his chest.

You grin at him, and he can’t help but mirror the expression, even as he watches you slowly step back, eyes flicking between his and the space between you. It’s like you’re daring him to follow, to push this further— and God, does he want to.

Before he can take another step toward you, you pause, looking at him with a glint in your eye that makes him hesitate for a moment. “You’re sure you want this? You know how this goes, Norris.”

His throat closes up. 

There’s that voice again, the one that whispers that he’s being a fool, that he’s walking right into the same trap he always does. The same trap you’ve set so many times before, and he’s willingly fallen for it each and every time.

“I’m not going to regret it,” he says, the words tumbling out more firmly than he feels.

His eyes are locked on yours, searching for any sign that you’re not on the same page. But you don’t look away. You’re not pulling back. You’re watching him with an intensity that almost feels like you’ve already made up your mind.

You nod, slow and deliberate, and then you’re moving toward him again, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss that makes his whole body hum.

There’s no talking after that. No hesitation.

The next thing he knows, he’s pulling at the knot of your robe, hands shaking as he exposes more of your skin, his mouth following the trail of fire you leave across his chest. You tug at his hoodie, almost impatient in the way you’re stripping him down, until he’s left standing in front of you in nothing but his jeans and the fast-fading remnants of his composure.

At this point, Lando’s not sure it matters. Not with you this close, not with your hands tracing the lines of his body, not with the heat between you building to a point where it feels like he can’t breathe without you.

And when you pull him into another kiss, your lips just as desperate as his own, it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s no more thinking, no more wondering. Just the feeling of you, here, with him.

Lando doesn’t think about tomorrow. Doesn’t think about the empty space he’ll wake up to or the way he’ll check his phone, hoping— pathetically— for a message that won’t be there.

For now, all that matters is the way your breath stutters when he kisses down your neck, the way your hands press against his skin like you need him just as badly.

For now, he lets himself believe that you do.

Patience has never been his strong suit, and he sure as hell doesn’t have any left when it comes to you. It’s been— what? Two weeks? Maybe three? Since the last time he saw you, since you last texted, since he last even felt like he existed in your world.

And fine, he gets it. You have a life. You have a job that keeps you moving, that pulls you across time zones and continents with no regard for whatever flimsy thing the two of you have going on.

But it’s starting to get to him.

He’s been staring at his phone for the past twenty minutes, scrolling through old texts, checking to see if maybe you had responded and he somehow missed it. (He hasn’t. You haven’t.)

Before he can talk himself out of it, he taps on your contact and hits FaceTime.

It rings. Once, twice— he’s already regretting it.

Then, you pick up.

You’re in some dimly lit hotel room, the glow from your laptop screen casting soft shadows over your face. You look tired. You blink at him like you weren’t expecting the call.

“Lando?” Your voice is thick with exhaustion.

“Hey,” he says, gripping the edge of his couch. He hadn’t exactly planned what he was going to say— just that he needed to see you, to hear your voice, to remind himself that he still exists to you. “Where are you?”

You sigh, rubbing at your temple. “Singapore. Just got in a couple of hours ago.”

He bites back the urge to apologize. Singapore. The other side of the world. Not that it should matter. Not that it ever has.

“You could’ve texted,” he says, and it comes out rougher than he means it to.

You frown. “I’ve been working.”

“For two weeks?”

You hesitate. It’s brief, but he catches it. “I meant to,” you say eventually. “I just— Lando, come on.”

“No, seriously,” he pushes, his grip tightening on his phone. “Do you even think about me when you’re gone?”

Your brows furrow. “Of course I do.”

“Yeah? Then why does it feel like I don’t exist as soon as you leave?”

That gives you pause. You glance away, like you’re searching for the right words. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Lando laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You could start with the truth.”

You inhale sharply, sitting up a little straighter. “Lando…” There’s something warning in your tone.

He shakes his head. “Forget it.”

A beat of silence stretches between you before you finally sigh. “I thought we were on the same page about this.”

There it is. The thing he didn’t want to hear, the thing he’s been trying to pretend doesn’t exist.

You’re not in a relationship.

You’ve made that clear from the beginning, in the way you never linger too long, in the way you leave before the sheets even cool, in the way you go weeks without speaking to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

But it’s not easy for him.

Lando swallows hard, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah,” he says. “We are.”

And then, because he can’t help himself, because frustration is curling hot and tight in his chest, because he wants you to hurt the way he does, he adds, “Must be nice, though.”

Your brows knit together. “What?”

“Not having to think about anyone but yourself.”

Your expression shifts instantly. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, it must be convenient,” he continues, his tone sharp. “Keeping me on standby for when it suits you, for when you’re not busy. Must be nice to just disappear whenever you want and not have to deal with the mess you leave behind.”

Your lips part slightly, disbelief flickering across your features. Then, just as quickly, your face hardens.

“Lando,” you say, voice steady, firm. “I’m not doing this with you.”

His jaw clenches. “Doing what?”

“This,” you snap. “Whatever this little tantrum is.”

Lando opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance.

“You don’t get to act like I’ve done something wrong just because I don’t orbit around you,” you say, and your words cut deep. “I told you what this was from the beginning. If you thought it was something else, that’s on you.”

He flinches, but you’re not done.

“And before you ask— no, I don’t have a flight to catch.” Your voice is like ice now. “I’m ending this call because I don’t feel like listening to your bullshit. I’m too busy for it.”

And then, just like that, his screen goes dark.

TWO DAYS AFTER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ yo

FIVE DAYS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ look, i was an ass. i know that just... idk. lmk if i can make it up to u or something

ONE WEEK LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ u still mad? tbf i’d probably still be mad

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ sooo does that mean i shd wait longer before texting again

TEN DAYS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ ok i’ve done some thinking. i’ve concluded i deserve to be ignored, but also i don’t like being ignored

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ i feel like i shd at least get points for self-awareness

TWELVE DAYS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ just tell me u hate me so i can sleep at night

TWO WEEKS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ alright. u win. won’t bother u anymore

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ unless u text first. then it’s fair game.

ONE MONTH LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ saw a plane today and thought of u

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ i feel like that should earn me AT LEAST a pity response

Lando tells himself he’s fine.

He throws himself into racing, into training, into anything that doesn’t involve picking up his phone and staring at a dead chat. He convinces himself that it’s better this way. He’s faster on track, more focused in meetings, less distracted.

At least, that’s the lie he repeats to himself.

But then, one afternoon in Monaco, he sees you at the grocery store. Every carefully constructed wall he’s built around himself crumbles in an instant.

You’re standing by the produce section, inspecting a bunch of grapes like they hold the answers to the universe. It’s almost laughably ordinary— no pilot uniform, no layover rush, just you in a sundress, vacationing like a normal person. 

And for some reason, that stings.

He almost walks past you, pretends he hasn’t seen you. But then you turn, eyes meeting his, and there’s no escaping it now.

“Lando,” you say, like you’re surprised to see him. Which is ridiculous, because this is his city. His home.

He swallows hard, nodding. “Hey.”

An awkward pause stretches between you, filled only by the low hum of the store’s music and the distant chatter of other shoppers. Lando clears his throat, gripping the handle of his basket like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Didn’t know you were in Monaco.”

“I’m just here for a bit,” you say. “Taking some time off.”

“Right.” He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Guess you’ve been too busy to take a vacation before now.”

The words come out sharper than he intends. Your eyes narrow, just slightly. “That’s not fair.”

He wants to argue, to remind you of all the unanswered messages, of how he felt like a complete idiot waiting for a reply that never came. But what would be the point? You’ve made it clear before that this was never anything serious. That he wasn’t supposed to care like this.

“Yeah,” he exhales. “Maybe it’s not.”

Silence again. Then, you shift your basket higher on your arm. “I should go.”

Lando nods, watching as you turn on your heel and head for the checkout. That should be it. That should be the end of it.

But suddenly, he’s moving.

He doesn’t even think about it, just grabs the first bouquet of supermarket flowers he sees, throws some cash at the self-checkout, and jogs out the door after you.

You’re halfway down the street when he catches up. “Hey— wait.”

You pause, glancing at him over your shoulder. He’s out of breath, which is embarrassing, considering he’s a professional athlete. He thrusts the slightly-crumpled bouquet toward you.

“Are you busy today?”

You blink, staring at the flowers like they might explode. “Lando…”

“I just— I don’t know,” he rushes out. “If you’ve got time, maybe we could—” He hesitates. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking. To talk? To fix things? To ruin himself all over again?

You exhale softly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. He watches you carefully, desperately, like a man on the edge of a decision he has no power over.

Lando lets out a breath, his grip tightening around the plastic-wrapped stems in his hands. “Look, I know I was out of line that night. And I know I’ve been acting like— like I don’t get what this is. But the thing is, I don’t think I know how to be casual about you.

“I’ve tried, and I’m fucking terrible at it. I want more, and I know that’s not what we do, but—” He shakes his head, his jaw working, like the words aren’t coming out right.

A passing car honks in the distance. The world moves on as if this isn’t the biggest thing happening in his universe.

“But I like you,” he says finally, voice quiet but firm. “I like you more than I should. And I know you’re busy, I know your job takes you everywhere, and maybe that means this doesn’t work. But if there’s even a small chance that it could—” 

He looks at you like he’s never wanted anything more. “Just tell me if I should stop.”

Your lips press together, and for a long moment, you say nothing. Lando’s heart beats in his throat. He braces himself for rejection, for you to tell him this was a mistake, for you to hand the flowers back and walk away.

Instead, you take the bouquet from his hands, inspecting it like you’ve never seen supermarket daisies before. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips, small but real, and you shake your head just a little before looking up at him.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmur.

Lando’s stomach twists. “I know.”

You step closer, lifting onto the balls of your feet to press a kiss to his cheek. His skin burns where your lips touch, and he barely has time to register the warmth before you pull back, meeting his eyes.

“I might be busy,” you say, holding the flowers loosely in your hands. “But I think I have a little bit of time for you today.”

He’ll take it, he decides. 

Today, tonight, tomorrow— for however long you’ll have him. ⛐

[rottenherbs]

Oblivious to Everything but the Fight

Pairings: G.W x Reader

Tags: friends to lovers // OofP era // Hidden feelings

Summary: Amid the chaos of Umbridge’s rule and the looming war, you’re too exhausted and focused on helping Dumbledore’s Army to notice that your best friend, George Weasley, has been in love with you all along.

W/C: 1.7k

A/N: SUPER CUTE REQUEST! Thank u 🤍

[masterlist]

Much love, Saige

You didn’t notice when it started.

Not really.

Maybe it was the way George’s eyes lingered a little too long when you spoke, the way his teasing had shifted from playful jabs to something softer, warmer. Maybe it was the way he always found an excuse to sit next to you, the way his hands brushed against yours just a second longer than necessary.

Or maybe, it was the way he seemed to light up every time you laughed, even when the world around you felt like it was crumbling.

But you didn’t notice.

Because you were exhausted.

Because your days were spent sneaking students into the Room of Requirement, demonstrating Shield Charms, and practicing Disarming Spells until your arms ached. Because your nights were spent scrubbing blood from your knuckles after another detention with Umbridge, her cursed quill carving words into your skin. Because the war was coming, and you could feel the weight of it pressing down on your shoulders, suffocating, relentless.

There was no time to notice anything else.

———

“Oi, Y/N, have I told you that you’re my favorite person?”

You glance up from your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, eyes heavy with fatigue, quill dangling limply from your fingers. Across the Gryffindor common room, George Weasley is leaning against the armrest of your chair, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips.

“You and Fred say that to everyone,” you mumble, rubbing at your temple.

Fred, who is sprawled across the couch beside you, snorts. “Not true. We only say it to people we truly adore.”

George waggles his eyebrows. “And I, for one, truly adore you.”

You blink at him, completely unmoved. “That’s nice, George.”

Fred cackles. “Oh, this is painful.”

George huffs, plopping down beside you, arms crossed. “I’m trying to charm you, you know.”

“I’m aware.” You flip a page in your book.

“And?”

“And I have an essay on nonverbal spells due tomorrow, and I’ve had detention every night this week, so unless you’re planning on writing it for me…”

George groans, throwing his head back. “You’re impossible.”

Fred pats his twin on the shoulder. “Told you she was a lost cause.”

But George isn’t listening. He’s watching you, the way your eyebrows knit together, the way your fingers tap absentmindedly against the parchment. He sees the dark circles under your eyes, the tension in your shoulders, the exhaustion you try so hard to hide.

And he wonders if you’ll ever let yourself slow down long enough to see what’s right in front of you.

———

“You’re bleeding.”

You glance up, startled. The Room of Requirement is nearly empty now, the last of Dumbledore’s Army filtering out after another grueling practice. Harry had pushed everyone extra hard today, and your body aches in protest.

George stands in front of you, arms crossed, looking less amused than usual.

“It’s nothing,” you say automatically, but he’s already reaching for your hand. You wince as he flips it over, revealing the fresh, crimson lines carved into your skin.

I must not tell lies.

George’s jaw tightens. “How many times are you going to let her do this to you?”

You sigh, trying to pull your hand back, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he takes out his wand, muttering a soft Episkey. The wounds don’t disappear completely, but the pain eases slightly.

“I don’t have a choice,” you murmur.

George shakes his head. “Yes, you do.”

You don’t answer.

Because what would you even say? That you can’t afford to stop, that if you let yourself rest for even a second, everything might fall apart? That the war is getting closer, that every day feels like you’re running out of time?

So instead, you offer him a tired smile. “Thanks, George.”

And as you walk away, you don’t see the way he watches you, frustration and something else—something deeper—swirling in his chest.

———

It’s late when you stumble into the common room, the fire burning low, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Your body is screaming for rest, but you still have an essay to finish, spells to review, things to do—

“Sit down before you collapse.”

You nearly jump. George is lounging on the couch, arms behind his head, eyes fixed on you.

“I’m fine,” you say, but even you don’t sound convinced.

He raises an eyebrow. “You look like you got hit by a Bludger. Twice.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, dropping your bag onto the floor.

George watches as you sink into the chair across from him, rubbing at your temples. He hates this. He hates watching you wear yourself down to nothing.

So he sighs, sitting up. “Alright, enough of this.”

You frown. “Enough of what?”

“This.” He gestures at you. “You running yourself ragged, never taking a break. You need fun, Y/N. Desperately.”

You scoff. “George, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re kind of in the middle of a war.”

“All the more reason to have some fun.” He grins, but there’s something serious in his eyes. “Come on. I’ve got something planned.”

You hesitate. You should say no. You should finish your work, get some sleep, be responsible.

But George is looking at you like he won’t take no for an answer.

And maybe, just this once, you can let yourself breathe.

———

You’re laughing.

Really, genuinely laughing.

The kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt, the kind you haven’t felt in ages. George is beside you, grinning triumphantly, and you don’t even remember how you got here—some ridiculous prank, some stolen moment of joy in the chaos.

For the first time in weeks, you feel like yourself.

George watches you, his chest tightening.

He should just tell you. He should just say it.

But then you look at him, smiling, and you say, “Thanks, George. I needed this.”

And he knows you still don’t see it.

Still don’t see him.

So he swallows the words, pushing them down.

Not yet.

———

It happens slowly.

A late night by the fire. A lingering touch. The way he always waits for you after detention, even when you tell him not to. The way his jokes are always softer with you, the way his smiles seem a little more real when you’re around.

And then, one night, after a particularly brutal training session, you sit beside him, exhaustion weighing you down.

He doesn’t speak. Just leans his head against yours, quiet, steady.

And suddenly, it hits you.

All the signs you missed.

All the things you were too busy to see.

You turn to look at him, heart pounding, and he must see something in your expression because he gives you a small, knowing smile.

“Took you long enough,” he murmurs.

You exhale a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I really am an idiot, aren’t I?”

He grins. “The biggest.”

And then, after everything, after all the waiting—

You finally let yourself see him.

And this time, you don’t look away.

VI. The Moment You Finally Do Something About It

You don’t know how long you sit there, the quiet hum of the Gryffindor common room wrapping around you like a blanket. The fire crackles, casting warm light across George’s face, and for the first time in months, you don’t feel like you’re drowning.

Because he’s here.

Because he’s always been here.

And you were too blind to notice.

You shift slightly, tilting your head to look at him. His eyes flicker to yours, and there’s something soft, something patient in them—like he’s giving you a moment to catch up, to understand.

And you do.

Merlin, you do.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you, but suddenly the space between you disappears, and you’re leaning into him, resting your forehead against his. Your hands find his—calloused, warm, steady—and he squeezes gently, grounding you.

You swallow hard. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

George huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well. Can’t really blame you. You’ve had a lot on your plate.”

You nod, closing your eyes. “I just… I don’t know how to stop, George. I don’t know how to let myself be happy when everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

His thumb brushes over the back of your hand. “Then let me help.”

You open your eyes, breath catching.

“Let me be here for you,” he continues, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to do this alone, Y/N. You never did.”

You feel something break open in your chest, something you didn’t realize you were holding so tightly.

For so long, you thought you had to carry everything by yourself—the war, the training, the fear, the pain. You thought if you let yourself slow down, if you let yourself feel something other than exhaustion and duty, the weight of it all would crush you.

But here George is.

Holding you up, just like he always has.

And maybe—just maybe—you don’t have to do this alone.

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you properly, searching your face. “Yeah?”

You nod, a small, tired smile pulling at your lips. “Yeah.”

And then, because you don’t want to waste another second, you kiss him.

It’s soft, hesitant at first—like neither of you want to startle the moment away. But then George exhales against your lips, tilting his head, deepening it just slightly, and it feels like warmth, like home, like something you didn’t even know you needed.

When you finally pull back, George grins, his nose brushing against yours. “That was long overdue.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well. I’m a little slow sometimes.”

He tugs you closer, resting his chin on top of your head, his arms wrapping around you. “Lucky for you, I’m a very patient man.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into him, and for the first time in forever, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—you can have this.

That in the middle of all the chaos, all the fear, all the uncertainty—

There is still room for love.

And George Weasley has been waiting for you to see it all along.

[notsodelirious]

everyone seems to think jason is this big bad dom who's kinky and teasing and all that shit

NO??? PLEASE??????

let me tell you, jason as big as he is, he's just as soft and WILL melt the moment your fingers graze him ANYWHERE

bro starts whimpering even at the mere THOUGHT you touching his dick, but would never bring it up cause he's scared you'll reject him and be disgusted

so he puts on his mask, kisses you, teases a bit, and then backs off as if nothing happened

but the moment you do initiate anything with him? he's gone, left, away

he can't help but pour all his love into you, it's almost emotional

he's so touch deprived and needy for any kind of positive attention and affirmation that he has to will himself to not cry when you look at him with so much love in your eyes, much less when you want to show him just how much you love him

AND GOD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE KISS THAT MANS SCARS

HE MIGHT ACTUALLY START CRYING

he has always been so ashamed of them, so scared you'll run off the moment you see him, all of him (especially about the autopsy scar)

so the moment you stay instead? the moment you stare at him with adoration and litter him with kisses, saying how beautiful he looks? IM SORRY, HES GONE

him and the puddle on the floor? same thing

yearning is this mans first language and I stand by it

I've been seeing so much of dom Jay so please let my boy be soft😭

(tim, on the other hand, is exactly what people think jason is, mans a little snarky piece of shit everywhere and always, and i love him as he is)

(also sorry for the rant, got carried away a bit 😅)

absolutely no worries about the rant Anon, I love your way of thinking <3 sorry this took so long but I hope this answers your prompt

Look at me — Jason Todd

synopsis — you love Jason, even if he doesn’t believe you’ll love every part of him

notes — NSFW MDNI pretty please, also so long and so not edited, so apologies (edit — has been proofread, somewhat, but still not edited)

tags — established relationship, mentions of canon death, mild blood and injury, smut as mentioned above, 2.5k words, no use of y/n, gn!reader, Jason calls the reader “baby” and “babe”

The first time you see his scars, it’s completely unintentional. You run cold so you’re constantly turning the heat up in your apartment, far beyond what Jason thinks is reasonable. He complains, but you can’t help but note he’s a big guy, ‘obviously he’s not going to feel as cold as you do’.

His complaints continue, even after you’ve settled down to watch a movie, moaning about how ‘it’s so damn hot in here, it feels like a sauna’, and then proceeds to pull his hoodie off. You didn’t mean to stare as he tugs the offending piece of clothing over his head, but his shirt rids up just the slightest bit. Just enough to reveal a gnarled pink scar across his hip bone and a sharp, clean but raised scar right down his lower abdomen.

You’ve always assumed he has scars—he’s a vigilante; you’ve seen him come home limping more times than you’ve seen him get a full 8 hours of sleep.

Besides, it isn’t as if you’ve never seen any scars on him. He exists in t-shirt and the skin there is littered with scars of all shapes and sizes, from gunshot wounds to knives to mosquito bites. You’ve treated the occasional surface wound on his face or leg from time to time. You had seen his skin and he’s shown himself to you.

But that doesn’t stop you from staring.

This is different.

Only as the realisation that you’ve never seen him shirtless dawns on you, that you start to consider why that is.

You almost reach out to brush your fingers against the raised skin but he manages to dislodge himself from his jumper before then.

He tosses it onto the floor, kicks it out of the way just enough so neither of you will trip on it. He pauses briefly when he notices you, your stare. You tug his shirt down before he can even consider the movement himself, covering the sliver of skin that had been exposed to you.

You sit, in complete silence. You aren’t waiting for anything, you simply have nothing to say as you continue to watch the movie. A shaky hand reaches for yours and you can’t help the warmth in your heart when you feel his lips rest against the back of your hand.

The second time, you don’t even see anything at all. Another movie, a little less attention paid to it, as Jason kisses on you, your cheeks, neck, lips. You laugh softly as you let him, gently running your fingers through his hair, smiling at him as he comes up for air.

“What are you smiling like that for?”

“I just happen to have the prettiest boyfriend.”

You almost miss how his cheeks flush softly in the dark room and you laugh a little louder, pulling him down for a kiss as you straddle his lap. You let your hands roam, feeling his broad shoulders, arms and back as he dissolves beneath your touch, like sugar in warm water. You smile against his lips as he sinks into the sofa, soft panting a little too frantic for the slow-paced make-out session.

“Is somebody flustered?” you joke kindly as you tilt your head to lean against his cheek, hands on his hips and tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Don’t know what to do with yourself?”

“Please…”

You pull back just enough to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his eyes practically crossing all to look up at you, and watch your face.

“Please?” you repeat softly, as your fingertips brush against his lower stomach, feeling the muscles tense and twitch at the featherlight touch. “What are you asking for, baby?”

Your fingers creep higher, following the raised bumps and lines you can feel on his skin, under his shirt. He shivers, a soft moan slipping past his lips as you reach his pecs. You lay your palms flat against them, taking great joy in squeezing them gently and making Jason’s heart pound faster beneath your hand.

“Enjoying yourself?” you said, sly as you kiss his jaw, down his neck to press your lips to his pulsing jugular.

“I- please, I-“ You can’t help the breathy laugh as you move downwards, leaving tender, open mouth kisses along his throat, sucking his skin here and there, revelling in the soft moans and whimpers that slip from the back of his throat. Almost instinctually, his hips buck against yours—you hum, amused, before grinding back against him, feeling him tremble beneath your ministrations.

“I-“

Your hands continue to feel under his shirt, around his ribs, down his waist, down his sternum-

“Stop.”

You freeze, pull back and look at him.

“Jay?”

“I just-“ he swallows as he looks at himself, then at you, as if debating whether or not he should finish the thought and explain. Eventually, he just wordlessly shakes his head, pulling your hands out from beneath his shirt, “No.”

“Okay,” you kiss his cheek before sliding off his lap to settle beside him. You don’t understand what’s wrong, and as curious as you are, it’s not like you’re going to push him for an answer.

Jason is many things: loyal, kind, loving, a dickhead—but emotionally vulnerable and open is not part of that list. Pushing him to do or say anything leads to a quick dismissal at best. And an outburst at worst.

Jason would come to you in his own time.

That time happened to be a week later.

It’s a long night, he forgets himself. He climbs in through your window, tries to be as quiet as possible. But tonight, he forgets himself, shuts the window behind himself just a little too hard and the frame rattles softly. He doesn’t notice you stir or the soft mumble as you roll onto your side, too focused on trying to shed his leather jacket. Through bleary eyes, you can just about see him move about the room, hearing him curse silently.

The bathroom door closes before the lights flick on. Cupboards open and close, more cursing. You slip out of bed, recoiling a little at the cold floorboards beneath your feet, and pad towards the bathroom, knocking softly before pushing the door open.

“Jay?-“

“Shit-“

You freeze at the sight of each other. His bloody shirt is on the floor, staining a couple of your white tiles a vibrant red. Medical supplies are strewn across the counter, medical gauze packs ripped open and a suture needle halfway set up.

And Jason was…

A large gash spanned from his ribs to his hips—at least from what you could from beneath the bloodied towel he was holding his wound.

“Jesus, don’t you knock-“

“What happened?” you ask instead, rushing forward to help him staunch the bleeding. He groans as you apply pressure but doesn’t push you away, letting you come up close to him. You chance a peek beneath the make shift compress, trying to not pull a face as you convince yourself it’s not as bad as it looks.

“I’ll stitch you up,” you say softly as you look around the bathroom—the suture kit that he had already pulled out isn’t sterile anymore, you’ll have to take out a new one… “Go lie down, I’ll…” You trail off as you look up at him, meet his distant gaze as he stares down at you, almost unseeing. “Jay?”

He blinks and the afterimage of fear you saw flicker across his face is gone, face falling back into something more impassive.

“Lie down,” he mumbles, “Yeah… yeah, sure.”

He slips away from you, most likely a little dazed from the bloodloss. You’re itching to now how he got to that point, who could have gotten close enough to slice him like that but you shelve all those questions for later and begin to prep from wound care instead to go make sure your boyfriend doesn’t bleed.

You return to him minutes later, with an unopened first aids kit and clean hands and kneel beside him, from where he was sat on the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to…”

“Horizontal, babe,” you say softly as you nudge him. He settles as you flip open the kit and start cleaning his wound, apologising quietly for every wince and sharp breath.

Stitching him up is simple enough—his pain tolerance terrifies you but you don’t utter a word, just make sure to get the job done as swiftly and painlessly as possible.

You cut the last stitch, roll off your gloves, dump the whole thing on the bedside table—unsanitary and dangerous but your hands are trembling a little too much and your nerves a little too frayed from worry to truly care.

“Okay,” you swallow as you press a piece of clean gauze against his fresh stitches, “Sit up, lemme bandage you up.” Jason complies as best he can, muscles flexing under his skin as he sits up for you and you shuffle closer to wrap clean bandages around his midriff. You try to solely pay attention to the task at hand but now that nobody is in danger of bleeding out, you can’t help but let your eyes wonder across his bare torso. They trace the scars that litter his chest, linger on the large Y, carved from beneath his collarbones, joining at his sternum before disappearing beneath my bandaging.

“Sorry,” he says in a small voice. You tuck the end of the wrap into itself before you look up at him. He doesn’t look back, expression almost sheepish as if he were embarrassed. “I’ll put a shirt on-“

“Don’t.” You climb up onto the bed, straddling his thighs as you cup his face, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Don’t say that…”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“You told me you didn’t finish the ice cream last week.”

Your laugh rings clear in the still bedroom as you lean forward to kiss him.

“Well I’m not lying now,” you whisper against his lips. The kiss is slow, tender, as you both pour your souls into each other. “You scared me shitless.”

“Sorry-“

Your fingertips graze along the large scar on his chest.

“I’d ask you not to do it again but you probably will, won’t you?” He nods as he follows your hand, breathing deepening ever so slightly as you feel him. “Guess I’ll just have to enjoy you while I have you here.”

“Babe…”

“Shh,” you push him down carefully, avoiding his injury. “Just let me take care of you.”

His sighs are soft as he follows your lead, letting himself be pushed and pulled around. You kiss him, in a way only a devotee can worship their deity, lavishing him and devouring him.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

You move down his body, from his jaw to his neck. Your tongue runs along the straight scar there—you wonder what happened. You always wonder. But some stories were better kept for quieter nights.

Your lips and tongue brush along his skin, tracing every jagged scar you come across.

“Babe…” he moans breathily as he squirms ever so slightly beneath you, resisting the urge to buck his hips against your body.

“Is there something you’d like, handsome?” You smile as you thumb his nipples, your glee only growing as he whimpers, arching his back into your touch. You pinch them, tug them, make him squirm and pant harder. “You’re so needy, aren’t you?”

“Baby, please-“

You leave hickeys on his chest, following the large scar down between his pecs.

“So desperate.”

“Babe-“

You bite his pec, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to make him keen and buck his hips against yours, making you groan in turn. He grinds his covered hard-on against your crotch, seeking any friction he can.

“You need it, don’t you?”

His nodding is furtive and eager and your heart sores while your hand creeps downwards, following down his happy trail and dipping past his waistband.

“What do we say when we want something?”

“Please,” he whimpers as he looks up at you, adoration and desperation pooling in his deep green eyes. Tears brim along his waterline when you finally wrap your hand around his cock, warm and heavy against your palm. “Please. Please, please, baby, please-“

You tug him out of his underwear before you slowly start to pump, running your thumb along the head of his cock, teasing his leaking slit with the pad of your thumb.

“Such a polite boy,” you purr just as you sink lowered, kissing the scar on his hip before nuzzling your cheek against his cock. “Stay still for me, okay baby?”

You don’t give him any more warning before you’re sinking down on him, taking him into your mouth, wrapping your hand around what you can’t reach. You hollow your cheeks as you pull back up, bobbing your head on his dick as he moans and whimpers above you.

“Baby, baby, fuck-“

You hum in response, vibrations running through him making him shudder. His fingers tangle in your hair as suck his dick, gripping you like he’s unsure whether he wants you to stay or go.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, babe-“

You look up at him from beneath teary eyelashes, blinking up at him as if you aren’t choking on his dick. You pull away, making him whine in protest but you don’t cave, continuing to jerk him off.

“You wanna cum, handsome.”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, I’m- please.”

You lick the precum pearling from his tip before you swallow him down again, grinning at the soft wail and tightening grip. You feel more than hear the moment he tumbles over edge, thick cum shooting down your throat. You swallow before you can choke, but tears gather in your eyes, leaving you sputtering and coughing slightly when you come up for air.

“Good?” you ask softly as you wipe your face. He mumbles unintelligibly as he nods, strong arms finding your shoulders to drag you closer.

He mumbles something about returning the favour later, but you just laugh quietly as you pull him against you, resting his head against your shoulder, so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say as you run a hand through his hair. Only to pause as you bring a hand up to your mouth, pulling a hair out of your mouth.

Jason freezes before chuckling softly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind hair in my food,” you quip back cheekily, which only makes him blush.

“Jesus.”

You kiss the crown of his head as you snicker.

“Go to sleep, handsome.” You run your hands along his back, tracing idle patterns against his skin, on his collarbones and shoulders.

“They’re from my autopsy,” he mumbles softly as he tucks himself against you. “From when I died…”

You hum, but don’t speak.

Afraid that maybe you’ll uncover the dread blooming in your gut.

You’ll ask later, is what you tell yourself as you watch Jason yawn, and promptly slip in a heavy, restful slumber.

(holy shit was this a doozy to write; I usually never write 2k words in less than 48 hours but I hope your enjoyed <3)

[sakuraszn]

may I please request a Luffy x fem reader (they aren’t together yet) but Luffy has a big crush on the reader without realizing and he’s always super touchy with her without thinking anything of it, like always holding her or picking her up when they’re on adventures and protecting her too all without realizing until the crew makes a comment about it to him, I think it would be super adorable. thank you!

unconscious affection, ft. monkey d. luffy

note: OMG YESSS, this will be my first time writing something for luffy so I’m excited! I hope you like ittt🥰.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the Sunny as it glided through the calm waves. The salty breeze carried the sound of laughter and the occasional clatter of plates from the kitchen. It was a peaceful day at sea, the kind that made adventures feel like dreams rather than dangers.

And yet, something entirely different was happening right under the crew’s noses—something that had been going on for weeks, if not months.

Monkey D. Luffy, captain of the Straw Hat Pirates, was smitten. Not that he realized it, of course. Luffy wasn’t the type to dwell on his emotions, much less recognize them. But to everyone else, it was painfully obvious.

Especially with the way he was holding you right now.

“Luffy, put me down!” you huffed, though there was no real anger in your voice—just exasperation.

“Nope!” Luffy grinned, his arms locked securely around your waist as he carried you across the deck like a sack of treasure. “I wanna sit up on Sunny’s head, and it’s more fun if you’re there too!”

Robin chuckled behind her book, Sanji rolled his eyes as he lit a cigarette, and Zoro muttered something about “idiot captain behavior.” The rest of the crew wasn’t even fazed anymore.

This had become normal.

Luffy, whether he realized it or not, had a habit of keeping you close. It didn’t matter where you were or what you were doing—he would sling an arm around your shoulders, grab your hand while running through a town, or, in moments like this, just pick you up and take you wherever he wanted to go, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And the most infuriating part?

He never acted this way with anyone else.

It wasn’t just on the ship, either.

On an island you had docked at a week ago, you had been walking through a dense jungle, eyes scanning the towering trees for any signs of danger. It was an unfamiliar place, and caution was necessary.

Luffy, however, had decided that caution was boring.

He had climbed ahead, jumping from tree to tree with his usual reckless energy, leaving the rest of you to navigate the ground below. But just as you were stepping over a tangle of vines—

“Wha—Luffy!”

Without warning, he had snatched you up, one arm hooking under your legs and the other supporting your back as he launched into the treetops.

“Look at this view!” he had laughed, holding you securely as he perched on a thick branch.

You had been too stunned to respond at first, but once the initial shock wore off, you smacked his chest lightly. “You can’t just grab me whenever you feel like it!”

“Why not?” he tilted his head dumbfounded.

“Because I have legs,” you deadpanned.

Luffy had only laughed again, tightening his hold just a little before leaning forward as if sharing a secret.

“But I like carrying you.”

Your heart had skipped a beat at that, but before you could even process what he had just said, he was already stretching an arm to swing to another branch, completely unaware of how flustered he had just made you.

Then there were the fights.

Luffy was always protective of his crew—fiercely so. But when it came to you?

It was different.

He never let you fight alone. Not if he could help it.

On a recent island, you had been fending off a group of enemy pirates, your weapon clashing against theirs. You were holding your own just fine—until a particularly nasty opponent lunged at you from behind.

Before you even realized the danger, a rubbery arm shot past you, stretching at lightning speed before slamming into your attacker’s gut.

Luffy landed beside you in an instant, standing between you and the remaining enemies. His usual carefree grin was gone, replaced by something sharper, more dangerous.

“Hey,” he had said, voice dark with warning. “Don’t touch her.”

The fight had ended quickly after that.

It took the crew making an outright comment for Luffy to even begin noticing his own behavior.

One evening, you were all gathered around the dining table, enjoying one of Sanji’s extravagant meals. Luffy, as usual, was sitting next to you. And, as usual, he had an arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as he talked with his mouth full.

At this point, no one even blinked at it.

Until Nami, eyes glinting with mischief, casually said, “Y’know, Luffy, you really can’t keep your hands off her, huh?”

Silence.

Luffy blinked, swallowing a mouthful of meat. “Huh?”

Usopp leaned forward, grinning. “She’s right, man. You’re always touching her.”

“Like, constantly,” Zoro added with a smirk.

Sanji, who had been stewing in silent jealousy for weeks, exhaled a cloud of smoke. “It’s honestly impressive how oblivious you are, dumbass.”

Luffy frowned, confused. He turned to look at you, as if seeing you for the first time. You were staring at the table, face burning as you tried to focus on your food.

“Wait,” he said slowly, eyes widening. “Do I really…?”

Robin smiled knowingly. “Oh yes. It’s quite adorable, actually.”

The realization hit Luffy like a punch to the gut. His eyes flicked between you and his own arm still draped over your shoulders. His grip on you had always been instinctual, like second nature. He had never thought about it before.

But now that it was pointed out…

He felt warm. Too warm.

His fingers twitched against your skin, and for the first time in his entire life, Monkey D. Luffy blushed.

“oh.”

The crew burst into laughter.

And you? You just covered your face with your hands, knowing that things were never going to be the same after this.

SAKURASZN © 2025 !

[absurdthirst]

Unmasking the Mand'alor {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: Drinking, flirting, insults, fighting, caveman-like behavior, helmet stays on, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), rough sex, clothed male/naked female, first kisses, confessions, wedding vows, loving making

Comments: You want a helmet on Mando to fuck to pretend they are the one you really want and think you can never have. Until flirting with one in front of Mando makes him react.

A/N: Canon? Who dat?

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || The Mandalorian MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Mandalore has changed. You glance around the bar, noting the repairs that have been done,the debris cleared out. It had once been the armory, fitting to be the social center of a society of warriors where their weapons are a part of their religion. Mandos wearing helmets are almost in equal number to those that are showing their faces, the two sects still managing to coexist peacefully - most days. The Bespin Fizz in your hand is smooth, although you really want a Fuzzy Tauntaun next time. The bartender was a Mando that still believes that Creed involves not showing his face, making him almost as attractive as one that had brought you here. 

Din strides into the bar, his hand empty of a drink but he notices how everyone looks at him. The leader of Mandalore. His visor scans the crowd until he finds you at the bar. You are the star of his dreams, every holovid porno he watches he imagines you in their place. He can’t have you though. You don’t want his baggage. Dealing with the kid, being the Mand’alore, it’s too much to handle for him and he’d be selfish to make you deal with it alongside him. He sighs and taps his gloved fingers on his thigh, watching you as you watch him walk in.

He feels your eyes on him as he makes his way through the crowd until he is pushing his way into a space beside you at the bar. He orders a drink despite knowing he won’t remove his helmet to drink it. It makes him look more approachable and he wants the others to feel like they can speak to him about their worries and concerns regarding Mandalore. He is reluctant to take up an official role, never wanting to be a leader, but he needs to position himself for covert if he is to establish the Mandalorians as a force to be reckoned with within the galaxy. “And whatever she is having.” He adds, tilting his helmet to the bartender before he looks at you.

“The Fuzzy Tauntaun this time, Josin.” You tell the blue armored bartender. You cock your eyebrow up as you turn to see your own eyes reflected back at you in the darkness of his visor. “You gonna drink with me, Mando?” You ask playfully, taking a long swallow of your Bespin. “Want a straw?”

“You know I won’t drink it. I’m just here to put in an appearance and then go back to my quarters. The kid is with the other foundlings tonight. Sleepover or something.” He says, knowing that the reason he’s come out is so he doesn’t just sit in his room thinking about you and yet here you are. “You can have my drink too.” He promises, glancing around the room again. “Are you having fun?”

“So far.” There’s the dull roar of conversations and the occasional shit talking that gets a little out of hand, but there’s not been any fights in here. “Although….” You turn and smirk at him. “You need some music in here. Liven the place up a bit.” You drain the rest of your drink and shrug. “I had fun at the cantina on Mos Eisley.”

“I’ll be sure to get that sorted. Not like I haven’t got bigger things to do.” Din rolls his eyes behind his visor even though you can’t see it. Your drinks are placed in front of you and Din immediately pulls his credits from the pouch on his belt. “On the house for our fearless leader.” Joisin says and Din can hear the grin in his voice. “Thanks.” He replies even though he knows he will leave a tip.

You smirk and give a small chuckle at his sarcasm. It had thrown you off at first, the dry wit, but now it just makes him even more attractive to you. Even if you’ve never seen his face. It honestly irritates you that Bo Katan has, and not you. Wanting to put some features to the faceless fantasies that you have. You pick up your drink and take a sip. “Oh that’s nice.” You coo, turning back to the bartender and winking at him. “Thanks babe. I’m gonna have to have another of these.”

Din is thankful for the mask as he bristles at the affection you use towards the bartender. He wants to hear you call him that. He taps his fingers on the counter, watching you take a sip of your drink. “Maker, this place has the best drinks.” You moan and Din’s cock twitches in his flight suit, unable to help himself as he wonders what you’d sound like moaning his name.

You are completely unaware of the thoughts going through Mando’s head, sipping your drink and looking around. Surrounded by walls of metal clad men, you are soaking wet because of the one standing beside you, but he doesn’t want you. You need to get laid, badly. “Who is that?” You ask, nodding towards a Mandalorian in the corner that has a green chest plate, but his helmet is pure beskar, like Mando’s.

“Throck Kac.” Din answers, his brow furrowed with a question of why you’re interested in learning that information. Throck is a strong Mandalorian, almost strong enough to challenge Din for leadership but he hasn’t. Not yet. Din is always looking over his shoulder in case anyone decides to challenge him. Not that he cares about the dark saber, he’s more concerned about being killed.

“Throck Kac.” You repeat his name and look over at him in interest. He’s obviously one that doesn’t take his helmet off, but you ask anyway. “And he’s - like you? Doesn’t show his face?” You don’t want him to remove his helmet, the face above you needs to be a visor. Especially if you are going to fuck him and imagine it’s the man beside you.

Din is confused about why you want to know that but he answers the question, “yes. He keeps his helmet on at all times.” He tilts his own helmet to look at you as you have this look in your eye when you stare at Throck.

You hum, taking another sip of your drink and the visor turns towards you. You shiver slightly and look back towards Mando. It’s not the same, but you know he won’t touch you and you want to be touched. “Good to know.” You murmur nonchalantly.

Din notices your shiver and he frowns under his mask, wondering what caused that, and he sees Throck making his way through the crowd towards you. He taps his gloved fingers on the counter as he watches the other Mandalorian make his way to you.

You see Mando bristle, stiffen slightly as he taps those orange gloved fingers on the bar and you turn to head. Seeing that Throck is coming towards you. You turn your body and take another sip of your drink.

Din can’t watch this shit. He turns his visor towards the mirror behind the bar and he watches as Throck puffs his chest under the armor and walks up to you. “What is a beautiful lady like you doing in a shit hole like this?” He asks, tilting his helmet.

The line isn’t that great, but it’s better than no line. You tilt your head coyly and grin. “Waiting for something to happen.” You admit, not noticing that Mando has turned away. You try so hard not to watch him every moment. “Why? What are you doing in a shit hole like this?”

“Waiting for something to happen.” He replies and you can hear the smirk in his voice, “but it looks like I’ve found what I’ve been waiting for.” He nudges a little closer, pushing Din back who huffs under his helmet and watches in the mirror. “Oh really?” You smirk and Throck nods, “been waiting on the most beautiful woman in the galaxy to show up and here she is.”

You roll your eyes and wish that someone else would pay you outrageous compliments like that. “Have you seen every woman in the galaxy?” You tease. “I don’t think so, because there are some women here with their helmets on.” You nod to the female Mandos standing around. “Maybe they are the most beautiful woman in the galaxy.”

Din rolls his eyes under his helmet and he flattens his hand against the counter, resisting the urge to clench his fist. “I have eyes. A visor that can see the smallest details. You - mesh’la - are the most beautiful woman in the galaxy. In my galaxy at least.”

You smirk as you take another sip of your drink. You aren’t drunk, but the alcohol makes you bolder than you would normally be. “If you fuck half as well as you flatter, I might be in for a good night, Mando.” You use the moniker you use for your Mando on purpose, wanting to see how the other man likes it. You don’t want to call his name out in bed, because you won’t be thinking about the man fucking you.

Din clenches his fist on the countertop as he listens to you call Throck “Mando.” He loves when you affectionately call him that. He clenches his jaw when he watches Throck lean closer, “well why don’t we find a quiet room and find out just how good your night can be?” Throck asks, a smirk clear in the tone of his voice.

You bite your lip, hating that he doesn’t have that musky, spicy scent that Mando has. But his voice is modulated and as long as his helmet stays on, you wouldn’t mind him fucking you. “Why don’t we?” You purr. “My quarters are empty.” You offer.

Din hears tour sultry offer and his jaw clenched, his chest tightening at the thought of another Mandalorian touching you…fucking you. He hates it and he shakes his helmet, turning towards you. “That’s not a good idea.” He says and Throck scoffs, “why not? The lady wants me. I want her. Stay out of this Mand’alore.” He spits sarcastically and Din turns towards him, his chest puffing in defense. “Because I’ve heard that the woman who spend the night with you end up with bruises that take weeks to heal.  She deserves better than that. Walk away now.” He demands, his voice taking on the authoritative edge.

You are surprised that Mando didn’t mention this sooner, he had to have known your interest. He’s not innocent. You learned that when you found out he used to be involved with that Twi’lek from his old crew. So it’s just that he doesn’t want you, and apparently, he doesn’t want anyone else to want you either. Just a companion for the kid. “I’ll be fine.” You promise. “Besides, I like it a little rough.”

Din hisses through clenched teeth, "not that rough. He chokes them. He - they can hardly walk." Din has watched many holovids on rough sex but the things he has heard about Throck makes his blood boil. He's a sadist. "She said she can handle it. Let the lady decide what she wants to do. Come on, mesh'la. I'll show you a good time." He reaches for your hand and Din sees red. He slaps his hand away and shoves the other Mandalorian backwards. "Don't touch her." He growls, jealousy and protectiveness swelling in his chest.

You jump back, surprised by the sudden defense from Mando. He’s always defended you against enemies, but this feels completely different. “She wants me to touch her.” Throck snorts, bowing up and stepping forward again in challenge. The conversations have died down and you feel every helmet and eyes turned towards you. “Stop.” You huff, not wanting them to fight.

Din growls, shaking his helmet, and he shoves Throck again. "She doesn't know what she wants." Din pushes him back again and the Mandalorian falls back into a table where several Mandos cry out as their drinks are spilled and cups fly onto the floor.

You don’t take offense to his insulting comment because you are too busy gasping in shock. “Mando!” You hiss, watching the scene deteriorate and unable to stop it as several push you out of the way as they crowd in.

Din sees red as Throck swings his arm to punch Din in the side after he stumbles to his feet, finding the vulnerable spots where the Beskar doesn’t cover. Din hisses and fights back, his strength and experience on his side as he battles with the other Mandalorian.

“Stop! Stop this!” You shout, but your voice is drowned out by the cheering of the crowd of Mandalorians. They love fighting, it’s practically a sport to them and the more vicious the better. Even when they are trying to rebuild their religion, they will always cheer on a fight. You shove through the crowd and push through to see Din head butting Throck with his helmet and punching him under the jaw where the just fabric covers his chin.

Din is clouded by jealousy and fury as he fights Throck. "You want her for yourself?" Throck realizes as Din throws him down on the ground and he speaks his winded epiphany. "Shut up." Din growls, lifting him to drop him to the floor again. The Mandalorian wheezes out his concession and Din's chest plate heaves as he turns towards you. "Din." You speak his name and it's like he's in a fog as he strides towards you, grabbing your legs to lift you over his shoulder. The others cheer as he carries you from the bar and he ignores your cries of protest and confusion.

“What- what are you doing!?” You cry out, head hanging down and you curl up your fist to beat against his back. Hitting it and crying out in pain because you forgot he had a backplate. “Put me down!” You yell, kicking your legs but he doesn’t stop. Mandalorians who weren’t in the bar turning towards you as Mando stalks down the hall with you hauled over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Put me down, dank ferik!” Your hand slaps against his ass, the only unarmored portion of his body that you can reach.

Din ignores your pleas and the ache in his ass as you protest him carrying you away. He strides to his quarters, only setting you down when the door slides shut to his rooms. “What the fuck?” You cry as you stumble when he sets you down on your feet. Din doesn’t really know what to say. He feels like his body is on fire, his blood boiling, and the thought of anyone touching you makes his fists clench. He doesn’t even think when the next word escapes his lips, his mind still hazy with emotion, “strip.”

Your mouth drops open in shock. That single word burning through you and your cunt clenches with need. The mandalorian you have dreamed about is standing like and impenetrable wall in front of you and ordering you to strip. You don’t argue, reaching for your shirt hem and pulling it up over your head.

He watches, frozen on the spot as your skin - the skin he’s dreamed of, fantasised about so many fucking times, is finally exposed to his hungry eyes. He doesn’t say a word as you work on removing your clothes and his cock swells in his flight suit and his fingers twitch with the need to touch you.

The silence lingers between you and if you weren’t seemingly wrapped up in a trance of your fantasies, you would question him. You can't, though, you can’t say a word as you strip down to your bare skin and stand completely naked in front of a man that you have barely caught glimpses of.

Din’s eyes trail along your form and he groans your name, stepping forward to grab your waist and he drags you against him. His gloved hands slide down to your ass, greedy to feel all of the woman he’s dreamed about. “Mesh’la. Tell me what you want.” He demands, squeezing your globes of flesh in his hands.

You moan when he touches you, eyes sliding halfway closed as you burn the feel of his touch into your memory. Half afraid this is a fevered or drunken dream. You feel drunk when you haven't just moments before. “You.” You whimper. “I want you, Din. Always you.”

Din groans when you speak what he’s dreamed of hearing for so long. He walks you back towards his bed, letting your body drop and he keeps his armor on as his gloved hands explore your body. He squeezes your breast, watching your mouth drop open. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He confesses, “never imagined I’d have you.”

You whine in frustration, hating that he could have had you so long ago. “Anytime you wanted me you could have had me.” You gasp when he pinches your nipples and tugs on them. “Anytime.”

“Fuck.” He curses, his cock now throbbing and pressing against his suit in a way that makes him ache to be free. He focuses on you though, pawing at your tits, burning the sight of them to his memory in case you decide this is a one off. “Can I - can I touch you?” He asks and you giggle, “you already are.” Din shakes his head, “no. I want to touch you.” He says as his hand slips  lower to cup your cunt.

“Please.” You beg, reaching out and catching the edge of his pauldron and you try to pull him closer. “You can touch me however you want. As long as you don’t stop.” You want him to strip, but you feel like he won’t. Even if he kept the helmet on.

Your permission makes his stomach twist and he swears he nearly cums then and there. He hisses your name and withdraws his hand. You whimper in protest and he chuckles, removing his glove so his bare fingers can touch your wet flesh. “Cyar’ika. You’re so wet.” He murmurs in awe as he circles your clit.

You close your eyes, not sure if you should stare at the smooth, tanned skin of his fingers. His nails are short, neat and clean. Instead you just feel the way he touches you with certainty. “Always wet around you.” You confess breathlessly. “Imagining- fuck- sitting on your cock while you were flying the Crest.”

Din groans, his gaze flicking between your cunt and your face. His digits already coated in your arousal and he twitches in his flight suit, "you could've had that anytime you wanted." He promises and rubs your clit, wanting to hear you moan his name.

“Fuuuuuuck.” You whine, irritated at yourself for not pushing him to touch you earlier. “Din….Inside.” You beg, wanting his fingers to curl up inside you. Opening your eyes, you stare into the dark visor of his helmet and wish that you knew where his eyes were focused right this second.

He's watching your face as he slides his fingers lower and he starts to push his finger into your cunt. You're clenching around his digit and he hisses, his gaze flicking down to your pussy as he adds another finger to feel how tight you are.

“So thick.” His fingers are thicker than your own and your eyes roll back while your hips grind down onto his hand. “Oh Maker, it’s- so damn good.

He can't believe how tight you are around his fingers and he starts to pump them in and out of your dripping cunt. "You are so fucking beautiful." He murmurs, curling his fingers when he pushes them deeper.

“You are.” You groan, even though you’ve never seen his face. His body, the armor and the way he wears it, his strength and competency all make him sexy. “Touched myself thinking about you. About this.”

Din groans at your revelation and he twists his wrist so he can press his thumb against your clit. “I’ve jerked off so many times thinking about you, cyar’ika. Fuck. So many times. Imagined you in my cot.” He confesses with a modulated tone.

“Didn’t think you wanted me.” You pant, you tone needy as he gives you exactly what you want and still you crave more. “It’s- it’s why I was going to take Throck.” You admit. “His helmet looks the closest to yours.”

Din growls, his fingers pumping faster, “he can’t have you. He doesn’t deserve you. I don’t - I don’t either but I can give you what you need. He can’t.” His blood boils at the thought of it and he reaches down with his free hand to squeeze his bulge, trying to find some relief.

Your eyes have opened again and you watch as he squeezes his cock. Making you moan at the slight. “Fuck.” You bite your lip. “I know you won’t, uh, undress, but can I see it?” You ask hopefully. If you can’t, you will understand but you are greedy for anything that he can give you.

Din knows he should say no but he can't deny you when you ask so sweetly. He nods, fumbling with his belt to undo it and he works on pulling his aching cock out of his pants. He is throbbing and when he can squeeze himself, he groans in relief.

He’s thick. Your mouth waters at the veiny, heavy length that is weeping from the tip. He’s longer than you imagined too, surprising you because you’ve never seen a cock so beautifully proportioned. “I want to suck it.” You moan, tearing your gaze away to look up at his visor. “Would you let me?”

Din swears he sees the Maker and he nods without hesitation. “If that’s what you want. You can have whatever you want, mesh’la.” He promises with a groan as he continues to finger your dripping pussy.

“Come here.” You shift down, twisting your body so you can reach his utility belt. You don’t want to miss the feeling of his fingers curling inside you, but you want to taste him. “Fuck it’s so big.” You coo, hooking your fingers under his belt to tug him over to you. Clenching down around his fingers as your own wrap around the velvety hardness of his cock for the first time.

He twitches in your grip, groaning your name, and he stops moving his fingers for a moment as you pump him in your soft hand. “Fuck.” He pants, “that’s - it’s so good.” He murmurs, eyes fluttering closed.

It’s almost surreal. You could cum from this alone. The scent that is specifically Mando, Din, envelopes you and beckons you. Making you lunge up and wrap your lips around the tip of his cock.

His stomach clenches, his helmet hitting his chest plate as he looks down at you. “Fuck. Imagined this so many times.” He confesses, “mesh’la. You are - fuck - don’t hurt yourself.” He urges when you choke after you take him deeper.

You pull back slightly, taking a deep breath before you take him back into your mouth. You don’t care if you choke, you want to hear him moan. Your cunt clenching as you start to take him deeper.

Din pants, his mouth dropping open beneath the helmet as he watches you eagerly suck his cock. It's beautiful and your walls flutter around his digits, making him remember to continue fingering you while you suck him off.

Humming around his length, you start to lift your head faster, deep throating him as much as you can before you pull off. You want to take all of him down your throat, especially if this ends up being a one time thing.

Din chokes on his own breath as you take him deep down your throat and he can’t believe this is happening. He hisses your name, his free hand cupping your cheek and sliding down to your throat to feel the way it bulges with his length pushing deep.

You moan around his cock when his hand grips your throat. There have been a few times you’ve imagined that gloved hand there, applying pressure while his cock hammers into you. Your eyes are watering and you can barely roll your hips down to his plunging fingers, you are so engrossed in sucking his cock.

He rubs your clit with his thumb, groaning your name when you gargle around his cock. He grips your throat a little harder and he doesn’t want to cum down to your throat. He caresses your cheek and pulls his cock from your throat. “I want you to cum on my fingers, mesh’la.” He demands, working his fingers in your cunt.

Whining, you close your eyes, nodding as he continues to pump his fingers deep into your walls. “Mando - Din, you are so deep inside me. Your fingers-“ you bite your lip when he pushes against a spot that makes you gasp out. “There!”

He groans, focusing on that spot and he watches you with his chest heaving as you cry out. His thumb works your clit and he keeps pressing against that spot, his cock twitching in your grip.

Your walls start to clench down around him, your eyes flying open when the sensations crash through your body. “Din!” His name spills from your lips as you start to shake apart from the skill of his fingers.

He works you through your orgasm, his cock throbbing at the way your jaw drops and your moan of his band. “Fuck. Mesh’la.” He murmurs in awe, loving how you soak his fingers.

He doesn’t pull away immediately, working you through it until you are completely wrung out. Slumping back against his bed in bliss and reaching down to caress the back of his hand, shivering when you feel how warm and soft his hand is.

Din withdraws his hand from your cunt, immediately wrapping his wet fingers around his cock, starting to pump himself as he observes how wrecked you are. "You are everything I dreamed and more." He murmurs, squeezing his cock.

“Then fuck me.” You beg, wanting to feel him inside you as he groans in pleasure. You want to feel the way he pounds into you and let him relieve all the stresses he has in your body. “I want you, Din.”

He can't deny you. He groans, nodding, and you whimper, watching him jerk his cock. "Hands and knees, cyar'ika." He demands, hissing when you follow his order. Your ass on display and he caresses it with his gloved hand, smacks it as he shuffles closer. "Tell me to stop." He orders, wanting to give you one last chance to stop him because once he has you, he's never letting you go. You will be his.

“Don’t you dare stop.” You push your ass back,  shaking it slightly as you beg for his cock. “If you do, I’ll go find Throck.” You threaten, although you know that would never happen. You wouldn’t be able to let him touch you after Din has. You are marked by him, even if it’s not visible.

Din growls, "I'll kill him if he touches you." He warns and slides the head of his cock through your folds. "You are mine." He grumbles as he starts to push into your tight, wet cunt.

The claim on you is complete, your back blowing as he drives into you. Not stopping until the armor covering his thighs touches the back of yours. You cry out wordlessly and hang your head down between your shoulders.

It's like something overtakes Din and his hands grip your hips, one gloved one not, and he starts to thrust into you. Jaw clenched beneath his helmet as he starts to fuck you in earnest, needing to claim you as his.

All you can do is hold on. Your hands fisting the sheets of his bed and you lean forward, lifting your ass more as you press your face into the bedding. Inhaling more of his scent in the space where he sleeps while you choke out his name. “Din! Fuck- more.” You moan, wanting him to completely destroy you.

Hearing you say that disappoints Din and he will reflect on that later but right now, he's thrusting harder. "Fuck. Need you - need you to cum first." He groans, his bare hand sliding down to rub your clit.

Your body bucks under the pressure of his fingers at your clit, surprised and pleased by him prioritizing your pleasure. “Din!” You gasp out his name again, looking over your shoulder as he rocks into you, his helmet faceless but you clench downs around him. The sight of him behind you as he hammers into you throws you over the edge.

The way you clamp down on his cock has him gasping out your name and he struggles to rock you through it with how tight you're squeezing him. "Mesh'la." He pants, pulling out of you and your whine echoes in his chambers. "I want this to last." He confesses, his cock throbbing with the need to cum but he takes a deep breath, trying to control himself. "On your back." He orders, wanting to see your face.

You flip over eagerly, not minding having this Mandalorian looming above you. He’s still completely covered except for one glove missing. His cock the only other thing you see. It’s wet with your juices and you moan at the sight of him. “Mando.” You reach up and squeeze both of your tits. “Din. Fuck me.”

He grabs your thighs, pushing them back as he shuffles closer until he is pressing back into your fluttering cunt. Your walls are still fluttering and he groans, eyes focused on where his cock disappears into you.

He’s holding onto your legs with an iron grip, his one hand flexing and showing the rippling muscles on the back of it. It’s intoxicating and you want to know what he’s thinking with his helmet tipped down, obviously watching himself fuck you. “So sexy.” You moan. “So strong.”

Din groans as you take everything he gives you. His hips pressing against your ass as he lifts your lower body so he can sink deeper. “Mesh’la.” He murmurs, lost in the feel of you.

You whine, eyes rolling back and you swear is pushing into your womb. “So good.” You gasp out. “So deep.” All you touch is the fabric of his flight suit when you reach down and you moan his name again.

"Touch yourself. Touch your clit. Show me how you touch yourself thinking of me." He demands with a growl on a particularly deep thrust.

You cry out in pleasure, letting go of your breast to reach down. Using two fingers to start rubbing harsh circles on your clit. “Every night on the Crest.” You confess breathlessly. “Everyday since I met you.”

Din twitches violently inside you at your confession and he watches as you rub your clit. “That’s it, cyar’ika. Fuck. I- I jerked off thinking about you. So many times. You don’t even know how beautiful you are. I watch you all the time.” He groans and feels your walls starting to flutter and clamp down on his cock. “Cum for me, mesh’la.” He orders, wanting to see your face when you cum on his cock.

A few more harsh thrusts of his cock sends you flying. Your back arches as you cry out loud enough for it to be heard through the halls of Mandalore. You don’t care though, you can think of nothing but how perfect he feels. “Cum for me!” You beg. “Fill me up, I want to drip your cum.”

Din pants, getting closer and closer to his orgasm. He pushes into your tight cunt, unable to hold back as he tries to work you through your orgasm but he can't hold back. He chokes out your name as he buries his cock deep, pulsing as he starts to fill you with hot spurts of cum.

You’ve heard him groan in annoyance, in pain, in sorrow, but you’ve never heard him groan like this. He sounds like he’s died and he’s reached the Maker, completely wrecked under his helmet. You bite your lip, knowing that he can’t remove his helmet, even if you begged him to. It would be wrong of you to even ask.

He feels like he's out of his body as he rocks into you, slowly to work himself through his orgasm. His helmet rests on his chest and he looks at his cock, shiny and milky with your combined cum, and he swears he sees all the stars of the galaxy.

You relax into bed, trying to catch your breath bit you feel like you’ve just run for miles through the deserts of Tatooine. A smile on your lips, you close your eyes, cunt still pulsing around his cock. “Maker.” You hum. “So that’s what it’s like.”

Din hums, his voice modulated, and he pulls out of you, groaning at the sight of his cum welling up in your pussy. "That's what it's like." He echoes, his eyes flicking up to your wrecked face.

“Nice.” You giggle slightly, but you can barely move, feeling him set your legs down as he shifts to stand at the foot of his bed. Managing to roll over to your side, you curl into his pillow and sigh. “You smell so good.”

Din desperately wants to feel all of you. He strides into the 'fresher, wetting a rag for you and he comes back with it, gently wiping you clean. "Stay there." He orders, tossing the rag into the sink and he walks over to the lights. "Close your eyes." He orders, watching you spread out on the bed.

You close your eyes, wondering what he is doing and then you sense the room going dark. “Din?” You ask, sitting up but you keep your eyes shut. “I’m here.” He tells you, moving around in the dark and you frown slightly, not understanding what is going on.

He strips his beskar with a familiar efficiency and the last item is his helmet. He's anxious to remove it, knowing you could easily betray his trust and turn on the lights but he pushes aside that fear. He loves you. He knows you wouldn't do that. He swallows harshly and unclips the locks, removing his helmet and after setting it down, he slides into the bed beside you. "You can open your eyes. The lights are off." He informs you, his voice unmodulated.

Inhaling sharply, you hear the change. His voice. It’s….clear. “Din.” You cautiously lean back, aware that he has removed his helmet and still you don’t open your eyes. “Is- is that allowed?” You ask softly, aware that he had gone through such a trial to be able to wear his helmet with honor again. Even if the living waters are in the cavern below you, you know how much his Creed means to him.

He chuckles at your tone, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, and he reaches for you, pulling you against his bare body. "It's allowed. It's a...loophole." He says with a smirk, "I wanted to feel all of you. Let you feel all of me."

“Maker.” You gasp, feeling how hot he is as he presses close. Instantly addicted to the feeling, you let him drag you over to him, practically laying on him. “You can do whatever you want with me, Din.” You admit quietly. “I would let you.”

He slides his hand along your back, "I can't give you everything. If I were any other Mando, we could speak our vows here and now and you could see my face. I can't - I don't want to promise you the galaxy and not fulfill my duties because I am duty bound to the kid...to Mandalore. I want to give you what you want but I can only give you this." He murmurs, wanting you to understand.

You try to understand what he is saying but you frown. “I just want to be with you.” You murmur, settling into his side and slowly sliding your own hand across his skin. “I’ve known I will never see your face, and I still lo- uh, wanted you.” You almost said it, but it would be foolish to confess your feelings when the man is literally saying that you can never be more to him than his partner in bed.

He catches what you nearly said and his heart stops. He cups your cheek, wishing he could see your face but he presses his forehead against yours. “I love you, cyar’ika. To me, you are my riduur. Please don’t misunderstand me. I want you. I love you. I’m trying to protect you.”

“What about me wanting to protect you?” You ask softly, leaning into his touch. “I don’t know what you are protecting me from, but I’ve already survived the Empire with you. The dangers of Mandalore. Everything.”

Din swallows harshly, knowing that he could be selfish, take you as his, but it’s hard to stomach that in case something happens to you. He’d never forgive him. “I’m protecting you from me. From the trouble that follows me.”

You snort, your eyes still closed as you shift to lay your head on his chest. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” You scoff. “You’ve always kept me safe, even when it meant putting yourself in danger.” You yawn and sigh. “It’s why I love you. You protect others. Me, the kid. Those that need you.” You smile softly to yourself. “You’re a hero.”

"Sleep, mesh'la." Din orders softly, caressing your spine, and he hears your breath even out after a few moments. 

****

You blink, your body aching, and you smile as you remember what happened last night. You pat the bed and frown when you feel the cold and empty spot. He left. "To your left." Din says, kneeling by the bed.

Your eyes are naturally open, not registering that the lights are on. Or maybe it’s that you assume that Din would be wearing his armor, his helmet back in place. So when you turn your head to the left like he indicates, you are shocked when you see a warm pair of brown eyes staring back at you. “Dank ferik!” You yell, squeezing your eyes shut. “Shit, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry!”

Din watches your reaction and he reaches for your hand. “It’s okay, mesh’la. It’s okay.” He promises, “you can look at me.” You take a moment and blink as your eyes adjust until you finally look at him. “Hi.” He murmurs, taking in the sight of your beautiful face without his visor. “I want you to be my riduur. If you want that, repeat after me.” He says softly, squeezing your hand. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

“What does that mean?” You ask, staring at him as if you are memorizing his face. He smiles and you swear your heart stops at how beautiful he is. "We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors." He explains softly, squeezing your hand again. “Mandalorian wedding vows.” Your gasp is followed up by his small chuckle. “I told you that you are mine.” He hums and you swallow harshly. “M-mhi solum-no, uh, solus tome….” You see him nod as you struggle through the lines. “Mhi solus dar’tome.” He reminds you and you quickly repeat, “mhi solus dar’tome.” You bite your lip and he supplies you with the last lines again patiently. “Mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” You finish, your voice steady as you stare into his eyes.

Din offers you a blinding smile, unable to believe you’re his riduur. “We are now one. We share all. Which means you can see my face. See all of me.” He tells you, “I wanted to give you everything. All of me.” He murmurs, squeezing your hand again.

“What changed your mind?” You ask, your free hand slowly reaching out to caress his cheek. He might not want the touch, so you give him time to pull away. “I would have taken whatever you could give me, even if I give you more than everything that I am.”

Din leans into your touch, "I imagined you with someone else and it killed me. I was stupid. I let my fears rule me and Mandalorians are never scared." He snorts, "but I am terrified to lose you. I love you, riduur. I need you." He confesses softly, letting you see all of me, the parts he conceals behind beskar.

“You have me.” You promise, leaning in and pressing your lips to his gently for your first kiss. His eyes widen, but he doesn’t pull back until you do. “And I’m going to stay with you.”

Din can’t help it, he surges forward to press his lips to yours. He’s sloppy, inexperienced, and he shifts to push you back onto the bed, his naked body covering yours in an effort to feel every inch of you against his bare flesh for the first time.

You groan at the feeling of his skin against yours. “Din.” He’s not the Mand’alor or a Mandalorian right now. Just a man, bare and vulnerable with you. The door to his quarters is locked and no one can interrupt you. Your hands sweep over his shoulder and down his sides, mapping scars from where someone has managed to injure him beneath the Beskar. “I love you.” You moan into his mouth.

Din groans, "I love you too." His hand caresses your neck until he's cupping your breast. "You are so beautiful." He murmurs, "so fucking perfect." His cock starts to harden against your thigh but he's in no rush as he kisses along your jaw.

You groan in bliss, feeling him start to get turned on. “We will raise warriors.” You muse. “Does that mean Mandalorians want kids?” You ask playfully, rolling your hips up to push against his cock.

Din chuckles, “yes, but only when we are ready.” He promises but his cock twitches at the thought of you full of his ad. He kisses down your neck until he’s satisfied that he has kissed every inch and then he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting.

“Din!” You are surprised by his eagerness to use his mouth on you. Reaching down, you start to tangle your fingers into his hair, the strands surprisingly soft and silky. “More, baby, oh maker, that feels so good.”

Your praise has his cock hardening and he loves how you feel under him. His tongue flicks over your nipple before he switches to the other one, taking it into his hot mouth while his hand squeezes the flesh of the one he just abandoned.

You give him complete control, whimpering praises as he pays lavish attention to your body. Worshiping you like you had never imagined he would. You knew he would fuck you good, giving you his cock hard and deep, but this is reverent. “My riduur.” The word is not one you would use, but it must be Mandoa and he groans in response, showing you that he likes it.

Din is eager to please and hearing you address him as your riduur has his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He has time to worship you. The kid is safe with the foundlings and he wants to spend his time tasting every inch of you. He wastes no time kissing down your stomach, eager to hear you moan his name, and he kisses until he is settled between your spread thighs. “Fuck.” He murmurs, eying your cunt and inhaling the heady scent of your arousal before he dives in. His tongue is sloppy and he has no idea what he’s doing except what he’s seen in holovids. He hopes he can please you.

You shiver and jolt in pleasure. Crying out, your fingers twist in his hair and you tug slightly. “Maker!” His tongue is searching and you look down to find his eyes fixed on your face. Watching you as he flicks his tongue and you moan at the sight of him between your thighs. “There.” You praise breathlessly.

Your moan of approval has him lapping at your clit. He loves it. He loves how you taste and he pays attention to your whines and whimpers, wanting to know what feels good to you. His fingers grip your thighs, keeping you steady while he unravels you with his tongue.

His touch starts to become more sure, confident as he licks through your folds. He is smart, almost too smart at times and he is quick to learn what you like most by your moans of approval. “Your tongue is as clever as your fingers.”

He chuckles into your flesh, loving the way you praise him, and he dives back in. He sucks your clit between his lips, closing his eyes as he hums against your flesh.

“Oh fuck.” You gasp, head tilting back as you moan. “Oh fuck, I’m so close.” Your stomach heaves and your thighs start to shake around his ears as he pulls you closer to the edge with every suck of his mouth.

His hands slide down to squeeze your ass, needing to feel you cum on his tongue, and he pushes his tongue deep into your pussy. His nose presses against your clit as he groans into your wet flesh.

That slight change in sensation sends you soaring. Feeling like you are in hyperspace as stars burst behind your eyes, making your vision go white as you cry out his name. “Din!” Your body bucks and twitches as your walls flood with your juices to soak his tongue and chin.

He swears he nearly cums himself then and there when your walls clamp down on his tongue. He groans, working you through it, and he knows he wants to do this over and over again. He’s addicted to how you taste and how you sound.

“You are a quick learner.” You praise breathlessly, giggling as you come down from your high. “That’s better than spice.”

He chuckles, kissing your thigh and he shifts up your body to press his lips to yours. He can’t get enough of kissing you. He loves it. He slides his tongue into your mouth, knowing you can taste yourself, and he loves it.

You hum in approval, slowly kissing him back and reaching down to wrap your hand around his throbbing cock. Starting to stroke him as he rocks into your hand while he keeps kissing you.

“I need to be inside you, riduur. I want to claim you.” He murmurs against your chin and you nod, shifting so you can position his cock at your entrance. He groans and slowly starts to push into you, loving the way you moan his name when he stretches you out again

It feels like he’s pushing so much deeper without the layers of armor and his clothing between you. His skin sliding against yours as he covers your body with his own. “I love you.” You murmur, tilting your head up to kiss his chin.

He groans, pressing his lips to yours as he starts to move inside you. “I love you too, mesh’la.” He murmurs and he starts to move inside you, loving the way you gasp as he stretches you out and he’s addicted. He loves how you feel gripping his cock.

This pace is different from last night. Last night, Mando was claiming your body and right now, Din is claiming your soul. It’s love making, soft and slow as if he has all the time in the galaxy. Lifting your legs, you hook them over his hips and start to move with him, groaning softly in pleasure from the way his cock spears into you.

He pants as you meet his thrust and he kisses every inch of skin he can reach. His hand slides up until it finds yours and he presses your joined hands into the pillow under your head. It’s slow and unhurried, so different to how he lives life. How he has to live life. “Riduur.” He murmurs against your jaw, “I love every part of you.”

“You are so perfect.” You coo, reaching up and caressing his cheek with your free hand. “It is such a shame that you have to hide such perfection behind your beskar.”

Din feels his chest tighten with your words, “I- I don’t know - I never thought I was much to look at.” He confesses, grinding into you and his cock twitching when he pulls back to look into your eyes and he sees the admiration there.

“You are so handsome.” You promise, knowing that you could gaze at him forever. Even if you know that he must put his helmet back on. “I am lucky. I am the only one who gets to see how handsome you are.”

Din offers you a smirk, pleased that you like how he looks, and he leans down to kiss you. “You are beautiful. Always thought it since the moment we met.” He confesses, “in that cantina.” He rocks into you a little faster, wanting to hear and feel you cum for him again.

“I thought I felt you looking at me.” You tease, breathless as he starts to pick up the pace. “Can never tell with that helmet on.”

“Always looking at you.” He promises, “can’t stop.” He squeezes your hand and lets go of it, his grip shifting to your thigh to bring it higher so he can sink deeper into you.

“There.” You whimper softly, eyes rolling back in pleasure. “Right there, Din. Fuck, you have the best cock. I’m gonna cum.”

He grunts, focusing on that spot, and he groans your name as you start to stiffen beneath him. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me.” He murmurs his demand, his dark eyes watching you as he pushes you towards your orgasm.

It doesn’t take long for him to work you up. Pressing inside you against that spot has you seeing stars. Until the last swing of his hips and you scream out his name. “Diiiiiin!”

Your scream of his name has him shaking above you and he hisses at the way you squeeze his cock. He pushes into you, working you through it and the emotions of the day are overwhelming. He can’t hold off like he did last night. It only takes a few more thrusts until Din pushes deep, his cock throbbing as he paints your walls with hot seed and your name is a strangled groan, spilling from his lips.

You caress his sweat sheened face as he collapses on top of you. “I love you, riduur.” You murmur softly. “Until the end of the galaxy .”

Din smiles, nudging your nose with his as he tries to catch his breath. “Until the end of the galaxy.” He promises and sighs, knowing that you will be by his side no matter what. He will protect you with his life. “Let’s get something to eat and then we can get the kid from his sleepover.” Din murmurs and you nod, caressing his back. “That sounds perfect.” Din smiles, rolling over so you are on his chest and he strokes your back, closing his eyes. He has everything he could ever ask for. He just has to fight to keep it now.