#obey me relationship dynamics

[devildomwriter]

can you talk more about Mephistopheles and Thirteen I love their dynamic

Sure here’s a few things I know about them/interactions they’ve had off the top of my head

• She once made him go to a cafe with her to discover why he thinks the way he does

• Mephistopheles mistakingly assumed Thirteen was interested in dating him when she asked why he didn’t have a partner. She called him a fossil.

• Mephistopheles thinks she is reckless, an example is when she wouldn’t follow directions to a potion and it blew up in their faces

• Mephistopheles thinks Thirteen has a horrible sense of names

• Thirteen was surprised to find out Mephistopheles is traditionally gentlemanly. When it was raining he held her umbrella and bags and didn’t complain once.

• They seem to be relatively close and call each other out on things. When Mephistopheles told MC them looking good in their outfit was proof anyone could look good in the right clothing, Thirteen immediately called him out and said what he meant was he thinks is MC looks gorgeous. He stammers in response.

• Thirteen insisted on giving Mephistopheles a dame makeover and he caved in, so she’s done his make up before.

• Thirteen accidentally shot a bazooka at him. This is how they met.

[sanegoddess1]

[sketch-guardian]

Is it alright if I ask for all the RAD classmates with a child reader who’s kind of creepy

Like child mc wears maybe morute or Shiro Lolita and just doesn’t respond much, like everyone barely hears their voice because all they do is just stare and watch you with this creepy bear in their hands. It’s kinda like those creepy kids in horror movies

Of course it's alright✨there's no problem with such ask☺As usual, although I don't think there is any need to specify since it should be obvious, the headcanons with child MC are platonic and contain family dynamics, so the OCs in question are like child MC's legal guardians. Now let's start:

"RAD CLASSMATES+NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS WITH A CREEPY CHILD MC"

DEMYA

I'm not sure how to explain this without trigger warnings, but Demya in the past, and even currently depending on the case, has devoured both humans and other demons, she was also raised in a tribe of bloodthirsty and flesh-eating demons, therefore she can be defined as...occasionally cannibal and it's very unlikely that a mere creepy child like MC would actually manage to disturb her, indeed Demya would even find child MC cute like a doll or they would remind her a bit of herself when she was welcomed by Azul and Domnra a long time ago, barely able to speak, with disheveled hair, deadpan eyes and mouth dripping with blood. Furthermore, Demya would instinctively understand what child MC would try to mean even if they don't communicate much, having personally experienced a non-verbal phase for a period of her life. Demya would also believe that child MC's staring is equivalent to studying a prey before attacking, a little like an animal, behavior that makes sense to her, even if Demya is more impulsive. If child MC would like to, Demya could teach them how to run on all fours or train them to be flexible, which for her would be pretty fun, in fact it would be hilarious to see people like Mammon or Levi terrified running away from child MC who chases them like a spider-

DOMNRA/MOBIM

Domnra has a fairly gothic/emo look so to speak, so although in terms of style it might seem at odds with child MC, he would appreciate the horror air that surrounds them, even if it would take him a while to get used to child MC's intense staring, which would sometimes make him uncomfortable. Domnra would have no problem understanding child MC's quiet way of communicating, used to Mobim expressing itself solely with gestures and squeaks, sometimes the three of them could even not speak at all and simply enjoy time together listening to some music or perhaps with some workouts, but very light things, like Domnra doing push-ups with Child MC and Mobim on his back. Furthermore, Domnra is still friends with Azul and Demya, which makes him automatically a dumbass, so in a rare playful mood, Domnra might find funny letting MC walk around with Mobim in their arms like a teddy bear, only to scare other people as soon as they realize the little curse moves and is alive. Speaking of which, Mobim would love to cuddle with child MC, not finding them creepy and it would play with their toys

AZUL

Azul floats around, walks through walls and some of his acquaintances are literally ghosts, plus he raised Demya when she was in her most uncivilized and feral state, so the silence wouldn't be a problem (he talks enough for both-) and child MC could never result disturbing for Azul, in fact since their clothing styles are similar, it could seem that they're trying to match or they could be really mistaken for a father with his child, which Azul wouldn't mind at all, he would find the opportunity to show off their family photos that he has in his wallet. Azul and child MC would go on little trips to haunted houses, he would also make their toys dance or float, and paint Victorian-style portraits of the two of them together. Would Azul make the pictures move to scare those who come to visit for shits and giggles? Obviously-

ZURI

Zuri would immediately notice child MC's peculiar behavior and that most would find it creepy, especially due to the intense staring and silence, however as long as child MC is healthy and happy, Zuri would pay no mind to it, she would also provide a plausible explanation to impertinent questions regarding MC's behavior. Zuri would be able to appreciate child MC's style and would contribute to the buying or weaving of clothes of their taste, then walking together through the streets of Devildom like two fashion icons. Zuri is the type to spoil child MC with gifts and trinkets, without exaggerating of course, but she would also make sure to decorate child MC's room to their liking. Moreover, Zuri would buy a notebook for child MC with which to communicate through writing or drawing

ODON

Odon involuntarily terrifies almost everyone they meet and their wide smile has often creeped out those around them. Odon has also been compared to the boogeyman several times and their past precedes them, instilling fear in beings who remember them, even though they have changed for the better, therefore a disturbing child MC would not even appear as such to Odon, on the contrary they would simply be surprised by the fact that child MC wants to spend time with them and that they aren't afraid, in a certain sense Odon could understand being judged for their own ways of acting. Odon likes to observe people as well, so them and child MC would share such hobby, spending time together. Odon's eye-like creatures would act as little bodyguards, understanding what child MC needs even before they attempt to communicate. Also Odon's style seems similar to dark cottagore, but they don't have a clear opinion on styles, whatever child MC likes is fine

REMIEL

Remiel, as an angel of death with little experience with the world of the living, has no idea what according to human custom is normal or not for a child and is hardly impressed by what people would deem scary, in general she's still slowly learning feelings and how to experience or show them, so she would treat child MC as she would any other child. Child MC's habit of staring at people would be fine for Remiel, because she also likes to learn how the world works and to do so sometimes you have to limit yourself to observing. Not gonna lie, a creepy child MC with Remiel, who looks as a corpse-like angel of death, would be disturbing to almost anyone, a real shame since both Remiel and child MC are innocent precious treasures. Despite her somber and gloomy nature, Remiel is very empathetic, although blunt, therefore she would understand when child MC tries to communicate. Remiel and child MC could occasionally be seen together wandering around libraries or graveyards to check if there are lost souls to help

NATHANIEL

Nathaniel in some ways wouldn't be too different from this version of child MC, both being taciturn and seemingly stoic enough to give off creepy vibes. Nathaniel would have boundless patience with child MC when they try to express themselves in words and if someone dared to interrupt them in the process, Nathaniel would politely but firmly remind that child MC was talking and would let them continue with some soft encouragement and reassurance. Nathaniel would probably teach child MC his way of communicating through gestures and nods, going so far as to understand each other even with just a glance, making others wonder if they are actually having a conversation telepathically. Nathaniel would also find child MC's style curious, almost reminding him of how some young angels dress

URIEL

The warrior angel would have no idea whether child MC's behavior is normal by human standards or what is typically creepy, however the question she would ask herself most frequently would be why child MC bothered to become attached to her, someone who doesn't have a very understanding attitude, but Uriel would be able to live with the idea with time. Uriel wouldn't care if child MC stares at her or other people, she doesn't know that it's usually rude and she honestly thinks it's just child MC's way of admiring those they deem worthy of esteem and their way of dressing would remind Uriel of the concept of purity, which she would approve of. Uriel might seem harsh sometimes as she would try to push child MC to speak more often, since she wouldn't know how to interpret all their actions, however if she notices that child MC risks withdrawing even more, then Uriel would swallow her pride and make an effort, taking advantage of her years of experience with Nathaniel to communicate better. It would also be quite funny to see Uriel believe that child MC's teddy bear is a strange unpractical soft shield at first and give them a wooden toy sword after, because it's unsafe to go unarmed

[rebel-dritch]

The Odyssey AU 🫶 Scroll down for additional notes and information!!!

Reasoning + information below :D

Long story short, Penelope's impressive and outstanding faithfulness and loyalty to Odysseus reminded me of how Barbatos is loyal to Diavolo.

Long story below incase anyone wants to read my ramble on the two :) 💞

He's always there to support him and find solutions to his problems (with some.. suspicions admittedly). He never falters on serving him, and he always follows Diavolo's orders no matter what. He's always there to defend him and his side, and Diavolo has him if he wanted something accomplished that goes beyond the limitations of time and space.

Penelope in Greek mythology is often idolized to be a cunning weaver that symbolizes faithfulness and loyalty. She tricks the suitors, buying more time for Odysseus to come home. I think Barbatos would do the same for Diavolo as his loyal steward and as someone who believes in him wholeheartedly. He can manipulate time after all. That's what attracted me to their dynamic—Barbatos would do everything for Diavolo.

I do like to believe that Diavolo does care for him too, in a way. He is the one who kept Barbatos inside the kingdom in the first place. They dynamic tickles at me truly <3 I love to see more of them

[666writingcafe]

The Angel's Halo

Once MC and I give my brothers the medicine and supplies they need to get through the day, we decide to spend some time out of the house. After all, there's not much more we can do there at the moment that would be beneficial to my brothers.

"Do you want to grab a bite to eat?" MC asks as we begin walking.

"Good idea," I tell them. "Azzy was going on and on about this new cafe that's supposed to be opening today. He mentioned it's not too far from here."

"What's it called?" Normally, names don't really stick in my brain, but this particular one stood out to me so much that it's practically engraved on there.

"The Angel's Halo." MC snorts in amusement. "Yeah, that was kind of my reaction, too."

Here's the thing: I figured that someone from the Celestial Realm was gonna be following us close behind once we got settled here in the human world. I mean, from my understanding, MC was more or less blessed by Michael to wear Lucifer's old ring; he probably wants to make sure he made the right decision, which means keeping an eye on both them and us to make sure that they remain "pure" enough.

If he's smart, he would have sent Simeon. He's the one that would raise the least amount of suspicion. And I suppose the little chihuahua would have to tag along. It would be cruel for his owner to leave him behind.

Sure enough, as we approach the entrance to the new cafe, Luke's outside, twirling a sign around.

"I'm surprised he's able to do that," MC quietly observes. "He's never been the most coordinated."

"He probably needs a break," I reply. "Who knows how long he's been doing that trick." MC playfully glares at me before walking up to the young angel, who accidentally hits them in the face with the sign. I silently watch to make sure MC's alright, but once the two of them begin catching up with each other, I duck inside.

"Well, hello there, Mammon." Simeon looks up from wiping the counter. Despite the smile he gives me, I can tell something's off with him.

"It's Mason around here," I reply, sitting down on one of the stools in front of the counter. "And you're lucky I'm here. If Azzy came like he wanted to, he'd be freaking out about the bags under your eyes." Simeon gently throws the towel he was using over his shoulder.

"I haven't been able to get much sleep. Getting this place set up has been a lot more work than I had anticipated."

"Clearly." He's hiding something. I've never seen him look this exhausted, not even when we were living together in the Celestial Realm and he was still one of the Seraphim.

"I'm sure you're wondering why we're here." I shrug.

"I mean, Michael probably sent ya down here, right?" Simeon hums affirmatively.

"Officially, we've been appointed to help coordinate relations between the human world and the Celestial Realm." He's given me an opening. If he didn't want me to dig further, he wouldn't have said "officially".

"And unofficially?" He glances outside, presumably to make sure that MC and Luke are still preoccupied.

"He's testing me," he whispers.

"Testing you? For what? A promotion?" Simeon sighs, shaking his head.

"I've gotten into a bit of trouble. One of my notebooks was discovered." Okay...

"But you're a writer, right? Like, you've gotten permission to do that."

"Yes, and if that was what was found, nothing would have come of it, but this particular one was more of a personal journal. The contents inside are, shall we say, things that no angel ought to even be thinking about, let alone express into words."

"They shouldn't have been snooping in the first place."

"You forget, the Celestial Realm believes that nothing should be kept secret. Everything must eventually come to light." Simeon pauses. "Plus, I accidentally left it in a public space. The person who found it was merely trying to discover whose it was so that they could return it to its rightful owner."

"Dude, what exactly were you writing about in there?" He sighs again.

"In a word, corruption." Oh shit. Well, no wonder he's in trouble.

"Of yourself, or someone else?"

"Technically both, but I'm the active party."

"Please tell me it isn't Luke." Simeon widens his eyes.

"Absolutely not. He's merely a child. I wouldn't do that to him."

"Then who..." Right as I begin asking the question, I answer it for myself. "Oh, Simeon." He gives me a tired smile.

"I know." He glances outside once more. "Believe me, I've tried to keep these thoughts at bay, but I can't help it. I mean, how can someone's soul grow brighter after spending a significant amount of time with all seven Avatars of Sin? It makes no sense, Mam--Mason."

"And it upsets you, doesn't it?"

"It's more frustrating than upsetting. I know it's wrong, but there's a part of me that feels like..." He trails off, trying to regain his composure. "If I were to fall, I'd want to take them down with me." Oh my...I had no idea that MC made him feel that way.

"You're lucky that you're merely getting tested."

"Yes and no. This little test of his will determine the severity of my punishment. If I behave myself, then I simply have to be supervised when I'm writing. And do a few extra tasks, but that's not a big deal."

"And if you don't?"

"You mean, if I succumb to temptation?" I nod my head. I hear the door open. Simeon leans in close, trying to make sure that neither Luke or MC can hear him.

"Then I might as well not be an angel anymore."

[jessamine-rose]

So I finally found the time to read Chapter 5 + the Hades event of What in Hell is Bad? and AAHHH LEVIATHAN?!! God, his character is so interesting and I can’t wait to see more of him.

Idk I just find his personality and cold attitude towards MC quite refreshing. Not to mention that he has such a lovely voice and beautiful appearance…….aaahhh he’s so intriguing <3

AND LEVIATHAN’S H SCENE?? Let’s just say that my inner sadist was very happy with how it turned out. Honestly, we need more characters who are masochist + power bottom ψ(｀∇´)ψ

[deniedbetahusband4]

[thesubswhisper]

Real talk and that bite of self-respect you need to hear

Them: Na I’m good thx

You: ok 😕

Me : “yeah, this stings, but damn, you’re too good to wait around for someone who can’t see it.”

In any dynamic or scene, finding the right partner means going through the process of vetting, and trust me, that’s a damn good thing. Vetting helps us filter out the people who aren’t meant for us, leading us closer to those who actually get us. But here’s the catch, babe: not everyone we feel that spark with is going to feel it back. And yeah, sometimes it’s the people we’re drawn to the most who just don’t share that same vision.

So what happens when that dreamy, dazzling connection you felt with someone doesn’t go the way you thought it would? It’s even tougher when everything seemed to be moving in a positive direction… only to find out it’s a dead-end. This is where we need that solid belief in ourselves, that quiet reminder that we’re still damn amazing, that we’re gonna be just fine.

Rejection? It’s just redirection, pushing you closer to someone who actually aligns with you.

Think about it like this: if a person tells you, “We’re not compatible,” believe them. Why? Because you deserve to be happy and fully appreciated. There’s no use wasting your energy waiting around for someone to change, like sitting at a pizza place hoping they’ll magically start serving Piña colada margarita ham pizza 🍕 when all they offer is Pepperoni. Walk out, baby, and find what truly satisfies you.

Self-awareness is your weapon here. Take a hard look at what you need, what you want, and what you can genuinely give in a relationship. Do the inner work, figure out your non-negotiables, and you’ll find yourself aligned with someone who respects and matches that energy. You’re going to come to find that the people that rejected you that yeah they were right you have nothing in common. Nothing that they have or that you have would ever be compatible.

So keep moving forward remind yourself how amazing you are even if other people don’t see it because there are gonna be people who don’t see a damn thing but as long as you know, nothing else matters.

*A message from KreeKree ❤️

You’re a catch, and anyone who doesn’t see it? Their loss. Sometimes the best reminders are the ones we end up giving ourselves, Rejection’s a nasty beast, but it’s also a blessing in disguise—it clears out the people who don’t deserve a second of your damn time. 😘

[otome-on-the-side]

I wonder how all those angst fic writers feel about a younger chained up satan being canon 

[gifti3]

How does mc spread their attention among 7+ people??

[bunnis-monsters]

Ahh your bee hybrids are making me think of the dynamics of the bulls and cows ♡♡ So doting and loving~ Soft and fuzzy!

I keep thinking about a nearby wasp or hornet colony getting a little jealous hearing about such a pretty queen - they're so big and scary..

Just rambly thoughts hehe, enjoy your day/night~

Let’s just say that you had a good relationship with the wasp hybrids before becoming the queen of the bee hybrids. You may have even had a fling with one or two, and they told the others.

For a while they watched on in jealousy, wanting you for themselves, until some got brave.

A few wasps get in and mate with the queen, filling you with their own eggs. It’s different than mating with the bees, they fuck and stuff you, leaving you with bite marks and hickeys… it feels so good…

The bee hybrids are devastated when they find out and aren’t sure what to do… while they hate the idea of sharing you, they’d also prefer to not go to war with the wasp hybrids. Hive vs Hive won’t end well, and your safety is their top priority.

So they find the wasps responsible and execute them… but you don’t really like that. Now the bees have made their beloved queen sad, and their next suggestion only angers you further.

They want to just kill the eggs, but that upsets you! They’re your eggs, and you get to decide if you carry them or not! The bees are at a loss. While killing them isn’t allowed by you, they can’t stay in the bee hive, that’s dangerous. Wasps are aggressive and they’re afraid they’ll hurt your bee hybrid babies.

The wasps send an ambassador, who says the other hive will go to war with them for the queen… but they offer a compromise.

Since both hives love you and neither of them wants to suffer through a war, they suggest sharing you.

So they hesitantly accept the offer to share their queen, the only stipulation being that they have more access to her and their eggs are the priority. The wasps don’t really plan on obeying that rule, but they agree because god they want you so bad.

Now imagine being surrounded by the aggressive and rough wasp hybrids that are deliciously rough on your fat cunt while you’re also being worshipped and adored by the bee hybrids who mate with you however you please…

You’d spend your days going from one hive to another, being given more and more love and affection as both hives try to stay in your favor and possibly convince you to stay with them forever.

They’re both very possessive species, and aggressive when it comes to their hive and queen. Who knows how long this treaty will last.

This scenario could be explored more if anyone’s interested.

I think the bees would usually not do this, but with the added lore that the queen was once friendly with the wasps and they are more desperate to have her means the bees would rather share than potentially lose to war. In their minds they can’t comprehend that the wasps would never hurt you, they think that they will take out the entire hive along with you.

[sketch-guardian]

I feel like I need to start adding a -___ anon because of how much I send requests now, I would love to send them without anon but it’s honestly so scary to post or comment anything 😞

I don’t know if you’re very comfortable with writing certain types of mental illnesses, like I saw on your boundaries post that you were fine writing mental and physical conditions but I just wanna know if you’re comfortable with a request where child mc has like ptsd or depression and always seems to be sad and gloomy (turns out it’s from bullying back in the home realm.) I really like seeing posts where child mc isn’t very energetic since I didn’t really get that very happy experience and can’t relate (〃▽〃)

Also I wish there was a snow leopard emoji, that’d be so cool. I love snow leopards

SORRY IF THIS IS A LOT OF WORDS, IM STILL REALLY NEW TO SENDING STUFF THAT ISNT TO PEOPLE I KNOW 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Well, there's no obligation to add a -___ anon, only if you feel like it🤷🏻and don't worry, I know how scary it can be to write openly to people you don't know or are close to🙈so it doesn't matter the number of asks you send, if you prefer to stay anonymous, so be it, it's not a problem☺As a (hopefully) future psychologist (I'm still studying at university-), it doesn't make me uncomfortable to talk about such topics, I just hope to write them well and not make too many mistakes😖so your ask is perfectly fine and I thank you for asking anyway just to be safe💜Furthermore, as a child I was very quiet and lazy, I was sometimes compared to a doll even though I was content, so more or less I can relate and I hope you are doing better now✨Also I agree, more animal emojis should be added💕(perhaps you could be snow leopard anon?🤔). Now let's get started with the platonic headcanons, I assumed you wanted all OCs btw🙈:

"RAD CLASSMATES+NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS WITH A CHILD MC WHO HAS DEPRESSION/PTSD"

DEMYA

Demya didn't spend an exactly normal childhood, firstly due to the type of environment in which she was born as a demon, part of a bloodthirsty tribe, and secondly due to the events that characterized her turbulent past, that is, having seen her family die in front of the her eyes and then being imprisoned in a human circus as a freak, chained and malnourished, only later when she was freed was she able to begin her journey of recovery. Demya might seem brash and prone to violence, in some respects she is, however she softens towards children and with child MC in particular she would be very protective, especially considering what they had to go through. Demya would not tolerate abuse towards child MC and would ask them to give her all the names of those who bullied them on Earth, not to kill them, not wanting to get child MC into trouble and considering that most likely the bullies are children as well, but simply to scar them for life and thus prevent them from finding other victims, the sight of her bloodied on the ceiling should be enough. Demya would also feel sorry for child MC being miserable most of the time and would try in her own way to make them happier, to make them overcome their trauma, because together they are stronger, Demya would always welcome child MC into her arms in case of need of comfort and they could stay in her nest (of blankets and pillows) for as long as they need to

DOMNRA/MOBIM

Domnra had a fairly normal childhood, according to celestial standards at least, given that as a soldier, he was trained to fight from a young age. The most difficult period of Domnra's life began after his fall from the Celestial Realm and after Mobim's birth, it took him time to metabolize and get used to the new situation. Child MC would remind Domnra of Mobim during its first days of existence: small, weak, helpless and afraid. Having matured over time and having learned to take care of Mobim, Domnra would try to help child MC learn how to defend themselves, both physically and emotionally, from bullies or fears, because they would have the full right to assert their own person. Domnra would become like child MC's shadow, always at their side in case of danger, as a figure to hide behind or as a shoulder to cry on, anyone who mistreats child MC should pass through Domnra first if they have the courage. Mobim would also help make child MC feel less sad, becoming their friend, playmate and comforting them, without the need for words and showing child MC that crying is good for letting off steam

AZUL

Azul was a happy and energetic child, who enjoyed running among flowers along with colorful butterflies, without a care in the world, his mood management problems began in adulthood, after his fall from the Celestial Realm. Azul is a very empathetic demon when it comes to feelings, especially those of people he cares about, so when he would sense child MC's sadness, his colors would change from light blue to dark blue in a sense of recognition and Azul would carry child MC in his arms, to comfort and console them. Azul would be worryingly quiet at the news of child MC being a victim of bullying and it's likely that one day, in the form of a spirit, he will enter the bullies' bedroom and scare them so much that they will never repeat such actions again. Azul would try to help and support child MC to find a way to express themselves, such as drawing or photography and as he is better trained in managing emotions, he would try to help child MC overcome their depression, one step at a time, always by their side, showing pride at every small milestone achieved

ZURI

Since she was a child, Zuri has always followed a rather rigid discipline and had to meet very high expectations from other angels towards her, therefore she didn't spend much time playing or having fun as perhaps it would have been more appropriate for a young angel, too busy excel and show herself as a symbol of purity. Old habits die hard, so even after she became a demon, Zuri remained a perfectionist, however she would never want something like that for child MC, after the way they have already suffered. With Zuri, there would be no expectations of happiness and joy to respect, but rather a probable professional therapeutic path, for child MC's sake, to provide them with the tools to process their trauma and work on their depression. Zuri would probably explain to child MC that the bullies who bothered them have likely been through difficult situations, however that doesn't excuse their actions and child MC would not be required to forgive them, but rather to move on with their life and heal. Anyone who has any comments to make about child MC's behavior should respond personally to Zuri and while not often very loving, Zuri would cradle child MC in her arms during depression or ptsd episodes

ODON

Odon had a bizarre childhood due to their ancient eldritch nature, they don't know what it means to have a family and as a child they did anything to feel a single emotion, even if it meant committing genocide. Over time Odon got "bored", because suffering became repetitive and they realized that showing kindness received much more interesting and varied reactions, that was the reason for the beginning of Odon's change for the better, however difficulties weren't lacking, since everyone was too afraid of them. Odon knows what it means to be marginalized and isolated, they also know sadness although they don't show it, therefore Odon would be very understanding and patient with child MC's issues, accompanying them step by step during their growth. No sane person would be stupid enough to bully child MC given Odon's reputation, so they would stop being teased, while as for the rest, Odon would read stories with child MC on their lap while they drink a hot beverage, to make them feel protected and safe for once, with even the eye-like creatures in tow as silent guardians. Odon would go back to being the monster they were in order to ward off the evil that afflicts child MC, after all, how could pain approach child MC, in Odon's even scarier presence?

REMIEL

Remiel had a lonely childhood and not exactly by choice. As a half angel-half nephilim, many angels, the most conservative ones, have always seen Remiel as a sin, an impure angel not worthy of being called such and having always been very literal-minded, despite the reassurances from her mother Azrael and her father Death, Remiel could never help but see such statements as the truth, because after all they weren't entirely wrong, she wasn't a pure celestial being, she have learned to live with it, however Remiel would see child MC's situation as unfair, being different. Since both child MC and Remiel are often gloomy and somber, they could actually be mistaken for related. As an angel of death, Remiel would frequently face issues such as depression and negative feelings, therefore she would be quite capable of making child MC feel better, having comforted several human souls in the past. One thing that child MC would appreciate before going to sleep would be, for example, having Remiel embrace them with her wings while softly humming them a lullaby that her mother Azrael used to sing to her when she was a child

NATHANIEL

Nathaniel, although he has always been a quiet angel even as a child, who let himself be carried away by the course of events, has always felt as if he was not in control of his actions, as if his destiny was in the hands of someone superior who controlled his every move and emotional response. As an extremely patient angel, caring for and managing a child MC with depression or ptsd would not necessarily be a problem, if anything a challenge, which Nathaniel would not intend to give up or abandon for any reason. Nathaniel would try to teach child MC how to let non-constructive criticism and insults slide over them, using failures as material to grow and improve, killing with kindness when possible those who show resentment towards them for no reason. Nathaniel is chill, but when annoyed he would be quite scary, so people would hardly bother child MC in his presence, also Nathaniel would show child MC the wonders of the world, trying to rekindle the spark of life in them. Nathaniel would always be child MC's guide

URIEL

Uriel's childhood was characterized by continuous attempts on her part to show her worth of becoming a warrior angel and by seeking compliments to feel valid, no matter how many times she fell and felt inadequate, she always got up in order to reach her goals and Uriel would like to help child MC achieve their dream whatever it may be, however she's aware that first they should be motivated enough and that currently it would be too soon. Uriel would see child MC being a victim of bullying as a real violation of justice and as an angel who represents it, she would go straight to the bullies, making them regret and reconsider every choice in their life and she would force them to apologize to child MC personally, with the threat of them going to hell if they act bad again or even worse, even if they ended up in heaven, then they would have to deal with Uriel. Uriel would act as child MC's shield and sword, promising that when they're unable to fight, she will protect them, for as long as they need, that she'll be the rock on which they can lean when they don't feel well

(also here's a small bonus of some OCs reaction to child MC fighting back against a bully):

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ 𝐡𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧 + 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

characters: vox, val, alastor, lucifer warnings: implied smut in some; 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink (+ papi for val), toxic relationships, pet/master dynamic (for alastor), reader is a bit of a brat with vox, implied drugging the night before (val), praise + pet names, fem!reader, reader is carried in val’s words: 2.7k

₊˚⊹ 𝐯𝐨𝐱 ⊹˚₊

You love mornings with your Daddy—truly, you do; love waking up next to him, slow and soft as his fingertips outline your features; love eating breakfast with him, feet kicking back and forth on one of the barstools as he prepares something simple for the two of you, know that he had to pull teeth to get the mornings off of work so he could spend them with you, getting you ready for the day and seeing you off—but there is one part, right at the very end, that you absolutely despise. 

Like everything with Vox, dental hygiene is a meticulous procedure, a rigorous routine with a set of immutable steps to be followed in the exact order Vox has laid them out in—carved into concrete, set in stone.

And, like everything else with Vox, no one knows how to perform them correctly except for him.

Still, it isn’t like you ever make it easy for him.

What else could he expect from his little troublemaker, really?

“Open up.” 

A thumb and a forefinger clamp down on the hinges of your jaw, palm wreathed around your chin, and squeeze, popping your mouth open with practiced efficiency.

“Daddy,” the word comes out as a stringy whine, slightly garbled, face crumpling in petulance. “Dun wanna.” 

Jerking a little in his grasp, you try to pull away from the advancing toothbrush slathered with translucent teal gel, and Vox clicks his tongue. 

“And I don’t care,” he says simply, fingers flexing in warning. “Good little girls need to brush their teeth—especially if they’ve eaten two bowls of sugary cereal for breakfast.” 

“But—”

Vox pulls back, face flattened into something serious. “Do you want cavities eating holes in your teeth?” 

“No—”

“Didn’t think so. Now hold still and let Daddy do this for you, yeah?” 

A groan vibrates on the back of your tongue, but your body goes pliant in his grasp, chin leaning into his pillowy palm.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs to himself, a small smug smile on his face.

Warmth blossoms in your chest, swells your lungs and stretches your ribs as you droop a little more beneath his praise and he chuckles, a fond little melody playing on his tongue, grip tightening infinitesimally. 

And he’s so precise with it all, maneuvers painstakingly perfect as he tilts your head one way, then the other, sure to scrub each tooth thoroughly, bristles scouring in little circular motions as he cleanses.

“Aaaah,” he hums, mimicking the action as he pries his mouth open wider, another praise falling from his lips as you instantly obey, allowing him to reach the molars at the very back of your mouth—brushing on top, on either side, behind, then on top again. 

“Tongue out.” 

Another whine sticks in your throat, brows pushing together and crinkling your forehead, open mouth downturned in a frown with a slight shake of your head, struggling against his hold.

“Come, now,” Vox chastises, but his voice is hard, fortified with a subtle threat. “You were doing so well for me—don’t start acting up, Daddy’s almost done.” 

His gaze holds yours steadily, a single eyebrow raising in question—are you really going to test me?—and you cave, again.

Reluctantly, your tongue unfurls from your mouth, face still scrunched in irritation as he scrapes the bristles across the muscle, working up a healthy lather, refusing to cease until that telltale disgruntled whine claws at your throat, evoking another one of those patronizing little chuckles.

“Alright, alright,” he’s pacifying as he tips a glass to your lips, a palm cupped protectively beneath your chin. “Rinse.” 

And, Christ, he loves how fucking obedient you are, even as the urge to misbehave bubbles behind your ribs, lips set in a deep pout as you follow his instructions, swishing a mouthful of water between your cheeks, waiting perfect and patient for his next order. 

“Spit.”

Oh, so compliant, so disciplined you are as you instantly spew blue liquid down the drain, a fierce sense of pride, of ownership, igniting deep within his soul, blazing bright and hot and strong, reflected in the amplified glowing of his eyes.

Your features are still scrunched up in a cute little pout, glaring at him through your lashes, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” A thumb runs along your forehead, attempting to iron out the crease between your brows in a gentle caress.

“It was awful.” 

“Fucking brat.” 

And he just can’t help but laugh out the word, the sting the insult should bring instantly negated by the tender affection it’s smothered in, turned soft and melty on his tongue.

No, you never make such endeavours painless for him, but you do always make them interesting, and for that, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

₊˚⊹ 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐨 ⊹˚₊

It’s late in the afternoon when Val decides it’s time to get up, deep crimson light spilling through the narrow gaps in his thick curtains and painting thin, long strokes across the shag carpet.

He doesn’t bother formally waking you as two of his hands scoop you from the nest of silk and cradle you to his body, chuckling out a coo as you automatically snuggle into his chest, legs latching around his waist. 

The haze of sleep still hangs heavy in your skull, a soft protest grumbled into his skin as he carries you somewhere, lids staying firmly glued shut, body beginning to melt into his again as the bliss of unconsciousness entices you with promises of whimsical dreams and relief from your aching muscles. 

Cold marble stings your bare thighs suddenly, forcing a small jolt through your form, a soft hiss exhaled from between your teeth.

“I know, I know, it’s cold,” Val pacifies, his voice a pleasant fog curling around your cheeks as he leans around you, tinkering with something.  

“Papi,” you whimper, reaching blindly for him, lethargic head falling forward, forehead pressed tightly to his sternum.

“Mmm, I’m here,” he murmurs distractedly, two of his hands still wrapped firmly around your hips as the other set busy themselves with uncapping a tube of toothpaste.

“Wanna go back to bed,” you slur out in a whine, nose nuzzling into his chest, fruitlessly looking for a place to rest your head, dense drowsiness curling the edges of your mind.

“But it’s time to get up, princesa,” he chides gently, a finger tracing the curve of your cheek. “You’ve been asleep for fourteen hours.” 

“M’still tired.” 

A hum of contemplation vibrates at the back of his tongue as a hand twines around your jaw, examining your face this way, then that, before tilting your chin up.

“Maybe I gave you a little too much last night,” he muses to himself through a dark snicker. “It’s kinda cute that you’re still this fucked up, though. Can’t even open your eyes for me, can you?” 

And you try, really, you do, attempting to heft your leaden lids, features screwing up cutely with the immense effort, and Val coos again, as if your intoxication is so pathetically precious—poor little girl can barely handle her Daddy’s drugs! How sweet.

“Well, that’s okay,” he purrs, first pair of hands slipping further beneath his dress shirt—a makeshift nightgown, his favourite nightgown on you—and tugging you closer to the counter’s edge. “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about anything; Papi will do it for you.” 

A sound of indignation sticks in your throat as you finally pry your eyes open, squinting against the harsh light of the bathroom, bleary gaze fixed on the sparkly pink toothbrush in one of his hands, face rumpling into a pout. 

Your lips press into a tight, firm line, sealing your mouth against the rapidly advancing utensil as your eyes slip shut again, weighted with narcotic-laced exhaustion, head shaking in messy little motions.

“C’mon, be co-operative,” the points of his nails dig into your skin, hard enough to leave superficial indents—a warning. “Don’t upset Daddy this early in the day, baby.” 

Wrenching your eyes open again, your nose twitches with a sniffle, chin beginning to quiver.

“But—But—Do I have to?”

“Yes, you have to,” he says, but his voice trembles with the effort to stay calm, to stay pleasant. “Your mouth is very dirty from last night, and it needs to be cleaned.”

A thick torrent of tears rush to cloud your vision, sudden and stinging, a hiccup stuttering your chest. The hand curved around your jaw tightens, yanking your face toward his own, foreheads knocking together.

“Now, open, before I make you open.”

Your jaw falls slack, a slave to his orders, unable to disobey a direct demand from its owner, and Val purrs, something wicked unravelling on his face, smile stretched sharp and sleazy from edge to edge, the glow in his eyes flaring with your instant compliance.

“Good girl.”

₊˚⊹ 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 ⊹˚₊

Alastor, you’ve come to learn, has a plethora of odd regimes; stringently scheduled customs that are non-negotiable, that extend to you, including brushing your teeth. 

It’s become routine, now—habitual, as most things with Alastor are—and your days no longer feel right without it; weird, off, incomplete. 

Because it’s become something of a comfort; something so simple, yet so intimate, something calming and rewarding, something to look forward to—a moment shared between the two of you, twice a day, once at the beginning, and once at the end. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you try tell him, the first time he insists on doing it, trying desperately to look over your shoulder as he ushers you into his ensuite.

“Nonsense!” he waves a hand in dismissal. “It isn’t a problem at all. Now, sit.” 

“Alastor—”

“Sit.” 

With a tiny frown, you perch gingerly on the edge of the bathtub, fingers curling around the rim.

“I’m serious,” you murmur, teeth nibbling superficially at the skin of your lip, wary eyes watching as he flits with practiced ease around the bathroom, a twinge of confusion settling in your chest, something akin to shame sitting thick and bitter on the back of your tongue. “I can do it myself…” 

“I know you can,” he replies simply, focused on depositing a strip of white toothpaste on your toothbrush. 

“Then…” you blink up at him, watching him advance with wide eyes, shoulders shrinking as he blankets you in his shadow. “Why are you doing it for me?” 

Irritation twitches at the edges of his grin, Alastor exhaling a controlled sigh.

“Because,” he begins, keeping his voice light, taking your chin between his index finger and thumb. “A good Master takes proper care of his pet.” 

His grip strengthens, tilting your face up further, his form looming over your own as you sit, vulnerable and exposed, beneath his touch. Crimson eyes glow as they scour your face, his back bent at an uncomfortable angle as he practically curls around you, the scent of earth and cedar tinged with copper wafting across your face with his calm, even breaths. 

“Besides,” he continues, voice dropped an octave lower, his nose nearly nudging yours. “I couldn’t possibly trust you to do it adequately.” 

A cruel little chuckle plays on his tongue, as if the mere thought itself is preposterous, the sound stinging as it seeps into your cheeks, hot and full of spikes. 

“Now, open.” 

Instantly, your mouth falls agape, and Alastor’s smile stretches infinitesimally wider, a sharp glint flaring in his eyes.

“A good owner maintains their pet’s hygiene,” he explains as he works, gaze fixed intently on his actions, cleansing with a meticulous sort of vigilance. “Bathes them, grooms them, dresses them—performs all of the basic necessities a pet needs to appear presentable.”

His hand shifts slightly, angling your head to the side, and you follow easily, malleable in his grasp, his smile shimmering. 

“And I pride myself on taking very good care the things that belong to me.”

And, really, he does. Because Alastor doesn’t just brush your teeth with rigorous care, conscientiously certain to cleanse every dip and gap; he flosses them, too, with gentle hands and painstaking precision, then ensures you’ve rinsed with germ-killing, enamel-strengthening mouthwash for exactly forty-five seconds, counting uniformly and observing with large, unblinking eyes as you adhere to his every instruction, cheeks bulging with burning liquid, eyes squinting from the intensity, but never daring to blink, to glance away, to stop at all. 

“Look at you,” he purrs after you’ve spit down the drain, gazing back up at him with a sort of desperate devotion—demented, devious, damned to his hell—syrupy condescension dripping from his teeth. “So well behaved for me, aren’t you?”  

A palm cups your jaw, his thumb running across your cheek in rhythmic strokes, the tip of his claw caressing your skin with just enough pressure to leave behind shallow scratches. 

“What, hoping Master will give you a treat for being so obedient?” 

“No, Sir,” you whimper out, voice gone dreamy as you nuzzle into his hand. “You taking such good care of me is more than enough.” 

Something sinister oozes into his face, something that contorts his smile and corrodes his eyes, leaving behind nothing but raw hunger, like he’s about to devour you whole, pops of static fizzing thickly in his voice. 

“That’s my good girl.” 

₊˚⊹ 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 ⊹˚₊

Everything hurts, muscles stiff and aching and full of sand, your motions clumsy and cumbersome as you attempt to brush your teeth, joints creaking with every slight shift.

Fatigue blurs the edges of your eyes, your vision fading out of focus again, mind gone fuzzy as you try your best to concentrate on your movements—up, down, all around, repeat—features screwing up in a wince as you catch the harsh bristles on your gums, again. 

“You’re making a bit of a mess, sleepyhead,” Lucifer’s tender chuckle pulls you from your foggy stupor, a quiet hum vibrating in your throat as you look over at him in question, the gesture lethargic and delayed. 

“You’ve got some—Here,” he says softly, hands curling around your shoulders and turning you to face him, then tilting your chin up. “May I?”

Another affirmative sounds on the back of your tongue and Lucifer uses his thumb to carefully clean the foaming paste collecting at the corners of your mouth, then catching a slow dribble streaming down your chin with a deft knuckle. 

A frown mars his face, his forehead creasing beneath the strain, his other hand stroking your shoulder as worried eyes search your face, slow and careful.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” he asks. “You’re really struggling to brush your teeth.”

“Jus—really tired,” you mumble through the bubbles in your mouth, Lucifer skillfully catching another trickle of watery paste, concern tugging at the corners of his lips, frown deepening.

“Do you want me to do it for you?” 

Sleepy eyes blink up at him, slow and sluggish, your hazy mind taking a moment to process the question.

“Mhmm,” you finally nod, hand loosening the instant his fingers skim yours, allowing him to gently uncurl your grip from around the base of your toothbrush, his own effortlessly taking its place. 

“Alright, alright, Daddy will help you,” he’s pacifying in a murmur, but his gaze has turned melty, glow dimmed and pupils gaping, lids heavy with love. “Poor thing…Last night was a long night for you, huh?” 

“S’a lot,” you confirm in a messy mumble, lids drooping heavily with the weight of exhaustion.

“Yeah?” his thumb rubs loving little circles into your jaw as he works, gaze trained on his task. “Was Daddy a little too rough with you?” 

The question is uttered out tenderly, full of sympathy and care, his brow furrowing as his eyes flit back to yours, searching for veracity in your pupils.

“Maybe I should be a bit gentler next—”

“No!” you cough around the refusal, puffy lids snapping open suddenly, the unexpected vehemency causing Lucifer to flinch.

“No?” he laughs, and it’s warm with affection, his features, hard with worry, mollifying beneath fondness, amorous amusement twinkling daintily in his eyes. 

“No,” you whine out with a tiny pout, head shaking a little in his grasp. “Please.”

“Okay,” the pad of his thumb runs along your cheek, his stare trailing after it. “If nothing else, at least Daddy will always be there to take care of you the morning after.”

[endlessthxxghts]

Solace

Din Djarin/The Mandalorian x afab!reader || W/C: 4.3k

Summary: You help Din release his frustrations after he comes back from a weeklong hunt.

Content/Warnings: Canon divergent around season 3 (no Grogu here; one tiny reference to Living Waters). Reader is able-bodied, but there are no specific physical descriptions. Pet names for both reader and Din (fem pet names for reader). Implied established relationship (you've seen his face and call him Din) - THEY'RE IN LOVE. Reader knows a bit of Mando'a. Helmet comes off. 18+ MDNI. This is 100% porn. Boot riding...blanket..riding...(there's a lot of riding lolz). Multiple orgasms. Cunnilingus. Din is a talker when his mouth isn't occupied. Blow job/face fucking. Unprotected P in V sex. Reader is on whatever form of birth control they have in space LMAO, so #twinkie time😋. Hints of a breeding kink. Praise kink (lots of it). Switch BDSM dynamics. Soft Dom!Din along with subby/desperate!Din. Sub!Reader and soft Dom!Reader. Please let me know if I missed anything! Xx

A/N: First picture was made by @djarin-desires, and honestly, this whole oneshot was inspired by this post they made! I literally could not stop thinking about these pictures all day, so I just had to write my ✨thots✨ down. I hope you enjoy!! Other two photos are found on Pinterest - middle does not represent anything about reader’s physical appearance.

masterlist || notif blog

“Oh, shit-” you gasp. “Din, please,” eyes rolling back in pleasure, your body shivering in its nakedness compared to his fully armored form. 

“What is it, sweet girl?” he coos, his fingers caressing your cheekbone, pushing the hair from your eyes. 

“Need- stars- need more,” you cry out, your current situation proving to only bring you to the edge, but not carry you off of it. 

“One more like this, cyar’ika, then I’ll give you what you want,” Din reassures you, his leather-clad thumb running across your bottom lip, hooking himself in your mouth for you to make a mess of. “I wanna see that boot soaked, you hear me?”

Din always gets like this when he comes back from a weeklong bounty hunt. He gets hard. Dominating. In need of control. To take back the situation that got out of hand. 

You were sitting on the ground cleaning one of his blasters when he came in. He was tense. Weirdly quiet. He’s always quiet, but not with you, not for a few years now. He threw the bounty into the carbon and froze him, his chest plate rising with every breath. You knew him well enough now to know when he’s seething, and this was it. 

“Din?” you called out softly. 

He just points his helmet at you, the visor staring you down. 

“Everything okay?”

“What do you think?” He responds rather harshly.

“...Din,” you whisper, feeling every ounce of anger in those four words.

You like how it ends in these situations, though. It always ends with him a whimpering mess beneath you. There’s usually some kind of switch. He takes a third orgasm out of you, and always on the third, he becomes needy. Desperate. He just wants to be inside of you. To be balls deep and stay there, to release all of his tension while being wrapped up in you. 

You’re his solace. His warmth. His home. He always needs you. But right now, he needs his control back, so even though it’s you who’s in control by the end of the night, you stay prettily on your knees and obey dutifully. 

“I hear you, Din,” you struggle to get out with his thumb holding your tongue down, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. 

Your thighs are on fire from your constant back and forth motion, the squelch of your slick rubbing across his shoe sending blood straight to his groin. He can feel himself itching to make you rise, to spread your legs and split you open until he can’t hold himself up anymore. But he knows you’re close even though you whine and plea for more. He knows your tells—the way your eyes struggle to stay open, the sweat beading at your temples, the way you slowly start to clamp down harder and harder on his thumb. His personal favorite, though, he discovered in this new position, is the way you start hugging tighter onto his leg, your chest rubbing against his thigh plate in an attempt to cool yourself off, but you’re just so close, the cool beskar doing nothing to ease the heat. 

“Just like that, pretty girl, come on,” Din groans, the sight before him truly testing his strength. You two have done many things together, but this? This is something new, and Din isn’t sure how long he can last. “I know you can give me one more, baby. Just one more, and then I get to feel you, come on,” he pleads, voice bubbling up into a whine. 

Oh, he’s starting to break, already? 

The thought is what sends you over, your hips stuttering in their rhythm as your arousal pours out of you, your clit shooting a sharp sensation up your spine at the sensitivity. “Dank farrik, you’re so damn gorgeous when you cum all over me, baby, so so gorgeous,” he pulls his thumb out and spreads your drool across your mouth, cradling your cheek softly in his palm as you shake in his grasp.

“Oh, fuck- oh yes, yesyesyes, Din,” you sob, head falling back between your shoulder blades. 

“Oh, my sweet girl, Maker, you’re so beautiful,” he coos, leaning down to let the forehead of his helmet rest against yours, your hot breath fogging his visor. He smiles to himself as his vision blurs momentarily. 

Din’s hands situate themselves beneath your armpits, pulling you up to your feet and supporting you as you allow your limp legs to gain their strength again. “Can I taste you, cyar’ika?” He asks as he wraps his arms around your waist, guiding you to sit on the armory crate in the corner of the hull. 

“Thought you said you wanted to feel me?” you retort, a small smirk forming on your flushed face. 

“Yeah,” he says as he drops down to his knees. “My tongue goes first.” Even with his helmet on, you can still hear the shit-eating grin with his comment. 

Din reaches for his helmet, the hiss of air signifying it’s about to come off never fails to cause butterflies to erupt in your belly. The minute his chocolate brown eyes meet yours, your heart grows two sizes greater. Your hands reach for his face. “There’s my pretty boy,” you whisper. 

His heart nearly jumps out of his chest at your words. He turns his head to kiss your palm. “My pretty girl,” he responds, bashful. “Lean back, baby.” You lay yourself back, body resting against the metal wall as his hands settle underneath you. 

Din brings himself forward, the flat of his tongue starting at the bottom of you and licking upwards—slowly, thoughtfully, calculated. He takes his time moving through your soaked folds, as if he’s mapping it out for the first time even though he’s mapped your body more times than the amount of bounties under his belt. 

The way you moan under his touch has him groaning into you, his fingers tightening their hold, his face more flush against you. He can’t get enough. His licks turn less controlled and more hungry; he uses his lips to help rub the surrounding area as he suckles every part of you he can, drinking you in, bathing in your slick as if to reclaim himself, as he did not too long ago in the Living Waters of Mandalore. His nose nudges your sensitivity as his tongue claims your entrance, the softness of your walls dancing with the softness of his tongue makes you breathless. 

Your fingers find their way into his curls, grabbing on in an attempt to ground yourself, to keep your soul beside him as he brings you to the brink of ecstasy for the fourth time since he’s been back. You whimper in distaste as his tongue leaves your hole, but the disappointment is quickly replaced by a whimper of desperation when his mouth wraps around your throbbing bud and he sucks. “Just- oh, fuck, Din- just like that,” you let out, your hips involuntarily lifting to buck into his face.

He’s quick to bring his mouth back down to your entrance, licking up every drop of the sweet nectar you always keep him full with. His nose massages your bundle as he drinks from you, and the action prolongs your climax and syrupy moans; Din works to pull as much as he possibly can from you. It’s been a week of rations and shitty meals he can sneak. So when such a delicacy is placed before him, solely for his taking, oh, he’s not going to waste a single drop. 

By the time he’s satisfied, the bottom half of his face is covered in your shine, the armory crate’s ledge is soaked, and you’re completely blissed out—face flushed and sweaty, tired eyes, a weak smile… to the average eye, you appear properly satiated. Although, Din knows that you are far from it.

“You alright, sweet girl?” Din asks, rising to his full height again. He brings his hand out for you to take, pulling you up to stand. Delaying your answer, you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him in for a messy, open-mouthed kiss, all tongue with your flavor embedded in each and every one of his taste buds. You moan into the kiss, pulling away with a bite to his plump bottom lip. “Perfect, baby,” you smile, pulling him to the makeshift bed—a pile of blankets—in the hull that you two sleep in. 

You drop yourself down onto your knees, beginning to work his armor off from his legs as he starts on his shoulders. With you helping, he’s down to his flight suit in no time, and your mouth salivates at the sight. As soon as the last clink of the precious metal leaves his body, you’re leaning your face into him, into his bulge, pressing sweet little kisses to its covered form. You can hear Din’s breath hitch, his cock twitching under your touch. “Need you in my mouth, Din,” you say as you look up at him, his eyes already hooded over at the sight of your mouth near his length. “My turn to taste you, huh, pretty boy?” You ask in a teasing tone, his face too hot to register that you’re waiting for a response from him. 

He finally registers the question when your hand dips into his bottoms, his hardness meeting your hand eagerly. You look at him expectantly. 

Although technically it’s his cock’s turn to feel you, he cannot bring himself to deny you or your skillful mouth. He cannot bring himself to deny anything you want, really. “Y-yeah- yes, baby, your turn,” he says shakily, the anticipation putting his body into sensitivity overdrive. 

He helps rip the rest of his flight suit off, and without giving him a second to breathe, you’re already spitting in your palm and working the length of him the way you know he loves. You use your mouth in tandem, your tongue licking from his base to his tip, and instantly, a loud whimper comes from the back of Din’s throat at this particular touch. 

You’re delighted by his reaction, so you repeat the motion a few more times to pull more of those sweet sounds out. “My baby is so sensitive here, isn’t he?” You pump him with your hand as you speak, placing a wet kiss to his tip when the foreskin pulls back to expose it. 

“Kriff…” he moans, his head suddenly too heavy to maintain upright. “Mesh’la, please,” Din begs. 

With one more kiss to the tip, you stop your hand’s movement completely. “Please what, baby? Use those words, honey,” you look up at him, eyes wide and full of promises to please—as soon as he vocalizes what he wants. 

His chest is heaving already at the sight of you, on your knees and looking up at him again, yet this time around, you’re the one calling the shots. 

He prefers it this way, he thinks. Sure, he comes back from a particularly frustrating hunt and ends up taking his stress out on you. Sure, it’s the most beautiful sight seeing you so worked up and at his mercy. But he is always the one in the driver seat—calculating everyone’s every turn, every action before they even have the chance to act. Din’s mind is always active, always alert. Yet, when you have him like this, in this yielding state, it’s like his mind gets to be quiet. With you, under your touch and under your gaze, Din is able to exist in your presence without a worry. He’s finally able to just be. Not a bounty hunter, not the big and tough Mandalorian everyone fears. No, he’s Din. Your Din. Your sweet boy. Yours. And that’s the greatest honor to ever bestow upon him. At least, that’s how he sees it anyway. 

“Y-your mouth, mesh’la, p-please,” he says softly. Your eyebrow quirks up. You want just a little bit more. “Want your- need your mouth on me, baby, please,” he breathes out, attempting and failing to ease the neediness in his voice. 

You hum triumphantly before you begin pumping him again, your hand focusing on his base while your mouth lavishes his leaking head. You swirl your tongue around, the salty flavor of him quick to override your senses, and Din lets out a strangled moan, his hips softly bucking in your grasp. 

Your hand releases him, letting your mouth take full control. You grab onto his thick thighs for stability, breathing through your nose as you let the tip of him reach as far back as you can handle. He gasps when he hits the back of your throat, the twitch of his body triggering your gag reflex, your throat tightening in on where he’s most sensitive. “Oh, fuck,” he grunts, fighting his hips to stay in place and let you do your thing. 

You garble something incoherent, humming into his cock as you pull yourself on and off of him a few more times. Pulling back for a small breather, you use your finger to collect up the spit-arousal mixture from the sides of your mouth and pump it on his erection, his hips twitching once again at your ministrations. 

You know what he really wants right now, but with his head in cloud nine, you know he’ll never ask for it himself. “You wanna fuck my mouth, Din?” You ask bluntly. 

His entire face and chest turn red faster than the speed of light. He sputters in his response. “I- oh my Maker, mesh’la, is that- are- are you sure? I-”

You cut him off by leaning in to kiss his thigh. He softens in your touch. “Din, pretty boy, it’s a yes or no. One word. Choose.” 

“Yes,” he replies, not a single hesitation in sight. 

“Good boy,” you purr. “See what happens when you say what you want from me?”

You shift yourself to a more comfortable position sitting on your haunches, fluffing the blankets underneath you to soften the ache of the metal floor. You look up to Din who’s watching you eagerly but with a softness that tells you to take all your time in the world. Doing this isn’t just for him, though. Letting him take control of you here turns you on just as much as it does him, maybe even more. 

You take one more glance into his thirsty eyes, and, well, okay… maybe he enjoys this slightly more. Nonetheless, you don’t take your time because you can feel the butterflies in your core beginning to flap once again as Din brings himself closer to you, lining himself up with your mouth.

“Don’t waste this opportunity, Djarin. Better use me good, yeah?” You tease, leaning your head back slightly as you stick your salivating tongue flat out, waiting for him to enter. 

His entire body shivers at your words. “Yes, ma’am,” he says under his breath, focusing on easing himself into your mouth as steady as possible, trying to maintain some ounce of self-restraint he’s inevitably going to lose. 

Once his tip is in your mouth, his hands find their home rooted at the base of your air, his thumb reaching forward to caress the apple of your cheeks. He doesn’t move at first, apprehensive in the case he might hurt you. He’s always like this at the beginning, and every single time, you reassure him it’s okay. 

You let out a muffled mhm, his signal to keep going. Din’s fingers flex, guiding your head further in as his hips slowly meet you halfway. He’s holding his breath, you can tell in the way his belly twitches. But the moment your swallow reflex triggers around him, he’s gone. “Oh, shit-” he moans ragged, his hips never fully retreating before he’s bucking into you again. “Oh, sweet girl, fuck-” he gasps. “Always so perfect, feel so perfect around me, stars, baby-” he praises, his hips moving at a comfortable, steady pace now. 

You moan around him, eyes rolling back at how good and heavy he feels coasting the expanse of your tongue. Your spit drips further down your chin and neck with each thrust, the messiness of it all mirroring itself between your thighs. Your hands leave the expanse of your thighs and reach for the blankets underneath you. As best as you can, you shuffle them in between you, using it to grind your hips on it, giving you a much needed relief. The material catches on your clit deliciously, pulling a muffled gasp from your throat, sending the sensation up Din’s spine. 

“Oh, fuck, look at you,” he groans, his eyes fighting to stay open at the raw pleasure coursing through his veins as he starts thrusting into you harder, faster. “So pretty, baby, fuck- thank you, pretty girl,” he rambles. “Maker, you feel so damn good.” 

Your moans and whines don’t stop, they reverberate off each metal wall and into his ears, providing him with the sweetest song. Din, ever the talker, is long lost in the way you feel and the way you move. 

“Keep moving those hips, sweet girl, rub that pretty pussy on our blankets, baby.” 

“Gonna cum like that again, baby? Gonna make a mess where we sleep?” 

“Shit, gonna make me lick it up and clean it? Please make me clean it, baby,” he whines, his hips beginning to falter. 

The last thing he says to you is what sends you over the edge, your fingers gripping the blankets below you, bringing it flush against your core as if it were Din’s curls you’re hanging onto. Your hips speed up, chasing the orgasm that is just right there, and with one last thrust forward, you’re cumming. You’re breathing heavily through your nose, tears streaming down your face as you whimper around his dick, begging for the one thing you know he’s not gonna give you. 

With a few more thrusts, you can feel his cock start to twitch, and just as you suspected, he pulls out of you before he can finish. 

“Baby, no,” you cry, leaning yourself forward, chasing after him. Right away, he’s dropping down to his knees, hands still on either side of your face as he’s finally eye level with you. 

“Baby, cyar’ika, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please,” he repents, his chest rising and falling heavily, still out of breath from edging himself. “I just- I didn’t- I… I wanted to cum somewhere else, baby,” his voice falls quieter, shyer. 

Your scowl fades, forming into a more mischievous demeanor, more hungry. You can’t quite argue his reasoning. Because, you, too, would very much like him to finish… elsewhere. “Yeah, baby?” You taunt. “And where do you wanna cum, sweet boy?”

He swallows thickly, his needy eyes on yours, blacked with a ferality he’s addicted to. “In- inside,” he whispers. 

“Inside?” you’re quick to repeat. “Wanna cum inside me, sweet boy? Fill me up? I’ve made so many messes today, is it your turn to make one, baby?”

He leans in to meet your kiss, but you pull away slightly. Answer me, your face tells him. 

“Y-yeah- yes, stars, yes- fuck- please, baby, I wanna cum inside you, wanna make a mess of you so fucking bad, please-” he starts to answer. Satisfied, you cut him off with your lips on his.

You wrap your arms around his neck, lips never breaking the seal, you pull him over you as you lay yourself down on your guys’ bed, scooting farther up for your head to reach a pillow, your back barely missing your puddle of arousal. Din multitasks, grabbing one of the other near pillows and placing it underneath your hips as your body lands on the ground. Your legs are already hooked onto his waist, not giving him the space to stray too far. 

Once you’re settled, Din’s hand is cradling the back of your head while the other reaches for his cock, covered in your wetness and leaking with his own arousal. He guides himself to you, running his tip along your slick folds, stopping to tap on your clit before bringing himself back down to your entrance. He breaks the kiss when he does this, his eyes laser focused on where you two connect. His hand on the back of your head pushes to angle you down, so you can watch, too, both of you observing and listening to the lewdness of it all. 

Finally, his head catches at your entrance, pushing himself in slowly. He’s always a stretch, always something you’ll never quite really get used to, but you love the feeling. Obsessed, even. There are some days where you rile him up on purpose just so he gives it to you, no preparation or foreplay. On those days, he has you screaming, your fingernails digging deep into his back to tether yourself to reality in some kind of way. On his softer days, you have to beg him to, reassure him that it doesn’t hurt—in a bad way. 

As soon as he’s seated all the way to the hilt, he pulls back out entirely before he thrusts back in. You both moan out at the action, your pussy immediately releasing a fresh new wave of arousal around him. “Oh, fuck,” you both mutter at the same time, your eyes meet, and a euphoric smile graces each of your faces. 

“Y-you feel so good, baby, s-so fucking big,” you mewl, your hands tightening their hold around his neck, both the tips of your noses kissing each other. 

“It’s like you were made- fuck-” he stutters, his hips slowing for a brief moment, allowing himself to really feel you. “It’s like I was made for you,” he corrects himself. “I was made for you,” he says again, leaning in to slot his lips against yours.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” you say against his lips. I love you. “And I was made for you,” you squeak out, your head bobbing back and forth as the pleasure brings your mind further and further into space. 

“Shit, mesh’la,” he grits between his teeth. His hips speed up at that, loving the way his native tongue sounds on yours. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he repeats back to you. “I’m yours, cyar’ika. Yours,” he murmurs, his head crashing into the crook of your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting at the sweaty flesh. 

He sits up on his haunches for a second, hooking the crook of his elbows into your knees before leaning back over you—the angle allowing him to hit so deep and allowing his pubic area to stimulate your pulsing nerve with every thrust in—you scream out as he repeatedly makes you feel things that no one has ever been able to do, not even yourself. 

“Din,” you keen, his name leaving your mouth like a sinful prayer. “Din, baby, please, I think I’m gonna- fuck-”

“Gonna cum again for me, pretty girl?” He smirks. “Fuck, I’m never gonna stop saying this- you’re so fucking perfect. Come on, baby, cum for me, fucking soak me. Soak me before I make you fucking overflow with me, my sweet girl,” he snarls, his lips meeting yours in a bruising kiss, truly a dance of tongue and spit as he fucks into you at the same pace that brought you to yet another climax. 

Your hands yank on his fluffy curls, back arching into his body as much as this restricting angle allows you to. “Din, oh my-! Fuck- so fucking good, fuck-” you wail out, your heart beating out of your chest as your pussy pulses around his cock, making an utter mess between your two lower halves. 

The flutter of you and the instant wetness consuming him is what sends Din to his finish line. He continues thrusting, shakily, through his own orgasm, his load coating every inch of you, both inside and out. You wanted a mess, so he truly gave you a mess. 

He releases the hold on your legs to wrap his arms around you, his entire body flush against yours as your legs wrap themselves tightly around him again. He’s still inside you, his hips softly still moving in and out as he leaves kisses all along your lips, your jawline, your neck. 

The way you feel, full of him and him, has your hips meeting his small advances, both of you reveling in the aftershock of your highs as you use the pleasure to ease you back down. 

“You okay, mesh’la?” Din asks eventually when you both come to an exhausted, satiated halt. 

“Perfect, my sweet boy,” you smile, repeating your sentiment from earlier. “You okay, though?” You ask hesitantly, and not about what you two just did together. He brings his lips to yours. Soft, and not in a way to arouse you again. In a way that says thank you and I love you in a way spoken tongue will never be able to convey.

“I will be,” he answers truthfully. “Pick a planet, you can pick me apart after we get food.”

“Sounds like a deal, baby.”

“Come, let’s get cleaned up.” He kisses your forehead before he untangles himself and pulls you up to your feet as well, both of you making your way to the refresher. 

In the corner of his eye, he sees his now semi-shiny boot, starting to dry off in the midst of everything else you two did. He smirks to himself. 

You catch it, of course. “What’re you smiling at, Djarin?”

“Nothing,” he says nonchalantly. “Just… I clean my armor and boots after every bounty.”

“And?” You ask, still not realizing where he’s headed. 

“I don’t know if I wanna clean my boots anymore.”

Your eyebrows raise to the middle of your forehead, eyes bulging out of your face. “Din!” you slap his chest. Then, your face goes stern. “You will be cleaning those boots more often if you want me to do that again."

Oh. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

End notes:

Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you guys enjoyed this one! Please let me know what you guys think, I really love hearing your guys’ reactions and feedback!🫶

Also, did y’all clock how many orgasms reader had in this damn thing?! Coochie of fucking steel fr 😭😭

Moon divider by @saradika-graphics 🩶

@pedrostories

[earthslick]

One More Time

notes: art donaldson x fem!reader, reader has a vagina, daddydom!art donaldson, reader and art are in a new relationship, oral (reader receiving), p in v, spit, art gets mean(ish), teasing, creampie, semi-public sex, size kink, dirty talk

word count: 1.3k

warnings: MATURE EXPLICIT CONTENT, 18+ ONLY

With the gloomy, velveteen night back-splashing your silhouette, you share stares with Art. The cluster of brown in the blue of his eyes is barely perceptible. You love looking at them, and you’re not intimidated by them or his staring. At least not anymore. You’ve been dating for long enough to get comfortable and confident in your dynamic. You didn’t really know much about doms and subs before this relationship but the two of you found an easy rhythm, a back-and-forth of building up and easing tension. You like to test then obey, he likes to tease and correct. The rhythm often paralleled his tennis games, wins and losses usually meant him taking control either way. Always.

He slouches in his beach chair, hair wind-tossed and tinted with the moon, flicks his cigarette gently, contemplates your statement.

“No coming back to my room then?”

You roll your eyes.

“I said I’m going to sleep. You should too. You have a match tomorrow.”

He leans forward, gesturing the cigarette towards you.

“I need something from you first.”

You arch a brow, reposition yourself on the rock you’ve been perching on, feigning annoyance.

“Oh boy, let’s hear it”

A corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk and he leans back again, outs his cigarette and shifts his hips slightly.

Shaking his head and chuckling, he says “Come here,” in a familiarly quiet, commanding tone.

Sensing the shift, your stomach flops.

Gathering your senses, you glide as gracefully as you can manage over to him, his legs now spread to let you stand in between them.

“Such a pretty dress on a pretty girl,” he whispers as if to himself, holding the silken hem between his fingers. A touch of the sea breeze glides up underneath your dress, teases between your thighs.

“Thank you, Daddy”, you breathe, your cunt now throbbing against the silk also clothing it.

“Are you wearing panties?”

“Yeah”

“Let me see,” his eyes trailing up the length of you to look at your face.

You slowly bunch your dress around your hips, hesitating slightly at the thought of being caught on the semi-public beach. You can’t help but pulse a little more at the risk, the act of obeying him slipping you into submission.

He gazes at the midnight blue g-string, fabric pearly under the yellow moon. His nostrils flare and he licks his lips, reaching his thumb up to tap gently at your clit. The wetness gathered there makes the taps audible and you whimper. He licks at the pad of his thumb, sucks you off it.

“Fuck…such a sweet pussy, baby. Barely touched you and you’re slick for me.”

He does a firm tug and tucks the sliver of your underwear to the side, against your thigh, exposing you to the night air and his eyes. He doesn’t hesitate, pulling you even closer by your thighs and planting a kiss on your clit. You rest your hands on his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles ripple under your fingertips as you throw your head back, gasping.

He uses both thumbs to spread you, dragging his tongue from your hole to your clit, again and again. And again. Dips into your cunt and feels your walls clamp down on his tongue. Groans deep in his chest at your clenching, your sweet and soft taste. When he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking quickly, you feel yourself nearing your orgasm.

He pulls away. You whine at the sudden absence of stimulation, pouting as you jostle your feet.

“What do you say?” he demands, a warning tone in response to your brattiness.

“Can I cum please Daddy” you let out in a rush of words, aching.

“One more time baby…I didn’t quite catch that”

“Please I’d like to cum Daddy” louder now, your cheeks flaming with humiliation.

He hums and leans back in, sucking at your clit once more. His long finger ghosts the opening of your clenching hole, but never slides in. Between the teasing of his finger and the way his tongue and lips move against you, urgently, you’re gone. You moan loudly and gush into his mouth as your orgasm moves through your entire body. He holds you up easily, doesn’t stop.

“Thaaat’s a good girl. Cum for me just like that.”

His words give you a second wind and you climb a little higher, your climax intensifying. His mouth slows down but doesn’t leave you. He’s groaning and as your mind clears and you glance down, you see his large hand moving over the spot in his jeans holding his massive erection. He releases his hold on you once he knows you can stand on your own and unzips his pants, pulling his cock out. It’s long and thick, with veins running along the sides, one major vein running against the underside connecting to his balls. The tip is flushed pink and prominent. His thumb swipes at the precum at his tip and his hips buck up into his own touch.

“Come sit on Daddy’s cock, angel” he says, stroking himself languidly.

You straddle him in the chair and he lines his cock up with your entrance. As you move to slide down his length, he holds you immobile for a moment, teasing his tip from your hole to your clit.

“You want it so bad, don’t you? But I thought you wanted to go to sleep? What happened?” he mocks, faux pouting in response to your whines, still running his cock along your slit.

“I’m not sleepy anymore” you say ashamedly

He bellows out a laugh, so at ease as if his insistent erection weren’t pressed right where you wanted it most.

“Ok baby” he says simply, pulling you halfway down his cock. You moan wantonly, gripping his shaft with your cunt. His eyes flutter slightly at the sensation and he grips the back of your head to pull you into a kiss. His tongue moves to open your mouth up, dancing against yours. He bites at your bottom lip, sucking it towards him before releasing it. And then he puts his hands on your hips to pull you down the remainder of his length.

“Please” is all you can gasp out, as the fullness knocks the air out of you. He smirks at your helplessness, grinding his hips up to meet yours. The sounds of his thrusts and your wetness turn you on even more and you bear down to meet his grinding.

“That’s it. Grind on my cock and make me cum”

You quicken your pace and lean in for more of his kiss. Gripping your jaw as he plants his feet in the sand, he makes you look right at him.

“Tongue out”

You loll your tongue out, cheeks still squished together in the huge grip of his hand. His eyes darken as he spits on your tongue. You feel his cock flex in your cunt at the sight. You know better than to move, waiting for his next command. He’s in no rush, continuing to pound into you, his eyes rolling to the back of his head for just a moment at the feeling of your cunt tightening even more. When his eyes refocus he lets go of your jaw, both hands gripping your hips once more, hard enough to leave bruises.

“Swallow” he grunts lowly.

You swallow and stick your tongue back out to show him. He nods without saying anything, his pace becoming more erratic. His hips buck once, twice, before you feel the pump of cum up against your cervix. His groan is long and drawn out as his pretty face scrunches with the force of his orgasm. His breath slows as his hips still against you. He fans a hand across your cheek, thumb pulling gently at your lips.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you Daddy”

[teaboot]

While I'm happy that the word "gaslighting" is more known than it used to be, and that people at large are learning to recognize what it looks like, I feel like we need to be careful not to turn it into something soft and casual we throw around off the cuff without meaning.

Being gaslit is psychological abuse that fucks you up very badly, very slowly, at such a gradual pace that you don't usually know it's happening until it's already re-wired your brain.

If you're unfamiliar with the term, "to gaslight" is to intentionally persuade someone that they cannot trust their own perceptions of reality. It's a destabilizing form of manipulation that leaves you constantly anxious, off-balanced, confused, and dependant on others.

This is done by lying about events that have happened or about things that are happening, invalidating feelings and observations, and either denying, refusing to acknowledge, or deflecting away from hard facts.

As someone who has experienced gaslighting as a form of abuse, this is what I remember from when I didn't know anything was off:

"Oh, I must have forgotten what really happened."

"I'm just not seeing it from their point of view."

"Everyone has their ups and downs. This is normal."

"I guess I wasn't thinking about what I was doing."

"I must have been wrong."

This is what I remember from when I first started realizing something was weird:

"How come every time I'm convinced they did something wrong, they just talk to me a few minutes, and I end up asking for their forgiveness? What has me so convinced I was right in the first moment?"

"I should start writing things down when they happen, so I can go back and check later when I'm confused."

"If every relationship like ours (familial, romantic, platonic) works this way, how come I never hear about it, or read about it, or see it anywhere else?"

Getting out and adjusting to the real world is hard, too, and comes with rapid swings of unfounded guilt, shame, fear, anxiety, and self-deprication that are completely unfounded in reality.

You've been conditioned to believe that you are entirely helpless and unable to think for yourself, possibly "crazy" or otherwise fundamentally impaired, and that there is a singular source of guidance that knows exactly what is right, and all of a sudden that pillar of support has vanished.

The immediate "after" that I recall looks like:

Constant uncertainty. Because nobody is there to tell you what's real and what isn't, you approach every situation thinking at it from all angles. Every question has fifty possible answers and most of them are wrong and you don't know which. If you choose wrong, the world will end.

A sense of helplessness. You feel that nothing you do is correct, and it's easier to make no choices at all- or you make wild, reckless, impulsive choices, because you feel you have nothing to lose.

Memory loss. I don't understand this one, but it's not like memoriescare being erased, but more like... you're so used to treating your memories as dreams or imaginations that you reflexively dismiss anything you recall as fake, and you can't believe anything you recall because you don't think it was real. Your abusers voice is in your head, wiping things away and telling you that you did the wrong thing. And you believe them, because they're the only constant you can rely on.

Missing the abuser, or the abusive dynamic. Because you know now that it wasn't healthy, but at least you knew where you stood. As long as you said the right things and acted the right way, agreed and obeyed and did as they expected, you felt like thevworld made sense. Now you have to figure out which parts of you really are broken, and which parts are working fine in a really weird way, and it's like tuning a piano when you've never played one before.

The long term "after"- for which I can only speak for myself- looks like:

Having to double-check, triple-check, and continue checking hard evidence of an event before responding in an active way.

Consulting with trusted friends to verify that your observations are legitimate and that your perceptions are valid. Following up with them to see if someone is really angry at you, or if you're just projecting anger onto them because it's what makes sense to your old pattern.

Obsessive collection of "evidence"- saving pictures, writing detailed journals, making recordings and video, never deleting emails or old texts, because you still don't quite trust yourself all the way and you're afraid that someone will cause you to doubt yourself again.

Continued self-doubt and being "gullible": I have straight up seen people flip me off to my face in front of witnesses and then immediately tell me, "No, I was just waving", and my first instinct is to believe them. For a few seconds, I *really do* believe them. Your brain is so trained to latch onto what people tell you to believe that its really, really hard to hold onto information that you already have.

Learning to take ownership over your own actions. (I didn't mess up because I'm "crazy", I messed up because I'm a person and people do that.)

Instinctively seeking approval. (Takes a lot of work to remind myself that I don't exit to make people happy, and that some people suck ass, and I can tell them to piss off.)

I don't intend to invalidate anyone currently struggling with this- if you feel that something is wrong, it probably is. That's the thought that got me out. Trust that feeling that something isn't right.

I just want people who don't know what to look for to know what gaslighting *actually* looks and feels like, so they don't just roll their eyes and think, "Oh, that word doesnt apply to me- I'm not some snowflake".

('Cause we all saw what happened with "triggered", right?)