#one adult cleaning up after another in a very intimate way can be so so so horrifyingly uncomfortable

[the-cookie-of-doom]

i have my frist clinical tomorrow and man i am SO stressed 

[daisy-the-wild-flower]

Remadora - I Love You

New Oneshot up on wattpad and AO3 - Figured I would post it here too.

(Explicit Content below the break, the end is the worst and there is a little stopper* for those who wish to skip. -( )-*)

_

After almost a year of pining for the man laying under her, she’s surprised her heart hasn’t burst out of her chest yet.

His scarred hands run circles up and down her arm and the goosebumps haven’t left since the moment his skin touched hers. Her head lays on his bare chest, and she can hear his heart beating behind every inhale and exhale of breath. 

Remus hasn’t spoken since he finshed cleaning her up, making sure she was okay after what they had done. She’d been sore, sure, but she wasn’t in any pain, and for the first time in a long time her body felt relaxed. 

Her mind, however, was telling her that at any second he would walk away from her again. That he would leave her alone, bare and sweaty, on the sheets they had just made love on. That he would make the same excuse he alway did. 

Too Old

Too Poor

Too Dangerous

She was trying her best to ignore the thoughts that seemed to be screaming for an escape. The ones that told her to leave first, before he could.

Instead of listening to those thoughts, she removed herself from Remus arms, and laid next to him on her stomach. If he was going to leave, she’d rather fall asleep without feeling him get up. 

The rejection would hurt much more now.

Her natural hair, something that Remus had asked for in the heat of the moment, shifted once more into a bubblegum pink color. As she got situated she turned her head away from the man and forced herself to remove her fingers from their spot on his side where they were tracing a scar.

The Scar.

His bite mark wasn’t nearly as bad as she had thought it would be, but it made sense because it had happened when he was a child. He hadn’t said anything when she had first started touching it, but it was another thing that seemed all to intimate for her with the rejection she knew was coming. 

For a few moments, the tension in the room grows thick. She can feel Remus shift from where he’s seated against the headboard of her bed, and it forces her to move closer to the edge even more.

Instead of getting up, however, he lays his body right next to hers. She lets out a small gasp when he pulls her body against his, and a slightly louder one when she feels him pull her hips against his. He stops there, but he rubs circles on her hip and leans his head against the back of hers.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She forces herself to speak, taking a totally normal sized inhale before she does. “Don’t feel obligated to, Remus. It’s just two totally consenting adults who happened to share a few orgasms. You can go if you wa-”

He cuts her off by flipping her onto her back, and this time it isn’t a gasp she lets out, but a moan from the feeling of him against her. The kiss he gives is hard, unbreaking, and when she pulls back to get a breath in, Remus brings his hand to hair, running his fingers through it before cupping her cheek. “Nymphadora, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t wanna be anywhere else but right here with you. I spent to long running from something, from someone, who brings me a happiness I haven’t felt in ages.” He pauses, move to lay on his side next to her. She doesn’t miss the way he favors his hip on the way down. “ This isn’t just a sharing of orgasms. This isn’t just sex.”

She tries so hard to remain calm, to keep her hair from shifting colors as if to give away her excitement at his words. “Then what it is?” She knows what it is, she has for a very long time. She wants to hear him say it.

He brings his forehead to hers, leaving it there for a few seconds. She watches as he closes his eyes tight, as if it is painful for him. When he pulls back, he leaves a feather of a kiss on her forehead. “I love you. That’s what this was. What it is.”

Finally, she lets herself smile, tears forming in her eyes. “Are you serious?”

Remus smiles, and lets out a tiny chuckle. “No. But I’m sure he’d kick my ass if he was here.”

-( )-

She lets out a laugh, a real one, one that hasn’t seen the light of day since her cousin died. She lets the tears go as she surges forwards for a kiss, capturing Remus lips in hers. She pushes him down onto his back, making sure to be careful as she straddles his hips. Her attempts to be gentle aren’t appreciated, however, when Remus grabs her thighs and pulls her forward, leaving her core on top of him. She lets out a breathy moan before pulling back from his lips.

His eyes are more yellow then amber now and Nymphadora knows she’s getting herself into trouble as she leans down to whisper in his ear. “Tell me again. Please, Remus.” It’s whiney, much more then she means it to be. Remus must enjoy it though, because his hips buck as soon as the ‘please’ leaves her lips. 

“I love you, Nymphadora Tonks. I love you. I love you. I love you.” He continues to say it as he leaves a trail of kisses across her collarbone and neck, marking her with hickies and bite marks too. 

It isn’t until Remus has her flipped over, his hips lined up with hers as he pushes inside of her, that she remembers to say it back. She brings her mouth to his ear again and as he reaches a spot that makes her toes curl, she lets out the last quiet moan of the night. “I love you too, Remus.”

[whumpcereal]

behavior modification, part twenty-two

master list here. picks up where part twenty-one left off. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. thanks to my @oddsconvert and @darkthingshappen for the sprints that led to this getting turned out so quickly.

content warnings for: EXPLICIT noncon, conditioned whumpee, intimate whumpers, physical violence, broken bones, blood, negative self-talk, loss of consciousness, adult language

part twenty-two, a job well done

Jack spends the night in his basement cage, and Ivan does not clean him up. When he wakes to the sound of Ivan’s footsteps on the cement, his skin feels stiff and tacky, his hair brittle and ropey. But he doesn’t hurt. Not really. He’s used to it, isn’t he? 

He takes Ivan down without question, Ivan’s taste mingling with Seligman’s, and then he eats his yogurt from the spoon that Ivan brings to his lips. It doesn’t occur to him to reach for the spoon; he takes what he is given, and that is enough. 

“You did a good job last night, Jackie,” Ivan says, ruffling Jack’s hair. “A very good job.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jack rasps. His throat doesn’t feel quite right, and he is glad for another bite of cool yogurt; Ivan strokes the bulge of Jack’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. 

Ivan shrugs. “Praise for a job well done is always deserved.”

“Thank you,” Jack says again. 

He stares at his bare knees; he doesn’t remember the last time Ivan let him wear shorts. But it’s better that way. He is always ready, always accessible. That’s what’s important. 

Isn’t it?

This is the hardest time of day, when the drug begins to lift. There is a part of Jack that hates the anticipation of finding out how his day will be spent, a part of him that hates that he would rather be tucked between Ivan’s legs than left alone in his cage. It isn’t fair that those are the confines of his life. It isn’t fair that he is here. He squeezes his eyes shut as a memory from the night before rises unbidden. 

That’s right, Mr. Kenyon. You are the star pupil, aren’t you?

Jack flinches. He was, once. He was a person. He was going to be someone. Instead, he is something. 

But Jack knows better than to fight it. There’s no point. The only way out of this is to comply, to let himself be trained and taught. He should have realized that years ago. Maybe then, the lesson wouldn’t be so hard to learn. 

“Now, I thought we might change up our schedule today,” Ivan says, setting the spoon on the steel table with a tight clack! 

Jack’s stomach sinks. They do not deviate from the schedule. 

“Sir?” 

Ivan smooths Jack’s hair away from his forehead. “Do you remember much about last night, sweet boy?” 

Jack’s cheeks flush. Yes. He remembers. Sort of. At least, he knows what they did to him. What he let them do. 

His throat suddenly aches. 

“Yes, sir. I remember.” 

Ivan smiles. “That’s good, Jackie. You know, we haven’t talked much about the sedative and how it makes you feel. But you’re always such a good boy after you have your evening water, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, sir,” Jack whispers. 

“Do you think you can be a good boy without it?” 

Jack’s head bobs up. It’s the wrong thing to do–he isn’t supposed to look at Ivan–but he can’t help it. “What?” 

Ivan ignores the infraction, his fingers still playing with Jack’s matted hair. “Oh, you must not have heard us. Last night was a baseline reading, sweet boy. I know you’re a good boy when you’ve been dosed, but I don’t know for sure that your obedience holds up without it.” 

“I–” 

Ivan tips Jack’s jaw shut. “We’re not having a discussion, darling. I’m just preparing you. That’s kind of me, isn’t it?”

Jack’s head sinks between his shoulders. “Yes, sir. Very kind.” 

“That’s more like it.” Ivan smirks. “It’s important that we see the effect of our independent variable, isn’t it, Jackie?” 

“I promise–you don’t—you don’t have to–” 

“I don’t have to be so kind to you,” Ivan interrupts. “That’s true. But I do have the burden of completing basic research, and you, sweet boy, are my research assistant, aren’t you?”

Jack shakes his head. More like a guinea pig. A lab rat, he thinks. 

He wishes he couldn’t think. He wishes he could have his water, that he could float into the ether, that he could be done with this endless training and go home to Joe. No matter what’s waiting for him there, he will be good. He will prove to Joe that he’s worth the trouble he’s caused. 

“So, your job today is to try your very best to demonstrate the efficacy of our training protocol without any chemical intervention.” 

And the thing is, Jack knows he can do it. But just now, he doesn’t want to, and that scares him. He isn’t supposed to want for himself; he isn’t supposed to disagree. If he knows his own mind, everything will hurt so much more. 

“Jackie? You’re shaking.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” he mumbles, grinding his hands against the cement floor. 

“Are you afraid, sweet boy?” 

Jack only stares at the floor. 

Ivan tucks his fingers beneath Jack’s chin and forces him to look up. Ivan’s hazel eyes are soft when they meet Jack’s. “Jackie, you can do this. I know you can. Don’t you want to be a good boy?” 

“Yes, sir,” Jack whispers. 

“I know you do. You’re such a strong boy. Such a smart boy. You did it last night, didn’t you?” 

“Yes.” Jack’s voice is barely audible, and he can feel tears starting to prick the backs of his eyes. He is not strong or smart. He is nothing and no one. 

“Then, you can do it again. There isn’t really any difference between last night and just now.” 

But there is a world of difference. Last night, Jack was safe in the blurry arms of the drug. He knew what was being done to him, but he couldn’t feel it, not really. Now, he will feel everything. He will know just how much he doesn’t want it. And that will make it so much harder. 

Which, Jack supposes, is the point. No one cares how or what he suffers. He isn’t a person anymore. 

“You’re safe, aren’t you?” Ivan says. He scratches behind Jack’s ear and thumbs at his cheekbone. 

Jack nods, even though he knows he isn’t safe at all. 

“That’s a good boy. Remember, you’re an instrument of pleasure, my darling. No one wants to hurt you. They only want to love you.” 

Another nod, but this time, Jack’s tears break free. One slips against Ivan’s thumb, and he brushes it away. It feels like love, but Jack knows that it isn’t. He knew what love was once. Or, at least, he thought he did. Maybe he wasn’t very good at it; maybe he misunderstood. Otherwise, he would be at home with Joe right now. 

The tears come faster. 

“Oh now, Jackie. You’re gorgeous like this, aren’t you?” 

Jack is supposed to say thank you, but he can’t seem to make the words come. Instead, he nuzzles against Ivan’s hip. It is as much gratitude for the compliment as it is a plea for mercy. 

“Aww,” Ivan chuckles. He strokes Jack’s dirty hair and down the back of his clammy neck. His fingers move over Jack’s collar, rubbing it against his scars and broken skin; Ivan hasn’t needed to deploy the collar in a long time, but Jack’s skin has never quite healed. “You’re remarkable, Jackie. You’ve made so much progress.” Ivan’s grip tightens, his thumb and forefinger squeezing hard at the base of Jack’s skull. “Don’t let me down now.” 

Jack hisses in pain. He tries to draw back from Ivan, but Ivan’s fingers only press harder against him.

“If you fail,” Ivan snarls, “I will make sure Joe knows it.”

“No!” Jack tries again to pull himself up; Ivan doesn’t give. “I’ll be good! I promise I’ll–” 

Ivan yanks Jack’s head backward by his hair. “Yes, you will be. Or it’ll be the hood and the sack; we’ll have to start all over. And who knows if Joe will be willing to wait.” 

Jack can’t stop crying. He doesn’t understand. What Ivan’s asking him to do–no, what Ivan is forcing him to do–is something Joe would never expect of Jack. How can this be what Joe wants for him? 

But Jack should know better than to be so selfish. What Joe wants is all that matters, and Jack did not give it to him before. All that Jack is supposed to want is to make Joe happy. If this will make Joe happy, he will do it. 

He just thought that Joe wanted him to be happy too. 

And maybe that’s what the trouble is. What makes Jack happy should be making Joe happy. Jack should be glad to perform whatever service is required. Glad that someone loves him enough to try and make him better. He isn’t worth it; that much he knows. He should be grateful. 

Why isn’t he grateful? Why does this hurt so badly? 

“Now, stop your crying, sweet boy. Are you ready for Dr. Seligman to join us?” 

Jack is not ready, but it doesn’t matter. He does not matter. Better if he accepts that. Better to stop fighting. Ivan is right. 

Jack swipes his forearm over his face with a sniff. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good!” Ivan slides his chair backward and reaches down to take Jack’s hand. “Let’s get you up and ready, sweet boy. Position one, right there in the middle of the floor. Look sweet and show Dr. Seligman how good you are.” 

Jack lets himself be pulled to his feet, and he accepts the kiss that Ivan presses to his cheek without comment. Ivan runs his hands over Jack’s bare arms until he reaches Jack’s hands, and then he laces Jack’s fingers together in front of him. 

“Stay, Jackie. Just like that.” 

Jack stays, and Ivan disappears up the stairs; unlike the night before, he locks the door behind him. 

Jack wants to break to his knees. He wants to bury his face in his hands and cry until he doesn’t feel anything at all. But he is a good boy. He stays on his feet, and he stares blankly at the concrete wall in front of him. He will not move. He has to be a good boy, or Joe will never want him again. 

But Jack isn’t usually left alone with his thoughts. Normally, he is plugged or drugged or caged or teased. Just now, it is quiet. Just now, he can think. And for the first time, Jack wonders if he wants Joe. How can he face Joe again, knowing the way Joe’s lied to him? 

Jack stares hard at an eye fixture that juts from the wall. He’s been tethered to that eye a few times. Leashed like a dog. Because that’s what Joe thinks of him. What Joe expects him to be. 

Jack swallows a sob and digs his fingernails into his knuckles. He should have known better than to trust anyone. He should have known that he would never be worth more than his body can offer. It’s always been that way, and now, he knows, it will never change. 

The door swings open again, and Jack straightens his spine. He won’t fight. There isn’t any point. If this is his life, he may as well accept it. 

“Here he is,” Ivan sing-songs. 

Seligman bustles up to Jack, taking a handful of Jack’s ass and giving it a squeeze. “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed are we, Mr. Kenyon?”

“Yes, sir,” Jack answers, letting his eyes fall to the floor again. He knows the rules. He will follow them. He is a strong boy. A smart boy. A good fucking boy. But there are still tears in his eyes, and they burn. 

“Our Jackie’s very brave,” Ivan says, flanking Jack’s other side. “And he’s going to be a very good boy, even without extra help, isn’t he?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Excellent,” Seligman says with a smile. “You know, Jack, that what we’re asking you to do is something that all Romantics need to be able to handle, don’t you? Often, owners like to share their pets' gifts with others. Really, this is an opportunity for you to show off.” 

Jack closes his eyes, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach. There are no limits, he realizes, no bounds. He really is the whore Bill always told him he would be. 

Fine then. If that’s all he will ever be, he’ll be a good one. 

Jack nods again, even as his chest tightens. “Yes, sir. Thank you for the opportunity.” 

Ivan kisses his cheek. “I knew you would come around, sweet boy.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

Ivan moves behind Jack, running a firm hand over Jack’s chest and pulling Jack flush against him. Jack can feel Ivan’s arousal against his ass, and he grinds backward–not hard, but enough that he knows Ivan will be pleased with his initiative. Ivan chuckles softly and lets his hand trail over Jack’s belly and down to his groin. 

“If you’re very good, Jackie,” Ivan whispers in his ear, “I’ll make sure you’re rewarded.” 

Jack is already hard; his mind and body are losing track of one another. He forces himself to swallow the lump in his throat and lets out a soft moan of almost-pleasure. 

“I’ll be good, sir. I want to be good.” 

Jack can feel his heart squeezing inside of him, but he ignores it. Let it break. He doesn’t need it anymore. 

“I know you do.” Ivan’s teeth sink into Jack’s earlobe, and Jack cries out. “That’s it.” A warm hand slips over Jack’s cock. “Aren’t I good to you, Jackie?” 

“Yes, sir,” Jack pants. 

“Do I have to be?” Ivan picks up speed. 

“No, sir!” 

“That’s right. Now, bend over, sweet boy. There won’t be any preparation this time. Show me how good you can be.” 

Jack folds over, and almost instantly, Ivan breaches his entrance. Jack cries out, but it is the wrong thing to do. Seligman doesn’t wait, doesn’t make any request; while Jack is screaming, the other man shoves inside of Jack’s mouth. For the first time in months, Jack gags, but Seligman only thrusts harder, shoving his way past the base of Jack’s tongue and into his throat. 

It wasn’t like this yesterday. 

There is only pain, and this time, Jack cannot escape from it. He tries to let his mind go, to surrender, but it is too much. Both men are moving to their own erratic rhythm; Jack feels like he’s being ground into a paste, like all that will be left of him when they are done is a lump of boneless flesh. Even so, Ivan’s hand doesn’t stop moving around him. Jack is supposed to be grateful, but it hurts. 

This is who I am, Jack tries to remind himself in between panicked breaths. This is all I am good for. This. This. This. He closes his eyes, but they pop open again when Seligman’s pubis slams into his nose. 

This time, it is his body that resists; his mind is a knot of animal panic. Jack’s hands flail wildly, slapping at Seligman’s gut, but it throws him off balance, and he chokes. Seligman doesn’t stop moving, and Jack coughs, trying to expel the intrusion in his mouth, but Seligman only seizes Jack by the hair, keeping him in place. The edges of Jack’s vision start to tunnel. His hands reach out again, scrabbling now, but Ivan reaches for them and pinions them against Jack’s tailbone. Ivan’s hips shove forward again, brutal and hard, and Jack’s face explodes with pain. He tastes his own blood the next time Seligman thrusts forward. He can’t even try to scream; any will he might have had has been pushed and prodded somewhere so deep inside that he may never reach it again. 

And then, Jack is gone. His knees buckle, and even though they do not let him fall, even though Ivan and Seligman brace his limp body, Jack isn’t there at all.

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy1, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @termsnconditions-apply, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-please, @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things, @hold-him-down, @peachy-panic, @whumpyblogthing, @sowhumpful, @considerablecolors, @ramadiiiisme, @sunnie, @sadboysanonymous, @panic-whump

[undercover-monsterlover]

Hii omg i was so geeked when i saw ur page I hope its ok if I ask for a JJBA matchupp parts 4-6 a nsfw section wuld be awesum too THANK YOOOUUUUS!

My pronouns are He/She, I’d like to be paired with a guy and I’m 20 so an adult pleaazee.

Personality wise, I consider myself super easy to talk to.I can easily be pulled out of my shell and talk to you like you’re a good friend, even if we’re just meeting. I have a strong sense of humor, my humor consisting of banter and keeping a bit going. I like to consider myself cool and relaxed, but I have the tendency to geek out, I’m kind of too excitable… I’m a big shit talker, just a little judgmental. I lack empathy just a bit. I still try my best to console, but I either don’t really understand it or…… care. I’ll come to the situation with logic and a level head, but if I’m upset, then it’s almost the end of the world (I’m dramatic). 

As for preferences I can’t stand someone who can’t communicate. I’m incredibly patient, but it gets to a point. I don’t need someone funny or someone who makes jokes, them thinking I’M funny is enough. I also would need someone who’s touchy-feely, maybe not affection wise, but I'm very hands-on; playful smacks when I'm laughing, smacking them on tha butt, sorrryyy!

For hobbies and stuff, I love art. Drawing is my biggest hobby, and it has been for years and years…! I'm also really into listening to music (Rock, metal, melancholic stuff, soo awesum) I also luuv smoking, but I don’t do it alot, baking/cooking is nice toooo.

I lean towards being feminine, I.e longer hair with bangs and stuff. I’m really particular about my hair, not that I want it to look nice and clean, it needs to be purposefully messy. I love piercings, I have an eyebrow, septum, and navel. I don't really dress up.. Comfortability > Fashion.  I don’t really know what else to add for appearance, erm I have a birthmark on my hip that’s shaped kind of like a heart, so that’s cute.

Agaainn thank you SOOOOO MUCH sorry for talking ur ear off, luv u <3

Alright, I'd match you with...

Illuso

I'd say that things with Illuso start out on a bit of antagonistic note. Due to your cool exterior and slightly judgy outlook, he might think you're a bit of a prick at first, which will evolve into somewhat of a one-sided rivalry. HE'S supposed to be the nonchalant asshole around here, and your wit is overshadowing his blatant insults and trolling. Expect plenty of snark and vulgar comments, he's not one for subtlety. However, once he realizes you don't actually give a shit about his trash-talking, or have any opinion on him one way or another, his attitude quickly shifts into, "oh fuck, I need them carnally." At that point his insults would turn into back-handed compliments and negging, he's not great at romance, ok?

I think you would catch onto his affections for you pretty quickly, but instead of him just telling you, like you would expect a grown-man to do, he continues with these weird displays of backwards attentions. Your patience for this would wear thin at some point, wich would devolve into an argument, which would lead to you point-blank telling him to just come out and tell you what he wants. And he reluctantly does so. He's surprised when you rather quickly reciperocate though, he expected you to stay pissed off at him, but now that everything's out in the open your relationship is clearer. You're in looooovveeee😏😏😏.

Your relationship would involve a lot of teasing and messing with each other, his stupid pranks and your sharp comments, but nothing ever crosses the line into genuine cruelty anymore, and real arguments are very rare. Most of your bonding and relationship building would occured after you started dating. You two were a bit to busy with bullying eachother and pining before, but now you have that time to really get to know each other. It's not long before you both have a very deep, intimate understanding of eachother, which you usually don't even use as ammunition for messing with each other. How sweet. You become very close to eachother, but with everyone else you're both still a bit...unconcerned. Your seemingly low empathy makes it easier for you to accept his line of work, so no issues every really arise there, other than when he's show up drunk out of his mind after celebrating a successful hit with the boys. He also loves to brag to his teammates about being the only one in a stable relationship.

Illuso lives for your humour, and he laughs like an absolute psychopath at almost any funny comment. His jokes are more just blatant insults, but you both love shit-talking so much that it works out anyways. And he is brutal, he holds nothing back, he'll bring up people's families, appearence, sexuality, trauma, nothing is held sacred to this man. He's also great at picking up on a bit and keeping it going if you lead, and will double-down on it no matter what.

I'd say he's pretty interested in your art, he's never really had a creative streak himself, so it's cool to him, he doesn't have much constructive criticism or anything to contribute other then "looks cool" but you still appreciate it. However, if you ever draw him, he becomes an avid art enjoyer, he wants you to draw him in every pose😏. He also loves to just point out random shit and say "draw that" and expect you to do so without question. And when you don't feel like it or say no, he acts like you've just insulted him.

"Why not."

"I don't want to."

..."rude."

Illuso will eat anything you cook or bake like a man starving, you'll be lucky to get a second serving of any meal you make. He likes to joke about you being his housewife, until you threaten to never make anything for him ever again, which usually shuts him up. He usually shows affection through gift-giving and physical touch, he will blow all of his money from a job on you in one night if you want him to, whatever you want. He's also very hands-on as well, you smacking him on the butt, or him messing up your hair will always lead to play fighting, which he loves, and play fighting will often lead to...

NSFW

...him wrangling you into a position to fuck you. He loves to see your face, so any position where that can happen is ideal for him. He likes seeing the look in your eyes when you're just drowning in the pleasure of it all. Early on in the relationship, lovemaking is almost like a sexual power-struggle, as you both feel out the dynamics you like. I believe Illuso would prefer being more dominant, but either way he always likes it very rough, especially if you e been a touch too snarky for his tastes that day. (JK he loves that actually but any excuse to fuck you will be exploited.)

Pinning you down is always a turn on for him, though he does make an effort to at least keep you in a comfortable position when he does. But he loves pinning your wrists to the mattress, pushing your head into the pillow, fingers fish-hooking your mouth open, he just needs his hands to be one you in some way. He's not super into BDSM but a pair of handcuffs keeping you in place against the headboard is always nice, and a leash and collar, on you or him might come into play once in a while. He isn't too experimental, but you have tried out fucking to the beat of a metal song once or twice, and that was fun, though he prefers to just go at his own pace. Which is usually hard, fast, and deep. You don't typically go for more then a couple rounds, he puts all his energy and aggression into sex, so you're both usually pretty wiped out after a while.

He knows you aren't really a fan of dressing up, and in the typical day-to-day he doesn't care, but he loves nothing more than dolling you up in lingerie when you're at home, you'll eventually have more than you know what to do with. He also likes to just...watch you sometimes. He might ask you to masturbate or use a toy while he watches, more often than not he's not even touching himself, just enjoying the view. If you indulge this for him, he'll definitely make it up to you later though.

He's a bit into PDA and exhibition, partially because of the rush, partially because when the mood just him it doesn't matter where he is, he wants you now. If you're comfortable with it, he'd love to put on a little show, and if not, he'll just drag you to a semi-public bathroom or dark alleyway. It isn't rare for him to use his stand to pull you into an isolated mirror-realm either. He isn't great at aftercare at first, he's used to passionate hook-ups and one night stands that are over as soon as he comes, but he knows that since he gets rougher with you, he needs to be more attentive to you afterwards as well. It's not long before you both find a nice way to help each other relax afterwards.

[casspurrjoybell-33]

Taming Arrogance - Chapter 31

*Warning Adult Content*

Cade meets me at a sandwich shop just a few minutes past three.

He waves when I walk in, grinning from behind a pair of dark, square shades.

Unlike when I see Blake, there's no spark of emotion that takes a hold of my intestines and squeezes them into a tight ball.

There's no real connection, romantically speaking.

Instead there's a surge of foreign lust and desire that simply hasn't been quenched.

Cade stands from the table, wearing those ridiculous looking skinny jeans and a black t-shirt.

He wraps his arms around me when I reach him, his arms leaner and less muscular than the ones that were around me this morning.

"Fuck, I missed you," Cade says against my ear.

"I was beginning to think you were trying to wiggle out of seeing me at all while you were here."

I grimace and pat him on the back.

"Sorry. I've been busy."

He chuckles and pulls away, nodding for me to take a seat next to him.

"You hungry at all?" Cade asks.

"No."

"Well, I work late nights," Cade explains.

"So this is my version of lunch."

I take a seat and glance at Cade's half-eaten sandwich and unopened bag of chips.

Doesn't look very good but knowing his preference in pizza toppings, I shouldn't be surprised.

My cell-phone buzzes in my pocket and my fingers itch to read it.

I know it's from Blake, it has to be, I texted just a few minutes ago telling him where I'd be during my conversation with Cade.

"So what's going on?" Cade asks, pulling my thoughts away from the text waiting for me in my pocket.

"Your text was pretty elusive."

"Right. Well, here's the thing," my mouth suddenly goes dry, yet the back of my throat closes up with too much saliva.

My heart picks up pace and I can tell that this isn't going to be as easy as I originally thought it would be.

I wipe the palm of my hands down the leg of my pants and sigh.

"Is this a rejection meet-up? Is that what's happening right now?" Cade asks abruptly.

I glance at him, his smile vanishes and he sets his sandwich back on the plate.

He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to respond, my voice tapers off and I swallow hard, then I nod.

Cade's shoulders slump and he looks away from my face.

An uncomfortable silence takes over the space between us, and I am at a loss of what to say.

'Do I apologize? Normally I apologize, claiming that it's not them, it's me.'

In this case, I would actually mean the apology and in this case it really isn't Cade and it really is me.

He did nothing wrong to cause this or to sway my feelings one way or another.

In fact, up until now, he's been the epitome of a good friend, trustworthy, reliable and understanding.

Plus, I'm attracted to him, it's not as if my feelings for Blake or my decision to be with him erases that.

Cade and I shared a few intimate moments and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling the dude in those moments.

I'd also be lying if I claimed to not be attracted to him at this very moment, which is all the more reason to make a clean break.

"I'm sorry," I say, choosing to leave out the second line.

Cade sighs and shakes his head, then the silence continues picks up again for a few more unbearably long minutes.

He picks at his sandwich, pulling off a piece of bread before smashing it in between his fingers and dropping it back onto the plate.

"Well damn," he murmurs under his breath. "That sucks."

I rub at the back of my neck, hating the sudden tension between us. My brain isn't wired to deal well with this kind of shit.

I'm the one in the back rolling my eyes at this kind of drama or trying to find the hottest chick to take home with me.

Being the one front and center during an emotionally-triggered moment after years of avoiding it, well it feels pretty shitty.

"I'm sorry, man," I say again, as no other words seem to process in my mind.

Cade laughs under his breath but I've heard his genuine laugh enough to know this one is fake, forced, he shrugs and picks up his sandwich again.

"I won't act like I was playing the entire time, Callum. I have feelings for you and this isn't the news I was hoping for but I'll deal with it."

I watch him, my stomach tightening with guilt, his gaze ventures up to meet mine and from behind his shades, I can tell his eyes are now guarded when he looks at me, this just intensifies the guilt.

Cade shakes his head again and takes a bite of his sandwich.

"Relax, Callum. We'll still be cool. I'll still text you pointless shit at 3:00 AM when I get off of work and we'll still have Blake-bashing sessions whenever he does something to piss you off."

This time it's my turn to have my shoulders slump, a piece is from relief, the other piece is from a wistful regret that I can't undo.

I reach over and grab for his bag of chips.

"I'm eating some of these," I inform him and open them up.

A strong whiff of sour cream and onion fumigates my nostrils and I squint at the bag before setting the disgusting flavor of chip back on the table.

"You seriously have the worst fuckin' taste in food."

Cade laughs and it's genuine this time.

He swipes back his bag of chips and pops one into his mouth, chomping on it with an enthusiastic fervor.

"Hmm," he groans. "So good."

I roll my eyes.

"You're an idiot."

Cade takes another few bites and leans back in his chair.

"So, how'd it happen between you and Blake I mean? I take it he's the reason behind all of this?"

He picks up his napkin and hastily wipes his supple lips.

Then he takes a swig of water and holds up his hand as if to add a correction to his question.

"And please, keep in mind that while I'm still your buddy, my feelings haven't budged. Sexual details or overly romantic gestures can be side-stepped."

I inwardly cringe, forcing myself to look away from the blush now coloring Cade's cheeks.

"Right. Ah, we're not official yet but I got a note at the hotel yesterday from Phil..."

"His ex?"

"Yeah. Well, at least I thought it was Phil. Turns out it was really from Blake just trying to get enough of a rise out of me to get a second date."

Cade's eyes widen and he whistles under his breath.

"Damn. Dude is high-key jealous, huh?"

I roll my eyes, sometimes the 'hip' way he talks reminds me of Kansas whenever she jibber-jabbers to our fellow co-workers back at home.

Even my older brother, Jared, thinks it's fun to keep up with the verbiage trends.

"Wasn't the smartest move on his end," I agree, reiterating Blake's words from last night.

"But it kind of showed me all I needed to know regarding his feelings."

Cade takes another bite of his sandwich, mulling over my words.

"So let me get this correct. You two aren't technically a 'couple' and his last power move was one of jealousy?"

The edge of excitement in his voice gives me pause, I may not know Cade very well but I know him well enough to hear when an idea is on the cusp of forming.

True to form, Cade snaps his fingers in an 'ah-hah!' moment.

"I've got an idea."

Surprise, surprise.

"Give me your watch," he instructs.

"What?"

"Your watch. Hand it over."

"Why?"

Cade sighs and holds out his hand.

"Because I can tell you haven't gotten laid yet and believe me. If you told me you wanted a round of practice with me before going into bed with the big boss man, I'd be all for it."

A sudden image of Cade's naked body pops into my mind and I try to blink it away.

"But if his last power play was on the jealous front, I think you should bring it on home with one your own. It won't be anything too crazy, don't worry. Nothing that'll piss him off too badly or turn into a drama-fest, anyway but it'll be enough for you to get a rise out of him."

Despite my curiosity, I know that if this could end up hurting Blake, I'm out.

My boss is already on edge knowing I'm with Cade right now.

Whatever plan Francisco's hottest bartender has forming up his sleeve will only make that worse.

Then again, if it truly is innocent enough that it will lead to hot sex with Blake, I would be willing to spend the next three months making it up to him.

I weigh the options, thinking about that small tether where Blake's jealousy is anxiously chomping at the bit.

Then I think about him dragging me back to the bedroom, kissing me roughly and quenching a desire that's been growing inside me since the minute I met him.

"Keep in mind that I'll probably say no," I answer Cade, leaning forward with raised eyebrows.

"But go on. I'm listening."

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Frayed Ties - Chapter 15 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Now that they were alone, Danya reached out and snagged Simon's jacket.

Time to actually get it cleaned up.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Simon said.

"No, I want to. It's..." Danya pulled at the blood and the fresh stains came out easily. "Familiar. A little bit of normalcy."

"Fair enough." Simon stood up. "I'll go see about getting us some of that food."

Danya almost objected, insisted upon doing it himself but then he remembered that things were different now.

They were... equals?

Or maybe such comparative terms didn't apply here, even to indicate parity.

They were just two individuals whose worth didn't need to be judged or measured against one another.

"Thank you," Danya said instead.

Compared to healing, cleaning work was easy.

Especially on fresh stains like these.

By the time Simon came back a few minutes later, Danya was already halfway done.

He reluctantly set the jacket aside to accept the bowl of thick soup Simon handed him.

"So, how are you holding up?" Simon asked as he sat back down next to Danya. "I mean, with what almost happened, and then seeing me kill those two men..."

"I'm... okay, I think?" Danya stirred his spoon through the soup. "I think I'm still processing everything, honestly. The whole course of my life was permanently altered today. I'm not sure how I feel about anything yet."

Simon swallowed a mouthful of soup.

"Hopefully better, once everything settles."

"How about you?" Danya asked. "You had to kill those men."

"I don't regret it. The plan involved them dying either way. But... I've never killed another human before. It's a strange feeling."

"If you would like to avoid such situations in the future, I'm sure Noni would understand. It's a lot to ask of you."

"No," Simon said quickly. "I can deal with it. It's just, I guess... It was so easy. I'm used to fighting vampires. They're so strong and so fast. Compared to that, two guards without much combat training were just... nothing. A human life is disturbingly fragile."

"Thank you for protecting me and I'm sorry you had to. I wasn't thinking and I made a mistake. If I hadn't told him I was a virgin, he probably wouldn't have attempted such an intimate inspection."

Simon's eyes darted up to meet Danya's and his brow pinched together.

"No, don't blame yourself for that. It was a terrible situation, and one I'm glad you haven't had to endure the relevant life experience to prepare you for. It makes me angry enough just knowing that they used to make you strip so that creeps could inspect you."

Danya smiled down at his soup.

He didn't really know why.

Simon was genuinely upset about this but... it felt good that he cared.

"Are you happy about this? I mean... that we're here?"

Danya blinked, caught off guard.

He hadn't really thought about it.

"I don't know, honestly. I think I will be. It's just... different. A lot to adjust to."

"You're doing amazing, you know?"

"Oh," Danya said, startled by the rare praise. "I mean, I already made a mistake..."

Simon gave a firm shake of his head.

"You went in there when you didn't have to and you kept things together and did your job even after things went wrong."

"So did you. Well, you didn't volunteer, but I think you would have if you'd been given the choice."

"I'm trained for this. You're trained for... very different things. I know you're not always comfortable with this side of yourself and I suppose I understand why now, but you don't have to hide anymore. You can be strong and brave and powerful, and you can be proud of yourself for it. I'm proud of you."

Danya couldn't help but smile, though his insides felt all mixed up.

"Thank you. I know I'm supposed to be detaching myself from you, but it still feels good to hear it."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you that before. I didn't think..." He shook his head. "I didn't think. I tried to give you freedom by treating you like you weren't a slave but I'm starting to think all I did was make you feel afraid and vulnerable and uncared for."

Danya swallowed.

He wanted to reassure Simon but yes, that was exactly how it had made him feel.

"I know you didn't mean to. I always knew that."

"Well, things will be different now. You don't have to put up with my shit anymore."

No, he didn't have to.

But what if he wanted to?

Ten minutes later, Gaira returned.

"You guys ready to sleep? I made up a spot for you."

Simon swallowed down the rest of his soup and gave Danya a questioning look.

It took Danya a moment to realise his input on the question was desired.

"Oh. Yes. Thank you."

"Right," Gaira said. "Follow me."

Unlike the main cabin, this smaller cabin was far from empty.

The whole room was filled with stacks of supplies.

Gaira led them down a twisting passage until they reached a pile of bedding in a far corner of the room.

"You two can bed up here," she told them. "Figured you might prefer a bit of quiet after all you've had going on."

Simon looked at Danya, as though he expected he might object.

"Thank you," Danya told Gaira instead.

She waved as she left.

"'Night." Simon looked down at the bedding, then back up at Danya.

"Do you still prefer to share a bed with me?"

"Oh."

Something sunk in Danya's gut.

He couldn't meet Simon's gaze.

"Well, can we just for tonight, at least? Tomorrow, maybe... maybe someone else..."

"Hey, it's okay," Simon said and Danya realised he'd been starting to get worked up.

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to for whatever reason. I'm not trying to force you away."

Danya rolled his shoulders to relax some of the tension out of them and took a shaky breath.

"Sorry. I guess I just don't have much to hold onto right now."

"No, I get it. Or... I'm trying to, anyway."

Simon pulled his shirt off and tossed it into the corner.

"Things have been pretty non-stop for you for a while now, huh?"

Danya's eyes skimmed the contours of Simon's chest.

His broad shoulders, his firm muscles, the dark circles of his nipples...

Danya abruptly realised that he was being rude and looked away.

Nudity was not quite so casual a thing to Simon and staring like that made him too obvious besides.

Danya pulled his robe off over his head, leaving him in only the thin cotton shorts he wore underneath.

Tonight he needed some skin against skin.

"Oh," Simon said. "Your tattoo's back. Looks like the magic wore off."

Danya looked down and his tattoo was indeed back.

He'd forgotten all about Delton's illusion the second Simon had started stabbing people and he hadn't given it a thought since.

Danya stroked his fingers over the silvery outline of the lion.

It was nice to have it back.

It was part of him now.

"We could probably find some way to get it removed," Simon mused. "Or at least cover it up."

"No. It's fine."

"Are you sure? I mean, it might take us a while to find somewhere to get it done, given our current circumstances but you shouldn't have to just live with being branded forever."

"I... kind of like it?" Danya focussed his attention on neatly folding his robe. "As you said earlier, if it doesn't mean I'm your property anymore then it must mean we're connected in other ways."

"What I said to Sharn? Danya, I was just talking shit because I wanted you to have my knife if anything happened to me. The tattoo has nothing to do with any of that."

Danya set his folded robe down in the corner, and then picked Simon's shirt up and started folding that too.

"I never knew my parents. I'll probably never see any of the boys I grew up with again. So it makes me feel like... I don't know. Like I'm part of something. But you didn't have any say in your crest being stamped on my body, so I suppose that's silly."

"No, I think I understand."

Simon leant back against a stack of crates.

"I was never very close to any of my family. Especially my father, who I inherited the crest from. But having it on my knife, on my armour... I feel proud of that. If you want that to be yours as well, I'm not going to forbid it. I'd be honoured to share my crest with you."

Danya bit down on a grin as he stared down at Simon's crest.

At his crest, tattooed on him in brilliant silver ink.

"Thank you."

"No problem." Simon started taking off his pants. "Honestly, seeing it in that light makes me feel a lot better about it too."

[i4lixie]

₊˚𓂃the morning after [01]

how you and all the stray kids members wake up after an intimate night.

genre: fluff, some smut

pairing: chan, minho, changbin, hyunjin x fem!reader

maknae line

chan is up before you, already sitting up and stretching by the time you open your eyes. sunlight shines brightly on his naked upper half, and you’re quick to scoot yourself over, pressing your chest against his skin.

his lips meet yours over his shoulder for a kiss. “good morning,” he croaks out, aussie accent as thick as ever with sleep.

“good morning.” you respond, wrapping your arms around him tightly, basking in the warmth of the sun and the warmth of your lover. he presses another kiss to your temple and your heart pounds. “i’m hungry.”

“want me to make brekkie?” he asks you, and you really see him as he pulls away, how his hair is curled and sticking up in different directions. love marks adorn his neck and you nod as you lean in to kiss each one.

“yes. let me come with you.”

the shower makes you both stuck once again, chan groaning lowly against your throat as he empties himself inside of you, squeezing your body close as he carries you out the bathroom. he wraps you both in fluffy towels, tilting your head up to give you a kiss.

“thank you for allowing me to be so intimate with you,” he whispers against your lips, your lids fluttering. “i love you so much.”

“i’m yours, chan. you can have anything from me,” you respond, grinning at the way it affects him by how his ears turn red. “i love you more. now let’s go make brekkie.”

minho and you wake up feeling more relaxed than ever. you already know what’s on his mind when he lifts your leg over his waist, morning wood pressed against your inner thigh, lips on yours.

“minnie,” you whine, clenching around nothing as he rubs his length between your folds. “i’m sore.”

he can’t hide the way his dick jumps at that. “i know, i’m sorry baby. i’ll be gentle. just let me make your morning real quick.”

morning sex with him is slow and passionate, where he leaves his crazy horny-for-you phase and you see another side of him. the side that shows you just how much he loves you with his deep strokes, his eyes drinking in your heavenly expression. in just a few minutes you’re close, still sensitive from the night prior. you don’t ask him to cum or beg him—he just lets you, holding you close to him as you let go, your body really feeling limp after that.

“you’re beautiful baby.” he whispers in your ear as he pulls out to cum on your thighs, hushing your cries of pleasure with kisses. he leaves to get a rag, cleaning you up, treating you like you were the finest china anyone could get a hold of.

“wanna stay in bed?” he asks you, his warm hands massaging down your back and ass. who would wanna get out of bed with hands on them like that?

changbin is still asleep by the time you wake up. he’s very cuddly after sex and while he sleeps in general, and you find yourself stuck within the buff arms of your boyfriend.

“changbin,” you whisper. silence. “changbin..” you murmur a little louder, pushing at his arms. he groans quietly, nuzzling into your neck.

“stop.” is all he says, and it makes you giggle.

“we gotta get up,” you tell him, looking at the time on your phone. “it’s almost eleven. don’t you have recordings to do today?”

“they’ll be fine without me,” he murmurs. right after that, messages start to hit his phone one after another. he lets out a long whine as he grabs it, putting it on silence, pulling you so close you’re almost on top of him. “y/nnn, i wanna stay in bed with you.”

“and i wanna stay with you, too,” you tell him earnestly, kissing his temple. “but we’re both adults with things to do.”

“don’t caaaaare.” he draws out, your head shaking at his stubbornness. an idea pops in your head and you bite your lip as your hand reaches down between you two, grasping his semi hard length.

“will you get up if i make you?” you ask him quietly, the rapper hissing as your hand tightens. he lazily lifts his hips to meet your strokes every time your hand comes down, his face quickly gaining some red color.

“don’t stop.” he whispers to you, his own hand reaching down to wrap around your wrist. he pants in your ear, letting out short puffs of breath against your skin as heat builds up in his stomach, finally coming all over your hand with a soft cry.

he seems to be much more energized after that.

hyunjin is proud to wake up and see the damage down on him last night. he kisses your sleeping figure then walks into your bathroom, grinning happily at the sight of angry red scratch marks that go from his shoulders all the way down to the top of his ass.

when he closes his eyes, he can imagine the events from the night prior. you were insatiable and he loved it. he loved feeling like you couldn’t have enough of him, begging him for more, more, more until he gave you everything you desired.

while in his daze with his hand reaching down to stroke his cock, he doesn’t even notice you waking up and hearing his quiet moans in the bathroom. sneakily, you make your way into there with him, approaching him from behind to still his hand on his cock.

he jumps at your presence, though he calms down quickly when he feels your kisses against the heated flesh of his back. “you could’ve just woke me up.”

“you needed your sleep,” he smirked. “i took a lot of energy from you last night, didn’t i?”

you’re embarrassed, remembering just how needy you were, but you didn’t care. you’d forever be needy for him.

he fucks you open on the bed just like he did last night, his movements more slow and languid. he performs on top of you just like how he does on stage, and you cup his face as he rolls his hips, remembering why you were so needy in the first place.

“i love you, hyunjin,” you whimper quietly, pushing your sore hips up against his. “i love the way you make love to me.”

he kisses you hard as he stills inside of you, coming, body shaking as your walls clamped down onto him, your orgasm not far behind.

“i love you more sweetheart,” he smiles. not smirks, but smiles, and it’s a beautiful sight. “let me clean you up.”

[mxngldmxdnsss]

nsfw alphabet - michael afton

speaks for itself😕

cw! this is obviously sexual content | I’m not gonna list everything in the warning just read with caution

sexual content ahead : proceed with caution!

A - (aftercare?)

Michael is an absolute sweetheart, pressing kisses against your cheeks, letting you rest and getting you a cup of water, sometimes even a snack. Believe it or not Michael picks up very fast on what to focus on the most after sex, if you prefer to bathe than just clean up with a towel, he’ll run you a bath.

B - (body part?)

Michael’s favorite body part on himself is, undecided. He can’t really find it in himself to favor anything about his body, being that he looks like his dad and is often mistaken for him, it bothers Michael to like something on him.

On you however, Michael can’t pick exactly what he likes but he knows that he loves everything about you, but if he had to absolutely pick, Michael would he likes your arms. While it is cheesy, Michael likes how it seems that no matter how much of a brute seems, he fits right into your arms.

C - (cum?)

At first Michael is unsure about cumming inside or outside, pulling out before he can finish, and releasing on to a tissue of sorts. But eventually Michael warms up to the idea of seeing his cum on your thighs or stomach, and a little bit after he begins doing that, he likes the idea of finishing inside of you, with or without a condom.

D - (dirty secret?)

A fantasy Michael will never share with you, is that sometimes he wishes he could take you to work with him. Not in a cutesy way, he hates his work, well his dad’s work. Michael doesn’t want you exposed to his father’s monstrous creations and such. Michael just wishes he could hide you under his desk and let you suck him off while he manages the animatronics.

E - (experience?)

It depends on how long you’ve been together and when you two started dating. If you have been friends since he was a teen, chances are when he asks you out, he’s a virgin and he has absolute zero experience. However, if you two meet when he’s older, he’s most likely had a couple of one night stands before you. Either way, Michael won’t be completely lost, he’s owned enough adult magazines to get an idea of what you may like.

F - (favorite position?)

Another thing of Michael’s that he has no absolute preference for, while Michael may come off as simple, he can experiment if you bring it up to him. It goes explanation that Michael likes to see your face and likes position where he can see you. When it all comes down to it, Michael likes the lotus position and the cowgirl/boy.

G - (goofy?)

Hell no. Sex to Michael is an intimate moment where you won’t find him speaking much actually, preferring you make all the noise. Also, Michael is especially awkward after all of his childhood, so don’t expect him to be very cheery at all, even during sex.

H - (hair?)

Michael starts grooming after you two start having intercourse, at first he wouldn’t care much for trimming or shaving but if you prefer something cleaned so you don’t get a rash, he won’t argue. This doesn’t mean he won’t have a happy trail though, prominent and somewhat bushy, if you like it, Michael will keep up with it, not letting it get out of hand but still having hair. Michael does not like being completely hairless though.

I - (intimacy?)

He tries to be romantic, but honestly he doesn’t know how. Michael will try and make it special sometimes, he believes sex with you is something he should cherish so of course he thinks it should be intimate, maybe he’ll kiss your cheek, or praise you even.

J - (jerk off?)

Before you two got intimate he would masturbate every once in a while, usually he’d wake up every other day with a hard on when you two got more intimate, not sex but more heated make-outs. Sometimes he’d take care of it, but other times he’ll let it go away. After you two started having sex, he’d seek you out when he has a hard on.

K - (kinks?)

Any kinks Michael has he won’t tell you about unless you ask. When you do you’re not surprised but at the same time you are. Michael likes to be praised, he’s not always great about feeling good about himself, and your words him his heart flutter. It will take him some teasing to admit, but Michael is slightly into having his hands tied, maybe if you two buy cuffs, he’ll let you cuff him to the bed.

L - (location?)

Michael at first is a bit embarrassed about the idea of having sex anywhere else but the bedroom, but soon he warms up to having sex in the car, storage closets at work. It just takes time for Michael to be comfortable with it.

M - (motivation?)

It doesn’t take much to make Michael hard. He’s relatively sensitive, if you were to kiss his neck sensually, he’d be half hard at the touch. But if you really want to get him going, all you have to do is whisper to him what you want, regardless if he’s busy or not, Michael will stop whatever he’s doing, embarrassed, ushering you to the nearest surface or closet.

N - (no?)

No knife play, it goes without saying Michael knows what his dad did, and the idea of hurting you or even seeing your blood coming from wounds makes him nauseous. This and Michael despises cucking. He would be kind of hurt if you brought it up, thinking you were too annoyed with him not doing things right. But overall Michael would be jealous even if he doesn’t express it outwardly.

O- (oral?)

Michael loves going down on you, just as much as he loves you going down on him. Something about the way you tug at his hair and finish in his mouth makes his pants tent in an instant. If you’re the one on your knees though, he would try not to be too rough, opting to press the pads of his fingers against your head, trying not to yank at your hair.

P - (pace?)

Whichever you prefer. If you like it when he’s being rough and fast, he’d gladly blow your back out, if he wants to be sensual, he’ll try to test the waters with going a bit slower, still hitting deep and being a bit rough.

Q - (quickie?)

It takes some practice, Michael is down to try quickies out. But sometimes your quickies involve sucking him off and that’s all. However, with some practice and some guidance, you may find yourself in the storage closet every time Michael gets a chance to take a break or slip away for ten minutes at the most.

R - (risk?)

It depends on what you are risking, risking being caught? Michael will try his best to make sure you two stay hidden. He doesn’t have a condom? Michael will pull out in time, he’s gotten great practice in.

S - (stamina?)

Michael has stamina, staying up for six hours trying to stay alive builds your stamina a lot more than you think. But this doesn’t mean he won’t be huffing and puffing after round two, panting like he hasn’t had water in two days.

T - (toys?)

Michael’s knew they existed but never thought about buying any until you asked. Now you two have a drawer that hides your cuffs, gags, vibrators and cock rings. Michael’s down for them, just ask.

U - (unfair?)

He’s not a giant tease. Michael likes giving you what you want, but he’s not dumb, don’t try and take advantage of his niceness in bed, if you do, you may find yourself on the verge of crying, Michael denying every orgasm that you almost reach.

V - (volume?)

Michael tries not to be loud but the occasional guttural moan will slip past his lips every once in a while when he has you bent over, or even when you’re on top. Has a medium volume, Michael can’t help it when he whimpers, trying his best to hide the fact that he did.

W - (wild card?)

If you own any stuffed animals, Michael has to take them out of the room. When his late little brother’s stuffed animal seemed to move around his childhood home, even appearing in his dreams talking to him, Michael grew to somewhat fear and respect the plush toys. Understanding the feelings and secrets they hold.

X - (x-ray?)

Michael is a little over average, when hard it hits his navel, standing at a good 8.5 inches. Even better, his girth makes Michael seem unreal, stretching you to a point where you’re crying halfway through. It sits heavy and nice in your hands and on your tongue, however, Michael tries his best to tuck well, making sure when his dick is pressed upwards, that you won’t be able to see his print; never works though.

Y - (yearning?)

Michael doesn’t have the highest sex drive, he likes to think he’s on the moderate side when it comes to wanting you. However, if your sex drive is super high, he’ll struggle to keep up, not that he’ll reject you, he won’t mind if it’s you who’s taking the lead, hands on your hips as you fuck yourself on top of him. He enjoys it, but after a while of being with you, both romantically and sexually, he still can’t get enough of you, wanting more and more, which results in the both of you passed out until the afternoon from overstimulation.

Z - (zz?)

Michael has stamina he can stay up, way past you, even when he’s worn out. It’s not a challenge, but he’s isn’t exactly an insomniac, he can fall asleep, it just takes a while to get relaxed.

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Sunshine in Another World - Feeding

I have officially launched Sunshine in Another World, an alternate universe spin off of Sunshine in Hell. Unlike SiH, SiAW is a collection of short stories that vary in theme, length, and at times continuity. This is where I will post all of the various alternate universe ideas I get based on Something's Wrong with Sunny Day Jack.

This story is for Adults Only. No one under the age of 18 may read it. It also contains elements of horror and violence.

@channydraws, I have more hot clown content for you to enjoy. Have fun~!

...

Jack had to admit that he underestimated how delicious blood was for a vampire. He enjoyed the taste far more than he ever expected. If he wasn’t careful, he might wind up addicted to it. It gave him a newfound appreciation for just how much Alice struggled with her thirst for it.

This was why it was so important to practice moderation, Jack mused as he licked the blood from his sunshine’s mouth, getting another taste of the delicious vitality of the man he drained. It was someone who had been on his mind for a while, the first man that he saw Alice feed from more than a month ago. He could’ve gone for any of those animals in the club that were eying his sweet sunshine like a piece of meat tonight, and perhaps he would get to them all eventually, but this particular man was first, followed by the rest of the trash who dared to put their dirty hands on Alice.

Jack checked his jacket and shirt for any bloodstains. Fortunately, what little splashed onto him was minor enough that he would wash out if he took care of it quickly enough. As he straightened out his clothes, he couldn’t hold back the impulse to softly caress his sweet sunshine’s soft curves. Even in her sleep, he felt her respond to his affections. Her dreams were so difficult for him to read, but he could’ve sworn thoughts of him flickered through her mind at his loving touch.

The man groaned through the gag stuffed in his mouth, interrupting the intimate moment. Jack glared at the crumpled heap on the floor. He knew that he needed to clean up the mess, but he needed a moment to compose himself first. Putting his sunshine’s mouth on a piece of filth like the man lying prone before him had been revolting. Even if the blood tasted far better than he expected, he hated that he had to bless such scum with not one but two kisses from his sunshine’s lips. Unfortunately, he didn’t know any other way to close the wound he made with her fangs except for a kiss like the one she graced on him and let her instincts take care of the rest.

It would take time, but eventually Jack would figure out how to use these vampire powers properly. Fortunately, Alice was being very cooperative with him even in her sleep. With her help, he was sure that he would get the hang of them in no time. Then she would never have to feel guilty about hunting people for their blood ever again. She could depend on him to take care of her hunger and every other need she had. She didn’t need anyone else but him.

Jack held a gloved finger up over bloodstained lips. “Shhh…,” he hissed in a sweet lilting voice that didn’t belong to him. “I told you to be quiet. My sunshine needs her sleep.”

The man, as if to prove how much of a waste of space he was, just let out another muffled moan.

“Really now,” Jack sighed with a shake of the head. “You just can’t listen to instructions, can you?” He brushed back the strands of curly blue hair that fell in front of his face. “This is all your fault to begin with, you know. First you touch other people without their permission - and in such inappropriate places too - then you call them such horrible names, and then you just had to resort to violence, didn’t you?”

Violence against his sunshine… Just the memory of this filthy animal trying to strike her made Jack see red. It wasn’t his fault what happened after that. Sunny Day Jack wasn’t a violent person. He would never hurt anyone. He just defended Alice from someone who dared try to hurt her. Unfortunately, sometimes such actions were necessary. It was the only thing worthless people like them understood.

This man had no one else to blame but himself that things turned out this way.

Jack crouched down and prodded at the darkening bruise he left on the man’s neck, drawing out another moan of pain. It really did seem that the intent of the vampire not only affected the person they fed on during the bite, but afterwards as well. Touching the mark Alice left on him gave him an echo of the pleasure she shared with him, practically turning it into an erogenous zone, while prodding the one he left on this man cast shadows of the pain he left behind.

Good.

...

Read the rest of the story here, and please let me know what you think. I absolutely adore reviews and they inspire me to keep writing stories like these. Thank you! ❤️💛💙  

[zevexsii]

naib subedar sfw + nsfw hcs (gn s/o)

cut for length and nsfw content !

sfw 

another difficult person to enter a relationship with. naib has lost too much to feel comfortable getting close to someone he knows isn’t going to stay close- you’re in it for the long run. 

in matches, you’re naib’s first priority (when you’ve been assigned to a team together, of course). the second naib notices you’ve been chaired, he’s headed your way as fast as he can. typically, he’d like you to stick together so he can keep a safe eye on you, but naib’s not too pressed if you two split of your own volition. 

there’s an incredibly low chance of being injured during a match with naib. if you’re wounded at the end, it’ll be small scratches or a bruise here and there. regardless of how small or shallow any of your scratches may be, naib is cleaning and bandaging them up, scolding you for being so reckless the entire time. 

he’s another big eater! devours anything you make and is more than happy to show you how to cook nepalese food. cook for him and let him curl up and rest his head on your shoulder afterward and he’ll be tempted to marry you on the spot

loud noises overwhelm naib extremely easily. crowds also make him edgy and anxious. when naib’s panicky, he gets annoyed and will probably snap at you- he would do best with a relatively calm s/o who’s able to keep their head in stressful situations. 

if you’re looking for ways to calm him down, don’t go to overwhelming physical affection right off the bat. someone trying to wrap their arms around him will be seen as a threat to naib’s safety and would only trigger his ptsd even more. instead, grab one of his hands and try to help him regulate his breathing. remind him that he’s safe with you, that there’s nothing to worry about. when naib needs physical comfort, he’ll seek you out. this tactic goes for calming him down after nightmares, too.

the most comforting position for naib is allowing him to sit on your lap and bury his head in your chest- he’s caught between the urge to hide from everything and the urge to protect you. like this, he’s got a solid rock of refuge and it feels like he’s shielding you from any perceived danger. 

undo his strict ponytail and massage naib’s scalp and he’ll be passed out in a heartbeat, snoring softly, his grip on your clothes tight as ever. 

on naib’s bad days, he’s practically glued to your hip. he’s terrified something horrible’s going to happen to you- like the things that happened to his fellow soldiers or even worse, the things he’s done and (seen done) to other people during his time as a hired mercenary. it’s scary, who can blame him? 

wouldn’t mind too much if his partner was into pda, but would feel uncomfortable reciprocating the vast majority of it. naib’s still trying to unlearn the “vulnerability is bad” mindset. he’s been surrounded by that idea his entire adult life, so give him time. this has been touched on before, but hand-holding makes naib soft!! whether you’re enjoying a mellow walk through the manor gardens or lingering in the lobby post-match, one of naib’s calloused hands will find a way to intertwine with yours. 

making naib blush is difficult. very few things can force their way into the chinks in his stoic armor, but soft kisses pressed to his cheek are guaranteed to send an intense flush to his face

if you’re too shy or uncomfortable with pda, you can bet naib’s doing everything he can to fluster you in a safer setting. you’re doing dishes? surprise smooch! indulging in some much-needed downtime? smooch! if naib’s feeling cocky and the time is right, he’ll land his lips somewhere on your face right after you’ve finished a calibration during a match

not too huge on nicknames!! your name is satisfying to say, and naib doesn’t think anything he could call you would fit any better. if you hear him mumble a sleepy “sweetheart” in the middle of a cuddle session while he tries to pull you closer, no you didn’t

naib’s idea of a perfect day ends in a steamy shower or relaxing bath with his s/o. nothing spicy, just soft moments with his love. once y’all are dried and done, throw on your pajamas or one of naib’s shirts (if you’re small enough- mans is 5’6”) and crawl into bed. naib tends to curl in on himself (think fetal position) if you aren’t there- a lot of times he ends up unintentionally becoming the little spoon. 

when naib wants to hold you close, his arms will snake around your waist and he’ll invite you to lay your head on his chest or burrow your face in his neck. when you wake up, it’ll most likely be to naib pestering you in the most loving way possible- ever the early riser, this one. 

nsfw

naib can’t really be pinned down to any specific top or bottom role (no pun intended). during the beginning of your intimate relationship with him, naib leans towards taking a dominant role. it’s indescribably difficult for naib to relinquish control over a non-intimate situation, so you can imagine leaning back and letting go would be even harder. 

gets incredibly handsy when he’s horny. won’t hesitate to seek you out, either. naib doesn’t see the point of masturbation if he has a partner, but he respects your boundaries if you’re not in the mood. 

going back to the surprise kissing bit earlier, when naib wants to let you know he wants to fuck, he’ll pin you up against the closest surface or loop his arms lazily around your shoulders (if you’re short enough) and smash his lips into yours a little rougher than usual- nibbling on your bottom lip right before pulling away. 

has a bit of a fixation on oral. favors receiving over giving slightly, but is still addicted to the way you taste. for masc readers, it’s literally impossible to gag him. to be entirely honest, you could facefuck him with very little resistance. naib wouldn’t hesitate to use you and he expects you to treat him the same way.

 tug on the sheets ever so slightly while he’s sucking your cock and naib will drag your hand to the top of his head, reminding you to pull his hair.

for fem readers, he’ll slowly spread apart your sopping pussy and the corner of his mouth will lift up in a pleased smirk, his rough hands buried in the plush of your thighs. if you attempt to rut your hips against him, naib’ll put an end to that right quick, pinning your hips to the bed, his grip tight enough to leave bruises. 

no matter what, naib’s covering every inch of your bottom half he can reach in hickeys and bruises, occasionally leaning back to admire his handiwork, leaving poor you all needy and aching, whimpering pitifully. 

he’ll look up at you underneath his dark brown eyelashes when you cum, feeling up your sides and pulling your hips closer to his face. the whines his actions pull from your throat will never cease to satisfy him. 

when naib has pleasured you to your mutual satisfaction, he’ll sit up and wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, intentionally smearing your fluids across his face, grinning hungrily as he stares down at you.

now, when you’re sucking naib off, things can get intense pretty damn fast. one moment you’re gently stroking his cock (decently sized too, a good 6-7 inches, average girth), and the next he’s got you by the hair, ramming his dick in your mouth. might accidentally cage you in with his thicc thighs- he’s lost in the feeling of your pretty lips around him, what can he say? gently tap him on the leg and he’ll loosen up a little bit. 

groans loud. louder than he does when he’s actually having sex (at least when he’s topping). the noises he makes are nothing short of animalistic; low growls and heavy moans, straight from his chest. you might have to stop him and remind him to relax. there’s much more to come (no pun intended), and it wouldn’t to well to have naib tire himself out now. his breath will hitch in his chest when you suddenly pull back, but he’ll give you a shaky nod when you tell him to calm down. 

really makes a show of undressing, unless he’s been super pent up lately or something happened to pull out jealous naib. naib isn’t as buff as one might expect; he’s more of the lean type, his strength concentrated in his shoulders and core muscles.

naib’s torso is littered with various scars, some deeper and more noticeable than others. he doesn’t like to admit it, but they’re definitely an insecurity of his. run your fingers over them, or press your lips to the most obvious one, and naib’s heart aches (in a good way, of course). it feels so tender, so soft, so warm to be accepted and wholly loved, regardless of any self-labeled flaws and mistakes. but, mr subedar needs more. 

so he stuffs himself inside of you, letting out a breathy groan at the sudden contact and throwing his head back in delight. when he’s sure that movement wouldn’t cause you too much discomfort, he’ll begin to sloppily thrust himself back and forth, panting heavily. he’s breathing too hard to let out a coherent sentence, egged on by your moans as he angles himself as deeply inside of you as possible. 

depending on how long foreplay lasted, naib can go anywhere from 2-4 rounds. he’s already quite sloppy and forceful, so you can imagine how he gets when he’s tired- sweat beads on his forehead and his chest heaves with every breath, each of his desperate thrusts deep enough to make you see stars. 

naib views cumming inside of you as more intimate, but if you’re uncomfortable with that, he’ll pull out and empty himself onto your stomach. if you have a uterus, he’ll do his best to pull out anyways- considering your current setting, neither of you can really afford a pregnancy scare. 

as mentioned above, naib is more of a top-leaning switch. he defaults to domming because it puts him in control, so you’d have to have a strong relationship with him already. 

if you want naib to sub, you’d have to initiate sex. naib values people who are outright with their intentions, so hold true to that. settle yourself on his lap, arms linked lazily around his shoulders, and press a few soft kisses to the side of naib’s neck. this is the point where he’ll tense up and either gently tell you he isn’t in the mood, or tug you closer. 

naib doesn’t mind where you take him, as long as it’s in a private space. probably has a thing for being fucked on furniture anyway. oral (for both parties) is fine in semi-public spaces- the risk gets naib off more than he’d like to admit- but penetration is reserved for you to witness, and you alone. 

pay special attention to the sensitive spots on naib’s neck and he’ll turn into a whining mess under your touch. grind down on his lap as you gently undo his low ponytail- grab a fistful of his soft hair near the nape of his neck and watch him turn to mush.

in any situation (domming or subbing) naib’s particular to the missionary position. it gives him a perfect view of his s/o at all times.

prep him thoroughly if you want to fuck him in the ass or peg him. he has very limited experience with being penetrated, so no matter how many times naib roughly groans for you to “hurry up and fuck him already”, make sure he’s lubed up and ready to go.

gasps so loud?? when you push your cock or a strap-on inside of him, his entire body goes rigid for a second, and his eyes roll back in his head. it’s delightful. let him shift around for a moment- he’s still getting used to the hot, full feeling that’s overwhelming his senses. naib will grunt out when he’s ready for you to move.

 naib tries to give you what he’d want from a partner; hard, sloppy thrusts with no particular rhythm that leave you aching for more. in barely any time at all, naib is squirming underneath you, choking out requests for “more” and “harder” between half-baked curses that die on his lips. when he cums for the last time, you can see all of the tension leave his shoulders and his final yelp of ecstasy fades into a content sigh.

as far as aftercare goes, naib prefers showering with you over taking a bath. it’s quicker and more convenient, and at this point, naib is puckered out. he just wants to crawl into bed with his s/o. 

falls asleep real quick! it’s lights out as soon as naib’s head hits the pillow and he’s sure you’re in his arms or vice versa. 

gosh i love myself one (1) mercenary 

[forever-rogue]

Would you be up for writing a SMUT fiction with the one & only, Marcus Moreno? Where Y/N is like 5 years younger then Marcus, but they fall in love anyway. Y/N meets his daughter and they have dinner together, but then she has a sleepover at a friends house and then Marcus and Y/N fuck? 😂 Idk, something like that.

I love Marcus so much, okay? I am weak for this man! Enjoy - this does have spice, the sweetest of spice - 18+ only!

Marcus Moreno x fem!reader; warnings: smut

Pedro Characters Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Marcus was a man of many things - conviction, steadfast in his ways, kind, selfless, funny, handsome - the list went on and on. But among the many things, he was also incredulous at the fact that someone like you could be smitten with him.

But here you were - his lover, his friend, his partner. So many brilliant things all wrapped into one. He'd been hesitant to approach you, considering himself to be too dorky, too lame, and too old. He was only a few years older, nothing much, but it had never seemed to bother you. As soon as he'd met you and felt that familiar warmth wash over him, he'd felt like an old fool.

 More times than you could count had you caught him staring at you with that silly, goofy smile on his face. But he was never going to make a move, no, nope, definitely not. That would have been a sin, practically blasphemous and he would never entertain the notion and he was nervous just thinking about it and -

You had casually strolled him up after a mission, giving him a smile before sitting down next to him and cutting to the chase.

"Do you want to go out with me?" Marcus nearly spit out his coffee as you sat there and watched him a soft smile tugging on the corners of your mouth. Once he calmed down and quit coughing, he opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to get his bearings.

"Do I...what?" he pushed up his glasses - surely he couldn't have heard you correctly.

"Do you, Marcus Moreno," you pointed at him with a bemused expression, "want to go out with me? And I'll make this super clear, do you want to go out with me on a date, with romantic intentions? I'd like to take you to dinner sometime."

"Me?" he bumbled as a tinge of pink flushed into his cheeks.

"Of course you," you laughed lightly at him and he visibly relaxed at the warm sound, "unless there's another Marcus Moreno around I should know about?"

"I...no..no. Only me."

"I hope not," you insisted as you reached over and straightened his glasses, "because I'm quite fond of this one. You don't have to of course...please tell me if I'm overstepping boundaries since you are technically the boss. And perhaps I flatter myself with thinking you might feel the same."

"I'd love to," he nodded as he relaxed and grinned back around you, "I...ugh...yeah. I'll really like that."

"Great," you beamed at him, making him melt all over again, "its a date."

»»————-　♡　————-««

That had been a few months ago, and some days he still couldn't believe his luck. Then again, neither could you - how you had gotten on lucky as to call Marcus your own you would never know. 

Marcus had been nervous about stepping back into the dating field, well you, you were the first and only, but you'd made it so easy. There was never any awkwardness or worry or fear...it all just fell into sweet, blissful place. 

The thing he has been most nervous about though was Missy. Her approval meant everything, she was his world after all. But he also wanted you to like her because you were also becoming an increasingly big part of his world.

But his worries had been for naught because you fell in love with the young girl when you'd met her and vice versa. Now the two of you were thick as thieves, often ganging up on him. Not that he minded of course; his heart hadn't felt so full and happy in a long time and that was everything to him.

"Honey?" you put your hand on his shoulder before giving it a gentle squeeze. Marcus had been halfway through stirring a pot of pasta, homemade that afternoon by yourself and Missy, but had completely zoned out. As soon as he felt your gentle touch he seemed to snap back into reality, a small smile crossing his features. You gently tapped the side of his before he leaned in and kissed you, "What's going on up there, Moreno?"

"Nothing," he turned back to the pot and gave it a final stir before putting the lid back on. He reached for you,  his hands easily finding purchase on your hips as he tugged your towards him. You made a small sound of surprise before snaking your arms around his neck and carding a hand through his dark locks, "just thinking about how much I love you."

Love. That's what this was. He knew that now, hell, he'd known for some time, but he'd been nervous to admit to it. He never thought he'd be saying those words again, at least not to anyone besides Missy or his mother.

And it had terrified him. It had scared him to death - the idea of loving another again. At first he didn't know how to respond, how to react or what to do. It was overwhelming and all consuming, and yet...it made him happy. So happy. And it was apparent to everyone around him - how filled with life he was again, how the light never faded from his eyes, how his smile was bigger than ever. That's when he knew exactly what it was.

Of course, Marcus being Marcus, was so concerned with when and how to tell that he blurted it out during the middle of sex. It was right when you were both on the precipice of your climaxes, and he couldn't help himself as he nuzzled his face into your shoulder.

It had been slightly unexpected, sure, but you just kissed him and repeated the words back to him sweetly - reverently. You knew too that this wasn't like anything you'd experienced before...this was everything.

"I love you too, Marcus," you whispered as you trailed a few fingers along jaw, touching the patchy stubble that you loved so much, "I-"

"The kitchen is a communal place," Missy groaned at the two of you as he came down the stairs, her backpack and sleepover gear in tow, "I'd appreciate if we kept it that way."

"Very funny," Marcus pulled back from you with a wink as you went over and helped Missy with her stuff, "I'm the adult I make the rules!"

"Whatever Dad," she sassed him as you just laughed, "see you tomorrow. Love you!"

"Love you too kiddo," Marcus offered her a wave as you carried her bag to the door for her.

"Have fun with your friends," you leaned down and gave her a tight hug. She responded in kind before taking her things in hand, "don't get into too much trouble, yeah? And if you need anything, we'll be right here."

"We won't," she insisted with a sly little grin that you couldn't quite believe, "have fun too! See you tomorrow. I love you!"

And just as quick as a flash she was bolting out the door and down the street to her friend's house. It took you a moment to recover as you realized what she had said. You walked back to the kitchen with a grin on your face and your heart feeling like it was going to overflow at any moment.

"What?" Marcus asked as you walked in a daze.

"Missy," your voice was soft as you leaned against the counter, "she said she loved me...its the first time she's said it."

"And why wouldn't she?" he too felt an overwhelming rush of emotion as he realized just how much this meant to him, "you're pretty amazing after all."

"I love her too, so much...I just...I want her to know I love you and her and I want to be a part of your lives  but I would ever try to replace her mom," you explained as he nodded in understanding. Marcus moved to stand in front of you, his hands finding either side of your face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, "how did I get so lucky to find the two of you? I love you both more than you will ever know."

"And so we do," he promised as he leaned in and properly kissed you, "I love you."

Without thinking, you hopped onto the counter and wrapped your legs around his waist before wrapping your arms around his neck. His large, warm hands slowly worked their way from your waist to up and under your shirt, as he skimmed your soft skin.

Your soft kisses quickly turned into hungry, needy ones as you pulled off his glasses and tossed them aside. Marcus went from your lips to your jaw before working his way down your neck, biting and sucking at the delicate skin.

"Marcus," you almost moaned his name as you pressed yourself against the hardness you could already feel in his jeans, "this is a communal space. Keep it clean."

"Don't want to," he huffed with laughter as his hand moved to the button of your jeans and he quickly undid the fly. He lifted you up briefly as he pulled down your jeans and underwear as you reached for his jeans to repeat the process. 

Your mouths almost never parted, except for the soft giggles that flowed as you felt more like naughty schoolchildren that could be caught at any second, rather than grown adults.

"Marcus - the food," you suddenly remembered. He shook his head as you paused for a moment.

"Its all off," he promised while cupping your breasts in his hands, earning a delighted moan from you, "it can all wait. Dessert first."

"Then take me," you tugged down just jeans and boxers, pushing them down as he wasted no time in lining himself up at your entrance and slowly pushing in. When he bottomed out, you both groaned in between kisses as he gave you a moment to adjust. 

Then there was no rush, and he started to move languidly, setting a gentle pace as he kept on kissing you. It was sweet, sex with Marcus was always something you thoroughly enjoyed, especially times like this. It was so intimate, so loving, it was everything and all consuming at once.

"'m not gonna last," he whispered as he left a trail of fiery kisses along your jaw. You nodded in agreement as you held him close, trying to memorize every touch, every feel.

"'s okay, honey," you promised as you guided him back to your lips, "come with me, please. I love you Marcus, I love you so much."

That was all it took to get him to reach his peak as your walls hugged him and you both came with small moans. Marcus held you tightly as you tried to catch your breath and he stayed buried inside you, peppering you in the most saccharine of kisses, "I love you too. More than you will ever know."

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[the-blind-assassin-12]

Kar’taylir Darasuum

AN ESSAY ON LOVE IN MANDALORIAN CULTURE 

A/N: This post has been a long time coming and I am SORRY for that. The lovely @darkmist111​ wanted to know more about courtship and romance as it pertains to the world of Resol’nare, and well... I sort of got carried away with research and head cannons and... well, you’ll see. 

Quick links: Resol’nare // Hokan’yc // Mando’a Dictionary

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of violence, death - they are a culture of warriors, my friends, it’s unavoidable. 

thank you so much for this ask and for your patience while i worked on it! oh boy buckle up here we go: 

Courtship 

Courtship in Mandalorian culture is often a very short time period. Relationships move quickly from one stage to the next, because Mandalorians know better than many cultures that tomorrow is never promised. That being said, they don’t just pair off indiscriminately, and while physical appearance holds little to no weight in terms of attraction, there are other things that do certainly tip the scales. 

For someone like Din, brought up in an extremely strict covert with an adherence to The Way of the Mandalore that leaves very little room for interpretation, the most attractive trait a person can have is skill as a fighter. Knowing that the person they are pledging their soul to is capable of not only watching their six in battle, but protecting themselves and any children that might be in the family (foundlings or otherwise) is extremely important to Mandalorians. As such, many courtships begin while Mandos are in the final stages of training, when they begin to leave the covert to go on missions. (See Hokan’yc for Din’s story of young love at this stage in his life, and meet Aashi Zurn, the Mando who bested him in the sparring chamber and won his heart in the process.) 

Trust and loyalty are extremely important to Mandalorians when seeking a partner. Marriage in Mandalorian culture is meant to be forever- eternal- as Mandalorians believe that their souls live on after death, and remain connected to their loved ones until the end of time. Depending on the level of anonymity the individuals in question choose as a lifestyle (i.e. helmets on at all times or removed in front of others, names known or unknown), Mandalorians might show their trust in a partner by telling them something personal about themselves, something that they would normally keep a secret either out of pride or protection. This is usually returned in kind, a sort of exchanging of secrets that begins the binding of their two souls together that will continue throughout their relationship so that if/when they choose to marry, they are speaking the truth when they say that they know one another- in a way that no one else ever will. 

Some small ways that Mandalorians will show affection or appreciation for one another during their courtship and long into their relationship (because Mandalorians don’t just fall in love and settle, they keep falling deeper into it, letting it grow stronger) include: helping them clean their armor or weapons, tending to any aches and pains from old injuries- most Mandalorians make their own herbal salves that they use to soothe inflammation or to help heal scarring, and sharing from your own personal blend to provide comfort for your partner goes a long way. (This will come up in more than one way in Resol’nare, so look out for that in the future.) sharing or preparing a favorite meal, and in the event that they really want to emphasize their feelings, they will give a piece of their own armor to their partner, showing that they are ready to view them as a part of themselves, ready to protect them with their own life if necessary. 

The tradition of wearing the armor of their beloved comes from ancient times, when a Mandalorian fell in love with another who was a member of an enemy clan and had been captured by her people. To protect her lover from those who would kill them on sight just based on the sigil or coloring of their armor, she traded some of her plates with some of theirs so that they could escape unnoticed. Once two Mandalorians are wed, not even blood feuds between clans can come between them, so the exchanging of armor became seen as a sort of intention to marry for many Mandalorians.

Because Mandalorian culture takes root in various other cultures, some traditions from those other cultures cross over into theirs. For example, while no Mandalorian would ever make the mistake of asking a woman’s father for her hand in marriage and Mandalorian women are seen as complete equals and therefore able to make their own choices when it comes to their partners, some clans will still partake in common practices like introducing their intended to their family or announcing their engagement to their families and loved ones before making it known to others in the community. While jewlery is extremely uncommon in Mandalorian culture (unless it is functional, such as a beskar collar style necklace) engagement tokens like pendants engraved with the two names or rings either without stones, or rings with low profile stones inlaid into the bands- in some cases a gemstone will be embedded within the metal on the underside of the band, where it makes contact with the finger- are considered standard in most other cultures, so they are sometimes still exchanged but are in no way necessary to solidify an engagement or an intent to marry. 

Marriage  

The actual vows exchanged between Mandalorians are short and to the point, and there is no required ceremony, no officiant or witness needed, no record keeping of any sort, so the actual wedding is usually done just between the two individuals in private. Traditionally they are as follows: 

"Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde" which translates to "We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors."

Once the vows are said, the marriage is official and the Riduurok bond is forged and must be acknowledged and respected by all Mandalorians.

Newlyweds will lift the helmet of their spouse once the vows have been sworn so that they may be sealed more intimately. In the case of Mandalorians who keep their faces hidden, this may be the first time that one or both of them sees the other without their helmet. In other cases, the removal of their riduur’s armor is merely symbolic. 

Although there are no formalities that need to happen in order to legitimize a marriage, there are of course some traditions and rituals that are completed which Mandalorians believe safeguard and strengthen their bond with their spouse. These include getting specific tattoos, and adding each other’s sigil to armor or weapons.  

Riduurok Tattoos 

Tattooing is an important part of Mandalorian culture. Regardless of their culture of origin, where they come from, or how they choose to interpret the Creed, it is rare to come across an adult Mandalorian with no tattoos. Even the New Mandalorians under Satine’s pacifist regime continued to carry on tattooing, though not as extensively or ritualistically as the more orthodox communities like the one that Din, Paz and The Armorer come from. For them it was done more for decorative purposes. Though their designs still pay homage to shapes and motifs that are meaningful to all Mandalorians, they also include more aesthetic design elements such as florals, vines or stars. 

Typically a Warrior will receive their first tattoo when they complete their training at thirteen; a thick black chevron shaped cuff on their left bicep. This symbolizes that they are part of the larger Tribe of Mandalorians outside of their own clans, and serves to remind them of the duty that they have to protect all Mandalorians. They have to look at it each time they don or remove their armor, and in the abhorrent event that they are stripped of their armor in defeat, the ink serves as symbolic beskar so that they remain protected in the afterlife. Bands and chevrons are added to symbolize achievements in battle or heroic action to protect their covert.(Din has five bands on his left arm, the latest one just below his elbow- his first when he completed mandatory training at 13, his second when he completed additional elite training, his third when helped relocate the covert to Nevarro- see Hokan’yc- his original covert was located on Dantooine- his fourth when he was injured protecting a group of foundlings, and the fifth after claiming the Darksaber. He would absolutely have more bands had he not spent so much time away from the covert. He absolutely will have more bands by the time Resol’nare ends.)  For Mandalorians who live a long life or are extremely skilled fighters, it is not uncommon for these bands to cover the entire arm from mid bicep to wrist. If more space is needed, another chain of bands is added to the left thigh ranging downwards. It is said that no Mandalorian has ever completely covered their entire left side, simply because in a war-based culture, life expectancy is cut short. 

Mythosaur skulls, clan signets, troop affiliations and words or short phrases in Mando’a are also typical designs that Mandalorians may choose to have done. The Mythosaur is usually tattooed on the back while the right bicep is where Mandalorians will honor their families in their chosen way. Usually it is by adding their clan signet, names of loved ones or parents, or even symbols or patterns that are significant to their culture of origin. ( Navina has a tattoo on her right arm to pay tribute to her mother’s- who was a foundling- culture. It will be revealed in an upcoming chapter so that is all that I can say about that! Din also has the Mythosaur skull inside of a triangle on the right side of his chest, and his Mudhorn signet on his right shoulder.)

Riduurok tattoos are placed on the left side or center of the chest, over the individual’s heart, and are done as soon as possible after marriage vows are sworn. Taking the shape of the Kar'ta Beskar, Mandalorians personalize them by adding their spouse’s name in Mando’a in the empty space in the middle of the design. Like the arm bands, these are also meant to symbolize armor of sorts. They represent the way that married couples remain connected no matter if they are together or apart; that they are one, an integral part of the other, even in death. They also signify the strength gained through marriage, as well as the protection a Mandalorian vows to provide for their partner. Love is seen as something that fortifies, never weakens, and that is represented in this tattoo as well. 

(Terrible graphic made with love by me)

This particular tattoo comes directly from a Mandalorian myth predating modern record keeping. Legend has it that long ago, a Mandalorian warrior returned home from battle, eager to see his riduur after so much time away. When he arrived, however, he found only her lifeless form, the soul of the one he had tied himself to no longer inhabiting the flesh and bone of her body. She had been slain, taken from him and from their life together, and it opened in him a new capacity for rage, something far more fierce than fire. It is said that in the moment that the Mandalorian warrior saw what had happened in his absence, vengeance itself was unleashed into existence. 

The warrior, fueled by this new urge, this extreme desire to avenge the death of his wife, tracked down the marauders who were responsible for her death and killed them one by one. The last of them, as he watched the Mandalorian take his accomplices’ lives, did not beg or grovel. He could see that it would do no good. Instead, he confessed that he did not think that Mandalorians had the capacity to love so deeply as to inspire such retaliation, that he did not think Mandalorians were open to things that could make them weak, things like love. 

“Only fools like you would think that love makes one weak.” he spat at the man. “True love is power, it is strength- it is the joining of two into one and nothing, not even death can diminish it. But you? Death will erase your soul and before long you will be forgotten.” 

The Mandalorian warrior killed the final marauder then, and as he did the pure rage that he felt upon discovering the death of his riduur quieted. Instead, he felt her presence, as though she were there to wrap her arms around him. He felt her strength enter his heart, and though he would mourn her loss immensely, he knew that she would never truly be gone, that he would always carry her and that they would reunite when his journey came to an end. As a tribute to his riduur and what she would always mean to him, the warrior etched her name over his heart in ink, encasing it in the oblong diamond shape of the Kar'ta Beskar, symbolizing that she is the source of his strength, a kind of armor that protected him from facing eternity alone. From then on, Mandalorians added the Riduurok Tattoo into their marriage rituals.   

Clan Sigils 

In the case that both Mandalorians have already been assigned sigils, or if they have sigils that they inherited from their own clans, they will either combine both symbols into one new one, or they will add their spouse’s sigil right beside their own on their armor and/or weapons. (In Resol’nare, Navina’s beskar kal that she inherited from her father- thanks of course to Firo- displayed the sigils of both of her parents, as well as her own name)  

If only one of the two can claim a sigil as their own distinct mark, they will extend it to their spouse as they extend every part of themselves through marriage, and if neither one has been assigned a sigil, they will both take the sigil of the first one who is assigned one.  

It is completely up to the individuals regarding whether or not they will choose to take their spouse’s name- the important thing is that they are under the same sign, as their sigils are yet another bond that they carry into the afterlife that helps them reunite once both have rejoined the Manda. 

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THANK YOU AGAIN TO @darkmist111​ for this request. I had a lot of fun thinking about and writing this, and it was a great way for me to finally dive back into the world of Resol’nare. :) 

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek @fific7 @becs-bunker @commanderlola @greatcircle79 @cannedsoupsucks​ @dihra-vesa​ @marauderskeeper​ @disgruntledspacedad​

[angelicspaceprince]

SFW Alphabet Heisenberg Headcanons

I posted these on my AO3 but I thought I’d move my headcanons onto Tumblr too - all fanfics are staying on AO3 at this stage.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Heisenberg is a man of action, not of words. He’d be more inclined to show affection through gift giving or physical touch once you’ve reached that level of familiarity around him. In public, definitely a lot more possessive behaviour that’s merged in with physical affection, like his arm around your shoulders or waist, hand holding, making sure you’re within arms reach.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

There would be so much swearing. You’d have to be forced to be around him for a long time before he warmed up to you, and would have to prove that you were trying to be friends with the intent of being his friend, not for Miranda’s or your gain. I personally HC that he and Donna get along well enough that they spend time with one another sometimes, so even being an acquaintance of Donna’s and meeting that way would help speed things up a bit. He’d pop in on you during really bad moments ‘just to say hi’ but then you wouldn’t hear from him for months because he’s too focused on his metal army to realise how much time has passed.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He will never admit it, but he does love a cuddle. If you manage to convince him to have a cuddle session with you, he will always, always insist on being the mattress or the big spoon, and will play with your hair and trace random words and numbers against your back. When he’s had enough or needs to do something he will make a snide remark about you having had your fun and he needs to get up to do actual adult shit now, but you always find he’s a lot calmer after having a good cuddle. During rough days are the days that he will approach you directly and state plainly that he wants you to be the big spoon or the mattress, loving the feeling of your hands in his hair or playing with his various necklaces or tracing weird patterns that don’t make sense against his skin. He loves a good cuddle, but again. He will deny it until his last breath.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Heisenberg can cook one (1) meal and he burns it every single time. He claims it ‘adds flavour’, but in reality he was so focused on something that he forgot that he had something on the stove until he smelt smoke. He’s also not a clean man, not organised - shit just goes on the floor and when he needs it, he eventually finds it or a replacement.

I don’t think Heisenberg would want to settle down intentionally. He’s so focused on leaving the village that it consumes every waking and sleeping thought. But, that being said, if someone was to arrive and start acting domestic around him once he’d lowered his walls enough, he’d quickly fall into some sense of routine that looks very, very domestic from the outside. He’s very much the sort of man who doesn’t ask you out, you just end up dating somehow.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Cut and run. He doesn’t had time for emotions (before leaving the village) and he’s not good with words so he’d rather just up and leave and save himself the hassle. Probably wouldn’t even leave a note or send a text, you’d just have to figure it out for yourself that he was alive and had left you and not dead in a ditch.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Definitely not whilst living in the village. Again, he’d not really ask someone to be in a relationship more than he’d just fall into one. But, once he’s realised that you’re dating (and after he’s left the village, whichever comes last), he may start thinking about something more long term. I feel like it would take years for him to realise that he wants to marry you, and then years again before he asks. You’ve got to be in it for the long-haul and after escaping the village, there is a lot of healing that would need to take place. So. Don’t expect marriage any time soon.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Surprisingly, very? He’s a hard ass at first, but the longer you know him and the more he drops his guard, the more you realise he’s a big ole softy underneath his hard shell. He wears a lot of his more intense emotions on his sleeves, but the more intimate ones are harder to come by and usually it takes a unique gaze to realise that he’s been gentle to you for a while, it’s just in a very Heisenberg way.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Same with cuddling, he’ll never admit that he likes them but he does. You have to initiate most hugs, with his preference being you pressed up against his back as he sits by his desk or table with your head resting either on top or next to his own. He’s always warm, and a weird but comforting blend of strong muscle with soft fat makes his hugs some of the best you’ve ever experienced. Sometimes he needs them for a little pick me up and sometimes you need them for the same reason. If you ask him to hug you first, with your head pressed against his chest or shoulder, he will grumble and tease you a little, but never, ever deny you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Oh, forever. I’m convinced that Heisenberg shows his love rather than says it - you learn his little love declarations as time goes on (him fussing over you or saying some form of praise where an ‘I love you’ would be appropriate, him making or doing something for you. Stuff like that). I don’t think Heisenberg would say I love you very often, it’d only be during highly emotional or important moments that the word would just slip out.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Ahaha. Ahaha. Ahahahahaha. Yeah no he gets jealous a lot. It does not take much. Angie demanding too much of your time? Jealous. Alcina inviting you to dinner with her and her girls. Jealous. That random kid from the village asking you for help and giving you a flower as thanks? Jealous. He tends to get more closed off to you and short, and if it’s Alcina who’s the one who makes him feel this way or, heaven forbid, someone showing interest in you romantically, there will be violence. Otherwise, just a lot of pouting and occasional rants about how they know not to bother you and he’s only looking out for you and is definitely not jealous that your attention can’t be on him 100% of the time.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Rough, scratchy. Usually heated but every now and again you’ll have a soft make out session or give each other a simple peck as you walk by. He loves kissing your shoulders and neck just to see you shiver, and forehead kisses are his preferred way to show affection in this manner. He isn’t that fussed where he’s kissed, just as long as he gets to feel your lips against him in some way.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Depends on the age - useless with babies. Absolutely useless. But once kids start talking and he’s able to answer questions or teach them words and phrases that will have their parents seeing red? He’s incredible, mostly because he’s having the time of his life teaching them anything and everything, including different swears to share with their parents the moment they get home.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Pre escape: Each start to the day usually revolves around trying to find out where he’s passed out this time, or if he’s slept at all. Usually you’d bring him something to eat and drink to keep him going and ask what he worked on overnight before you go to get ready for your day.

Post escape: Most mornings, he’d wake up before you and you’d be woken by him playing with your hair or tracing his fingertips against your skin. You’ve taught him how to use the coffee machine, so sometimes he’ll have a coffee there waiting for you. It takes a lot of work for you to pull away from him in the mornings, mostly because he refuses to let you go, but regardless, its a stark contrast to the way he was before escaping Miranda.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Pre escape: You try and stay up with him as long as possible, not wanting him to not have the company. Eventually, you pass out next to him, something he finds hysterical and heartwarming at the same time - he’ll never admit it but he never thought he’d meet anyone that would trust him enough to fall asleep next to him. He usually lets you rest there for a little bit, finding comfort in your soft snoring and occasional shifting, before he picks you up and carries you to bed, making sure you’re tucked in nice and warm before going back to his work. The softness can wait for after you’ve both survived his escape plan, and not a second before.

Post escape: I see two things happening frequently: The first is you falling asleep on the couch with your legs in his lap as you struggle to stay awake as he watches a show on the telly. You don’t want to leave but you struggle to stay awake. When the show is finished, he picks you up and, much like back at the village, carries you to bed but only this time he crawls in after you, curling you up against his side or slotting your back against his front, falling asleep seconds after he has you in a comfortable position for the both of you.

OR

You end up going to bed a little bit early to do something, maybe read a book or scroll on your phone, who knows. Heisenberg eventually joins you, crawling into your lap until his head is resting against your chest. He falls asleep on top of you as you play with his hair, his arms wrapped tightly around your middle as you continue helping to bring him down after a stressful day.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

So, so slowly. I’m talking at least a year of him being completely closed off because he even lowers his guard a little. He’s been hurt before, he’s been used before. And as far as he knows, you could be someone Miranda sent to him to keep tabs on him, or you could be toying with him for your own amusement. You really would have to show that you are there for him before he started opening up to you, and even then it wouldn’t be in waves, it would be in drips and trickles.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

This man has anger issues, he gets angry at the drop of a hat.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He won’t remember stories, or names, or dates - time just blends into one, endless mess for him. But he will remember facts. You tell him your favourite colour or favourite snack? In his mind forever. You make an offhand remark about wanting something? Next time he’s at the Duke’s, he’ll see if he has any in stock.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

When you escaped the village by far, the pair of you in the back of the Duke’s cart as he gets the pair of you away after seeing your home blow up thanks to Ethan. It was the first time that the both of you weren’t on edge or scared that you were seconds away from death, and after the adrenaline of the escape had gone through your system, you were tucked up against his chest, fast asleep as Heisenberg chewed on his cigar, his arm wrapped tightly around you. It was a new beginning for the pair of you, and Heisenberg was excited to see exactly what the world had to offer to the both of you.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Incredibly, especially around Alcina and Mother Miranda. The other lords, not so much. He’s close enough to Donna to know that she wasn’t interested in stealing you, she only wanted to be her friend. Moreau was too scared of Heisenberg to try and pull any shit, the Duke was just a friend and he knew it would never go beyond that but everyone else? Is an immediate threat. There would be a lot of tugging you into his lap, keeping you tucked by his side, using his metal to hold you close. There would be a lot of threats and shouting as well as insult throwing if anyone so much as looked at you funny or made a small comment about taking you away, especially at Alcina. He’d try and keep you away from the village and from the family meetings as much as possible, and his hand would never leave your thigh or your waist if you were forced to attend. He’d make it clear that you were off limits to everyone and anyone.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Not much? Maybe after escaping the village he’ll put a little more effort into certain anniversaries but dates are simple affairs, anniversaries don’t mean much to him. He’d rather show his love to you everyday through small tasks to make your life more comfortable than put all his effort into certain dates. Gifts, however, is where he puts most of his energy - he definitely makes most of his gifts for you. Be it something small that he thought you might like during the day to larger gifts that take time, he will make sure every part of it is perfect for you. You don’t get a gift every day, but you do get a gift most weeks.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Smoking in bed is one. He also has a tendency to focus too heavily on his escape plans that sometimes it can feel like you are being neglected. His bathing habits also are rather lacking too. He 100% wakes you up in the middle of the night to rant about something that is bothering him or explain excitedly to you something that he’s discovered or created.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not very - he is, according to him, a naturally handsome sonofabitch, why would he need to worry about his style or be attached to a mirror forever fixing his hair?

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

It’s not so much a feeling of incompleteness because Heisenberg always feels empty and broken, but he definitely notices when you’re not nearby. It’s not like a piece of him is missing, but more like a recognition that something in his space is gone and he misses it and needs it back for him to feel more settled.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He’s autistic. He got his accent from listening to/watching shows on the television in the 50s. Lady D helped raise him and it wasn’t until they had a falling out that they started to hate one another. He didn’t hate Mother Miranda until he was in his 20’s where it became apparent that they were only there because Miranda found some use for them after stumbling into her laboratory and finding her notes on all four of them. He’s also addicted to netflix and loves binge watching whatever he can, especially anything to do with creating/crafting/science. Can speak 3 languages fluently.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He doesn’t like to be fussed over, at least in a way that is blatantly clear that that’s what you’re doing. He is independent to a fault, and refuses to take care of himself - but if you try to do anything to help him without his asking first and it feels like an attempt to mother him? He hates it, with a passion. The longer you know him, the more you’re able to get away with when he knows it's coming from a place of concern, but he can only handle so much because he breaks and his temper flares.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Before escaping the village: He doesn’t sleep much and where he does sleep is wherever he passes out. The man lives off of caffeine, spite and cigars, and the amount of times you’ve found him passed out at one of his many desks is astounding. Best thing to do is cover him up and let him rest because at least he’s sleeping.

After escaping the village: He still doesn’t sleep much, only this time it's due to nightmares of being back in the village under Miranda’s control, or you getting hurt in his attempt to flee. He won’t sleep unless you’re asleep beside him and if that isn’t happening, he either doesn’t sleep at all or works himself to exhaustion so he passes out wherever he may be - just like in the village. He is, however, an octopus when he’s asleep. No matter what position the pair of you fall asleep in, you always end up in some weird tangle of limbs simply because he cannot be close enough to you.

[joel-millerr]

What’s Your Favorite Color?

Chapter Seven of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.2k

Summary: reader is stuck on the Crest with Mando and the kid. what should be an uneventful trip turns into something that changes everyone on board.

Warnings: SMUT! rough sex, oral sex (female receiving), orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, praise kink(?), aftercare, depictions of death, mentions of mental illness (even though the reader doesn’t explicitly say it--it’s more implied), slight spit play?

A/N: ok so this might be the dirtiest thing I've written but I'm just so proud of where this story is going and I hope you guys enjoy. also, the entire chapter takes place on the crest, and it’s one day :)

also big shoutout to @eznova​ who helped me with this chapter. LOVE U

--

I worry that your own attachment to the Mandalorian will be your undoing.

That eerie reminder echoes over and over in your mind as you wake up from one of the best nights of your life. It’s hard to control the stupid, shit-eating grin plastered on your face as you lie in Mando’s cot. You’re alone, but his scent—a delicious mix of soap and musk, fill your nostrils and if you close your eyes and focus hard enough, you can imagine him laying right next to you, wrapping strong, tree trunk sizes arms around you and placing chaste kisses all over your skin.

You couldn’t have planned falling for Mando so deeply and so quickly as you have, mainly considering that you haven’t known each other for very long, but you know damn well that if given the opportunity, you’d do everything over again.

Stars, you don’t even know what his name is.

What is his first name?

Should you ask him? You don’t want to come off imposing, and there’s a part of you that wants to wait until he chooses to share that information with you, rather than try to wrestle it out of him, but he’s shrouded in mystery, and that just reels you in even more. You really want to pick his brain, figure out what makes him him, but you don’t know if you’ll ever get that chance. There’s the possibility though, that after last night, he’ll be more vulnerable around you. Maybe you’ll both be more vulnerable and inclined to share each other’s pasts. After all, you’ve been pretty intimate with each other.

When you finally decide it’s probably time for you to get out of bed and face the potential awkwardness that could happen between you and Mando, the door to the cubby hole hisses open, with neither the kid nor Mando in sight. Your feet touch down on the cold ship’s floor, and you slip into your boots. Once on your feet, you feel an ache at the apex of your thighs. It stings and you have to basically have to walk with your thighs spread apart in order to ease some of the uncomfortableness between your legs. Every move you make is a reminder of the night before. You can even feel him inside you, stretching your walls to hug him perfectly. Kriff, you’re already wet and you only just woke up.

Hoping a sanisteam will wipe away the crude thoughts from your barely conscious mind, you take to the fresher and wake yourself up with a brisk rinse. Once you’re out and throw on yesterday clothes—you make a mental note to wash your only other garments, you’re about to head up to the cockpit when you hear Mando’s voice. Stopping at the ladder, you listen in on what he’s saying.

“…but you have to agree to go with them if they want you to. Understand?” His’s voice goes quiet for a moment. “Plus, I can’t train you. You’re too…powerful. Don’t you want to learn more of that Jedi stuff?”

It’s a damn shame how last night you had heard his true voice for the first time, unmodulated but still as deep and rough as it sounds with the distortion of his helmet, and probably won’t be privy to it for a while. You wish you could hear him, like really hear him, naked and untapped again but even if you don’t, it’ll just make last night even more significant.

You hear the Child coo in response before hearing Mando’s cadence again. “I agreed to take you back to your own kind, so that’s what I need to do.” There’s a brief pause. “You understand that, right?”

For the first time, you detect some sadness in Mando’s tone. Like he’s trying to reassure not only the kid but also himself that he needs to go through with this, that even though there might be a part of him that doesn’t want to let the Child go, in the end he has no choice in the matter. It tugs at your heartstrings. The Mandalorian, a seasoned warrior, a survivor, a bounty hunter—at war with himself and his own feelings.

You can’t help but feel guilty as well. Ahsoka had warned you that one day, you too would have to make a choice but after last night… It’s no longer as clear-cut as you initially thought it would be. Had this come to you even just six months ago, you wouldn’t have given it a second thought. You’d make the choice of being a Jedi, and forgo all attachments and dedicate your life to the Order. It wouldn’t be hard for you to set all your feelings aside—you’ve had many years of practice on that subject, but now things are completely upside down. It’s territory you’ve never been in before and Maker, that terrifies you. The longer you journey with the Mandalorian, the more you become weaved together like vines wrapping themselves around a duracrete structure. Similar to the ancient temples on Naboo, tightening and gripping in every nook and cranny until it’s impossible to separate one without destroying the other.

When you reach the floor of the cockpit, you watch Mando sit ever still in the pilot’s chair, with Grogu seated to his right. Your boots hitting the ground as you walk alerts the Child, his ears twitching in your direction and he giggles excitedly, holding that little durasteel ball in his hands.

“Morning,” you announce as you plop down in the seat to Mando’s left. Grogu peers at you with big eyes and makes grabby hands at you, so lean over and bring him into your lap.

“How long until we reach Coruscant?”

“A day or two,” he answers curtly, keeping his visor glued to the blues of hyperspace through the transparisteel.

“Oh, okay. Looks like we’ll have time to kill then.”

Mando rises from his seat, turns his body to you for just a moment before announcing his leave. “Does your blaster need cleaning?”

“Uh—maybe?”

He offers you a quick dip of the helmet before leaving the cockpit in one swift movement and heading down the ladder. Your eyebrows pull together as you stare at the empty doorway to the little room you and the Child are still seated in. Looking down at him, you whisper, “Why do I get the feeling he’s avoiding me?”

Grogu bats his eyes at you before gently sucking on the ball still firmly gripped in his claws. It’ll always amaze you how attached he is to that sphere. You might never know why it’s so important to him but then again, you suppose that it’s a secret between him and his caregiver.

“I wish I knew what was going on in that mind of his,” you confess—not necessarily to Grogu, but since he’s the only one around, you feel almost compelled to spew your concerns and confusions about everything that’s happened.

“What do we do, little guy? I suppose since you’ve had training, you’ll probably want to be found by a Jedi, right?”

Grogu mumbles something at you and for just a second, you think he might understand you.

“And you’re okay with leaving him?”

He coos almost sadly, and you can hear your heart shattering. This little creature has grown such an attachment to Mando. It’s exactly what Ahsoka said—Mando’s basically his father and truthfully, if your parents were still alive, you couldn’t imagine leaving them to join a group that shuns on attachments. It would take a strength that you couldn’t muster to pull yourself away from them, not after knowing the kind of pain of having to live without them.

“I’m scared, Grogu. Truthfully, I have no idea what to think about all this.”

Of course, he doesn’t say anything. He’s not even really paying attention, too busy staring at the little ball in his hands. It’s okay, though. It’s enough just for you to express your concerns aloud. Your mind can get cluttered if you think about everything all at once. The moments you convey your thoughts verbally, it forces you to focus on what you’re actually saying, rather than all the hypotheticals that bounce around in your head.

“Should I go down there?”

Again, Grogu says nothing, he doesn’t even look up at you. Eyeing where Mando sat just minutes ago, you feel like a teenager. You’re both adults, you can’t just tiptoe around each other, it’s not like there are many places to hide on the Crest, anyway. If he won’t come to you, you’ll just have to go to him.

Holding Grogu close to your chest, you take to the ladder and head down, being mindful not to accidentally hit his head on the rungs. Just as you reach the hull, you notice Mando facing one of the crates, his blaster completely taken apart, wiping the coil with a dirty rag. Placing Grogu in the bunk to your left, you lean on another crate and watch Mando dissect his weapon and clean every little bit of residue off his gun.

“How’s your shoulder?” Mando asks, back still turned to you.

“It’s fine, kinda aches a bit but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you answer, transfixed at the way Mando meticulously cleans his weapons. He’s nothing if not thorough.

“Mmm,” he hums low in his throat. The sound reminds you of the mind-altering grunts he made the night before when he was balls deep inside you, causing you to rub your thighs together at the memory. That sanisteam was supposed to get of these filthy thoughts.

It becomes suddenly very awkward in the hull and you get the feeling that you might be lingering. He clears his throat a few times but says nothing. There may not come another time where you could try to learn more about Mando, so now seems like right time. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you muster up the strength to finally ask him, “You were born on Mandalore?” Keeping your eyes down, staring at your feet because you just don’t have the nerve to look at him.

“No, Aq Vetina.”

“Oh… I thought—”

“I was a foundling.”

“Like Grogu.”

“Yes,” he answers deep in his throat.

It suddenly makes sense why Mando saved him from the Empire, and why Grogu’s still in his care. He sees himself in the Child. He sees the vulnerability, the childlike innocence and he understands that he is responsible for this little baby, at least until you find a Jedi that is.

“Do all Mandalorians hide their faces?” You ask curiously.

There’s not much that you know about Mandalorians. The few things you do know about them is that they’re almost impossible to find due to the Empire nearly wiping them all out, and that they’re some of the best—if not the best warriors in the galaxy. Given the fact that Mando hasn’t removed his helmet once since you’ve been around (until last night), you can assume he take his Creed very seriously, and can’t help but wonder if the Child has been fortunate to catching a glimpse of his face.

“No,” he answers methodically.

Already feeling like you’re pushing the limits of how many questions you can ask before he finally decides to shut you down and stops being so forthcoming, the genuine curiosity is sadly too strong for you to pull back. It’s not like you’ve ever had this much time around someone so secretive and mysterious as Mando, and there’s just too many pieces to this puzzle that you want to so desperately put together.

“So, why do you do it?”

“This is the—” he begins, but a chuff of air slips through your lips before he can finish speaking. “What?” He asks annoyingly, turning his body around to face you.

“I don’t know…” Your hands motion around you in an effort to find the right words. “I mean you did take off your helmet in front of me last night.”

“I did.” The words come out through gritted teeth.

“So, is the rule that you can’t take off the helmet or that you can’t show your face? Because there is a difference between the two.”

This must catch him off guard because Mando stays silent for a ridiculously long time. The two possibilities are that he’s considering what you’re saying—which you’re beginning to doubt, or he thinks you’re totally out of line and is choosing to ignore you. You have this bad habit of being pretty blunt and somewhat insensitive with the way you express yourself and that’s caused you some issues with others in the past, but it’s always gotten the results you wanted. Honestly, someone like Mando will probably have tough skin, so you’re pretty sure he can handle whatever you throw at him.

“When did this become an interrogation about what I choose and choose not to do?” He grumbles, resting his hands on his utility belt.

“Doesn’t really seem like you’re choosing…” you mumble under your breath, kicking the ground and keeping your eyes to the floor.

“What did you say?” He asks defensively, squaring his shoulders and then taking a step forward. Out of habit, you lean back further against the crate.

“I’m not trying to offend you,” you clarify, using the bottom of your foot to kick off the crate, and straightening your back. “I’m just trying to understand—”

“Why?”

“Well, we’re kinda stuck with each other for who knows how long, so we should take this time to get to know each other, don’t you think?” Raising an eyebrow at him, you rest your hands on your hips, waiting for him to either deflect or finally let his guard down and talk like two normal adults.

“I don’t see how that matters.”

Your jaw literally drops, completely dumbfounded. It during moments like this that you so desperately wish you could see what his facial expression is. Why does he continuously try to keep a distance between himself and every living thing in the galaxy? Is he scared of being vulnerable around someone else? That his reputation as a hardened Mandalorian warrior would be compromised if he so much as shared a tiny bit of information with you? Does he think a Mandalorian would come and strike him down for having his own opinion about his Creed? That questioning the only thing he knew since he was a child would be considered sacrilegious?

It’s pretty silly how worked up you’re getting right now, but the way Mando dismisses you, it stirs up that anger inside you that is so hard to control. He’s always pushing your buttons, just as you push his—only this time, you simply wanted to know a little more about him. Is that too much to ask for?

Do you continue to press him?

Do you let it go?

Announcing your defeat by drawling out a sigh, your hands drop to your sides, looking down at the ground because you can’t be bothered to look at him in the visor anymore. “All right, well I’m going to head up to the cockpit and um…” You try to come up with a quick excuse to leave the room as it’s becoming more and more awkward with each passing second, but unfortunately, nothing comes to mind. You result to turning on your heel and climbing up the ladder without another word, not bothering to wait and see if Mando comes up with something to say before you disappear.

Once you reach the doorway, the blues of hyperspace nearly blind you, and your hand comes up to give shade to your eyes as they adjust to the sudden change in brightness. You’ll need to find something to keep your mind occupied until you enter Coruscant airspace, because you’ll quite frankly drive yourself insane not doing anything, so you walk over to the control panel in front of Mando’s chair and begin running some diagnostics to see at what capacity the hyperdrive is operating at, see if there’s any leakage that you could fix inside the ship and any little thing that might need some maintenance. After running a few tests, you realize that unfortunately, Peli had fixed pretty much every little issue with the ship, so there really is nothing to fix in order to keep yourself busy.

Fuck.

Feeling defeated, you fall back onto your bum and sit on the cold floor, back leaning against one of the walls, resting your right arm on one of the passenger seats. You’ve always hated silence. With nothing to distract yourself with, your mind always ends up wandering, overanalyzing every little minute detail of your life, meticulously going over each moment in time and thinking of all the ways you could have done something different, how the choices you made were wrong, how things would be better off if you did x instead of y. It gnaws at you, until the only thing you feel like you can do to stop the voices inside your mind is to scream and lash out, causing pain to yourself and everyone around you.

Is this the work of the Dark Side or is it just your unstable mind?

Is it both—working together and tearing you apart from the inside out? Slowly picking your brain apart, section by section, nerve ending by nerve ending until all that’s left of you is the worthlessness of your existence, a make-up of atoms and tissue that can’t be controlled or understood?

Stars, you’re doing it again.

You can feel your mind retreating deeper and deeper into itself, wanting to disappear from all of this. Making yourself as small as you can, you pull your knees close to your chest, head dropping down between them while your palms rub the back of your head, grabbing fistfuls of your hair and clenching so hard you think you might end up ripping some right out of your head.

The harder you pull, the more anxious you become. Heartrate picking up steadily and the lump in your throat growing in size, it’s as if the space around you is screaming, that everything is spinning, which could explain all this anxiety you suddenly feel when in reality, it’s all just in your head. The cockpit is dead silent, there isn’t even the slightest sound coming from down in the hull. Everything is deafeningly still and yet you feel it’s all too loud, and you just want to scream. Scream until you feel your vocal cords explode or until there’s no air left in your lungs. Your body no longer feels like it’s yours, and instead it’s as if you’re just living inside of it, watching everything happen around you but not having any actual control over it.

Fuck fuck fuc kfuck fuck fuck

Being so wrapped up in your own mind, you don’t even hear Mando coming up the ladder. You don’t hear his heavy boots clanking against durasteel. You don’t even hear him speaking to you. All you feel is a presence and when you finally lull your head back and peek through heavy lids, you see Mando—on his fucking knees, trying to comfort you. One of his hands hovering over your figure like he’s not sure whether to touch you or not.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks as softly as he possibly can. It comes out smooth like honey but still sitting at a low register through his helmet.

“I’m fine,” you answer curtly, no longer feeling particularly chatty.

He sighs deep in his throat, and you can tell he wants to ask you again, maybe hoping he’ll get the truth this time, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a step back and sits down on the chair opposite the one you’re closest to and stays as silent as a statue. While normally you appreciate the company, right now you want to be left alone, but you don’t have the heart to tell him to leave. So, you stay where you are, both acting like the other isn’t there.

As time ebbs on, your breathing has slows down. Mando being there—despite not saying anything, has you distracted. Your mind’s starting to settle on what’s going on at the present time, rather than all the thoughts that clawed at you just minutes ago. Without even realizing it, he’s helped you significantly.

“How old are you?”

Taken aback by his sudden engagement in conversation, you lean into the wall behind you and feel your shoulders touch the cold durasteel.

“Sorry?” you ask, pulling your eyebrows closely together. This might be the first time he’s ever asked you something personal. When Mando asks a question, it’s usually because he’s searching for clarification, not because he’s genuinely curious.

“How old are you?” He repeats.

You tell him your age and he hums in his throat.

“What about you?”

Something like a chuckle emits from his helmet before answering. “Older than you.”

That’s as close to an actual answer as you’ll get from him.

Okay, since you’re back to asking trivial questions about each other, “Is there anything you like to do for fun?”

“Fun?” He echoes.

“Yeah. Like, what do you do for enjoyment?”

He stays silent for much longer than you expected. Maker, does he not know how to have fun? Maybe it’s the way you worded the question?

“What brings you pleasure?”

His head turns to you and cocks ever so slowly to the side. It’s impossible to hide the annoyance on your face. Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms against your chest, a chuff of air releases from your nostrils.

“Forget it.”

“I…don’t know,” he answers somewhat defeatedly. The idea that Mando doesn’t know what having fun is comes as quite a shock to you. Even though you didn’t have much knowledge on Mandalorians, you didn’t expect that they were unable to have fun.

“Okay, forget that question. What’s your favorite color?”

“Who has a favorite color?”

“People, Mando. People have favorite colors.”

“I don’t.” Letting out a gentle laugh, you use the palms of your hands to push against the floor and rise off the ground, slipping into the chair you were leaning on previously. Turning your body in the direction of the Mandalorian sitting across from you, you sit cross legged.

“There isn’t a color that you gravitate towards? One you look at and think, ‘I like that’?”

“I suppose I never thought of it.”

He’s been missing out on so much. How he’s been going through life without having these mundane preferences or opinions on things is…almost unfathomable. Every person you’ve ever met has had these frivolous details that made them different, giving you an insight into their personalities but Mando has no preference on anything. He just…exists.

“I’m assuming you have one?” he asks through the modulator.

“Yellow,” you begin to say. “But not a flashy kind of yellow, more like a dusty, pale yellow.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is that your favorite color?”

“I don’t know, Mando,” you answer with a smile on your face. “I just like how it looks. It’s warm and inviting.”

“Hmmm.”

“I guess… It reminds me of the sun. Back home, the sun would shine so bright, and it was so big. I used to stare at it even though my mother warned me not do that.”

He doesn’t say anything more but given that this might be the longest casual conversation you two have ever had, it’s quite the improvement from just saying a couple words to each other.

“Why do you always wear your armor?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We’re in hyperspace right now and you’re geared up for battle. Doesn’t it get uncomfortable always wearing your armor? Isn’t it heavy?”

“It is heavy.”

Eyebrows knitting tightly together, your lips press into a thin line, unamused by Mando dancing around your question.

“Are… Are you not even allowed to at least take off your armor in front of another person?”

“I never thought about it. I’m usually alone so it makes sense to keep it on; in case.”

“In case what? We’re not going to get attacked in hyperspace.”

“It’s not impossible.”

“Seriously, Mando. You need to loosen up a bit.”

“I do not need to ‘loosen up’. I’m fine,” he says, a hint of derision in his voice.

“Says the guy in full body armor all the time.”

“It’s practical.”

“Oh, it’s practical,” you mock, a grin creeping up on your lips.

“Yes.”

“Even when you’re fucking someone?” You remark, eyebrow raised.

The visor burns into you. He’s definitely caught off guard by your brass question. Your lips curl into a sly smile, your tongue darting across your bottom lip.

“No one’s complained about it.”

Oh.

It’s kind of silly how angry that statement makes you. Okay, not necessarily angry but it definitely stirs something deep inside you. It’s clear by the way he fucked you last night that you weren’t his first—he’s obviously experienced in that area. However, you can’t help the way your jaw clenches at the thought of someone else crying out his name while he fucks them senseless.

You’re mine.

Thighs rubbing together as you remember Mando’s confession from last night, it’s quickly replaced by the thought of him saying that to someone else. Has he said that to anyone else? Are you reading into this too much? What if the only reason he said it was because it was in the heat of the moment? People say things during intimacy that they don’t necessarily mean… You’re definitely overthinking things, right?

“What are you thinking?” He beckons, voice hitting that part inside of you that nearly has you fucking moaning on the spot. How can a voice be so intoxicating? It’s not even his true voice, it’s distorted and cuts up like static but it has you nearly soaked in your seat.

“Nothing,” you lie, hoping he’ll drop the subject and move on.

He doesn’t.

“You’re quiet and from what I can tell, your heat signature’s gone up.”

Your what? “My heat sig—? No, your helmet must be malfunctioning.”

“Oh,” he rises from his seat slowly, squaring his shoulders as he does but doesn’t take a step towards you. He stays painstaking still, visor never once breaking away from you. “Is that right?”

Stars. Your heartbeat is picking up, palms starting to sweat, and your throat is beginning to close up. Your eyes maintain their gaze, trying to regain some kind of control over the situation. It’s childish, really—always attempting to have even the slightest amount of authority over whatever situation you’re put in with Mando because you never actually have any control. He may fool you into thinking you do, but at the end of the day, Mando is always the one in control.

“Your heat signature is burning up, pretty girl,” he taunts.

Kriff, this is not going the way you want it to go. You can’t be the only one looking foolish right now. If he wants to play the game, you can play it too, and you’ll make damn sure you play it better.

Looking him up and down trying to pinpoint any indication that he may not be as calm and collected as he’s playing off, your eyes drop to the bulge in his pants. As your vision pierces into him, you notice him shift his weight slightly, his hands balled tightly into fists by his sides.

“Why so tense, Mando?”

“I’m not—”

“Oh,” you echo his words from just minutes ago. Slowly slipping out of the chair, you stand to face him, squaring your shoulders. Pleasure heats up deep in your stomach, travelling down to the apex of your thighs, reminding you of how sore you actually are. “Is that right?”

“Stop that,” he warns. You got him.

“Not doing anything,” your voice sounding as innocent as you can while your eyes convey the opposite. You want him to know that you won’t give in so easily.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Do—” he starts but quickly composes himself. Craning his neck, his next words drip out of him slowly. “Drive me crazy.”

“Any of your other friends ever drive you crazy?”

Okay, that was a low blow, but you can’t shake the thought from your mind. For Maker’s sake, you’re an adult. Obviously he’s had lovers before, why is this so hard for you to accept? It’s not like you guys are together, you’re simply stuck with each other for the time being. Not only that, but you’ve had your fair share of men. He doesn’t seem to be jealous about that.

I’ll kill anyone who comes close to you.

“Mmm, are you… jealous?”

“Maker, no.” Lie.

“Then why are your cheeks red?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkfuck

Why does your face always have to give you away? You can play sabacc with the best deadpan expression in the galaxy, but right now you can’t even hide your resentment. How is Mando able to get under your skin and expose your every emotion, every thought? He pulls it out of you and basically presents it to you on a fucking platter.

“Because you annoy the shit out of me.”

“Your body is telling me otherwise.”

“Stop cheating! I can’t read your body heat, that’s not fair.”

“I’m not trying to play fair.”

All right, if this is how he wants to play, you’ll just have to be bolder. Taking a deep breath and exhaling through parted lips, your left foot moves forward, taking one big stride towards Mando, stopping just inches from his breastplate. You can practically feel his own heat vibrating off of him. His fists tighten even more, and you swear you can hear his breathing quicken, cutting up in the helmet.

“You’re not the only one who can play games, Mando.”

He makes a noise in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a groan. Stars, the air is getting thick, you’re all but drunk on this feeling. Your undergarments are stuck to your pussy, drenched with slick, waiting for someone to make the first move. The blood is pounding in your ears, but you try to maintain the best stony stare you can muster. This is a fight you’re not willing to lose. You bite down on your bottom lip, staring into the ‘T’ of his helmet through hooded lids. His chest pushes out slightly and his head angles to the side, just enough for you to see the underneath of his jaw. There’s some stubble poking out from the bottom of his helmet, and you lick your lips at the sight. Wanting to put your lips to his jawline and trail wet kisses along it, gently sucking at his skin. Maker, you might end up losing this if you don’t compose yourself.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice hoarse and low.

“For you to lose,” your answer is honest. You want him to break down and give in, just to give you the slightest bit of power.

Mando lets out this sound, a joyful sound you’ve only heard once or twice before but it nearly throws you for a loop. Hearing him laugh, even if it’s quick and low, fills you up with the greatest amount of delight. To see someone who’s always stoic and serious let out a sound of pure pleasure, it makes up for all the times he purposely chooses to get under your skin. All the moments he infuriates you, it all goes away with the sound of his laugh.

At this moment, you’re grateful that his face is covered because you definitely would have crushed your lips together by now. His helmet actually works to your advantage, holding you back from doing the one thing you would have otherwise done by now.

“I’m not touching you,” he whispers. It sounds less like a statement to you and more like a reminder to himself. He’s fighting his urges just as much as you are, but you will continue to fight this until he breaks, he has to break.

“Then don’t.”

All of sudden, you both hear a disturbance coming from the hull. The kid must be getting into trouble down there.

“I’ll go check on him,” you tell him, choosing not to wait for Mando to say anything in return before making your way to the ladder of the cockpit. Fighting the urge to take one last look at him before disappearing down the rungs, you head down to the hull and see Grogu rummaging through the various crates placed around the Crest. Once he sees you, he shows you a big toothy grin and runs straight for you, arms stretched out. You bend down and pick him up, holding him close to your chest.

“Hey, kiddo. What trouble are you getting yourself into down here?”

Grogu babbles something at you and you smile in return. A small grumble, something like an animal growling, comes from the baby’s stomach and his ears droop down.

“Hungry, little guy? Let’s see what we got for you.”

Walking down the hull with the kid in your arms, you stop at the small closest Mando keeps his ration packs. There aren’t many packs left, just enough to hold all three of you down until you land on Coruscant. After that, you’ll need to buy some more packs. Grabbing one of the packages and a bowl from one of the shelves, you prop the kid on one of the smaller crates and begin emptying the contents of the pack in the durasteel dish.

It’s a dark green looking blob. Quite frankly, you hate ration packs. They always look like food that’s been mashed together into a jelly bar and even despite the fact that once you add water to it so that it actually looks like food, just the sight of it in its raw form is enough to ruin your appetite. The kid doesn’t care about all that though; he’d eat anything you give him. Back on Sorgan, you had seen him eat a frog whole—just swallowed it without even a second thought. It was impressive and yet totally gross at the same time.

Leaving him on the box momentarily, you walk over to the sink in the privy and let a few droplets of water touch the blob in the bowl. Within seconds, the bar transforms into a small bread roll. It’ll hopefully be enough to tie him down for a few hours.

Passing by the ladder, you call out to Mando. “Hey, I’m about to feed the kid. Do you want to come down for a meal?”

“Not hungry. Thank you,” you hear him answer. He never eats with you two. Given that he needs to take off his helmet in order to feed himself, he chooses to wait until you’re both asleep or nowhere in sight, but that doesn’t stop you from asking each time. Part of it is so that he feels included but mostly you hope that one day he’ll choose to sit with you both. One day, you think to yourself.

When you hand the bowl over to Grogu gently, he takes it with both hands and begins eating the bread like it’s the first meal he’s ever had. Your brows pull tightly together as you watch him devour his food. For such a small creature, he sure eats like a bantha. He could probably eat for a whole day without stopping to catch his breath.

It’ll never seize to amaze you just how strong this little guy is. He’s so tiny and somehow, he possesses a power stronger than you could ever really understand. This is the same kid that saved Mando’s life from a mudhorn. This is the kid that swallowed a whole frog that was half his size. A child this small is somehow a Jedi.

Once he’s done eating, he peers up at you with big, black eyes and coos at you.

“Nah, I’m not hungry right now, kid,” you answer as if you understand what he’s saying to you. Then again…maybe you can understand him.

Ahsoka said she and Grogu could feel each other’s thoughts. You should be able to do the same, right? Granted you have no training in the matter, but you were able to communicate with him once, surely you could do it again.

Your hand reaches out to him and you hook a finger around his hand. He grips around your index and squeezes you tenderly. Closing your eyes, you try to imagine what he could be thinking, what he might be trying to tell you. At first, you don’t hear or see anything—just darkness. A part of you wants to give up, nothing that it was worth a shot anyway, but you choose to press on. Focusing hard on Grogu, you relax the tension in your shoulders and take a deep breath, exhaling through your lips.

By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind…

A woman’s voice fills your mind, but you can’t make out any of her features. Focus, you tell yourself.

You are as its father.

A Mandalorian. She looks different than Mando. Her helmet looks to be made of gold, with horns erecting from the very top. Her armor appeared to be different as well. Unlike Mando’s shiny, chrome beskar, her cuirass is a reddish brown and instead of a cape, she wears a fur coat on her back. Immediately, you got the impression she’s a warrior of her own nature, just as cunning as Mando, but in a swifter, more agile way, unlike Mando’s brash style of battle.

Just as the moment appeared, it vanished, filling your mind with images of sand dunes. Suddenly, you’re back in Mos Eisley. Only this time, you’re much younger, playing on the outskirts of the city with Tye.

--

“Tye, I’m tired,” you whine out to him. He’s running around the sand, punting a ball at you and then taking it away when you opt not to kick it back to him.

“Oh come on, we have to head back soon anyway. Just a little bit longer.”

It’s hard to hide your disappointment. Really, you just want to be inside. Today is such a blazingly hot day, and water is at its peak in scarcity. Most folks will be inside all day, avoiding the scorching heat. Less time outdoors means less water consumed, but Tye never listens to what he’s told. He does whatever he wants and drags you along with him and unfortunately, you have a hard time saying no to him, so you’re almost always roped into his shenanigans.

“Tyyyyyyye,” you drawl out. “I want to go inside! It’s too hot!”

Just as you say that a giant spacecraft enters the atmosphere, covering the entire surrounding area in shadows. You look up at the giant structure in awe. You’ve never seen a spacecraft so grand before, jaw dropping as you watch two smaller vessels appear from the hovering fortress above your heads. They drop down a little less than a click away. By now, Tye is at your side, both of you watching men in white uniforms exit the ships, charging towards your direction. An immediate fear washes over you, grabbing Tye’s wrist and running to hide behind a nearby moisture vaporator. Your heart is racing, and you feel Tye’s own panic coursing through your veins.

“Wh-what’s going on?” He whispers, voice shaking as he speaks.

“I don’t know…”

The men pass you by, not even taking a second to look around them. Their heads stay glued to what’s in front of them, hands gripping onto giant guns you’ve never seen before. Just as fast as they came, they disappear into the city. Screams and shrieks suddenly break out. People scatter, running out of the city walls in mass hysteria. Your legs itch to run, to find your parents, but Tye senses your urgency and grabs your forearm.

“We have to stay.”

“But—”

He whispers your name. “We don’t know who those people are. We’re safer here.”

Your bottom lip begins to quiver. Tears form in the corners of your eyes as the screams of the villagers echo through the city walls, causing you to wince. Tye wraps his arms around you, and you embrace each other, weeping silently in each other’s arms, praying to the Maker that these soldiers leave. The sound of Tye repeating, “It’s okay. We’re okay,” echoing in your mind.

It’s only when the sun begins to set that the town becomes quiet. The spacecrafts are gone, leaving no trace that they were even here. Your eyes are swollen from the tears, and you feel overwhelmingly exhausted. Body still shaking, burning off adrenaline and fear. Standing up is difficult, your knees are buckling but the need to see your parents is stronger than the quaking of your legs. You wake Tye up by shaking his shoulder gently.

“They’re gone. We have to head back.”

He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palms. At first it doesn’t seem like he fully understands you, but when he looks up and doesn’t see the ship from before, he all but jumps up, dusting the sand off his clothes and charging right into the city.

“Tye! Wait up!” You shout after him, but he doesn’t relent. Taking large strides, you attempt to catch up with him, running past weeping elders, hysterical children, and what appears to be dead bodies all around you. Your mind doesn’t allow you to process what you’re seeing, you’re just too focused on catching up with Tye and then finding your parents.

His name being called in the distance stops him dead in his tracks.

“Mama! Papa!” He cries out, pivoting around in hopes to see someone he knows. When you finally manage to catch up to him, his mother appears from the shadows, tears streaming down her face. From the faint streetlights, her cheeks are dark red, and her eyes are just as swollen as you assume yours are.

“Sweetheart!” She shouts as she races to you both, wrapping you up in her arms and squeezing you until the air is all but knocked out of your lungs. It hurts, but you hold on to her anyway, feeling her warm, motherly touch.

“Where’s Papa?” He asks in the crook of his mother’s neck. Tye’s voice is hoarse from crying and yelling, and she attempts to soothe him by gently shushing him.

“It’s okay, son. We’re okay.”

“I have to get home,” you say, pulling away from her grip.

“Honey…”

The look on her face… you’ll never forget it. Tears welling up in her eyes, her jaw slacking because she wants to say something but not knowing how to say it. The pain you see in her green eyes, it’s like she’s just watched a loved one die right in front of her. Fear and anguish hit you in waves, crashing down on you more aggressively with every second that goes by.

“No…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Taking a step away from her, her arm reaches out to you.

“Sweetie…” she tries again.

Shaking your head in panic, you turn on your heel in one swift movement and disappear down one of the quieter streets and make for your home. As you race in the direction of your dwelling, your heart bangs against your ribcage, tears flying down your cheeks. You can’t even see where you’re going due to the water in your eyes, but you keep trekking on. Nothing’s going to stop you. Throat unbearably tight, you can barely let in little breaths as you turn the corner to where you live.

When you reach the street, you stop so suddenly that you almost tumble down on the ground, somehow managing to catch yourself at the last moment, your breathing ridiculously erratic. There’s a horde of adults crowding the front door to where you live. Your feet carry you to them at a painstakingly slow pace. Blood pounding in your ears, you can barely make out what anyone is saying. When someone finally catches sight of you, they rush towards you, dropping down to their knees to meet your eye level.

“Sweetie, we can’t let you go in there.”

“But t-t-that’s my h-ho-me,” you manage to say through shaky breaths.

“I know, but we ca—”

You push passed them before they can finish speaking and dart passed several other people trying to stop you until you squeeze through the half-open door into your house, pressing a button on the control panel by the doorway. The door hisses shut.

There’s only a bit of light offered inside. To your left, you see the table you’d sit at with your parents for supper. The chairs are tucked neatly under the table. You’re not sure if the banging you hear is from someone outside trying to get in, or if it’s your heart thumping against your chest but it doesn’t deter you from searching for your parents.

As you continue to scan the area, there’s a couple of cups lying around on the counter, but other than that, nothing is out of place. Relief begins to settle in but is rapidly replaced by sheer terror when you finally shift your head to the right. Then, you see them.

Your parents lying face down on the floor.

“No!” You cry out, running to them and dropping to your knees to hover over their bodies.

There’s a blaster sized hole in your father’s back, heat still steaming off his wound. Your screams could be heard from the other end of the city, clutching onto their lifeless bodies as you beg for them to wake up.

“Please, wake up. Mama, Papa. P-please!”

Someone pulls you off of them, wrapping their arms around your torso. Your arms flail around, clawing and scratching at whoever’s holding onto you. “Let me go! My parents! Let me go!” Your voice is shrill and hoarse, becoming more hysterical, but they never let go. Your parents become smaller and smaller as you’re carried away from them. The last thing you remember is seeing the door to your home whoosh shut…

Your body jolts, and you’re not on Tatooine, anymore. You’re on the Razor Crest. Grogu sits just a foot away from you, peering up at your shivering body. Somehow, you exposed a memory you had sworn to never remember. After that day, you locked that memory up in a part of your brain and shut it off, choosing never to think about it again. The pain was too much for you to handle. Instead of facing your pain, you always chose to ignore it, to pretend it didn’t exist. Once again, compartmentalizing your trauma and locking it away for good.

Grogu fusses and when you look down to him, his eyes begin to flutter. Poor thing gets so sleepy whenever he messes with the Force. You pick him up and hold him close to your chest, making your way to Mando’s bunk. As you pass the ladder, the kid fusses and makes grabby hands for the ladder.

“You want Mando?” You ask him, and Grogu babbles in response.

Climbing the ladder with him in your arms is a bit difficult, but you’re able to get to the top without too much of a struggle.

“He wants to be with you,” you tell him.

Mando swivels his chair around to face you. Extending his arms out to you, you hand Grogu over to him and your hands briefly touch. The brushing of your hands suddenly reminds you of the game you were in the middle of playing just before the kid decided to explore the cargo hold.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Turning on your heel, you head down the ladder quickly. How is it that over the course of just a few hours, you could go through so much emotional turmoil? Honestly, you haven’t even been awake for that long, but you’re already wanting to take a nap.

Fuck it, there’s nothing else to go in this hunk of metal, and Mando’s probably busy with the kid, so you decide to let your body rest. Crawling into the little cubby hole and shutting the door closed, you close your eyes and hope your body will allow you some peace of mind.

--

You’re reminded of why you hate naps so much when you wake up. Instead of feeling refreshed, you always end up feeling much worse. First off, you always wake up in a cold sweat and feeling super groggy. Quite frankly, it does the exact opposite of what you hoped a nap would do. Secondly? Mando’s cot is unbearably hard. It shouldn’t be considered a bed; it resembles more like duracrete than anything else. As much as you like finally being able to sleep not sitting up in that kriffing passenger chair, this is another struggle of its own.

Pushing the button on the control panel by the door, it opens with a swift motion. The first thing you clock is that the Crest’s lights are almost all out, making it damn near impossible for you to even see your hand in front of your face. How in the hell is Mando able to walk around here not being able to see a single thing? The second thing you notice is the sound of running water. He must be taking a sanisteam.

To think that just on the other side of that wall, he’s naked and wet? If it were anybody else, you’d strip out of your clothes and join them, but things aren’t that simple with Mando. There are boundaries you wouldn’t dare cross unless he gives you his consent. Rather than frustrate you, it entices you even more. It keeps you wanting more and more, especially because he can’t just give you everything you want, whenever you want. No, you have to work for it.

Realizing that now you’re basically just standing outside the fresher like a creep, you head up to the cockpit in search of the kid. Just like you suspected, he’s sound asleep in one of the passengers’ chairs, wrapped up in what looks to be Mando’s cape. The thought of Mando taking off his cape to wrap Grogu up makes you stupidly giddy.

Treading carefully as to not make any noise to wake him up, you tiptoe back to the ladder and shut the cockpit door, your feet barely touching the rungs as you descend back down to the hull.

Something in your stomach growls, and you’re suddenly reminded that you haven’t eaten since… yesterday? Kriff, has it really been that long since your last meal? You head over to the pantry where the packs are kept, extending your arms out in front of you so you don’t bang into anything on your way there, and grab the first pack your hand touches, not having a preference as to what you’ll be eating today—tonight? You don’t even know what time of the day it is. Time in hyperspace can be difficult to keep track of. The only way you’d know what time it is is if you checked the control panel back up in the cockpit and right now, it’s just not worth the trip.

The pack itself feels sloshy in your hands; it’s probably some kind soup. Reaching into the closet again, your hand searches for a bowl to put your meal in.

Mando will be out of the fresher at any moment now, given that the water’s been turned off for a minute or two. The door to the fresher wooshes open and out of reflex, you shut your eyes but are quickly reminded that the hull is so faintly lit that even with your eyes open you wouldn’t be able to see him, but just to be safe, you announce your presence.

“I heard you,” is all you hear back.

“Can you turn the lights on a little bit more? I can barely see a thing and I really don’t feel like dropping my soup all over your ship.”

He doesn’t answer but within seconds the Crest transforms from a dark abyss to a twinkling, starry night. Not unlike the ones you’d spend hours staring at with Tye in the sand dunes during your teenage years.

Your head spins to your left, selfishly hoping to catch a sight of Mando, and Maker do your eyes latch onto him.

He’s not wearing a shirt, first of all. This is the most of his skin that you’ve ever seen before. The warm lights flickering off his back accentuates the curves of his muscles, concaving in certain areas and then protruding in others, outlining every bit of toned tissue. You can vaguely make out a few water droplets trailing down his golden skin, and it’s seriously taking all the self-control you have not to close the gap between you both and lick them off his back. An ache begins to build in the apex of your thighs, and you start to rub your legs together in an effort to alleviate some of the heat stirring inside you. Still wearing the kriffing helmet, though.

The second thing you notice is the vast amount of scarring on his skin. Each scar representing a different battle. You could probably lay him flat on his stomach, and his back would appear like a visual biography of his life, each mark giving you an understanding into his past, and the tests and trials he’s had to overcome over the years.

What were you trying to do, again?

Food.

You need food.

“Do you—” you squeak. Pull yourself together. Clearing your throat in hopes your tone will go back down to its normal octave, you repeat yourself. “Do you want any soup?”

“No t—” he begins to say but you cut him off before he can finish. You knew he’d say he wasn’t hungry.

“Have you eaten today?” Your eyes stay glued to the bowl in front of you. You’re certain that if you so much as looked at him again, you’d forget about the damned soup and pounce on him like loth cat.

“No.”

“Then you’re eating.”

Taking a second bowl from the shelf, you divide the soup evenly between both cups and begin making your way over to Mando, keeping your head down in the off chance he’s still not wearing a shirt, you don’t want to seem like you’re gawking at him.

“You can look,” he clarifies, noting the way you refuse to look up from ground.

When your eyes finally shift from the ground to look at him, he’s now wearing a black long-sleeved tunic that hugs his figure in ways that should be illegal. Your jaw is practically hanging and swallowing the lump in your throat causes a sound somewhere close to a moan to expel from your mouth, but you’re quick enough to stifle it with a cough.

As you hand him the bowl of soup, you’re feeling incredibly shy for some reason, your hand extending out and trembling as he takes it from you.

“I’ll eat in the cockpit to give you some privacy,” you tell him as you put your hand on the railing.

“No,” he says immediately, grabbing your forearm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stay.”

Lips curling upwards into a smile, you end up biting down on your bottom lip to keep the smile from growing and growing as you replay that in your mind.

Stay.

Moving away from the ladder, Mando pulls out one of the smaller crates and seats himself down on it. As you begin to look around for another box you could sit on yourself, he watches you closely.

“You can sit here, if you want.”

“Oh, okay.”

Once you’re seated, you begin to take small sips of your soup. Mando reaches over to where his vambrace is—scattered somewhere on another crate and presses a button on it. The Crest’s lights fade even more, leaving you both in almost complete darkness.

A muffled hiss fills the air, and you hear beskar touch the durasteel ground. You eat in silence for a few minutes, hearing only each other’s sips as you continue to fill your bellies with food. It’s incredibly domestic. A Mandalorian and a…well you’re not really sure what you should label yourself as, but you’ll stick with smuggler for now; the two of you eating together like an actual couple—even if that’s far from what your relationship actually is.

“No amour?” You decide to ask, trying to make a bit of small talk in the pitch-black abyss.

“Someone told me I had to ‘loosen up’,” he jests, knocking his elbow against your arm. Maker, you’ll never get tired of hearing that unmodulated voice of his. Something as simple of a voice shouldn’t make you feel the way it does. For a man who kills for a living, he speaks with such a gentle intonation.

It’s such a juxtaposition, really. In full body armor, Mando is definitely one of the most feared hunters in the galaxy. He’ll kill if something threatens his life or the kid’s life. Impossible to read, impossible to predict. But right now? He’s the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him. No helmet, no amour. His guard is as down as you’ve ever seen and is willing himself to be naked with you, even if he’s still fully clothed. How you were able to find yourself in this situation is something you might never be able to fully understand, but it is truly the greatest gift you could have ever been given.

“I’m sorry about before,” you whispers, feeling guilty about how you approached the question about his helmet. “I didn’t mean to pressure you about your Creed.”

It’s not fair for you to come down so hard on him. You might not understand why he chooses to live his life with such restrictions, but it really isn’t any of your business.

“It’s fine.”

You still feel angry with yourself for acting the way you did, but if Mando says it’s fine, the last thing you’ll do is continue your self-loathing and make him feel uncomfortable about the whole thing.

Taking the last sip of soup and feeling satisfied with your meal, you push yourself to your feet. “Are you finished?” you ask him.

“Yes, thank you.”

You search aimlessly in the dark for a moment in search of his dish and accidentally knock the bowl right out of his hand, hearing it tumble on the ground.

“Shit, sorry,” you curse, dropping to your knees in search for it. While frantically searching for the dish, you feel his hand caress the small of your back, sending shivers through your spine.

You’re starting to feel pretty flustered, the fact that you’re both in the darkness doesn’t help. There’s no way of anticipating what could happen and that’s exhilarating and unnerving. Of course, you eventually find the bowl and Mando’s hand disappears from your back once you get back on your feet.

Walking over to the pantry where the ration packs are, you place the bowls on the shelf, making a mental reminder to wash them later. Just as you’re about to turn around and head back to where you think Mando is, you suddenly feel a presence behind you. Two hands grip onto either side of your hips and he presses his body against yours, pushing you right up against the little closet. A moan escapes your lips without even realizing it, and you can feel his hot breath tickle the crook of your neck.

“I’ve wanted to touch you all fucking day,” he growls in your ear.

Holy Maker, the heat in your stomach is somehow already becoming too much. You’re basically panting, the blood in your ears is almost deafening.

“I’ve been watching the way you’re walking. Did I hurt you? Do you still feel me?”

“Stars,” you breathe out.

Mando presses his lips to your skin, sending shockwaves through your entire core. You can feel his stubble prick your neck and it’s everything you didn’t know you craved. It feels deliciously rough.

Your hands brace themselves against the door, it’s the only way you can keep yourself upright. Knees already buckling, feeling the heat pooling from your cunt and drenching your underwear with slick. One of his hands begin to trail away from your hip and trace the waistband to your trousers. Instead of teasing you though, his hand wastes no time pushing passed your pants and panties, finding his way down to your cunt and cupping it with such force you jerk forwards, groaning as his hand finds your clit.

“Already so wet for me.”

Fingers leaving your bud, he slides them between your folds, gathering your slick on his calloused fingertips and then he’s shoving a thick finger deep inside you. His free hand flies to your throat, applying slight pressure with his thumb and index on that sweet spot underneath your jawline.

“Fuck,” you cry out brokenly. It doesn’t fill you up nearly as much as his cock does, but the way he moves inside of you, hitting that spot inside you no one has ever touched, marking it as his, causes you to see fucking stars.

Mando nips at your neck, alternating between sloppy kisses and bites hard enough to cause bruises, you can already feel an orgasm stirring inside you. You clench around his digit, feeling yourself climb higher and higher.

“Are you already close?” He mutters in between kisses and nibbles.

“Shit, fuck I-I think so.”

Your hand finds its way to the back of his head, grabbing fistfuls of his soft, damp locks and pulling hard, causing Mando to groan in your ear and buck his hips into yours. You can feel the outline of his rock-hard rock against your ass, and you grind into him, feeling his length burrow between your cheeks. You’re so close to your climax already.

Without missing a beat, he pulls out of you and his hand disappears from between your thighs.

“W-why?”

Grabbing your hips, he flips you around to face him.

“Up,” he instructs.

You linger there for a moment, unsure of what he’s asking you to do. When you don’t move, his hands grab onto your waist and lift you off the ground without so much of a groan. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms cross around the back of his neck, your head leaning on his shoulder. He walks over to the little bunk in the corner of the hull and lowers you onto the mattress gently, being mindful not to hit your head on the small doorway.

Feeling your heart pound against your ribcage, the thrill of not being able to see him at all and not having a clue as to what he’ll do next, it’s incredibly sensual. Your legs unwrap themselves from his waist and dangle off the edge of the cot. His hands trail up to the waistband of your pants and tugs them down off your ass. Lifting your hips up to help him, he takes them—along with your underwear, off and you hear them thump to the floor.

Hands returning to your skin, he hooks thems under your calves and lifts them up so your bent at the knees, feet resting on the edge of the bunk.

The anticipation is getting to you. He continues to take his agonizingly sweet time running the tips of fingers on your naked skin, causing you to shiver and goosebumps to form on your skin. Lifting one of your legs and placing it over his shoulders, he peppers kisses from your ankle all the way to your inner thigh and repeats the same taunt with the other leg. Both of them now resting on his shoulders, he drops to his knees in front of you. Suddenly feeling nervous, you try to close your legs and end up squeezing his head by accident.

“Shit, sorry,” you whisper, propping yourself on your elbows.

“Shhh,” he hushes, placing a large hand on your sternum and pushing you back down on the cot gingerly, and then his lips are on your skin again, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle bites all over your inner thighs, slowly getting closer to your throbbing pussy but never getting close enough to relieve the pressure building.

“Mando, please,” you whimper.

“Do I have to gag you?”

Shit… How is he able to make that sound so fucking hot?

“I’m going to take care of you, but you have to be quiet. Can you do that?” His voice is gentle but commanding.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“Good girl.”

His tongue glides over your clit and there’s no controlling the moan that rips through you. Pulling away immediately, Mando stands up and presses his body into yours, his mouth merely inches away from yours, his large hand cupping just underneath your jaw.

“What did I say, pretty girl?”

You can feel his hot breath on your lips. If you just moved even the littlest bit forward, your lips would meet his. Licking your lips, you wrench your eyes shut to keep you from closing the gap.

“To be quiet,” you manage to say through ragged breaths.

“So be quiet,” he hisses, feeling his teeth sink into your bottom lip for just a second and then his weight is off you, returning to your thighs. His arms wrap around your thighs, keeping them pinned over his shoulders. Now, he wastes no time lapping you up, flicking your clit with his tongue with such a mind-blowing rhythm you have to throw your arm over your mouth and bite down on your skin to keep from making any noise. Mando never relents, developing the perfect torture. He plays with your bud then practically shoves his entire fucking face in your cunt, pushing his tongue inside you as far as it can go. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to bubble up to the surface, threatening to burst. It’s all too much, your body starts to shake from the sensations.

You’re close, you’re so fucking close. Dropping your arm to your side, your voice hoarse from stifling all your cries, you’re somehow able to find the strength to say, “I’m gonna come.”

“No,” is all he answers.

No?

“W-w-what?”

“Hold it,” he says hastily, then continues his assault on your pussy.

How in kriffing hell are you supposed to hold it? You’re basically already there and he’s denying you it. You can’t hold on; you can’t stop it.

“I c-can’t,” you confess.

And then he stops. His tongue leaves you, his hands leave your skin, and you’re left there on the bed, legs hanging off the cot, chest heaving from being so fucking close and then being denied at the very last second.

“What the fuck?” You ask breathlessly, a hint of anger but mostly disappointment in your tone.

You hear him make a noise and then something wet trickles down your clit down to your entrance. It’s…sticky and warm. Did he just spit on you?

Lifting your legs back up and letting your feet balance on the very edge of the bunk, his cock rubs against you, angling the tip of himself to slide between your folds, mixing your slick, his spit and precome all over his length and you. Mando continues to tease you, lining himself up with your entrance but never sheathing himself inside you. It’s driving you fucking insane, even angling your hips whenever he does, hoping he’ll lose his self-control and plunge into you, but it only spurs him on. He knows how much it’s annoying you and he’s fucking thriving on it.

“If you don’t start fucking me soon…” you warn.

Mando actually laughs at you, like this is all a big joke to him. Anger begins to mix with your arousal, this is maddening. Why won’t he just fuck you already?

All of a sudden, he slams into you with so much power, you actually slide up the cot, and you wail feeling so fucking full and tight, your cry filling the small space you’re in. You’re still sore from the night before and feeling him stretch your walls again is almost unbearable, but it feels too fucking good. You’ll take every fucking inch of him without a single complaint. Then, just as your pussy begins to acclimate to him, he pulls out, hiking your shirt up just enough for him to grab onto your naked waist and pulling you back down closer to him.

“Mando!”

He leans over you once again, a hand cradles the back of your head while his thumb rubs your cheek tenderly. “If this gets to be too much, just tell me to stop and I will.”

Letting out a deep breath through your lips, you nod.

“Words.”

“I’ll tell you to stop.”

“Good.”

Thrusting his hips against you, his cock continues to grind along your slit, making you dizzy from both the lack of touch and the taunting of his cock against you.

“Maker, you’re so fucking wet. You sure you didn’t come?”

Words aren’t something you’re capable of forming so you’re stuck resorting to answering him with broken sobs. Practically writhing from all the overstimulation and lack of, from him toying with you, the pressure in your cunt actually fucking hurts, you’re nearly begging for some release. Adding onto the fact that you can’t see a fucking thing, it heightens all your other senses. They compensate for your lack of vision; everything feels so much more intense than you ever could have imagined.

No one could ever drive you to the brink of madness and pull you back in at the last second. No one could possibly make you feel so satisfied yet deprived. You’re convinced you’ve traveled the galaxy in search of him, that your soul was missing a piece so small, you didn’t even know it was missing until Mando filled that void. He’s etched into your skin, your bones, your veins. Every nerve ending tissue has been electrified by this enigma of a man. A man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill those who’d try to come between him and his clan.

Kriff, you’re drained already. He hasn’t even begun to fuck you, but waves of exhaustion are coming over you. Mando’s still fucking teasing you, only ever prodding the tip of himself inside you and then pulling away before he can truly fill you up.

He said if this became too much for you to handle, all you had to do was say the word and he’d stop. You’re starting to consider it; you don’t think you can handle much more of the slow torture he’s inflicting.

Just as your jaw slackens, he slams into you in a sift motion, fully immersing himself inside your swollen walls.

“Fuck!” You pant out, wrenching your eyes shut and feeling tears trinkle down your cheeks. Mando doesn’t move one bit, just sits inside you like he’s waiting for you to adjust yourself to the size of him.

“Shit, you’re tight. Gonna train that pretty cunt of yours to mold to my cock,” he grits out. Big hands hold you down by the waist, and he ever so slooooowly eases out of you only to ram into you again, all the way to the hilt. You’re seeing stars, every move, every thrust bringing you closer to euphoria. The only thing your mind can process is how fucking amazing it feels to be clenched around his cock. It’s mind bending, it’s intoxicating, you’ll never get used to the way he fucking tortures you.

He develops a downright brutal pace, pulling out just enough for his tip to pierce your walls and then pounding into you, growling every time he touches your cervix. Once he’s fully immersed inside you, he bucks his hips and practically jackhammers his cock inside you. A sheen of sweat covering both your bodies causes the sound of skin slapping against skin to sound so wet and fucking obscene. Still pounding into you, Mando’s hands leave your waist to grab under your thighs, lifting them up to hang off his shoulders. Pushing down on the backs of your thighs, he practically bends you in half at the knees, an arm on either side of your head, and then begins a pace so fast and brutal, you’re sure you’ll be sore for weeks. The spot he’s hitting right now is one you didn’t think was even possible. It knocks all the air out of your lungs, you can’t even make a goddamn sound. Your throat is bone dry, and whatever pathetic sounds that escape you are barely audible and breathless.

“Stars, you feel fucking amazing,” he mutters in your ear, and then he’s sucking at your neck, bruising the skin.

Mouth agape, you’re so fucking close to coming, a part of you doesn’t even want to tell him how close you are in case he stops. You don’t think you could physically handle it if he denied you again.

“Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how much fucking noise your little cunt is making?”

On a normal day, Mando says as little as possible, giving you a quick sentence in response or even a one-word answer, but when he’s balls deep inside you, he can’t seem to shut up. He turns into a blabbering mess, offering you praise after praise like it’s a fucking prayer. Mando makes a note of everything. He comments on your gushing pussy, how your walls clench around him as you get closer and closer to your orgasm, how no one will ever touch you again.

How you’re his.

And you? You can barely throw two words together. You’re on the brink of losing your goddamn mind. Is this what being on spice is like? Feeling a sense of euphoria that hits you wave after wave, each one stronger and more intense than the last, teetering the line between sanity and insanity.

“…mine,” you hear him snarl. Reality doesn’t even feel real anymore, you can barely make out what he’s saying to you.

Something like a whimper slips through your parted lips.

“Now, come for me.”

He barely finishes speaking before your orgasm tears right through you. It begins deep inside you and is quickly shattering the earth around you. Crying out so loud Mando has to slap his hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds expelling from your lips. He continues to pound into your pussy, riding out the ripples of your climax, not relenting even for one moment. There isn’t any fucking air in your lungs—Mando’s weight is still pressing you into the cot and your climax is so strong, your chest is way passed heaving now.

You’ll be chasing this high for the rest of your life, the feeling of Mando unleashing his feral instincts on you, and you just helplessly letting him take control of you—it’s unlike anything you ever could have imagined.

“Good girl,” he praises. When you don’t immediately answer, still in a haze from the mind-shattering orgasm that just expelled out of you, Mando stills, cupping your face with his hand and murmurs, “Are you okay?”

Your lips part, and your brain desperately tries to find any word that might help him understand that you’re okay and also anything but okay. Only being able to breathe in quick, sharp breaths, Mando places a kiss on your jaw and repeats in the gentlest tone you’ve ever heard him speak, “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

Shaking your head frantically, you attempt to moisten your throat by swallowing, and it gives you enough to answer, “I’m okay.”

“Do you want me to stop?” He reiterates.

“No,” you croak.

“Are you sure?” Stars, how can he be so relentless in the way he fucks you and switch into a nurturer so quickly?

“Mmm. Please f-fuck me,” you mewl against him.

His cock twitches at your plea, and he obliges. In an effort to help you climb down from the overstimulation, he eases in and out of you at a deliciously hard, but slow pace, and then he does something you couldn’t have been prepared for. Your lips are slightly parted, letting in little bursts of air to help calm your breathing, and suddenly, you feel wet, soft lips clash onto yours. Instinctively, you yelp into his mouth from the unexpected touch, but you quickly acclimate to it, feeling your lips move on his. It’s a little awkward at first, you get the impression Mando hasn’t kissed many people in his life, because your teeth end up clashing together a few times. He fucking giggles into your mouth and you all but melt into the cot. His tongue slips passed your lips and meets yours and you can taste yourself and broth on his tongue. Your hands find their way to his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it, pressing your lips even deeper on his. Mando moans low in his throat and you can feel the vibrations ripple in your own mouth.

He makes to pull away, but you keep his lips locked on yours, using your hands to keep him where you want him. He gives in without hesitation, letting you take control of the kiss as he continues to ram into you. The dreams you’ve had of this moment, the moment you’d feel his mouth on yours doesn’t even come close to the feeling of it happening to you right now. It all makes sense now. Every kiss you’ve had previously was just practice for this. It was all just preparing you for this defining moment, the moment you’d finally be able to break through Mando’s heavily guarded walls. Every smack of your lips, every flick your tongues, every broken moan in each other’s throats, they’re all just feats breaking down the duracrete barrier that he’s forced himself to build over the years.

Bodies intertwined, every part of yourselves wrapped up in the other, it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins, and you suppose that’s how this is was always supposed to be. Each of you were missing the same piece— the inability to be perceived as anything but a person of strong will. Believing that vulnerability was a weakness, instead of something that should be treasured, and without knowing it, your paths crossed and challenged every part of your identity.

Foundling, Mandalorian, bounty hunter, father.

Orphan, mechanic, smuggler, Jedi.

Those shouldn’t mix together as perfectly as they do, but stars, does it feel like everything finally makes sense.

A second orgasm begins to brew in your stomach, but you don’t dare pull away from Mando’s lips. You’ll never pull away until he forces himself off of you.

He leaves your lips for just a moment, panting and his own chest heaving against yours. “Maker, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Shhh,” Tugging desperately at his hair, you close the small gap between you and slosh your mouths together. You both whimper brokenly on each other’s lips, and Mando slams into you three more times before his hips still, feeling his cock pump his seed into your soaking pussy. Just as he begins to come, your second climax reaches its peak and crashes into you. His hands are back on your waist, digging his fingernails into your skin. Whatever moans you both cry out are muffled by each other’s’ mouths, catching the sound and swallowing it, burying it deep inside one another.

When you come start to come down from your climaxes, Mando drops his head to the crook of your neck, burying his face into your skin and pressing sloppy, chaste kisses right where your jaw meets your neck.

“I—” You attempt to speak, but your vocal cords are so raw, it hurts even just making a sound. You’re still practically bent in half, and your legs are burning up. Resorting to stir around hoping he’ll get the message, Mando pulls off of you, using both his hands to very gently bring them down his shoulders, one by one, once again giving each of your inner thighs some tender pecks. Pulling out of you, his come seeps out of your completely worn out slit. He peppers a few kisses along your waist, and then you hear his footsteps retreat.

“Where—” You begin to say, making to slowly prop yourself on your elbows.

“I’m still here,” he assures you.

You can hear him moving things around, and you seriously wish there was some kind of light allowing you to see what he’s doing but given that your eyes have gotten used to being in complete darkness, you’re sure you’d be blinded by even the smallest amount of light right now.

A few minutes go by and then you feel his hands on your hips, pulling you down the cot. Once he feels like your head won’t hit the top of the bunk, he lifts you off your feet, wrapping his arms around your back, and in turn you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you for a couple steps and then brings you down onto what you expect will be the cold ground. Instead, you feel cotton on your back as he lowers you down.

“Where did you—?”

“I have a couple of extra capes in case one gets too battered,” he says, answering your question before you can finish asking it.

As soon as your head touches the ground, you feel your eyelids shut, exhaustion overpowering you. Turning over on your side and hiking up one of your legs up so that your knee lines up with your chest, you don’t even care that your own slick and his seed is practically dripping down your legs. You don’t care that you’re still naked from the waist down. The only thing you care about is falling asleep, preferably in Mando’s arms.

“Don’t sleep yet. Need to clean you up,”

“Mmm,” you protest. “Later.”

Mando chuckles lightly and then he’s wiping the slick off your legs and entrance with what feels like… a pair of trousers.

“Are you using my pants to clean that up?”

“It’s the first thing I grabbed. I’ll wash it.”

“Mmm, you better,” you mumble into your arm.

Now, you’re starting to slip in and out of consciousness, fatigue taking you over. Mando rummages around the hull for a bit longer, and then joins you on the floor, throwing what you assume is another cape, over your half naked body. You don’t even have the energy to move your body over towards his, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You’re both still close enough to feel the heat radiating off each other’s skin.

“Hey, Mando?”

“Yes?”

“I won.”

Things are quiet for a few minutes after that, and you’re on the verge of falling asleep when his velvety smooth voice breaks through the silence of the Crest.

“Blue,” his voice is low and barely audible.

“Mmm?” You mumble, desperately trying to stay awake.

“I…like the color blue.”

Okay, now that puts a stupid, hazy smile on your face. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Any particular shade of blue? Bright… dark?” You may be barely conscious, but you hang onto every word he says.

“I guess… dark.”

“Mmm,” you hum. “Why do you like that color?”

He lets out a deep breath, like he’s about to confess something to you that he hasn’t told anyone else. As if in this very moment, he’s about to give himself to you completely. “The Mandalorians that saved me from that battle droid in my village. Their armor was blue.”

Mando doesn’t elaborate any further, but he doesn’t have to. Feeling your heart tighten in your chest, you imagine what a young Mando must have been feeling when that droid pointed its guns at him. How he must have been utterly terrified and convinced that he was about to die. And then to be saved at the last moment. Seeing these warriors in blue armor coming to rescue him, to save his village from an even worse massacre. They were his saviors, it only makes sense that after all these years, that color would bring him solace and comfort.

It’s quite ironic, actually. Blues have the reputation of representing sadness or pain and you too have been accustomed to associating blue with your own trauma, and then here comes Mando.

The color symbolizes the exact opposite of what its known for. To him, it brings relief and reminds him of being saved; representing the beginning of a new life that he’s exemplified through and through. It’s a beautiful confession, and you’ll forever be searching for him in all the shades of blue that the galaxy has to offer.

Two opposites.

Yellow and blue.

One representing happiness and light. The other representing sadness and melancholy. Blend those two together and you create the fiercest of combinations. A beautiful balance of both extremes.

And when you think about it, what color does blue and yellow make?

[luke-patterson-owns-my-soul]

Kiss Me

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Title: Kiss Me

Words: 1593

Summary: Charlie’s back from Hawaii and providing social media with all the content.

Requested: No. I had to write this after that video of Charlie singing in the bath tub…

TW: Implications of sexual intercourse, mostly the reader getting frustrated by Charlie being Charlie.

Author’s notes: I just wanted to write a bit of domesticity between Charlie and the reader, and thanks to all the content we got from him the other day, this kinda just fell into place. I hope you like it. - also, a little shout out to @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ because she’s been giving us some AMAZING fic content, and she isn’t feeling to great today. I hope this helps a little, Nele.

Three weeks without being able to see Charlie in the flesh had been hard. Yeah, he’d posted photos and videos while he’d been away in Hawaii with his castmates and Kenny, but it wasn’t the same. Neither were the intimate FaceTime calls the two of you shared pretty much daily. Nothing beat being able to wrap your arms around him, to feel the warmth of his skin against yours, to smell the scent that was intrinsically him. Yeah, you’d missed him like crazy.

Checking your watch, again, before checking the arrivals board you leaned up against the wall behind you waiting for his flight to disembark the plane and make their way through to the arrivals lounge. You scrolled through your Instagram feed, checking out what people had been tagging your boyfriend in, amazed by the talent of his fans. More than anything, you wanted to share them, but as no one knew about you, you couldn’t. It was a good thing you ran a semi-popular fan account that you could do it all from, and your story was full of amazing artwork and song covers. As far as your followers knew, you were just another fangirl.

You were so engrossed in the pictures on the screen in front of you, you didn’t hear Charlie approaching you, didn’t know he was right in front of you until grabbed you by the waist, making you squeal in shock and almost drop your phone.

“Oh my God, Charlie. You scared me.” You laughed, flinging your arms around his neck, breathing him in. 

“I would say I’m sorry, but my mom taught me that lying makes my nose grow and my tongue fall out. And I don’t think you’d want that.” He teased after placing a quick kiss on your lips.

“Well, no. But it would be quieter around the apartment.” Your response made him pull away and pout. “What? Am I lying?”

“I thought you loved me.” If he hadn’t been grinning like the loveable idiot he was, you would have believed his offended tone of voice was real.

“Oh, you know I adore you. Shall we go home?” as you slide your phone into your pocket, you take hold of his hand and lead him out to the parking lot where his car is parked. “Do you want to drive, or shall I?”

“You, please.” You know he’s not the most confident of flyers, so you understand his need to chill for a while before he’s at full Gillespie – a term you coined not long after the two of you met and he was his usual ‘constant overdrive’ self. He was always moving, doing something with his hands, or exploring. Charlie Gillespie didn’t do bored or sitting still very well.

Once you’re back at the apartment you share Charlie sets about unpacking his case, dumping his clothes in the washer straight away. It always strikes you how domestic he is. You’re not the best at remembering to do stuff, but he always manages to catch what you miss.

“Have you got to go to work?” he asks you as he leans up against the counter while you prepare some food for the two of you. You work at a TV studio, but the show you work on is on a break so your hours are more flexible than they would be normally.

“No, I’m all yours for a couple of days.” Your words make him grin before he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

Your kiss had led to more of an intimate reunion which led you both to your bedroom for most of the day. By the time you emerged, it was almost dark outside and the food you’d been preparing needed to be tossed in the trash. You couldn’t complain though because you’d been able to show Charlie just how much you’d missed him.

___________________________

After the insanity that was Charlie’s delivery from and subsequent live with Madison’s dad, you now had a billboard poster partially unfolded in your bedroom. Naturally, because he was often a child in an adult’s body, Charlie had been like a kid at Christmas when he’d been allowed to open the box. Off camera, he’d been able to slide the parcel that had been included with your name on – Mr. Reyes had so kindly included a hoodie for you which you were now wearing while you stared at the space around you in horror.

“Charlie, babe. Did you have to open it in here? You heard what he said, it took up their entire back yard. Our bedroom is like a shoebox.”

“Yeah, I kinda got carried away. Sorry.” Leaning over, so he wouldn’t rip the poster, he planted a kiss on your lips.

“Well, don’t expect me to help you fold it back up.” With a grin, you turned on your heel and flounced out of the room to post screenshots from the live to your fan account. Only Charlie knew about it and had followed you early on. Eventually, after hearing him swearing and falling over, you went in and helped him fold the damn thing up. It took a ridiculous amount of time, but it was soon back in the box ready to be transported to Canada in Charlie’s car when the both of you went back for Christmas.

Exhausted, you flopped onto the couch and decided to order in some food rather than cook. But first, you took a sweaty selfie and sent it to Madison.

I love your dad, but please don’t let him send us anymore billboard posters. It took two hours to get it back in the damn box.

Her reply was instant.

Dad never expected him to unfold the thing. Love to you both. She wasn’t wrong. Only the man you adored would have ever done that, and live on the internet too. Shaking your head, you ordered pizza.

“Babe, I need a favor.” Charlie spoke as he tidied up the pizza boxes and soda cans from your dinner, making you groan. You were still exhausted, and now a little bloated. All you wanted to do was to slouch and watch a movie, curled up in Charlie’s arms.

“What?”

“Help me set up my phone in the bathroom.” That got your attention.

“Er… why?”

He scratched at the back of his head, a sheepish look on his beautiful face that was covered in the stubble you adored.

“I want to do a couple of videos.”

“And you have to do it now? Haven’t you done enough today?” you close your eyes as you lean your head on the back of the couch. You sense Charlie standing behind you, and when you open your eyes again, he’s looking down at you, the puppy dog eyes in force. Even upside down, he knows what they do to you. “I hate you, did you know that?” you tell him affectionately. With a grin, he bends over and captures your lips in a searing kiss.

“I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” With a chuckle, he runs his jaw along yours, knowing the roughness of his stubble is a huge turn on for you.

“Yes, yes you will.” You pull away and stand up. The sooner you get this done, the sooner the two of you can snuggle, and the sooner you can claim your owed favor.

Grabbing the car keys from the sideboard, you head down to the car to get the phone holder. You figure the suction cup works on the car’s windscreen, so should work on the glass screen. When you get back into the apartment, Charlie’s changed clothes and has his guitar in his hand.

“Remind me why you can’t do this from the couch?” you ask, walking into the bathroom. It’s tiny and you know Charlie’s going to regret his decision, but when he mumbles about acoustics you keep your mouth shut. Trying to change his mind when it’s made up is nigh on impossible.

You manage to secure the phone holder to the shower screen you’d cleaned that morning, pull it across the tub, and leave the small space.

“All ready for you, maestro.” You call out as you enter the lounge. Charlie stands up, kisses you and disappears into the bathroom. You fully plan on putting the TV on, choosing a random Hallmark Christmas movie to watch, and wait for him to finish, but when you hear his clear voice singing what he knows is one of your favorite Ed Sheeran songs, you can help but go and stand at the end of the tub and watch him morph from Charlie your doofus boyfriend to Charlie the star.

You watch him, with a smile on your face, as he records a video for his Instagram reel, messing it up a couple of times and having to restart a few times, making you laugh.

“If you can’t be quiet, you’re gonna have to leave.” He scolds you without any anger in his voice.

“I’ll behave. For now.” You wink at him as he starts to record again. Once he’s done, he says he wants to do one more, slightly longer for his Tiktok account.

“Last try, because my leg’s falling asleep.” He speaks into the camera once it’s recording.

I’m in love now

Kiss me like you wanna be loved

Wanna be loved, wanna be loved,

Wanna be loved, yeah

As he sings, he looks up, catching your eye and smiling. In that moment, you fall in love with him all over again.

.

.

.

.

.

Taglist: - if you want to be added, please send me an ask, just in case I happen to miss any comments

@dream-a-little-bigger-x​​ @calamitykaty​​ @crybabyddl​​ @xplrreylo​​ @morganayennefertyrell​​ @lovesanimals​​ @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve​​ @echocharm17618​​ @kinda-really-lost​ @n0wornever​ @all-in-fangirl​ @5sosmukefan​

[betweentheracks]

We*bo Night Style Review

The following is my insight and perception as a professional stylist and is subjective to my position and role. 

Long post is long. 

Starting from the first I saw, I will address Yibo's blue Chanel number. This look pulls directly from Chanel's Spring 2021 Ready-to-Wear line. It is paired with Jimmy Choo Mocca loafers and a beret which has a badge on it bearing "my own private planet" on it. This is a cute accessory for the The Little Prince homage alone. I won’t go into how fitting it is for Yibo to pull from this beloved book as it would make this post needlessly gushy and too long, just know that I have had loud feelings about it all day. 

Honestly, I was underwhelmed upon first impression when I saw this fit. Setting aside my own personal dislike of Chanel, the overall feel of this look didn't catch nor meet what I would have expected to see. It held a cute air of youth to it and played upon the boyish charm Yibo simply cannot be rid of thanks to his facial structure and features. It is jarring for me to write about Chanel in conjunction to "youthful, boyish charms" as Chanel caters near exclusively to women with deep pockets that enjoy looking as if they corner the ideal of being a Stepford Wife, no matter the age. 

However, Yibo has always successfully turned Chanel's overt "Emily Gilmore" aesthetic on its head and has singlehandedly returned Chanel to being in the ranks of fashion which are aimed at younger to middle range adults. Tonight is no exception to this as he did look wonderful. The accessories and the shirt are all also Chanel and initially debuted in as an ensemble when this Spring 2021 Ready-to-Wear line was trotted out at the end of last year. In my opinion as a professional and critical eye, Yibo wore this look better than the original model. The way his hair stylist did his hair with micro extensions and false locks to give him that additional length and furthering the ideal of youthful leisure really made this style snap off. 

Some notes on the pieces in play: 

This is not the first time Yibo has worn this specific collection of Chanel’s. His styles from Tencent Star Awards were also from this range. 

This collection was inspired by actresses of the vintage screen. Virginie Viard has commented that she wanted to capture the duality of modern actress lifestyles - high production value and quality of the red carpet service styles, to the staged nuance of being off screen and therefore off duty while waiting in line for coffee - framed by classic lines of the bygone Hollywood era. Yibo specifically seems drawn to the separates-based mix of the set, which were all styled from the draw of the 1980s - hence the shoulder pads and candy colors of pink and now blue. I feel it is worth mentioning that when this line debuted the runway many comments flew about how the collection felt very reminiscent of looking at Regina George inspired couture. Mean Girls, but make it Wang Yibo. 

The mini purse around his waist is actually a necklace, not a belt. 

He is wearing the Coco Crush ring. This item is peak comfort item material as he seems incredibly keen on wearing it whenever possible and is unabashed to have it called to attention. There is a story behind this ring, of this my professional chimes are ringing loudly in certainty. 

My impression of this style changed drastically the more I looked at it and marveled at the almost pale vulnerability the look managed to pluck upon. The color is flattering despite it being candy-bright and almost too pigmented to think of as a functional red carpet choice. Also, I strongly suspect the play here was to highlight the duality of Yibo himself since the style he served up immediately after this completely overwhelms the fawning spring of this style. 

Wang Yibo 2.0

This second look features Fendi, Patek Philippe, and Louboutin. The blazer is a Fendi black wool piece and the shirt, also Fendi, is from their lovely Spring/Summer 2021 collection. The watch is Patek Philippe and further showcases Yibo’s taste for expensive and bold watches and it’s actually incredibly admirable for him to use watches as an accessory which seals the deal on an ensemble. There aren’t many that can pull this off due to how often watches remain hidden by the cuffs and sleeves of jackets and shirts and therefore go unnoticed or are seen as bulky obstructions and are being slowly and steadily phased out from being considered staples of style. Of course the shoes are Louboutin, which is just a nice choice no matter what. Solid footwear; sleek and stylish no matter what. 

If I was initially underwhelmed by the previous fashion choice then this look did more than simply overwhelm me; it devastated me and left me gaping. The! Hair! The black on black silhouette! The way he flawlessly transitioned from being youthfully boyish and bursting with charm to a domineering presence of matured angles and sharp zeal!! Wang Yibo with an undercut and draped in matte black Fendi is enough to score through my bingo card of styles I was unprepared for and yet thankfully blessed by. 

Some notes on the pieces in play:

While the Fendi blazer isn’t altogether spectacular and one of their more run of the mill items, the shirt beneath and the collection it was pulled from are interesting. The Spring/Summer 2021 Fendi line caters to the celebration of love and the surreal intensity of what a domestic experience quarantine and lockdown was like. The menswear was notably designed as “boardroom to boudoir” meaning that the concept was embellished loose linens which could be tucked into a business or formal setting only to later be tugged free and worn sweetly casual, bordering intimate. 

This is the shirt in it’s full glory. It isn’t something you would expect to be expertly tucked into the slim lines of Yibo’s stature and one can imagine how it must appear when it left to fall loose around his lean frame. It is a bed shirt in essence and was utilized in such a way that it looks like an entirely new garment on him.  

And now we move along to Xiao Zhan and his timeless and classic style.

A man of brand/designer solidarity, he is decked from head to toe in Gucci. I won a bet on this as I wagered he would absolutely be in his chosen favorite. The brooch is another staple in his fashion repertoire and is a Tiffany & Co. item. 

He appears very timeless in these classic and clean lines. This is a straight fit wool suit which Gucci favors in tailoring to accentuate slim and tall builds and as such drapes over Zhan’s body as if it were an extension of his body itself. The fit is that perfect. He strikes me as looking very refined and noble in this suit; mature and aloof. 

Some notes on the pieces in play:

Gucci has a reputation for constantly improving the way they tailor suits and as such this “relaxed straight fit” is exclusive to their label. Any other fashion house has slim fits, which are the original frame for this style, but entirely different in how Gucci has renovated the way it all fits and hangs. They alter jackets to be comfortably loose along the back of the neck while remaining pleasantly tucked to accentuate the lines of the shoulders, arms, and chest. The pants are brought in at the waist to make slim appear sleek, and the fall straight through the legs to provide the air of being relaxed. 

The brooch he is wearing, “Four Leaves” by Jean Schlumberger via Tiffany & Co, is an antique item as Schlumberger was alive from 1907 to 1987. Schlumberger is only one of four designers ever given allowance to sign their work to Tiffany & Co. He created the collection the “Four Leaves” brooch hails from at behest of a friend and fellow admirer of nature’s glory, Rachel “Bunny” Mellon. The irony of Xiao Zhan, resident rabbit,  wearing a piece created on the request of someone called Bunny is not lost to me and hopefully not any of you now that I’ve made mention of it. 

The gemstone in the brooch is blue-green tourmaline. Tourmaline has many different correspondences depending on the color at hand. Blue-green rouses luck and success and is often used to manifest goals, notably of a creative nature. It is also a crystal of peace and encourages the release of past hurts by bringing them to the surface to be healed via honest and heartfelt communication. Tourmaline can evolve as it is worn and will adhere to the wearer’s conviction, rousing the idea of living a life of integrity and accountability; inviting the wearer to accept any perceived flaws and weaknesses with easy tolerance. I am making this mention because every bit of this seems so incredibly in line with where Xiao Zhan is in life and in his career, especially in light of what he so graciously said on we*bo yesterday as we made it to a year since hell came for him. I am always very moved by this man. 

Here is the brooch just so you can have a proper look:

And that’s a wrap on We*bo Night’s lookbook! 

This is a bit of a messy post and I do apologize for that, but nevertheless I hope it was enjoyable and gave you some new insights on the way fashion fits together at every turn.