#please let me know your thoughts :)

[charmac]

NEWS! I bring Season 17 NEWS... looks like we're going to be seeing the return of a classic character (SPOILERS ahead- I am not talking about Cricket)

[eywaseclipse]

Don’t get mad at me, but I see far more potential for an unrequited love, slow burn, grumpy reluctant Tsu’tey mini series rather than the one shot requested. If anyone has other ideas I’m open to that as well

[gojo-mochi]

Let me Hear your Voice

A/N: I had thoughts about Sanji and well…. Here it is (//ω//)

Content Warning: Light Smut, Not-Proofread, Fem!Reader, Established relationships, Reader is insecure about her voice, Fingering, Hurt/Comfort, Sanji being needy.

Word Count: 1k

It happened earlier in the day. You were shopping out with Nami and Chopper, laughing at something Chopper was doing. When you hear; “Stop yer’ fukin laughing already! Yer’ ‘urtin my ears over here!” A drunkard yelled from across the street, it made you instantly deflate, shoulders coming up to your ears as they reddened in embarrassment. Nami was quick to curse that guy out and when Chopper transformed into his Arm Point model, he was quick to run too. But the damage was already done, you always hated the sound of your own voice, from all the teasing and bullying you went thru as a kid. The memories of those day dredging up as Nami and Chopper tried to console you.

You faked a smile and told them it was nothing to worry about, just the rambling of some drunk asshole is all. You excused yourself, saying that you were sort of tired now and made your way back to The Sunny. Chopper wanted to follow you back, but you stopped him, walking quicker than before to make your point. You barely mutter a quick “Hello.” To the rest of your crewmates when heading to your room. You threw your shopping bags on the ground somewhere and crawled into bed, roughly kicking off your shoes in the process. Hiding your head under the pillow, you hoped no one could hear your hiccupping cries.

You don’t know how long it has been since you passed out, shifting in bed as you hear the creaking sound of your door opening and soft footsteps approaching. You groaned a bit when the lights flickered on, burrowing yourself deeper under the covers. “Hey darling, you weren’t at dinner today, I made your favorite too.” A smooth voice whispered out, softly pulling away the pillow that hid your face. It was Sanji, your lovely boyfriend, whose face falls a bit when he saw the dried tear stains on them. He faintly caresses his thumb on your cheek, wiping away your oncoming tears.

You didn’t even know that you were crying again. You turn your head away from his touch, no matter how warm it was, you hated how he had to see you this way. Sanji’s hand doesn’t falter though, going back to cup your face as he leans into give you a peck on the forehead. “I heard what happened today, Nami and Chopper were really worried about you.” He murmured, still holding you in his hand. You whined a bit at the constant touch and how gentle he sounded right now.

He tenderly pulls you up, letting you collapse against his chest, his arms around your waist and back. You start to hiccup again, your own arms shakily grabbing on to your boyfriend’s shirt as more tears continue to pour. “Oh darling, it’s alright, you can let it all out for me.” Sanji’s voices echoed thru your mind, soothing you, as you inhale his scent and snuggle closer to his warmth. When your cries lowered to small whimpers, Sanji arms tighten around you, leaning his head down to kiss your face, kissing away any stray tears and trailing down to your cheek, to your lips, and then back up to your ear.

It made you shiver a bit in his hold. “You know how much I love hearing your voice, right dear?” Sanji mouthed against your ear. “My darling, has the prettiest voice in all the seas.” His hands starts to travel on your skin. “So fuckin’ beautiful, like a angel descended down to greet me.”

You bite your lip as his hands went under your shirt, fondling your chest, long fingers going to knead the soft flesh, occasionally brushing against your nipples. He moves his kisses back down to your lips, licking at the entrance; “Let me in baby, yeah?” You part your lips just a bit at his request. He angles your head with his free hand, making sure his tongue covers every inch of your mouth, desperately moaning out your name. “Y/N…sweetheart.” He moaned in between the hot and heavy kissing.

You tried not to let out any noise as best you could, only letting out needy little cries as Sanji resumed his assault. He pulls back a bit, a trail of salvia parting away with him. He wriggles you around in his hold until your thighs were parted and his own was rubbing in between. You choke out a whine when he starts to move you on his thigh, grinding against your slick core. You mentally curse and praise yourself for wearing a dress today. His hand wanders downward to sneak under your panties. The pad of his thumb fondling your clit pleasurably. You had to lean your head down to bite on Sanji’s shoulder. Muffling all the moans your body was giving.

“Come on baby, let me hear your pretty voice.” He nipped at your neck and sucked harshly at the marks. “Please? For me, darling?” Sanji begged, finger slipping in your core and he knew just the right way to curl it to reach your spot. You cried out from all the pleasure; “San-sanji.. Nngh.. Hahhh.. pl-please.”

“There’s my girl, fu-fuck, you’re so fucking pretty, you know that, right?”

“Pretty little thing, that bastard had no idea what he was talkin’ about, not like he would ever know anyway, this side of you is only for me, right darling?” Sanji’s husky voice rang next to your ear this time. “Come on pretty baby, answer me, use that sweet voice of yours.”

“Hahh, Ye-yes, I’m yours, Sanji! All yours!” Your cries got more high pitched and louder. You were nearing climax and Sanji could tell. “Good girl, so good for me, you deserve so much my love.” He pumps in another finger to help you edge closer. “Now cum for me darling, and I wanna hear your scream when you do alright?”

You respond with a shaky nod as your thighs try to clench together when you reach climax. “O-oh god, Sanji!” You let out a sharp scream, body twitching and mouth agape. Sanji made sure to suck off all the slickness you left on his fingers and hands when you were done. He strokes your face lovingly as you calm down, giving small pecks here and there.

“Better now? Come on, you need to eat, I can heat up the soup for you in the kitchen.” He moves to get up but you tug on his sleeve. “W-wait! I haven’t taken care of you yet.” You whispered, fingers on top of his bulge. Sanji sucks on his teeth, giving out a shaky; “And as much as I would love that, you haven’t eaten anything since this morning.” He gets up full this time; “Eat first and then we can talk about my needs.”, your stomach rumble before you could say anything. Looking away as a blush creeps up to your ears, you nod.

But just as Sanji was opening the door, you blurt out a small; “I love you.” He turned back to look at you with fondness in his eyes, “And I you, my sweet.”

[shutupdevvie]

okay wait new poll and this one is actually more important than the starcatcher one

[lyraofthestarsss]

Polites tries to convince Odysseus to hold onto his last bits of morality, but Odysseus is already too far gone (aka Open Arms reprise with Monster instrumentals)

[scun-gilli]

So, I was wondering about the Demon summoning AU WIP you posted. It looks really fun, what are your plans for it???

I am glad you asked!

I have two other long-fic projects I am working on in the background of TRT. one being the demon summoning and another being a horror fic.

The demon summoning is still in its beginning stages, so the plot is definitely subject to change, however, I'll give you a brief description of my general plot/themes:

The story is a modern/human AU, just so you know

Alastor is a popular podcast host by day and, as we all know, a serial killer by night. He is extremely meticulous with his work but even he knows that the law is starting to sniff him out. He looks back into the occult, a minor obsession of his when he was younger, and tracks down a cult specifically to get his hands on their grimoire (think Apology Tour people with Stolas)

Lucifer is a divorcee and an empty-nester. He has been struggling with his loneliness and longs for something new. He wants to explore and travel and be in nature, but Heaven has forbidden his entry to earth. The only exception to the rule being when he is summoned by a mortal for a deal, not even Heaven can step in.

Alastor summons lucifer to make a deal so that he is never captured, allowing him to continue his *hobbies* without worrying about the police or his dear mother finding out. Lucifer accepts the deal but turn down the idea of owning Alastor's soul, instead, he wants Alastor to be his ticket into staying on earth for an extended period.

Therefore, the bickering roommates are born. Lucifer creates a human disguise and lives on earth with Alastor while also keeping him from capture.

Meanwhile I have all sorts of other hijinks planned with cults, helluva boss crossovers and all sorts of other stuff. My plan is for it to be domestic, fluffy and hopefully funny. It will also probably be a pretty slow burn.

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

The horror fic is basically my excuse to write some creepy monster stuff XD

The plot is heavily inspired by the SCP community. Also a modern/human AU set in the H.A.Z.B.I.N research facility.

Alastor is a seasoned researcher who has recently been entrusted with access to the facility's lowest level, home to their most dangerous anomaly, 7-666 (Codenamed: Lucifer). This particular anomaly is known for being incredibly aggressive, powerful and unpredictable. As Alastor slowly starts to learn more about 7-666, he starts to realize that maybe the previous researchers have been going about it all wrong.

This is planned to include characters from both Hazbin & Helluva with all sorts of shenanigans (I can't help it even though I technically want this to be a grittier story), monster romance, and two misunderstood beings finding their kindred spirit with each other.

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

I was thinking of starting to post drabbles or one shots on ao3 just to show y'all the concepts I'm playing with to see if any of them are interesting. Because I do also have ideas for a mafia AU, Eldritch/monster hunter AU, and mayyyyybbbbeee something canonverse. Not to mention the overlord Huskerdust fic I had almost COMPLTELY written before Radioapple stole my heart. That has been sitting in my drafts for ages.

Let me know your thoughts!!!

[clancysjumpsuit]

if you need anyone (clancy x reader)

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

[katydoodles]

BEAU Part 9: Just A Chat 01

Ladybug talking to herself- “Fuck! I’m so fucked”

Chat Noir talking to himself getting ready for what could happen- “Fighting”

Chat Noir- “HEY! Bug Nerd!”

Chat Noir- “I come in peace. I want to talk to you about your interview.”

Ladybug nods dumbly and Chat Noir jumps over roof tops in parkour style.

Chat Noir flops down next to a stiff and nervous Ladybug, and begins the conversation first.

Chat Noir- “Plagg, my Kwamii, found me when I was in a very low place. He gave me freedom, and in return, I wanted to help him. He asked me if I could get the Miraculous away from Hawkmoth. Hawkmoth had so much power and a partner, it was not a fair fight for Plagg, I also have personal reasons for stopping that man.”

Chat Noir- “Why did you leave him?”

Ladybug- “I was tired of being lied to... He told me I was helping Paris .He told me the Cat Miraculous was stolen. He said I was helping him. I never questioned him.”

Ladybug- “When he was on a business trip, I went to his office and took the Miraculous box. He always carries Nooru with him, but the others are not used as often.”

Chat Noir- “There was no turning back.”

Ladybug- “He has become more unhinged; he has a wish or a goal, but I- I’m not sure what it is. All I know is that I do not want to find out.”

Lol the cover image and first 4 images I drew in April, sorry if the style has changed a bit.

Part 1 || Part 8 || Part 10

[allylikethecat]

Chapters: 5/6 Fandom: The 1975 (Band) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy Characters: George Daniel, Matthew Healy, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Christmas, Meeting the Parents, Angst and Hurt/Comfort Series: Part 4 of The Infection 'Verse Summary:

“Yeah,” said Matty, pulling his hand away from George’s to run it through his hair. If there was one thing he was good at, it was doubling down, even if usually that just made it worse.

“Christmas, what are your plans for Christmas?” Matty swallowed hard, feeling very small all of a sudden and like he was baring a piece of his soul, “because I would very much like to spend it together.”

“Oh,” said George and Matty wanted to die right then and there.

.

AKA The Christmas Fic™️

[datw3irdo]

One thing that I hope happens if FNAF ever gets a FNAF WORLD 2 made is 1 of 2 things:

1) A pixel / olden style game, like 8-bit.

2) It starts off very light and kid friendly.- soon becoming darker. You slowly see the reality of what’s going on, perhaps focusing on one particular person. Maybe it could be more psychological horror based- maybe the player starts to see glitches, hears auditory hallucinations (or whispers from ghosts maybe) or even breathing down their neck.

A few ideas could be:

A deceased child: Perhaps this child soon feels something /wrong/ in the place where they are playing the arcade scene, as depicted by the game. The atmosphere gets darker- they start to hear things telling them to leave or run- or maybe they witness something they shouldn’t have. Similarly to the dog game in pizza sim- maybe it could end with an image of the child staring at the arcade machine- something lingering nearby in the background.

A disgruntled (Surviving) Employee OR a child who survived Afton: Maybe they go back and play this game for nostalgia reasons- or maybe to try and find clues to what happened to them.

The man himself (William Afton): I feel like Afton is heavily overused in the series- BUT recently i have started to enjoy his character more- mainly because of the song “Terrible things.” Maybe we see his mental stability slowly hit rock bottom after his children die- turning to horrible and desperate measures to try and get them back.

Afton’s Wife: This one i find the least likely. But- maybe she watches her husband delve into madness- maybe even witnessing his crimes and being killed on accident - or to stay quiet. Maybe she assists with his crimes, maybe she cannot handle the loss of her children and goes down a dark path herself. Or maybe she tries to get him help- ultimately becoming another victim. We never knew much about her, and i think it would be interesting.

Could also be interesting to see this from the perspective of a witness of the bite of ‘83 or ‘87 but i’d be more interested in the ones above. Seriously please let me know your thoughts

[3pirouette]

Sneak peek of an Untitled and Unfinished Mando x Reader slow burn fic

So, this is it. I have been teasing this now for a while, it’s still SOOO unfinished, unbeta’d and may change. And I’m even afraid of tagging it properly… but this is a touch draft of the Prologues and the first chapter.

Everything is under the read more. There’s no y/n, just 1st person. I’ve never written ANYTHING like this before and am super intimidated to toss my hat into the SW fandom, but here we are.

Important things:

-ANY and ALL feedback is welcome, just be kind please.

-PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNING. I’m not joking. It’s heavy stuff.

Author:Triple Pirouette/3Pirouette

Din Darin X Reader

A/N: Let’s start with this. I love The Mandalorian. I am a casual Star Wars fan as in I love the movies and some of the shows, but I haven’t touched the books or the extended mythos and there’s SO MUCH I just don’t know that I can never catch up on. I probably should not be writing this, but I am anyway. Assume if I don’t write about it, it doesn’t apply. Full on AU in that way.

I also see Din quite differently than it seems a lot of spicy fic writers do. Welcome to the slowest burn I’ve ever written. 

General timeline is after Book of Boba Fett, with the only major difference being Din still has the Razor Crest. Let’s be honest, the N1 is lovely, but it’s lacking space. Did I start writing this before season 3? Yes. Was I heavily influenced by season 3? Also yes. Is no one going to believe that I had the end planned out BEFORE I saw the season finale. Also yes. Oh well.

Also, I almost never write in second person. This is an exercise in that. I’ve done my best with this format as I just generally don’t write it that much. (Or ever) I’ve also thrown a few third person sections in there just for the sake of story telling. I get that “reader” should be pretty vague so that you can feel like you’re in the story, but my character isn’t. “Reader” is  cis AFAB. She’s strong but a little broken, and some pretty horrific things have happened to her. PLEASE take my warnings seriously. If you decide to proceed, you are doing so warned. 

Again, this is my first Star Wars fic. My first long second person fic. Please be kind. Heed the warnings. 

As we said waaaay back when i first started writing fic, I’m open to constructive criticism, but please take your flames someplace else. If you don’t like it, just close out of it. 

Warnings: SA, violence against women, prostitution, nightmares, suicidal thoughts, medical procedures, murder

~*~

Prologue II:  A Different Kind of Bounty

Din tosses his credits across the bar, sliding the drink into his hand. Even through his helmet he can smell too much alcohol in it. Not that he drinks often, but when he does, he likes his drinks to be well balanced and worth the loss of faculties and control. 

He generally doesn’t like not being ready or losing control. 

But he’s thankfully not paying for the drink tonight to drink it. He’s paying for his space. A club, a cantina like this on the farthest reaches of the Outer Rim isn’t about making merry. You pay credits for overpriced drinks for the bartender to look away and for the honor of having no one remember you. 

He knows he stands out in this room, but so do a lot of other patrons. 

He identifies senators, princes, high ranking Republic officials, all doing business of one kind or another that would get them blackballed from other places. Here, an overpriced drink pays for the companion next to them, or for the privacy to do business that is to be left off the books in a dark corner. 

He isn’t new to these sorts of places, but this one has an interesting feature. 

He’d been expecting to find the sweet face from the Holo in his belt behind the bar or trolling the floor. It isn’t his job to ask why you are in what amounted to not much more than a Hutt-run Brothel, it is just his job to find you and bring you back to Skywalker. 

He wants to stay on Skywalker’s good side in case he ever needs the Jedi again, and Grogu’s leaving seems to be a sore spot for the man. 

Din knows he is happier with the little guy back to making mischief in the ship, and he doesn’t question that too much. 

But that’s why he is here: do a favor for Skywalker. It is a rescue mission instead of a Bounty. Seems easy enough. 

Until he sees you for the first time. 

The Dias the Hutt keeps is high and far, looking down on the dark bar from the floor above. It is made so that the full room can see the Hutt on his throne, presiding over the evening lackadaisically, but also so there are private areas towards the back where deals can be made with the Hutt’s Domos. 

And there you are, dressed in bright swathes of thin fabric and gleaming steal accents that show more than they hide, iridescent lines adorning your face to make your eyes bigger and your nose smaller, your lips fuller and your chin sharper, kneeling at the Hutt’s side, miserable. 

He sees it, even though he knows you’re trying so hard to hide it. 

He sees how little you want to be where you are every time he catches you watching him. 

And there’s something about the way you walk that Din doesn’t like. 

It looks like it hurts. 

He watches the Hutt and his Domo parade you around, watches as you greet customers who come to bargain with the Hutt. Some leave with you, some leave without you, and when you leave you never come back out for the night, at least not that he’s seen in the last three days.  

Din can’t quite understand what is going on, but you aren’t a regular prostitute. That much is clear. 

The Hutt is keeping you up there for a reason instead of out on the floor with the rest of them. Din needs to know more before he can get to you, before he can figure out a way of getting you out of here without causing too much of a scene. 

And Skywalker is going to owe him a lot more credits for all the drinks he’s going to need to buy.

~*~

Prologue I: He Stands Out

He stands out. 

His armor is bright in the dim cantina, reflecting what light there is out all around him. This is a place people come to hide, a place they come to let their guard down. He did neither. 

Night after night, for a week, you watched him. 

He would sit quietly at the bar, holding a drink but never taking his helmet off or sneaking a straw under the edge. He may have talked to people, you didn’t know. The noise of the cantina made it hard to know without lip reading, and you couldn’t see his lips. 

You couldn’t see anything but that armor. 

From your place at the Hutt’s side, you watched. You waited. He’d make his way to the Dias eventually. They all did. 

Something made you think you might try just one more time. That if he came and asked for you, that maybe, just maybe, he might be the one to listen. He might not lie to you. 

He might actually help you. 

Night after night, for a week, you watched him come in, sit, not drink, and leave. 

He stood out. 

~*~

Chapter 1:

Chapter Summary:

A/N:

The Hutt pushed you over with his tail, mumbling and grumbling in words you never tried to learn, never cared to pick up. The Senator in front of you smirked dangerously, and that was all you needed to know. He was another, paying for your time. Buying your evening from the Hutt. 

You were eyeing him, trying to guess where he was from by his dress when the glint from across the room caught your eye. He was back. The mysterious Mandalorian returned. It was the eighth night in a row now, and he had yet to actually do anything. He didn’t play games of chance, or drink, or talk with anyone of importance. He simply came in, gave his credits over to the droid at the bar, and watched. 

Hell, he could have been sleeping under that helmet and you’d never know. 

The senator pulled your attention with a cruel laugh before reaching out, taking your wrist in his hand. 

“Shall we, lovely?” 

His smile was kind, but the glint in his eye was feral. 

A different man on the outside, but on the inside he was just the same as every one who came before him. 

You’d struggled once upon a time. You’d fought and dug your heels in over and over again, years ago. Now, you just went slowly, dipping your head. You’d learned there were fates worse than death, and until you could get your hands on a blaster or a vibroblade, you didn’t even have death as a recourse. 

It would have to be quick. Easy. You didn’t have the strength left to work at taking your own life. 

He pulled you behind him, towards the door where the ____ stood guard. As you turned, you could see the Mandalorian’s head turned towards you. 

Maybe he’d be interested.

Maybe tomorrow he’d talk to the Hutt. 

Maybe you’d ask him to take you with him when he left, and maybe he’d say yes. 

Maybe, if he wouldn’t help you, he’d stop paying attention long enough for you to get your hands on his blaster.

~*~

You needed the Bacta tank, but the Hutt wouldn’t allow it. 

He’d made that mistake once, and you knew he’d never make it again. Instead he let you suffer, wallowing on the floor of your cell, fighting to maintain concentration, fighting to heal what wouldn’t with the mod buried deep in your spine.  

You’re tired, you’re hungry, you’re angry. 

It wasn’t the first time you ended up here, it wouldn’t be the last. 

The Hutt knew where his money came from. He’d let them Do what they wanted, as long as they didn’t push too far. The Senator had pushed the limits, and now you were out of commission.  The Hutt wouldn’t like that. 

Not that you cared what he liked. 

The only reason you’d ever had to care about what made him happy was to get through another day, and you weren’t all that sure another day would be a good thing anymore. 

Behind closed eyelids, it was almost easy to pretend the dirt of the cell was the ground under the castle, that the cold air was just the breeze off the creek. These memories helped. Laying in the grass, waiting for your best friend to come bounding back, droid flitting by her side, ready for another adventure. 

This was not an adventure. 

~*~

The Domo wakes you by pulling at your wrist until you’re in a ball on your knees, breathing heavy from startling. “You need to get ready,” he snarls. 

“I’m not-“

“I didn’t ask.”

You know by now not to argue. They know when you’re ready, and they know when to ignore it for the right price. You stand, as dignified as you can, and follow him as he leads you from your cell. 

The tunnel leads front he dirt floors and rock walls of your cell to the compound proper filled with painted sandstone walls and cement floors. You follow quietly until he waves his hand over the sensor on one of the doors. It pops open, and you enter. 

There are clothes on the bed, and there;s a small bag of make up next to the basin filled with warm water. He sets himself at the door, watching invasively as you move to the basin. You strip the dirty jumpsuit off and use the towel to clean each inch of skin. You know what’s expected of you, and you know that disobeying only brings pain. 

You’re still in enough pain, and the only thing you know about who has bought you is that they either rate high enough, or have paid enough, for the Hutt break his own rules and pull you out before you’ve fully healed. You’re not willing to push back with so many unknowns. Soon enough the dirt is gone, and you braid back your hair into a tight plait, rolling it at the crown of your head. Next comes the make-up. It takes a little longer than usual, as you need to cover the bruise on your eye and the finger marks on your arm, but soon enough you’re painting around your eyes with the electric blue kohl that reminds you of a lightsaber’s shimmer and spreading bright pinks stain across your lips that stings and swells them just enough. 

Finally, you move over to the bed and slip into the blue scraps of fabric the Hutt calls clothes. Bright blue and shimmering gold wraps around your hips, just high enough to cover your low back by design, and low enough in the front to barely be descent. The bra is tight to the point it makes it a little hard to breathe, but nothing about this costume is functional. 

Just like the rest of it, it’s all for show. 

You slip back to the basin, grab the make-up bag and your discarded jumpsuit, and hand them to the Domo. 

You don’t even need to ask the question, he just looks you up and down, and tilts his head to the middle of the room. “On your knees. He won’t be long.”

He leaves, the lock On the door clicking into place behind him. 

It’s the not knowing that’s maddening. You move to the middle of the room and drop to your knees on the cold cement floor, head down. If you were not he Dias when someone approached, you can usually sense some of their intentions. Some of them you even know and know what to expect from them. 

You’re in the dark. 

The door clicks open, and you hear a set of heavy boots followed byt he soft slippers of the Domo. 

“She is all yours, sir,” he says brightly. “Is she to your liking?”

“She’ll do.” 

You look up, something you know you shouldn’t do, when you hear the hard, modulated sound. You drag your eyes right back to the ground, heart pounding. It’s him. 

It’s the Mandalorian. 

“And the accommodations?” The Domo is bright, and you’ve heard this little spiel more times than you can count. “We’re more than happy to get you another room or a different girl if-“

“You can go.” The Mandalorian’s voice leaves no room for arguement. All you can see are his boots: worn but heavy, and the complicated leather strappings that hold knives and bullets and maker-knows-what in place at his shins. 

“As you say, sir.” It’s so silent, you can hear the door click as the Domo leaves. 

You dare to do nothing but breathe, hands on your thighs, eyes down. 

This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To meet the Mandalorian? To have just a few minutes alone with him to either beg him to help you escape or to try to reach for the vibroblade in his boot? Somehow, confronted with him in one of these rooms, it feels wrong and twisted. 

He’s paid for you. 

He’s like all the rest. 

Why would he be here if he wasn’t?

It makes your stomach sink like a rock. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, voice flat and cold. You chance it and look up, eyes taking in every intimidating inch of his armor. Even though this was exactly how you’d imagined you’d meet him, it feels wrong on far too many levels. He’s not inching towards you, he’s not fisting his hands. 

He’s not excited, not itching to touch you or hit you, and even though the armor undoubtedly has many layers, you’re fairly sure he isn’t hard. 

You’d imagined an impassioned man that you could plead with, or a shy one that you could overcome with surprise, but every iteration of him at least wanted you. 

He didn’t want you, not like other patrons wanted you. He seemed indifferent. Blank. You weren’t sure how’d you get him to want you, to want to help you, if he didn’t care at all. You’d imagined he’d be infatuated. You imagined he’d be rough but still gentle. That he’d tie you up or pretend to catch you like a bounty and afterwards you’d offer him anything in exchange for your freedom from the Hutt. 

His cold stare gives you nothing to work with. 

You don’t answer, you can’t. You let your head hang, the skin pulling painfully at the top of the mod where it is still angry and red from your last customer. This wasn’t going like you wanted. “What do you want it to be?” You look up at him from under your lashes, trying your best to seem enticing. If he wouldn’t help, if you couldn’t seduce him into wanting to help you, you still had one more out. He needed to make an advance, or ask you to come to him. He needed to be closer if you were going to get your hands on his blaster or his blade. 

“You have a name, don’t you?”

He was infuriating. 

If the Hutt was watching, and he or one of his Domos was always watching somehow or another, he’d be angry. Mad. 

They always got mad when you didn’t do what they expected, and they expected you to make your patron feel welcome. The Mandalorian did not look welcome. It had been long, quiet minutes of you staring at one another. No touching, no propositions, just staring. 

It was hard to tell just how mad he’d be, you thought as you got up, because you hadn’t been there to see the negotiation. You didn’t know exactly how many credits the Mandalorian had parted with for your company. 

How much they paid always gave you a clue as to how cruel they’d be, how much the Hutt would watch and what he’d expect. 

You stood, slowly, eyes still only bouncing up to the helmet every few seconds. “You can call me whatever you like,” you whisper, stepping close to him  and setting your hands gently upon his shoulders to push him across the room. He moved back with you as you settled him on the edge of the ornate bed. 

His hands move up to your hips, gently pressing back, cautiously, not enough to really move you, though you can feel the power he is holding back. “I’m not here for that.” He moves like he is unsure, taken off guard. It doesn’t much matter to you. His blaster is close. Why the Hutt had allowed it in, you don’t know. But if he tries anything, well, it is close enough. 

“That’s what they all say.” You can’t keep the malice out of your voice, but you cover it quickly, dropping your eyes and looking up at him again from under your lashes. “Tell me what you want,” you whisper seductively, in a voice that you’ve learned men will crumple for. 

One way or another, you finally decide, you will going to be free of this place today. 

You aren’t going to suffer a day longer. 

He fights weakly again, pushing as if he doesn’t want to hurt you, his body tense. “Not this.”

His gentleness startles you just a little. You’re not used to men being soft with you, being considerate of you. 

You settle your thighs around his hips as you push him back further, hovering carefully as you lean to where his ear would be under the helmet, your hands settling on his shoulders as you kneel over him. You grow serious as his helmet cants to the side, questioning. “You paid for me, and the Hutt will be… mad… if I don’t please you.”

“That’s not what I’m here to do.”

“That makes you the first,” you mutter to yourself, pulling your hands from the beskar. It is warmer than you expect. “What are you here to do?”

He pulls back to look into your eyes. He says your name, and you freeze. 

Your heart drops. He’s a bounty hunter. A Mandalorian.  If he knows your name, your true name and not a code number or the disgusting moniker the Hutt uses to entice you to his clients, well… maybe today might be your day. 

One way or another, you are going to finally leave this place. 

You just didn’t think it would be in carbonite or a body bag. 

“That’s you, right?” He asks calmly, his voice changing little as it comes through the helmet. He pulls a holo out of his pocket and shines it between you. “Looks like you to me.”

You stumble from his lap, pulling back to the middle of the room. This is it. Today’s the day you finally die. It might be at his hands, or at the hands of the Hutt, and if it’s neither, well, you’re sure you still have enough energy to pull his blaster from the holster or the vibroblade he has stuffed in his boot. 

You’re not going back to the Imperial labs, though. You’ll die before you let yourself be brought back to one of those. 

The labs are the only place you can think of who would know who you are. They must have hired him to bring you back. 

For the first time in a long time, you feel vulnerable. Exposed. 

Your body had been little more than an annoyance for years. The clothes and heavy make-up the Hutt dressed you up in mere annoyances, but the chiffon and silk suddenly weren’t enough. The little bralette and the hanging strips of fabric that barely constituted a skirt weren’t like the uniform you’d once worn. 

For the first time, in a long time, you feel naked. 

And you can’t even tell if his gaze cares. 

You should be terrified. 

But you’re not. There’s fear, sure. It sits cold and knotted in your stomach. But there’s something else, too. 

You’d been courting death, hoping for it for so long now, and yet something in you screams to fight, to reach for life. 

You felt it when you’d touched him. The warmth on his beskar wasn’t just body heat, your mind finally registers, but a vestige of the force you’d once felt, calling out to you. 

There is something about him that is familiar and not frightening. He made you feel safe the moment you’d touched him, and now what you really feared was the thing you’d been hoping for for years. 

“Why are you here?” You whisper desperately, hope blooming in your chest. 

It was a hope for something you’d stopped even dreaming of years ago. 

“I think you know why I’m here,” his voice was almost, not quite, confused as it came through the modulator. 

The problem is, you don’t. You can’t really tell what you should be feeling. You’re afraid and excited, nervous and hopeful. Both are warring within you can his helmet is too blank to give you any kind of hint as to what he is really here for. 

Cold settles in your belly suddenly, a feeling you’ve felt far too often. The hairs raise on your arms, and you know you don't have much time. Your mind screams at you to hurry, but calmly as you can, you settle yourself on his lap again. His hands move to your hips, to try to push you off again, but you cover them with yours, holding them in place. “Just, play along, please.”

He stills his fight just in time for the door to open, his fingers curling up and over your wrists as his visor stays trained on your face. You could swear he’s searching for your heartbeat, that his fingers stop when they can feel your pulse pounding under your skin in time with the Hutt’s Domo’s steps. 

“She… does not please you, sir?” He starts out, voice full of pomp and ire. He’s one of your least favorite, and one of the most cruel. 

What you wouldn’t give to see the Mandalorian’s eyes. Only seconds ago you had a bloom of hope that you’d finally escapes this place, and now dozens of possibilities, all that you’ve lived through before, open up in your path. Without seeing his eyes, you couldn’t know. 

You still don't know what he’s here to do. 

Will he give you up? Or will he protect you?

He tips his helmet to the side, looking at the Twi’lek over your shoulder. “What made you think that?”

Your heart pounds further as you drop your eyes, looking down at his chestplate, struggling to keep your breathing even. 

The Twi’lek slides around the question. “We have others.”

“I want this one.”

You’re not sure if it’s fear or excitement that courses through you with his words, with the deep rumble in his chest that accompanies them. It could mean anything, but you focus on the feel of the beskar on your thighs, and remind yourself it’s warm. They’d stripped most of your abilities from you, but he was warm, and that meant something. He must feel you shiver in his arms, because he tightens his grip, ever so slightly, on your wrists. Just enough to remind you that he’s there, just enough to ground you. 

“Perhaps she is best taught her place then, sir?” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I can provide that service.”

Your breath stutters out of you at his words, your body tensing and trembling and you know the man below you felt your reaction when the Domo said ‘taught her place.’ You’d been brave once upon a time, taking each punishment he doled out with a stiff back and tearless eyes, but you’ve reached the end of your rope. There is no bravery left. You aren’t even sure if you’d be able to reach for the Mandalorian’s blaster if the Domo pulled you from his lap right now: every inch of you feels frozen and broken at the idea of falling to his hands once more. 

You wish you had the bravery and fire you were feeling just moments ago as you made a plan to grab the Mandalorian’s blaster, but the Domo’s stripped so much humanity from you already, there’s so little left to hold on to now. 

It seems your hope is well placed, and the Mandalorian is brave enough for both of you. “You’ll be leaving,” he says, short and clipped, as his hand leaves your wrist and moves back to your hip. Gentle. Calming. 

Possessive. 

His helmet moves back to look at you, but you can’t seem to look at his eyes. Or where you assume his eyes are. 

Shame? 

Is that what you feel welling in your gut, roiling and rolling and making you feel less than human now?

You’d never felt shame before. Not once. 

Not until now. 

Not until you couldn’t be brave enough to face another possible punishment at the Domos’s hands. 

He waits until the domo leaves, unmoving. “How did he know?” 

“Thermal cameras,” you whisper, “Sometimes they listen, too.” Your voice is small when it leaves your lips, filled with too many memories of things you don't ever want to remember. 

He stills under you. You don’t even feel him take a breath for long seconds. His hand slips from your wrist and gently lifts your chin. “How long have you been here?”

Looking into the darkness of his visor, feeling the reassuring warmth under you, that hope blooms again. Something about you is not what he expected, but you feel him, strong and sure and so very, very clear in his motives. You answer truthfully, with the only answer you have. “What year is it?”

That snaps something in him. Something dark and vengeful bubbling under the surface bursts and you feel him fight to pull it back. His hand moves from your hip, purposeful, to your cheek, framing your face with his other hand as he leans closer. 

Your heart pounds. Things are changing, things are moving, and yet this is the softest anyone’s been with you in so long it brings a tear to your eye. There’s no time for tears, not when he’s using his hands to shield his voice from carrying and anyone but him from seeing your lips, not when it’s so utilitarian. 

It has a purpose, even if it feels soft and intimate. 

“Do you need anything from here?” You shake your head: there’s nothing left for you here. “We’re leaving, understand?” You nod, your heart stopping for a second. Every wish you ever had is about to come true.  “What don’t I know that I need to know about this place?”

He’s so sure. He’s so confident. It breaks something in you and the tears fall. “He won’t let you leave with me. Not without killing one of us.”

His hands soften, just enough, to let you know he sees your fear. “That’s not going to happen today,” he replies gently, some of the edge taken from his voice. “What don’t I know? Like the thermals. I didn’t know about them. He didn’t have any in the cantina.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, centering with everything you have. “There are cameras in every hall. Guards at the end of every corridor. Each door is locked with a biometric code.”

“Know that,” he replies, “and I have a plan.” You could swear he was almost warm with you now. “What else?”

You go through every corridor you know, through every memory of this cruel place, and you come up with nothing… nothing until the one thing you try so hard to forget snaps your eyes open, fear running through your veins. 

How it wasn’t the first thing that you said, you’ll never know. 

You take one of his hands, gently pulling it down, guiding him under the high waistband at your low back. He starts to pull away until he feels it, his fingers ghosting over the metal of the mod over your spine.  

You remember the pain. 

The one time you made it far enough, the one other time hope surged through you too many years ago to count, and it was brought down with searing pain until you were writhing on the ground, begging the Hutt to make it stop as he and his guards laughed over you. 

“I won’t make it past the gate,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. 

His hand gently lifts your chin back up. “What did I tell you?”

You shake your head, not daring to believe it. You’ve only been in his presence for mere minutes, and you’ve whiplashed through so many emotions in that time. 

“We’re leaving. Now, lay on your left side.”

You shiver. You’re not sure if it’s fear or excitement, if you’re about to be betrayed or saved, but you can’t do anything but shift to his side and lay on the bed. You’ve begged so many patrons to help you get out, and they all played along until it was time to take you with them. Then they’d simply laugh as they left, leaving you in the hands of the Domo. Something about this one, though, makes you feel almost hopeful. He sits behind you, hand sliding over your hip. “I’m going to take a look at it, ok? I couldn’t see it from where I was.”

He’s good. The way he moves his arm would look like a caress on a thermal, but in reality he only sides the fabric just under the tech, peering closer. 

“What does it do?” 

“It’s components are entangled with my spine,” you whisper. “It pulls something from my blood,” you only half lie, not knowing how much he’s to be trusted yet, “and it can shock me. Sometimes it just hurts for a little while, other times I can’t walk for hours or days.” You take a deep breath. “The Domo’s said he can use it to kill me if I try anything.”

“How?” The leather gloves are soft on your skin. He’s being so gentle it seems unreal to you. 

“I don’t know. But, he has a control unit that he keeps on him.”

He leans down closer to your face. “The Hutt or the Domo?”

“Maybe both,” you search his helmet, the only thing you can see, for some sense of truth, some sense that he’s going to really help you. “I don’t know for sure.” 

He nods. “Alright then.” He leans back, looking over your body and down to your bare feet. “Can you run?”

“I can.” You roll on your side, looking up at him. “I can do anything you need me to to get out of here.” You sit up, reaching a hand out to his chest, heart hammering as you try to tell him everything he needs to know about you. “I will do anything to get out of here.”

You know you look silly, bright and bold make up marking you a pleasure worker, whisks of barely-there fabric only covering your breasts and hips, long panels of skirt that will trip up your legs, bare feet… but you think maybe, just maybe, he understands how desperate you are under all of it. 

“You’re going to follow me, ok?” He takes your hand, standing. “You do what I say, when I say it. Understand?”

You follow suit, standing. You nod, seriously. Your heart is pounding in your chest. 

It’s only when he pulls his gun from his holster that it really hits you. 

The Mandalorian is going to get you out of here. 

~*~

Your eyes open, and for a second you think you’re upside down. It’s black, or brown, rather, and something sharp is poking your ribs, and you can’t quite make sense of the way you’re jostling. 

Your eyes close, just for a second, and when they open again you can see the grounds outside the Hutt’s stronghold. You want to panic, but there’s not enough energy left. It hurts, gives you a headache, and you’re just going to close your eyes for a second. 

He’s carrying you. You’re slung over his shoulder. That much as manages to become clear in your mind as your eyes blink open again, fighting the desire to close, fighting your body’s need for rest. You can feel his pauldron digging into the skin of your abdomen. You must moan, because his modulated voice drifts over to you. You can’t make out what he says, but it doesn't matter. There’s grass under his feet. You can’t remember the last time you saw grass. The Hutt didn’t have grass in his compound. 

There wasn’t grass anywhere in the gates. 

You thought you saw grass once, from a window on the top floor while a customer made a game of holding you out the window, threatening to drop you. But the grass was really far away. Too far away to be sure that it even was grass. 

There’s grass under the Mandalorian’s feet, though. 

He did it. 

You’re out. 

You close your eyes. Just for a second. 

~*~

He leaves you unconscious on the floor, moving quickly up the ladder and to the controls, flipping switches and turning dials in a pattern that’s ingrained so deeply in him that he never has to think about it anymore. 

He can think about other things as he sets the ship into the air, like how you’d wandered around the Hutt’s Dias like a beautiful ghost for days as he watched, not knowing what was truly happening to you. Like how you looked up at him through seductive lashes from your knees. Like how you felt in his lap, trying to tease his wants from him. 

Like how he felt sick when he realized you were something more than just a prisoner, more than just a prostitute, even if he still can’t exactly tease out what you were to the Hutt yet... 

Like how you tried to hide behind him when the Twi’lek Domo met you at the door with a set of guards. Like how you grabbed the vibroblade in his boot and spun on the guard with skill that surprised everyone. Like how he watched you fall to your knees as that Twi’lek pushed that button in his hands, eyes wide with fear and panic as pain spasamed through your body, then how the Twi’lek let his hand fly, catching you in the back of the skull with his fist, sending you face first to the floor.

Like how you felt, limp in his arms when he stopped you from hitting the concrete face first with one arm, blaster smoking from his shot at the Twi’lek in his other hand. 

How the Domo and his guards looked on the floor as he stepped over their dead bodies, carrying you from that place after he’d picked through he Domo’s pockets, taking anything and everything that might be related to the mod on your back. 

These things replay in his mind, over and over again. 

He only ever took bounties before this. He’d never taken a true, paid, rescue mission before. 

It left him feeling disturbed, but he couldn’t put his finger quite on why. 

Once in the sky, once he was back among the stars, he felt like he could start to breathe again. He slumped back against his chair, pulling the small data chip from his belt and running his hands over it. 

He’d thought you were working there. He couldn’t understand why Skywalker wanted a prostitute, but nothing he’d observed in that week of recon while he sat in the cantina told him anything different. He’d watched you flit across the Dias, sad and disconnected, passed from patron to patron, just like the rest of them. Aside from the Hutt keeping you close to his side, you looked like any other offering in that dark, disgusting place. 

There was something different about you, though. The other prostitutes didn’t have mods. The others didn’t need to be shocked to be kept in line. The others were sad, but not desperate. 

The others moved of their own free will. You had been brought in and out in chains and binders. 

The others weren’t prisoners. 

His job wasn’t to ask questions, though, it was to get you to Skywalker. It took him too long to figure out how to get you out, how to get close to you, when he needed to keep you safe as a rescue instead of storing you in carbonite like a bounty. There was a reason he was a bounty hunter. It was much easier to get in, get your target, and get gone when they were guilty of something and when it didn’t exactly matter if they were warm or cold when he hauled them back to Karga. 

The dread, the disgust at finding out you were a prisoner, a slave that fell to cruel hands to the point where you feared them with trembling breath, made him sick. His stomach still roiled at the idea of you needing to please him to avoid some kind of punishment. He’d spent his life bringing the scum of the galaxy into the guild. It wasn’t hard to imagine some of the things that happened in that compound once he really started to think about what kind of place the Hutt was probably running. 

He flipped the chip though his fingers again, then slipped it into the console. He didn’t find much on the Domo, just the small data pad that controlled the mod and this data chip. With a few clicks, the lists opened before his eyes. Most names he didn’t know, but some he recognized. It took him longer than he was proud of to figure out what it was. 

He copied the information to the onboard computer before he pulled the chip out and slipped it in his belt. He’d need it one day. He was sure of it. 

Din wanted to turn around, to use the guns on the Crest to obliterate the Hutt and his patrons, but he held back. There were too many unknowns, and if the Hutt’s list of patrons he had tucked away in his belt was any indication, there might be repercussions from beings in positions of power throughout the galaxy. 

It made him sick. 

But there wasn’t time for that. 

No. 

He needed to get into Hyperspace, get to Navarro, and get that thing out of you. 

He wasn’t sure if Skywalker knew about the mod, or if he expected you to be presented to him with it in, but Mando wasn’t letting you go another day longer than necessary with that in your body. 

Not when he could see the way you convulsed when the shocks ran through your body every time he closed his eyes. 

He didn’t think Skywalker was that kind of man, but if he had anything to say about you showing up without it…

Well, he could try to say something. But it wouldn’t matter. 

It was coming out as soon as he could find a way how. 

Hyperspace first, then pulling out the camping roll he was pretty sure he still had in storage for you to sleep on.

Hyperspace first. 

He couldn’t wait to put some parsecs between his ship and that Hutt. 

[abaikgirl]

I want to do my version of loteria cards a la tarot cards, but I don't know what theme to use. My Hero Academia? Fullmetal Alchemist? Edgar Allan Poe? I have so many ideas! >.<

[iwasyouonce]

“Is this good? You can say it’s bad”

What do people mean when they ask this? Do they want me to affirm that what they did was good? Would they get offended if I responded with something else? Are they looking for a simple answer, or a detailed explanation of the good and bad parts?

When I am studying and seeing something, I am taking that thing, and putting it in relation to myself. Whether it be my abilities, my opinions, my experience and what my ideal and standards are. When I pin that thing against all of that, it becomes extremely complicated. When they have created something, they have done that with their abilities, their opinions, their experiences and their ideals and standards. As I do not know all of that, I cannot judge and say if something is “good” or “bad” because it would be extremely biased and unfair from my point of view.

Essentially, in order to be able to critique something more accurately, I either need to have had similar experiences, a similar level of ability, share some of their opinions and keep similar ideals and standards. Maybe this is extremely black and white thinking of this question, but I feel like this question holds so much weight and can be misinterpreted so easily. It is not about how I think I’m better than others and that’s why I cannot respond directly, but how can you judge something that someone else has created/done when you’re not them? And when they get hurt when you say it’s bad, it’s somehow your fault and not because they asked for your opinion.

there is so much to read in between the lines, that I just sometimes have to say “you did a good job” and ask if they themselves like it. If they like what they have made, then I think that’s the best, and I will affirm that. Because I am someone that is not satisfied with something regardless if other people tell me that it’s amazing and awesome. Not because I don’t care about what they say, but it doesn’t change anything. If I don’t feel like what I’ve done is good, then it is not good to me.

[psychedelicvanillabean]

genuinely wondering why people thought this video was so good? it made me extremely uncomfortable ngl. I know it’s a roast, so the point is to be mean, but things just did not feel light-hearted (as one would expect from gameplay), and at different moments, they both seemed genuinely hurt by what the other had said

[scun-gilli]

My furnace is broken and I’m currently freezing my ass off but I’m still riding high on the absolute insanity that is reaching 1k kudos on TRT.

I want to celebrate in a way. I’m not sure how. It was suggested to me that I write something I’ve always wanted to write and be self-indulgent which is super sweet. But I also want to thank you guys so I want you involved in the process.

I’m trying to narrow down to a few ideas, I’ll post a poll once I’ve decided. I’m considering maybe posting a Drabble of the TRT ‘pilot’ to see what could have happened. Include my original ideas and character designs.

OR I could do something off the wall and self-indulgent. If you have suggestions let me know. I love hearing y’all’s ideas.

[pparadiselost]

dressed to kill.

various (hinata shoyo, kageyama tobio, tsukishima kei, kuroo tetsurou) x fem reader haikyuu men and the lingerie/costumes they like to see on you. warning(s): nsfw dividers: cafekitsune. minors do not interact.

HINATA SHOYO + BABYDOLLS

hinata shoyo is not a picky man. 

he’s a great boyfriend, someone who wants you to feel confident in your own skin and show off your own style. he always hypes you up no matter what you’re wearing, and the fact that he’s genuine about every compliment he gives you only adds to how much of a sweet lover he is.

but if there is one singular thing that he would get on his hands and knees to beg you to wear is nothing more than a babydoll lingerie dress.

something about them just has him going wild. it’s like he can’t think straight anymore, his usually quick brain fried into a horny hum of nothingness when he imagines you all dolled up in the sheer material. his rationale goes straight out the window and his cock takes the wheel, throbbing and aching and needing to get his hands all over your body as soon as possible.

maybe it’s how innocent it makes you look, the fabric flaring around your hips and covering the upper part of your thighs, leaving your bare legs to tease his imagination. maybe it’s how the upper half hugs your body so snugly, the thin cloth barely covering your tits and your nipples poking through if he stares hard enough. it’s really all in the balance, making your beauty shine while leaving just enough to have his imagination wandering. 

it’s almost embarrassing how often he’s jerked off to this fantasy. all of his characteristic sunny swagger is gone when he buys you your first dress and asks you to wear it, sounding more like a teenage boy about to lose his virginity rather than your energetic boyfriend. but it’s like a switch flips in his brain the very second you agree, and without a chance for you to reconsider, he throws you down in bed.

he shoves his face right in between your legs, and his mouth goes straight to where he’s been itching to be throughout this whole ordeal. the translucent material of your lingerie drapes over his head like a veil as he presses hungry kisses to your pussy. he swirls the broad of his tongue over your pulsing hole, loving the way you suck in a sharp breath and shudder. he’s going to make sure to do you right, to fuck you right, for indulging him so well.

“fuck- you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now,” he laughs against your cunt, sounding like a man starved. he might as well be, with how messily he’s eating you out. he smacks his lips, the wet sound of your juices coating his tongue and lips echoing throughout your shared bedroom. “shit- you’re fucking perfect… my pretty girl, being so good for me.”

you unconsciously clench your thighs around his head when he sucks on your clit. heat shoots all throughout your belly, and you’re sure you’re going to ruin the sheets with how much your pussy’s leaking. he takes turns toying with your puffy clit and teasing the outline of your hole until you’re begging incoherently for him to just do something to you already. your pussy can’t take being teased like this.

“fuck me! please fuck me, shoyo-,” you’re almost sobbing, the hem of your babydoll scrunched up in shoyo’s hands as he grips at your thighs to keep them pried apart. it leaves your exposed cunt at his complete mercy, and even thinking about that fact on its own has your walls throbbing and clenching painfully on itself. “anything- your tongue, fingers, cock- anything! please- need you inside me so bad, sho…”

“don’t worry.” he presses a quick kiss to your clit, the shaky moan you reward with him like honey to his ears. “i’ll get there. but fuck… you look so pretty… i want to take my time with you.”

you’re sure he’s going to leave bruises on your thighs from how hard he’s gripping you, his calloused fingers digging into your soft flesh. but everything about him is so arousing, and you’re equally as drunk off of him as he is to you. shoyo thinks he’s died and gone to whatever version of heaven there might be. placebo effect be damned, he swears on his life that your pussy tastes so much sweeter whenever he eats you out while you’re wearing your dress.

“got yourself all pretty for me, didn’t you? you knew that i would like this, that i’d want to fuck you senseless after seeing you in it. was that your plan from the start?” hinata asks breathlessly. he swallows back more of your slick, and his cock keens inside of his pants, his tip sticky and swollen and wanting literally any form of attention. but he can push that aside for now. now, he wants to enjoy the sight laid out before him, of your already fucked out face and your body covered in the delicate lace and sheer fabric he’s dreamt of, legs spread out the way he likes it and pussy drooling for no one but him. 

knowing that you put this on for him, that you dressed up for him, that you wanted to look good for him makes his dick so hard that it hurts. he promises to himself that he’s going to buy out some poor lingerie store’s entire stock just to see you in different colors and materials, and he’s going to fuck your brains out in each and every single one of them until you’re sick of even the letter ‘b’ in babydoll. 

“gonna make you cum on my tongue, yeah? love making you fall apart on my mouth,” he breathes against your cunt. he chuckles when he can feel you clenching up around his tongue, flicking at your hole and making your toes curl. “gonna fuck you on my cock after that then, doll. that sound good to you? gonna make you cum and squirt so you know just how badly all of this gets to me.”

this is going to become a bad habit of his, more addictive than anything else he could imagine, only making his obsession with everything that has to do with you so much worse.

KAGEYAMA TOBIO + ANYTHING WITH WHITE LACE

as much as kageyama tobio hates to admit it, he undeniably has a bit of a romantic streak. his love for volleyball, his dedication to bettering himself, his constant search for the one that continues to challenge him to unseen heights: it all points to the unending ache in his heart that searches for someone to be by his side.

only a part of that desire gets quenched when he falls for you. you were his first, and he’s determined to make you his last. it’s only logical, in his mind, that seeing you in white is enough to awaken something like a sleeper agent inside of him. it makes you think of the day you’ll be decked from head to toe in a beautiful white dress and a lacy white veil, and he’ll stare at you as if he’s falling in love all over again, barely holding back his tears as he waits for you to meet him at the altar.

it’s not his fault that he wants to make that dream a reality so badly. you can feel the way kageyama stiffens and struggles to meet your eyes whenever you wear white around him, be it anything from a simple pajama t-shirt to something more formal. it drives him wild, and it makes him want to eat you up, to pin you down and drink up the sight of you in that pretty color, to let whatever restraint left inside of him go completely.

it takes him a surprisingly long time for him to actually bring the idea of lingerie to you. it becomes a bit of a guilty secret of his. he buys all sorts of pretty, lacy white bras, crotchless panties, and matching sets, only to get shy and hide it away in his closet. it’s not that he doesn’t trust you, but he wonders if he’s ramping things up too quickly, if his love might become smothering to you.

but if anything, you’re worse than he is. you’re more than happy to don whatever piece he sheepishly offers up to you, and seeing you baring yourself up to him in the lingerie he could only fantasize about makes his throat close up. blood rushes to his cock, hardening almost too quickly for him to process, and his dick feels like it’s about to explode. he whines when you press up against him and coo something sweetly towards him. your hands rub against the bulge in his pants as you press your clothed tits against his chest, his cock twitches painfully when he notices the way the lace trim moves with the plush flesh.

it’s bad. he begs you to ride him, to take his cock so he can see your entire body covered in the lacy material that mimics bridalwear so temptingly. he likes hooking his fingers around the waistline of your panties just to feel the lace ride against his skin.

“so pretty- looks so good on you-,” he slurs as you buck your hips. you grin down at him, loving how fucked out and pussy drunk he looks, the way he cries out whenever you slide down his length and let his cock breach your tight hole. “gonna cum just from staring at you… fuck, you’re so fucking tight…!”

“do you like how i look?” you reach for his wrists, and kageyama feels like he’s going to die when you glide his large, calloused palms over the curve of your hips. he gropes at your figure, moaning loudly when he can feel the white fabric moving underneath his knuckles. you smile down at him, and you make sure to bounce your tits in his face to give your boyfriend a good show. “you wanted me to wear this for you, didn’t you?”

he nods frantically. his balls are straining against your ass, and your pussy won’t quit clenching up around him. he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he didn’t think you would take his thinly veiled fetish and turn it immediately against him. “you look good- look so, so good- wanna cum inside you…”

“yeah?” you repeat. you drag his hands up to your breasts, the white lace barely covering your hardened nipples. you groan his name when he touches you, his fingers pinching at your nipples and desperately squeezing at your tits. “you wanna cum inside of me while i’m wearing this? is that why you’re so hard right now? your cock’s so hard inside of me, tobio… feels so good when i ride it.”

he clenches his eyes shut at your praise, and satisfaction stirs deep inside of you when his cock twitches in your pussy. you speed up your pace a little bit, and his moans grow high-pitched, his hands gripping onto your chest to ground himself to no avail. heat blooms all over his body, and he can’t hold on much longer. your body feels too good. your pussy’s melting his dick, squeezing him into utter submission. knowing that you’re more than willing to let his lovesick fantasies play out makes him want to fuck his cock so deep and hard into you, to stuff his cum all up into your womb until it leaks out of you and drips down your thighs into a sticky mess.  

you click your tongue down at him. “eyes open, tobio. you’re the one that wanted to see me in this lingerie… don’t tell me that you’re chickening out now.”

“don’t- don’t tease me-,” he pants, the ragged edge in his voice has the arousal in your gut churning. he glares up at you, and the hunger and barely concealed restraint in his eyes are almost palpable. 

his hands drop from your chest down to your hips. he drags your hips up his swollen length and then forces you all the way down, snapping his hips up so that his whole, thick cock plows its way into you. red, hot electric pleasure shoots up your spine, and he manages to rip a strangled cry of his name out of you.

“is this what you wanted?” kageyama hisses. “i can play this game with you. don’t blame me if i end up knocking you up after all of this.” 

TSUKISHIMA KEI + MAID COSTUMES

despite his uptight, holier-than-thou attitude he displays at times, tsukishima kei can’t deny the simpler pleasures of seeing his pretty girlfriend dressed up in a frilly maid costume with a short, short skirt. he is just a man, at the end of the day, and something about coming home after a long shift at the museum to see you greet him in the cute costume with your hair and makeup all done for him makes his body flush. 

you’re so eager to shower him with attention, to help him unwind, to call him “sir” and “master kei” in that singsong voice of yours, and you prancing around in front of him and accidentally flashing him your dainty panties whenever the skirt bounces up too high is only the beginning.

part of him wants to shove the tiny skirt up to your waist and bending you over on the nearest surface to fuck you out on his cock, hearing you choke out his name just so he can shove his fingers into your mouth and scold you about not using the proper honorifics with him. another part of him wants to take his time with you, to feel you shudder as he slowly drags his lithe fingers up your thighs, unwrapping you like his own personal present, and making you suck him off while still fully dressed all so he can cum on your costume and hear you squeal about the mess he’s making. 

it’s not like he’s pressed for time now that he’s done with work. there’s no need to pick between the two equally tempting options when he can just do both with you.

“what a messy maid i’ve got here… you’re drooling all over me. can’t take it?” a big hand tugs at your hair, surprisingly gentle despite the harsh edge to his words. you’re struggling to fit more of tsukishima’s long cock into your mouth without using your hands, tied behind your back with a white bow that matches the rest of the decorations on your maid costume. 

you swallow around him. your mouth feels so full with his length, his girth already making you struggle to wrap your lips around him fully. you like it though, you like testing your limits like this, the warm tightness of your mouth and throat serving to pleasure tsukishima the best you can. after all, a maid’s job is to live for whatever her master wants, isn’t it?

you gag slightly on his dick when tsukishima tries to push you down a bit deeper. saliva dots the edges of your lips and coats his throbbing length. you mimic the motion of sex the best you can, bobbing your head up and down as much of him as you can possibly take. you flutter your eyelashes up at him sweetly, despite the fact that you’re blowing him off and looking more like a pornstar than you are a truly innocent maid. but it’s you, and that’s what matters more than anything else to tsukishima. 

“there’s a good girl…,” he coos down at you, and the loose smirk hanging off of his lips makes your pussy throb. it’s always hard to tell when he’s genuinely praising you versus when he’s only pretending to, but it turns you on so badly to know that he’s the one in control of everything. you slobber shamelessly around him as you daydream about how good it would feel to take his thick cock inside of your pussy. he would stretch you out so good, and just the thought of cumming and creaming on his dick makes you drool that much harder around him, like a dog to a bone.

he keeps twitching and pulsing inside of your mouth, and you know he’s close from how he’s gripping your hair and his low groans. you want it. you want him to cum inside of your mouth, and you want to swallow it all. but he has other plans in mind, and despite how expertly you swirl your tongue around his sensitive head and moan at the salty taste of his pre-cum spreading all over the inside of your cheeks and in the back of your throat, tsukishima refuses to give you the satisfaction of the heady taste of his semen flooding your mouth. 

he yanks himself out of your mouth, and you whine, your throat and mouth deprived of him. you stick your tongue out, feeling like a kid with their toy stolen away, and you wiggle your hips unconsciously, arousal dripping from between your thighs and surely making a mess out of your thin panties. 

“ah, ah, not so quick,” the blond laughs down at you breathlessly. you watch with deprived and enchanted eyes as he finishes himself off, denying yourself even the pleasure of drinking his cum, and you let out a pathetic whimper when he cums on you instead. his hot cum burns your skin, hot and sticky and heavy, and it goes all over your face, your skimpily clothed chest, into your hair, and enough to flood your senses. 

you lick at your lips, the salty taste not quite enough to satisfy you completely. you need more, you want all of it inside your pussy, you’re not going to be happy with being teased and having your prize dangled in front of your eyes tantalizingly. tsukishima knows this, and he knows that a good maid should never get all needy in front of her master.

he grips your face as you try to wipe and collect his cum to lick off of your fingers. you look like a disaster, your costume now askew and his cum staining so much of your body. 

“did you actually think you deserve my cum, sweetheart?” he asks, eyes narrowing slightly into a dark sneer. you barely suppress a shudder as his cock slowly hardens again, and it might just be your imagination but it looks thicker, longer, harder than it was mere minutes ago. he smiles mockingly at you as if he can detect your anticipation mixed with fear. “my messy maid… if you want it that badly, you’re going to have to work a little bit harder for it.”

KUROO TETSUROU + PLAYBOY BUNNY

kuroo tetsurou wasn’t always the silver-tongued, handsome man he is today. people always laugh when he recounts his younger days, especially when he was nothing more than a nerdy high schooler with horrible bedhead, an affinity for chemistry, and an incessant love for his school’s volleyball team. he doesn’t have too much trouble garnering attention nowadays, but there was a point in his life when all he had to quell his own confusing teenager hormones was a pile of trusty playboy magazines stashed discreetly underneath his bed. 

it makes his cheeks prickle with embarrassment to think too long about the scantily dressed women in all of the pictures and pin-ups, worn out after years of use, but he’d be lying if he said seeing the models dressed up in the signature bunny custom didn’t do something to his adolescent mind. even though it’s so lewd, there’s something classy about the way the costume accentuates the figure and leaves just enough covered for the imagination.

it’s no wonder that that became his first pick when the idea of dressing up for him came up. and god, the sight of you shyly approaching him in the same costume that became such a staple in his heart makes him want to eat you up whole. nothing you do can cover yourself from his hawk-like eyes, and seeing you squirm and trying to hide under your hands or arms makes him want to turn you into a mess where you can’t hide any part of yourself from him.

“mmm… it fits you perfectly, doll,” a low voice rasps from behind you. kuroo’s thick thighs make the perfect seat for you, and your stomach does a flip when you can feel the tent in his pants rubbing up against your ass. the leather of the costume’s main piece does wonders to your body. they push up your tits perfectly, and that coupled with a pair of sensual black stockings, red bottom heels (which kuroo generously paid for which earned him a long lecture from you after you saw the price tag), and the cutest little bunny tail on your ass makes you the vision of a wet dream come true. 

he grips your hips, big hands feeling up the curves of your waist and ass. he rocks you back and forth on his bulge, and you’re rewarded with a groan from somewhere deep in his throat when he feels the electric sparks of having his favorite girl grinding against his erection. you pick up the rhythm, rocking your hips against him, the act so desperate and so carnal despite the layers of clothing between the two of you.

“you have- hah- no fucking clue how long i’ve imagined you like this-,” kuroo chuckles. his big palms go from your waist up to your chest, and your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his calloused fingers hover over your tits. goosebumps dot your skin as he starts to slowly grope your chest, earning you yet another provocative moan from him when he keeps rutting into the soft flesh of your ass.

you bite down on your bottom lip, grinding down on him to stimulate your clit. it feels good, the dull blooms of pleasure doing wonders for the heat creeping all over your body. the idea of cumming untouched like this makes your head spin, and you want it more than anything else. you want your hole to become a leaking, cock-hungry mess all from dressing up in a lewd bunny costume for kuroo and from humping into each other like animals in heat. you know it’s going to make being fucked out his cock eventually feel that much better. 

“please, tetsu-,” you whine, your nails digging into his forearms. your voice is high strung and strained, whiny and girly just the way he likes it best. “wanna cum- wanna cum for you… you feel so big already… wanna take your cock inside me too…!”

“yeah? you want that too? keep talking like that, and i’ll fucking lose it for real…,” he grunts. you yelp when he bites down on your shoulder, sharp teeth marking up your unmarked skin and the sudden sting has your cunt clenching up painfully. the thrums of arousal thrashing in your core are all your mind can grip onto, and the shape of kuroo’s cock straining against his pants and grinding into your swollen clit makes your whole body feel weak.

you’re glad kuroo’s enjoying this so much, that he can prop your body up the way he wants you to. he’s so strong even in the midst of this sex-induced haze, and knowing that he has nothing but this kind of insane desire for you makes you feel almost giddy. it’s nice; it’s powerful to know that you have this effect on him. 

“gonna cum for me, bunny? while you’re all dressed up and pretty in my lap?” kuroo laughs. you nod, the faux ears atop your head threatening to go askew. his hands massage at your chest, every part of your body egging him on constantly. he kisses over the bite marks he left on you, the switch between loving appreciation and starved lust telling you everything you need to know about how this whole thing with him is going to end.

it’s a no-brainer that he thinks you look absolutely ravishing in his favorite outfit, but he swears that the costume is gonna look even better when it’s all crumpled on the floor, your naked body bared all for him. you’re going to look so cute, so innocent, and so adorable bouncing in his lap as he pinches your nipples from behind, that teasing tone of his pushing you towards an unending series of orgasms. kuroo can’t wait to feel you fall apart in his arms, to feel your helpless pussy fucked out on his cock. 

“that’s my girl,” he praises you, voice hushed and sultry. “my pretty, obedient bunny. cum all you want. gonna make sure that’s all you do for the next little while…”

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