#and see no other option other than to dig their hole deeper because they sure as hell arent getting out of it

[maraschinotopped]

undertale yellow. clutches head in anguish.

[vyuntspakhkite-l-darling]

I love seeing people ramble about their stories so, can you ramble about Biting the Bullet?

Totally! I recently decided to pause my first draft because I got stuck and do a dummy draft instead so it'll be nice to just talk about it a little. <3

Originally it was going to be a silly story about a military fireteam during a war in a fantasy universe. It. It was going to be silly. It was going to be an action-comedy. It is.... not that anymore. All the world conflicts started getting into the mainstream media and I began seeing more military recruiters in my school and I kind of began projecting my anxieties and frustrations and stuff onto the story and honestly I think that made it a lot stronger.

I have three options I'm still not sure which to pick for the POV. I'm doing it in 3rd person past tense for sure, but I'm still not sure if I'm going to switch between all four of the main characters' perspectives, just Sibatol and Arsioly, or just Arsioly. For the first draft I'm rotating between all of them and we'll see how I feel after that.

I think my favorite thing about this story is the decisive character moments I have planned. My characters will develop gradually, but their biggest developments come from moments where they have to make big choices, whether to stay in their old ways or grow as people. Visralion, the team's medic who usually puts others before himself, says no when Arsioly first asks to be his boyfriend. Because even though they both like each other, Arsioly is a pretty shitty person to everyone but Visralion at that point, and Visralion recognizes that if they got in a relationship it'd just end up with him trying to fix Ari and that's not his job. This is also a big moment for Arsioly- he can choose to be awful about the rejection or he can choose to look at his own behavior and improve as a person. He chooses to improve himself.

Ari probably had the most of these and I can't say one of them bc spoilers but another one he has which is more subtle but still important is when Estera, the girl his fireteam finds on a mission and basically adopts bc she has nowhere else to go, wakes him up in the middle of the night to cuddle because she had a nightmare. His immediate reaction is to tell her to suck it up and leave him alone so he can sleep. But he chooses to be compassionate to her and it really makes him realize how much better it feels to be nice to people (and helps teach him the value of a life bc he almost shot her and is now seeing that all the people he's carelessly killed could have gone on and had moments like these but shh...).

Most of Virava's are more spoilery but they revolve mostly around her being terrified about her past repeating itself, and she ends up overcorrecting and taking several steps backwards before she finally stops bearing all her feelings by herself and actually talks to people about her fear.

Talking about Sibatol under the cut because his portion of this revolves around be talking about him being promiscuous, if hearing abt that will make you uncomfy don't read further :3

The one I can think of for Sibatol is a bit less straightforward than the previous ones but bear with me. He struggles with hypersexuality for most of the story due to trauma from when he was young. Sleeping around causes a lot of problems for him but he just can't stop and he really struggles in situations where he can't just fuck his way out of it. Most of the moves he makes hurt him or make situations worse or just generally dig him deeper into this hole he's dug for himself. But I'm not the person that's gonna give you a character like this and then tell you that the way they become a better person is by being less of a slut. His turning point (I won't be too specific bc spoilers) is when he learns how to use his sexuality in a more strategic way, a helpful way that makes things easier for people for once, which is a gateway into him changing his mindset abt his sexuality and he's still as promiscuous by the end of the story but he doesn't just use it as a distraction from bad feelings anymore, he approaches it in a healthier way.

[blazehedgehog]

Thoughts on the twitter clones popping up because El*n is destroying twitter? Hive was hilariously shortlived. But do you think Mastodon, Cohost, or Bluesky have what it takes to replace twitter?

I think a lot of them are dumb and greedy. The way people so willingly flock to anything even remotely promising is depressing, even when it's a pretty much open fact that monsters are behind them.

Like, Threads. Threads sucks! It's by Facebook! You know, Mark Zuckerberg, the dude who literally had to go before congress and explain himself because they were stealing and selling so much of your personal data without your permission? Because, by the way: That's not supposed to happen. You're supposed to care about that. You can't just be like "oh well they have my data already, may as well ignore it". That's a bad thing to just let happen!

This is the guy who invented the "pivot to video" concept that decimated an entire industry of writers who were now expected to produce videos, all because Facebook was dramatically faking viewership numbers in a bid to lure in more advertisers. He runs a site that was proud to accept and promote insane fringe theories and undoubtedly contributed to the attempted coup of the United States Government on January 6th 2020. That Facebook. That Mark Zuckerberg. Yeah. They're behind Threads.

Or what about Bluesky? Everybody hated Jack Dorsey when he was running Twitter, so much so that they basically forced him out of the company. Now he's behind Bluesky, a website that is literally just Twitter 2, which openly admits he's feeding and selling all of your personal data to machine learning databases (like ChatGPT or Midjourney).

They also openly have settings for whether or not you want to see racist and bigoted content, which actually means being a Nazi on Bluesky is totally okay! They're going to welcome those people with open arms! They're just going to give you a setting to hide them instead of, you know, eradicating them off the platform like cockroaches. But it means Bluesky allows them, marks them, and lets them freely indoctrinate more people into becoming literal murderers.

Remember Hive? Remember how many people FLOODED to Hive and it was discovered they had an eensy weensy teeny tiny security flaw that allowed anyone to both edit and delete any post on the entire platform? Hive said they were going down "for a couple days" to fix it and ended up being down for six months. Also, the developers behind Hive actively hid their identities this entire time! Even before they were popular! There was no way to be sure who was EVER running that service! People were joking that it was a CIA operation! Who knows!

People are trading one dumpster fire for another with these places. You might be escaping the stupidity of Elon Musk but you're still digging deeper, not out of the hole. Every single option is going to lead to more regret and misery eventually.

Even Cohost isn't perfect! And I like Cohost! It's a lot more like Tumblr used to be in the early days. And Cohost is a lot more grassroots than any of these other services, they're a lot more open with whether or not the service is going to survive, but that's also because they respect the poster, respect their data, and just want to make a cool place to hang out at. Out of all the places to spring up during Twitter's death march, Cohost is where I've been posting.

But I heard someone say that Cohost is a very "holistic" approach to posting, and that's true. It's the social media website version being a vegan. It's all kale and chia seeds.

Cohost has no recommendation algorithm. It does not tell you who is following who. It does not offer numbers to tell you how many likes or shares a post has, or who liked or shared it. Everything you do on that site exists in a near-total vacuum unless you specifically put in the work and go looking for it. On some level it's admirable, because they don't want people developing the same competitive, toxic habits of only posting to "do numbers."

But also it sucks because, like, there's no way to identify and reference notable posts, nor see who your mutuals are. The only way to find friends through other friends is if they share one of their posts. And once a post falls out of favor, it's basically lost in the void to all those except a chosen few who remember how to speak its name.

But the vibes at Cohost are... good. I guess. It feels much more like everybody knows everybody. One good post will come across the feed and it feels like the whole dang website shares it that day.

But I would like a little bit of numbers. As a treat. Just because we can subsist on tofu does not mean we do not also deserve a nice, juicy hamburger too.

There's also Mastodon, and I have a friend who really liked Mastodon and wanted it to succeed, but I also heard it described as "the linux of social media" and that's exactly why I'd never use it as my primary platform. It's supposed to be decentralized, making it more diverse and easier for sub-communities to exist within the network, but last I checked, it just made it a pain in the ass to actually follow people that were on different networks than you.

Each one had a different compatibility song and dance you had to do in order for you to follow them from your network. Didn't like it. The whole federated platform feels like slightly too much work to use.

I will probably keep posting on Twitter until the last ember burns out. But I am believing more and more that what Elon is doing to Twitter is deliberate murder in order to deplatform his enemies. He's an idiot, don't get me wrong, but he's also doing things that are deliberately malicious "for the lulz." I'm sure he thinks he can rebuild Twitter into whatever he wants because he's just that rich and smart so he's willing to gut it from the inside out first.

[colinlegameboy]

Yammering About Dropsy

As a writer, I love to see innovative ways of telling stories, through any medium, but especially video games. I'm also a big fan of point and click adventure games, a genre that hinges on story to work properly. Dropsy is great at both of these things.

There is no proper dialogue in Dropsy. Instead it is entirely hieroglyphics. This works for the most part, but there are a couple that didn't convey themselves properly- For example, the hieroglyphic for "job" was a sign man digging a hole. I, and I have to guess others, initially thought it just meant "dig". I dunno how you'd convey that better, admittedly.

That said, there is a language in Dropsy- Its own alphabet, spelling out words in I believe English in various spots in the game. I'm sure there's game theorists who delight in going back through and translating every instance of actual words, but I'm not one of those people.

As for the actual story told? It's really good. A lot of really emotional moments and heartstring tugging, very palpable stakes, and uh... We'll get to how I feel about the rest later.

Let's briefly touch on the gameplay, which... I mean, it's your basic inventory object puzzle point and click. Pick up everything that isn't nailed down, use it on the environment. The main difference is that 90% of the puzzles are entirely optional- They only serve as a form of side quest that rewards you with making happy, which is a good reward. That said, you really can just zoom through the game if you want, but from what I understand there is some form of light narrative punishment for it.

Speaking of narrative... Spoilers follow. Not just for Dropsy, but for the first season of Superman and Lois. You'll, uh. You'll understand in a bit.

OK, so. Dropsy's ending is foreshadowed pretty well- Something weird and scifi is happening in this small town, and poor Dropsy is just bumbling into the mystery in hopes of curing his dad. Once you do so, he tells Dropsy that he is essentially Superman in terms of his origin story- Alien baby crashlands on Earth and is found by childless couple. Also, turns out, the CEO who wants to hire you is actually evil (shocker). But it goes a bit deeper than that.

After looking it up online, because it is NOT clear without further context, it turns out that the CEO is Dropsy's half brother who was also sent to Earth, but as banishment for killing his father and brother and trying to usurp the throne of the planet they're both from.

So... Yeah. Bit of an escalation there. Here's the thing, though- It mirrors the plot twist of Superman and Lois Season 1 almost exactly.

In Superman and Lois, the evil CEO Morgan Edge turns out to be Superman's half brother, who was sent away and instructed to rebuild Krypton on Earth by being a jackass about it.

You... Can see where I'm going with this, right?

I want to stress that Dropsy was released first, way back in 2015. Superman and Lois Season 1 came out in 2021. I don't know if it was on purpose, or a complete and utter coincidence, but Dropsy ripped off Superman, only for Superman to turn around and rip off Dropsy.

That is just insane to me. And whatever my feelings about this game (they are positive, let me stress), I will never be able to think about it again without thinking of this insane connection. Just wild.

[jaydenlucas]

“Wish I could say that I cared—” Jayden shrugged, “But why lie?” Maybe the quarterback had no right to be doing this. In fact, he knew he certainly did not. But that wasn’t going to stop him. That was the thing about seeing Soren again – he simply did not care. This was also why he never said goodbye to her; when in her presence, there were a lot of things he simply didn’t care about. His freedom sure seemed to be one of those things. But what good was that going to do for either of them? At the end of the day, his only option was to leave. He cocked a brow as she spoke, her words hardly surprising him. After all, he wasn’t that unaware. He did leave without a word, and dodged her every second after until she finally called it quits, herself. If she had done that to him, surely, he’d be livid right now. He had to give her that much; rather he wanted to or not. The one thing he would never agree on, however, was that he was partially a stranger. “Considering we pretty much indented ourselves on each other's skin since we were literal children; I do got to say that I disagree.” Even if it had been a decade, he still felt like she was the only one who knew him. “But to the contrary, I have always liked that bite of yours; so by all means, Soren.” He wiggled his brows, “I love it when things don’t change.”

He smirked when she told the bartender to put all the drinks on his tab. Snarky as ever, and hot. God, so hot. When she turned back to him to throw her petty jab at him, he simply just chuckled, and shook his head. He deserved that, he was sure. Leaning forward, he rested his arms upon the bar counter, “You make it sound like I made it a habit to leave you.” He mumbled, “If I remember correctly, it was just that one time.” Although a weak argument, he couldn’t pass up making it. Aware that it was only to tick her off more. Because like that mattered. “And while you don’t want to listen to me, at least hear me when I say, I had my reasons.” Pushing up off the counter, he turned and leaned up against his side. “And if I say so myself, it’d have to be a pretty decent reason.” He mumbled, “After all, I was going to ask you to marry me; and cold feet was not the reason that never happened.” What was he doing? Why did he just say that? In so many ways he was simply just digging himself a deeper hole. Glancing over at the dance floor, he smirked and glanced back at Soren; “Lets dance.” He suggested, aware that he was sure pushing his luck.

“Before you shut me down, dance with me, and I’ll give a far better explanation as to what happened back then.” He offered, holding out his hand, and waiting curiously if she would take it. He wasn’t sure if she still even wanted to know, but more than that, he wasn’t all that sure he wanted to tell her. Then again, what more damage could it do at this point? She already saw him in a different light.

Soren watched the exchange between her date and her ex with a boring expression on her face, hiding how thrilling it was to not only see Jayden in real life for the first time in years, but also the fact that he finally seemed to be reacting to her in any way possible. The thing was that it was too late. He'd been gone for too long now to realize that despite how clueless she was acting, Soren didn't exactly want to see him. Jayden had gave up on them.

Why? Soren didn't know. And despite there being a handful of years of wondering about his reasoning for leaving her behind, Soren felt like she couldn't afford to fall back into his arms. The attraction she felt towards him and the way that he was looking at her, be damned, Soren Robertson would fight those feelings. They had to stay down her throat like she'd pushed them years ago.

"Bye, Brandon." She almost sang, having expected him to run away. This move from Jay was bold, because he knew just how to get Soren riled up. So now she was both annoyed and hornier than she'd been before her night started. Which meant, Soren was more than annoyed at him. "First of all, you are incredibly rude." She started, her eyes finally falling back on Jayden's, an amused expression on her face as he started talking again.

Sipping from her drink, Soren did her best to hide how much his crude remarks were getting to her. But again, she simply refused to give him anything. Because in her mind, Jayden should be begin for her attention and forgiveness instead of trying to steal it away from someone else.

He had to know that he'd have to work harder than that.

"Secondly, I don't even remember what that thing I used to like even was now, that's how long it has been. In case you forgot." She rolled her eyes at him, clearly standing her ground. "Do you want me to lie, Jayden? No, it's not good to see you and no, there are no pleasantries to be had between us. As far as I know, you're a stranger and if you remember me correctly, I was never really nice to strangers."

Soren shrugged, her eyes moving to find his once again, aboring expression on her face trying to hide just how much the interaction was moving her. She had to be strong though, she couldn't let him get to her. And one thing about Soren, when she hurt, she had to hurt back. She'd let go of Jayden years ago, and now here he was; the sight of him alone making her hurt like she was back in senior year, waiting for him to show up to graduation.

As the bartender came back, Soren smiled at him. "Can you please put both our drinks on his tab?" She gestured towards the football player before turning to look back at him again. "That way, at least when you leave this time, I won't have to worry about anything. Seems like that is your M.O. after all."

[elysianslove]

secrets that you keep; iwaizumi hajime 

synopsis; in which his best friend is secretly a camgirl. part 1, part 2 

pairings; iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

genre; smut

trigger warnings; i highly recommend reading the first two parts before this. they’re only drabbles that introduce everything! anyways, this is absolute filth. don’t read this if any of the stuff mentioned could trigger you, please! masturbation, camgirl stuff, one mention of the word ‘daddy,’ self choking, degradation, humiliation, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, a lot of choking, accidental breathplay, not proofread unfortunately 

she knows. 

does she? 

it’s an ongoing inner battle he’s been having for weeks now, ever since he’d been directed to that trending video of yours. he sees you in his dreams, hears you loud and clear, moaning and crying for him, and worst of all, he feels you, so perfectly, against his, around him, and it’s overwhelming in the worst way possible. even maintaining eye contact is tiresome at this point. 

but he does wonder whether you know or not, more often than he should— were you deliberately calling out for him, in hopes that he’d find this video somehow? or had you said it because you’d assumed this is your safe place, that there’s no way he’d be able to find these videos? had it been a slip up? or, more accurately, multiple slip ups? what were the chances anyways, that it had been an accident, or unintentional, or intentional and he had been losing sleep over it, or that he wasn’t the hajime you were crying out for? 

his heard hurt. awfully. there’s already the constant worry of regulating his breathing around you and cleansing his thoughts of anything he’d seen of you the moment you meet, but this added dilemma is in no way helping. every day that you text him for a coffee date, or a night out after a rather stressful week, or a night in at your apartment, and he agrees, his mind diverts immediately to where it shouldn’t as soon as he lays eyes on you. and the worst part of it all is how aware he is of how wrong this is. he knows it’s wrong to choose the revealing shirt over the other when you ask him for his opinion, just because he wants that effortless glance at your cleavage. it’s also so wrong of him to give a higher rating to that obscenely short dress than that other, knee length one because of the way your thighs squeeze when you sit. it’s definitely wrong of him to offer clasping your anklet, the one he’d gotten for you, the one that had been the dead giveaway to your secret online persona, just because your legs feel so soft against the rough pads of his fingers, when he resists the urge to trail upwards, upwards, upwards—

it’s fucking ridiculous. 

he can’t believe just how deep of a rabbit hole finding one of your videos is, how it’s impossible to climb out and away, and even worse, how he keeps falling deeper. the one time he decides to jerk off to porn. it’s really ridiculous. 

about a week ago, three weeks after finding that video of yours someone had uploaded— which had been taken down because of copyright, and hajime personally thinks that’s fair, considering there’s a reason you pay people to watch your videos and look through your photos, otherwise you would’ve taken the liberty to post everything for free yourself— hajime gives in, and subscribes to you. it’s with a randomized account name, something he tried his very best to make as anonymous as possible, so that it would in no way lead back to him. he doesn’t check in on your account as often, also having taken the time to turn off notifications and not have anything sent to his email, and it’s mostly out of shame. he already feels dirty enough having seen this much of you, even more that he’s fantasized about you. he’s not about to make it worse for himself.

every once in a while, though, especially days where he’s sure he’s completely free of responsibilities, he logs on, and finds your page. it just so happens that tonight, you’re hosting a live stream. swallowing his pride and shame, literally so, he shifts on his bed, sitting up straighter, and clicks to join. 

he’d been a little late apparently, because you’re already bare, sitting on a chair. your legs are lifted up, knees bent and hooked over the chair’s arms, the camera angled to show everything, from your cute eyes to the flesh of your ass. there’s a vibrator in your hand, buzzing lightly as it hovers by your clit, dipping between your folds, sliding back up again to rub lazily at your clit. beneath you, on the chair, is a small damp spot, leaking from your cunt. hajime stops himself before his jaw falls slack at the sight of you, and instead, he clears his throat, gritting his teeth and watching carefully. 

you’re not so talkative during your videos, just exclamations of pleasure and (the most beautiful of) noises, so he hadn’t expected you to be during your lives. to his surprise, you are, and it’s filthy. 

whimpering lightly, you press the vibrator harsher on your clit, your other hand traveling up to squeeze at your breast. “m’so needy,” you admit with a soft pout, adding, “want you to tell me what to do, mmh.”

he’s assuming the ‘you’ is the audience, whoever’s willing to speak up, and it’s then that he notices the chat option. his eyes flicker curiously to it, hands twitching where they sit fisted at his lap as he sees the chat explode with orders and commands and suggestions for you. 

one writes, stuff urself full, and hajime gapes. 

another commands, wanna see u cry tn, and hajime privately agrees. 

someone else writes, gonna squirt princess? 

hajime’s hands twitch again, and he frowns, digging his nails into his palms. you’re ignoring all the suggestions, and it’s obvious because you’re reading through them, mouthing some of them, giggling at some, curiously gasping, ‘oh,’ at others, eyebrow quirking. the vibrator trails down to your hole again, and you experimentally dip it inside slightly, shivering visibly as the vibrations rush through you, and the moment he hears you moan so loud, he thinks, fuck it, and his hands reach for his keyboard. 

choke yourself. 

fuck, fuck, fuck, he did not just do that. 

his heart is racing embarrassingly fast beneath his ribcage, loud and pathetically deafening in his ears as he watches your eyes read through the rest of the messages, and you’ve stopped mouthing them, your eyes are widening— which one are you at now? are you just going to ignore him? why wouldn’t you? of course you—

“you’d like that, huh?” you teasingly slur, a lazy, cheeky grin painting your lips, your teeth biting down on your lower lip and your hand— your hand— 

it’s trailing upwards, upwards, upwards, until it finds its way around your throat, resting lightly, and just as he sees your fingers squeeze at the sides of your neck slightly, carefully, you pout at the camera, looking straight at him, and asking, “like this, daddy?” 

a low fuck wheezes past his lungs, and his hand quickly presses down at the bulge in his sweatpants, squeezing and rubbing at his clothed dick as he watches you, entranced. people watching you with him have taken to thanking him for the idea, and to praising you, calling you a good girl, cursing, rapidly typing out something along the lines of you’re so hot i wanna fuck you so bad, and god, hajime hates that he relates to something as stupid as that. 

your hips roll and your head falls back, hand not once leaving your throat. if anything, your grip tightens. you click on the vibrator, and the buzzing becomes louder, your moans with it, as if you were competing. you cry and gasp and sob, writhing in your own hold, your thighs tensing and your hole clenching around nothing as you harshly rub the vibrator against your clit. your cunt gushes and drips as you bring yourself closer to your orgasm, as you cry out a string of, “m’gonna cum, so close, so close!” and a mixture of lewd curses, until finally, you cum. you’re sent over the edge, legs swinging on the chair, high pitched squeals falling from your lips— which hajime can’t decide are real or not, or whether he wants them to be or not. you thrash and cry, tears, as promised to some other watcher, dripping down your cheeks. 

the last straw however, is your comedown from your high, sobs hiccuping and muscles twitching, eyes half closed and body limp as you mewl out, “hajime, hajime, hajime,” like you’re not even aware you’re doing it. like it’s subconscious. 

hajime swears again, a deep, low, “fuck,” and looks down to find a damp spot on his lap. he really came from barely any friction, all because of you. this really is as ridiculous as it gets. 

the next time he sees you, there are the faintest of bruises on your neck. it’s not so obvious that just anyone would notice, but ever since becoming hyperaware of everything that is you and everything that you do, it’s hard not to have them be the first thing he sees. to ensure that the atmosphere between the two of you remains easy, he flicks at your neck and tuts with a smirk, asking you jokingly if you were in your hoe phase. 

“so vulgar, hajime,” you sarcastically retort, teasing him. “you like calling me mean things?” and he has to avert eye contact because all his walls crumble so quick. 

it’s just the two of you tonight, in his apartment, all your other mutual friends having cancelled at one point or another. it’s not an unusual occurrence; more often than not, the two of you are alone. however, it’s been a while since you’d been alone, privately. a while meaning ever since hajime had discovered your side hustle of a sort. he hadn’t been purposely avoiding this— no, maybe he has, but to be fair, he’s still yet to recover from the initial shock. 

it also doesn’t help that since today had meant to be a relaxing night in, you’re dressed casual, but in the hottest fucking way possible. he hopes he hadn’t been blushing as hard as he thinks, and feels, he was, when you’d first stepped into his home. on your hips is a short, black skirt, flowing out to your upper thighs, where just above your knees start a pair of dark thigh highs, squeezing at your thighs and accentuating your legs as you strut around his apartment, feet bare of any shoes or slippers. he can’t decide whether it’s cute or just plain hot. somehow, with you, it’s both. your shirt is off the shoulder, a dark, navy blue bardot, and beneath it, peeking out to rest at your collarbones, is a black bralette. he can barely just see the intricate lace designs, but it disappears and dips beneath your shirt before he can see more of it. 

you’re spread out on the couch, laying along it on your stomach, a pillow tucked in your arms and beneath your head, your clothed legs bent and swinging up in the air. he sits right by you, thigh right by your head, his body as tense as ever. it’s impossible not to be you, not with you in such close proximity to him when only a few days ago he’d watched you make yourself cum, and had heard you whimper out his name after. who can blame him, really?

with your eyes trained on the screen, he hadn’t been expecting you to speak up. 

“iwa, what type of porn do you watch?” 

he nearly chokes, eyes widening as he spares you a glance. your legs continue to swing innocently, your eyes unmoving, your voice unwavering. the suddenness of the question certainly threw him off, but it’s your nonchalance that really shocks him. but, considering everything, it really shouldn’t have. 

“uh, what?” he offers weakly, wincing slightly at the barely there crack in his voice. 

you sigh, shifting to sit up. you plant yourself on your knees, spreading them apart slightly to get comfortable, and shrugging at him. “i’m just curious,” you say. “or,” your eyes squint cautiously, your head cocking to the side slightly, “do you not watch porn?” 

challengingly, his arms lift up to cross at his chest, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes momentarily glance at the way his biceps bulge. it makes his confidence spike slightly, nervousness ebbing away. “what type of porn do you watch?” 

you gasp dramatically, joking, “take a girl out to dinner first, my god.” he laughs, relaxing lightly at the banter, before his eyes fall back to you. you inch forward curiously, cautiously, still on your knees. now closer to him, you ask again, “seriously, i’m really curious! confirm my suspicions for me.” 

“oh?” he quirks an eyebrow. “so you think you know?” 

at this, you offer him a knowing smile, eyes slightly half lidded. you’re somehow even closer now, leaning towards him with your hands resting on the small space between you and him in the couch, helping you in lifting yourself up slightly on your knees as you say in a low voice, “baby, i think everyone knows.” 

at the sight of you by his side, he feels himself shiver, and an idea invades his mind before he can even process it. “oh, do you now?” he’s not sure where this boldness is emerging from, especially with how cautious and shameful he’d been and felt for weeks now, but he accepts it either way, because the way you’re staring at him like that, he never wants to let it go. and although he wants to drag out this intense eye contact even longer, in order to do what he wants to do, he has to break it, reaching for his phone instead. unable to contain your curiosity, you peak over, watching with confusion as he types out a link. 

the blood drains from your face when you recognize your page on his browser, and he’s logged on— he’s subscribed. 

“what type of porn do i like to watch?” he wonders rhetorically. the phone is pushed aside, and he sits up straighter so that even on your knees, he looms over you. his eyes are skimming over you, along your body, up to your neck, to your lips, to your shocked, wide eyes. and just as his hand trails up to your throat, his palm resting at the base and one finger tapping lightly, he says, “the type where my favorite girl cries out my name when she cums for the world to see.” 

the hand around your throat—

“you,” you breathe out, and finally, finally, when your brain makes sense of everything, your body relaxes, sags against him, leaning more into him until his hand’s properly wrapped around your throat. 

with your mind hazing over, you reach over, and kiss him. 

he meets you halfway, as if having expected it, lips pressing harshly against his. his hand tightens as he pulls you closer, lifting you up slightly and bringing you closer to him as his mouth parts, breathing you in, and kissing you deeper, lewder. you shiver and gasp, hands grasping at his wrist and forearm, not to push him away but rather to urge him closer, as you kiss him back just as eagerly. it seems like hours, with his hand around your neck, tight and a daunting reassurance, and your lips wet and hot against his, but eventually, his hand slides down, the other mirroring it, finding their way to your waist, squeezing and bunching at the skirt as he, with complete and utter and shocking ease, lifts you up off the couch. 

you gasp as he stands up with you, your legs quickly wrapping around his waist as he pulls you to him. as he blindly walks the two of you to his bedroom, he breathlessly asks in between your kisses, “is this— you sure this is okay?” 

with a sharp tug at his hair, you jokingly spit out, “iwa shut up.” 

he tosses you onto the bed, allowing you a minute to strip yourself of your shirt while he slips out of his own, before quickly falling above you, caging you in with his arms as he kisses you again. “not iwa,” he quietly asks of you. 

for a moment you’re confused, before everything clicks again— your slip ups— and your legs lift up, wrapping around his waist and pulling his hips closer to yours just as you mewl out, “hajime, please.” 

god, he is way easier than he thought he was. 

his entire body shudders above you, one hand lowering to push at your skirt to grind his hips down against yours until his clothed crotch meets your bare cunt and— holy fuck, holy fuck. 

“fuck, you slut.” 

you gasp at both his words and the feel of his bulge pressing down against your clit, his lips meeting your neck instead. “you do like calling me mean things,” you say, and he scoffs, his hand traveling upwards to squeeze at your breasts instead. 

“you like me calling you mean things,” he notes, and you let out a muffled moan as he pinches at your nipples through the bralette, lips biting and sucking at your neck. 

“i do,” you pant, arching up into him. “i do, i do.” his hands are fumbling at your chest, and god, they’re so large, so big and warm and harsh, it’s fogging up your brain. 

“yeah, yeah, fucking whore,” he growls, pushing himself slightly on his knees, hands tugging at the bralette. his fingers dip past, gripping the fabric tightly, and as he says, “can’t fucking— take this shit— off,” he tears through it, knuckles whitening as he pulls it away from your body, or what’s left of it. the frills of the ruined bra fall off the edge of his bed, and he watches your wide eyes and gaping mouth follow it, so he grabs at your jaw, twisting your gaze away from it and grunting a low, “shut up.” 

you pull away from the kiss, breathing heavily as you say, “that was so fucking hot, hajime,” before kissing him again. he parts his mouth as you lead him to you again, tongue easily meeting yours. 

it’s a messy kiss as he slips himself out of his sweatpants, taking his boxers with it and discarding them somewhere in his room. his cock slaps against his stomach, a single string of precum messily staining his tan abs. your eyes are quick to gaze down, lips painted a dazzling grin as his hand finds his cock, squeezing at the head and smearing his precum along. 

“knew you were fucking big,” you gasp, eyes trained on him as he strokes himself above you, and he is. he’s so big, thick and heavy, and veiny and your mouth waters at how that’s going to feel when inside of you, stretching you out so good, so much better than any of the toys you had at home. “i thought,” a squeal hiccups out of you as both of his hands grab at your hips from beneath your skirt, one sticky and warmer than the other, “about you all the time.” 

your confession draws his attention, and when he’s pulled you close enough, two of his fingers trail to your cunt, quirking an, “oh?” just as he dips his fingers inside. the lack of resistance he’s met with is surprising, and he chokes out, “did you stretch yourself out before coming here? fuck yourself on some fake cock?” 

tightlipped, you moan, brows furrowed and back arched into him. god, his fingers were not enough. “yes, yes,” you gasp, head falling back. despite not needing to, he still fingers you, his thick digits fucking into you slowly, driving you insane by the second. “yes, i— pretended t’was you,” you whine loudly. at your words, he curls his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist and pressing his palm directly on your clit. 

“do you always?” he lowly asks, dipping closer to you as he fucks his fingers deeper. his fingers were inside of you, the cunt he’d spent over a month marveling at through a screen, the pretty pussy his dick had drooled over for hours. you’re real, as real as ever beneath him falling apart, making a mess of your black skirt, drenching it with your arousal. 

you moan out a hum, nodding dumbly as his fingers vibrate with the intensity of speed inside of you, your toes curling in your thigh highs and face twisting to press into his mattress. “always,” you cry out, like a promise. “always think of you— hajime!”

it’s an unexpected orgasm, hitting you so fast and quick that it’s outright dizzying. it has you lifting your hips up into his fingers and palm, grinding and trembling, your legs falling and spreading open, shaking wildly by your side and above you as he fucks you through the orgasm. 

“hajime, hajime, hajime,” you chant, words trailing off into tiny sobs and shuddering breaths as your hips slowly fall back onto the bed, body still trembling with aftershocks. 

you’re fucked out beyond words already that you genuinely don’t feel a thing until he’s pressing inside of you, the fat head of his cock stretching you out. he’s really no match for your toys, and if seeing him hadn’t been enough confirmation, the feel of him pressing inside of you definitely is. he doesn’t ease himself in slowly, urgently grabbing the back of your thighs with either hand, keeping your legs spread for him as he bottoms out. 

“fuck, fuck, knew you’d feel so good,” he grunts, brows furrowed harshly as he digs his fingers deeper against the flesh of your thighs, forcing your legs closer to your chest, and somehow pushing himself even deeper within you. you whine and mewl, toes curling and uncurling and legs trembling. “knew it the moment i saw your pretty pussy creamin’ around that thick cock.” 

at the reminder that he’s watched and witnessed you, multiple times, that he’s subscribed to you willingly and curiously, you clench down around him. you feel him twitch inside of you, groaning loudly as he falls closer to you, your legs falling to his waist. 

“you like knowing i was watching you?” he sneers, his hand reaching up and gripping at your face, squishing your cheeks and forcing a pout on your lips. your eyes nearly fucking cross as he rams into you, his fingers digging into your jaw. “you like that i fucked my fist every night to you? to your pretty cunt and your pretty noises and your pretty face— yes, good girl, that one.” 

your eyes do cross this time, spurred on by his words, your tongue peaking out through the small gap he allows with how harsh he’s gripping your face. he’s pushing out little mewls and cries from you, but otherwise, you quite honestly feel braindead. 

“fuck, you’re a gorgeous little slut,” he gasps. “all mine to fuck and use.”

you’re quick to nod rapidly, whining and moaning for him as you grip at his biceps. you’re choking on your breath as you struggle to keep up with him while he fucks you into the mattress, so fucking hard and rough that you’re sure there’ll be an indentation of you once you leave. you can feel your cunt gushing, and you can hear it too, squelching loudly with every thrust of his hips, every time his cock fucks into you. your skirt feels sticky and gross, and so does the rest of you, but you’ve never, never, felt this euphoric, this blissed out. 

your stomach tightens impossibly, the tension gradually increasing as your walls tightly squeeze and clench at his cock. slowly and surely, the pressure within you increases, your hands flying to hajime’s arm, the arm whose hand grips your face, which quickly moves to your throat at your simple gasping warning that you were close. 

“gonna cum, gonna cum, hajime, fuck!” 

he tightens his grip, pressing harsher on the sides of your neck as your eyes shut tightly, your head falling back once more. 

“yeah, come on, show me how pretty you look cumming on a real cock,” he whispers by your ear, using the hand that’s around your throat to lift up your head, before roughly pushing it back down, squeezing tighter. “you like it this rough?— shit, shit, you’re tightening.” 

you scream, voice cracking and broken as he slams into you again, his hips grinding against yours momentarily, pelvis hitting your clit— and you’re gone, thrashing in his hold, fat tears streaming down your cheeks as you sob and heave, your body shaking uncontrollably beneath him, hips shaking as your orgasm rocks through you. it’s not a few seconds later that he’s spilling inside of you, accidentally pressing his palm down against your throat as he cums, blocking your airway momentarily. 

“hngh,” he gasps deeply, cock twitching inside of you as he cums, hips barely grinding. you’re gasping, a little painfully, struggling to take in any air as he blinks dazedly, before he finally takes notice. “shit, shit, i’m sorry.” 

his hand flies away from your throat, and you inhale sharply, coughing lightly as air fills your lungs all too suddenly. the strength of this man, holy fuck. 

“i’m so sorry; are you okay?” 

chest still heaving, you fall onto the bed, body relaxing as you try and regulate your breathing. “s’okay, i’m okay,” you reassure him, hands reaching up to pat at his cheeks and comb through his messy, sweaty hair. 

he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and it’s so endearing that you nearly forget he’s still inside of you. but you feel the shift of his cock, feel his cum slowly start to ooze out of your cunt, and he winces from the oversensitivity, shifting away to instead pull out of you. his soft cock falls from your cunt, a steady flow of his cum following. hajime has to physically resist from reaching out to fuck it back into you. 

“i’m sorry i wasn’t careful ‘nough with the—“ he makes a gesture with his hands around his neck, “—the choking.” 

you laugh lightly, tiredly, hands slowly caressing at his sweaty biceps. “stop apologizing,” you reassure him again, shrugging with a small smile as you add, “just be more careful next time.” 

his breath gets caught in his chest, and he only softly exhales when he falls on the bed, to your side, carefully repeating, “next time.” 

from beside him, you lift yourself up on your side on your elbow, palm cradling your head, trying your best not to wince in pain. “hajime?” 

he spares you a glance as he mumbles, “hm?” opting to stare at the ceiling and contemplate whether what had just happened was real life or not. 

“do you wanna do a video with me?” 

he all but chokes. 

end note; please this took me like 4+ hours. please please please don’t flop, and more importantly, i really hope i don’t disappoint. i know this has been a long awaited piece, so i’m praying and hoping you guys love it. 

love you all, mwah <3 

[mypoisonedvine]

awestruck || lee bodecker x modern!reader

based on a request for how lee would react to today's women.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: smut (including oral, m and f receiving, and anal... lots of anal), degradation/praise, reader being a complete hoe for lee bodecker because I know y'all bitches and I know what you're up to, essentially pwp because I refuse to explain how/why lee is in the modern era

You were very, very different than the women Lee was used to.

With them it had been months of courting and flowers and seduction to get a few minutes of kissing, maybe even some over-the-clothes touching, but if he went too far he got slapped and dumped.

With you it was a swipe right and half an episode of something called "net flicks" and you were straddling him and grinding on him and kissing him like you had never wanted anything so much.

With them, sex was missionary only, every other week only, in bed only, and even when he made them feel good they didn't like to show too much enthusiasm because it was unladylike, apparently.

With you it was things he hadn't even realized were options-- like the very first time, when you were holding onto his knees for balance as you bounced your ass on him, moaning loudly, your pussy gripping him for dear life.

With women back then, sex was a thing women let men have as a begrudging favor, but you begged him for it, sobbed and shook and shivered beneath him, opened your legs for him constantly... he could barely keep up, honestly, but he was more than happy to try. When he couldn't come any more at least he could get you off with his fingers or devour your cunt, and you loved it.

Almost as much, you loved doing things women absolutely did not do in 1966. Only hookers gave blowjobs then, but you got on your knees and sucked him off gladly, getting wet just from his cock down your throat. You even swallowed his come; you even let him paint your face with it and it genuinely blew his mind.

He was totally in awe of you. You weren't just the woman of his dreams, you were beyond that: never in a million years could he have dreamed up a girl like you. Even further, he never would've thought he'd actually get to call you his girl.

"Yours, yours, all yours," you chanted as he pounded you into the mattress.

"Yeah you are," he agreed, "my fuckin whore, huh? My pretty fucktoy?"

"Yes," you sobbed, and he loved how much you loved being called rude things like that. "Whatever you want..."

"But it's not about what I want, is it?" he grinned. "It's about how you want to be used, all the filthy things you want me to do to you, ain't that right?"

You whined a little but nodded.

"So tell me what you want," he prompted.

"I want... I want you to take my ass," you admitted suddenly, biting your lip a bit as he stopped moving to stare down at you in shock.

"You— I— what?" he stammered.

"You... you don't have to, if you don't want—“

"Oh, I want," he cut you off to assure, "I wanna give you anything you ask for. I just... I didn't even know... How long have you been thinkin' about this?"

"Ever since the first time you fucked me," you admitted, making him choke on his gasp. "Remember, how I rode you and you kept staring at my ass? I kept hoping you'd hold me down and put your thumb in it while you fucked me..."

"Oh Christ," he groaned, "so that's how it is then? You're tryna kill me?"

You giggled, and he pulled out to roll you onto your back, kissing you suddenly.

"You're too fuckin good to be true," he sighed against your lips. You laughed and hugged him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I'm really nothing special," you denied with a smirk as he kissed his way to your neck, "a lot of girls will do that nowadays."

"It's not that you're willing to do it, honey, it's that you want it so bad," he explained in a whisper right against your ear. "I don't need half the stuff you do, I'd be happy with wholesome lovemaking three times a week. What's so amazing is that you want more... and for some goddamn reason you want it from me."

He kissed you again, a little slower but a lot harder, until he pulled back just enough to growl: "Turn over."

You happily flipped onto your stomach, arching your back to wiggle your butt out towards him.

"Quit actin' so desperate," he scolded with a hard spank that made you groan. "You're a hell of a woman but you sure as hell ain't no lady."

"You like it," you pointed out with a grin.

"Well, that's beside the point," he smirked back as he reached down to circle your tight rim with his finger. You reached up to your bedside drawer, from which a bottle of lube appeared in your hand that you passed back to him. "Now what's a sweet girl like you doing with this in her bedside drawer, huh?" he mocked, popping the cap to apply some to his fingers. "I see, you've got all sorts of guys coming over to fuck you in the ass, I'm just one of your hookups."

"No, just you," you sighed as he started to slide his lubed up finger over your hole. "I just want you, Lee, I swear."

"Hey, you're a modern woman, it would be too much to expect you to be a devil in the sheets and strictly monogamous..."

"Lee, baby, it's just you, haven't even thought about anybody else since I met you— fuck!" you gasped, interrupting yourself as he pushed one finger in.

"Just relax honey," he instructed, "if you can't take a finger I won't put my cock in you."

"No, please, need it," you whined. "I'll be good, please..."

He smiled and pushed the second finger in, slowly twisting within you and starting to stretch you out.

"More," you whispered, almost too quiet to hear but he heard you and quickly added a third finger which made you tense up at first before relaxing again.

He was entranced by watching your body open up for him, amazed at how well you were adjusting and how clearly your noises indicated enjoyment. He wouldn't have agreed to this if he didn't think you'd like it, and he had fully prepared himself for you to change your mind, but here you were... looking like you were having an even better time than he was.

"Please, I'm ready, I want it," you begged.

"No, baby, you need a little more," he assured, pushing his fingers deeper to be sure you'd be able to take him.

"Please please pleeeaaasse, I need your cock in me, I need you to fuck my ass—!"

He cut you off with another spank, pulling his fingers out of you to slather his cock with some lube and line it up with your hole. "You're sure?" he hissed.

You nodded eagerly and he barely moved his hips forward, just enough to start to slide his head into you, and you both let out a deep noise of pleasure together. But he didn't slow down until he met the end of you, one long smooth stroke into your waiting body until his hips met yours and he thought he might lose it right then and there.

"Oh my god," he sighed, "your ass is... so fuckin' tight..."

He started to move a little faster, pinning you down as you gasped and moaned so beautifully.

"Won't be by the time I'm done with it," he promised through his teeth, picking up his pace once again as you clutched at the sheets beneath you— yet your back arched to push your hips up towards him, so it was obvious you loved it. "That's whatcha want, sweetheart? For me to stretch out your ass?"

"Please," you whimpered.

"God, you're good, you're so good," he hissed, his hips slapping into your soft flesh loudly now, his rough hands pinning your shoulders down. “Too fuckin’ good…”

Your moans sounded different than usual— deeper, needier, desperate in a way he very much understood as he tried to hold himself back from fucking you too hard. It was difficult to pick where to look since every part of you looked so beautiful like this but he went ahead and settled his gaze on your face, the breathless moan you were perpetually caught in as your eyes fell shut and your mouth was open slack.

You chanted his name in a hoarse whisper as he fucked you harder, one more reminder to both of you that it was his body filling yours, his cock penetrating you in such a taboo way.

"I'm— I'm gonna come," you stammered, causing his brain to short circuit for a moment.

"You... you're gonna come, from this? Just this?" he realized.

You nodded, and he really had to hold back to not fill you instantly at the thought of you coming from anal alone. He understood now how he had suddenly appeared in this strange time, with no idea how or why; he must have died and gone to a very fucked up heaven.

“Go ahead and come then,” he instructed darkly. “Wanna see you come for me.”

He could all but see the shiver run up your spine, your upper teeth digging into your lip as you whimpered louder and louder— and it was a bit harder than normal to tell by the feel of you that you were coming, but the noises you made were incontrovertibly those of a woman thrown into pleasure. Your eyes rolled back, your moans exhausted and weak, and he couldn’t take it anymore: with a grunt of his own, he filled your insides with his spend, barely managing to hold his weight up so he wouldn’t crush you.

You hummed, wiggling a little under him as you caught your breath, and it was almost too much on his sensitive, softening cock.

“That was… you are…” he started over a few times, not even sure what to say.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” you announced as you sat up and gave him a quick kiss. “Join me later?”

“O-okay,” he mumbled, watching you dash to the bathroom as he fell back onto the bed and contemplated the wonderful insanity his life had become with you in it. Maybe the future really is bright after all...

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Stress Relief (Donaka x fem!reader)

Summary: Donaka is stressed and it’s your job to help him relax.

Pairing: Donaka x Fem!Reader

Author’s notes: is this me posting filth again? Why, yes, it is! Enjoy because I have no idea how long this will last. LOL

Wordcount: 2688

Warnings: smut (oral m!receiving; fingering). Powerplay; degradation kink; edging, overstimulation; choking. 

Most of your days you spent doing whatever you wanted because you had no worries, not financially or of any type. You were free to hang out with friends, travel, party, and do whatever you wanted.

There were only two rules: you needed to be available to him whenever he called, be it in person or through the camera. And you were exclusively his. No one was allowed to touch you unless he said so. Those two rules were easy enough to follow when it meant having everything you ever dreamt of and more.

That day, you had been in your apartment reading when the message came in, making the smartwatch around your wrist vibrate:

Zen space. Lilac. NOW.

You had no idea what had happened and you preferred to remain blissfully ignorant of Donaka’s business, but you recognize that tone, even through text. He was stressed and furious and it was your job to help him relax.

Wasting no time, you set your book aside and headed to your bedroom, considering for a second if you should take a quick shower first, make sure your skin was silky soft and scented just like he preferred, but decided against it. Making Donaka wait was never an option so you just changed into the requested lingerie.

It was a pale lavender babydoll, with a lace front that revealed almost every inch of your body and tiny panties that barely covered your sex. You also put on the diamond choker he had gifted you even though he hadn’t explicitly asked for it, before taking the private lift that took you straight to his loft on the floor above.

The elevator opened in his home office and you noticed the room was dimly lit, the wall of screens was on standby offering a soft blue glow. The black leather couch was empty as you expected so you turned your attention to the left corner of the room, his Zen space, where he went to meditate or cool off.

Donaka was sitting on the glass bench, back turned to the rest of the room and facing the wall of concentric circles, his bare feet resting on the platform that separated the smooth and polished dark floor from the finely grated white sand. His hands rested on his spread knees and there was a slight hunch on his shoulders, the weight of his stress.

By his feet, in front of him, laid a thin pillow to protect your skin from the unforgiving sand and you were glad for it. You would, of course, kneel on it and endure the grains digging into your skin if that was what Donaka wanted but he didn’t get off on pain. Not yours at least.

You moved towards him in silence, resisting the urge to brush your fingers over his broad shoulders and back, before kneeling in front of him, sitting on your heels and looking up at the man that gave you everything and owned your heart.

His eyes pinned you in place and made your breath hitch. Cold fury clouded the brown orbs and his lips were pressed together tightly, jaw clenched tight. The sight made your body shudder with want and you pressed your thighs together.

There was something so arousing about seeing Donaka this enraged. Seeing the violence in his eyes and knowing that it would take him barely any effort to snap you in half or choke the life out of you. The knowledge that he was the kind of man that killed without even blinking but for some reason, he chose never to harm you. Most of the time, Donaka chose tender caresses and measured touches designed to bring you the kind of ecstasy that you had never experienced before.

Today his fingers trailed against your cheek in a featherlike touch, his thumb brushing over your lips, and at the faintest pressure, you parted them, letting the thick digit enter your mouth. You swirled your tongue around it before sucking greedily just as you wanted to do to another part of his body.

You watched his eyes darkening as you hollowed your cheeks and pulled more of his thumb into your mouth and moaned under your breath at the knot building between your legs, making your core pulse and dampening your panties.

Donaka’s other hand reached for the button and zipper of his trousers, releasing his half-hard cock from its confinements. He pulled his thumb free from your mouth, palm cradling your nape before he nudged your forward.

You licked your lips and inched closer, mouth salivating at the treat in front of you. You want his long, thick cock in your mouth. You wanted to feel it fully hardening between your lips, under your talented tongue. You needed to taste his bitter precum, a flavor you were slowly becoming addicted to… but all that could only happen after Donaka’s permission.

Sometimes it would come almost immediately. He would push you down his hard shaft, making you gag on it, fucking your mouth with abandon and using you like you were worth little more than your holes. In those days, he would come all over your face, zip himself up, and leave you to take care of yourself.

However, on days like today, when he was tense and furious with whatever had bothered him at work, he preferred to drag it out. To make you work for it, sometimes even beg to have his cock in your mouth. When he finally allowed it, Donaka would fuck your mouth oh so slowly, pushing deeper and deeper, until tears started to spring in your eyes, spit ran down your chin and your juices soaked your panties in such a way that all you and he could smell was the scent of your desperate arousal.

“What do you want?” He asked and his low and throaty voice sent shivers down your spine.

“Your cock, sir.” You whispered, peering at him from under your lashes. “Will you fuck my mouth, please? Make me choke on it?”

There was a barely-there twist in the corners of his mouth and your heart leaped in your chest. How you loved to make him feel good. It was like a drug.

“Such a good girl,” Donaka said, his thumb caressing your jaw. “My little cockslut.”

“Yes, sir,” you all but whimpered, pressing your thighs together once again because your cunt throbbed and you had never in your life thought you would get this turned on by being used like this, but by God, his words made you shudder with desire, body hot and ready for anything that Donaka was willing to give you.

With his hand still on your nape, controlling your pace, he nudged you forward once more, holding his cock with his free hand and letting the tip rub against your wanting lips. Donaka wasn’t one for much noise, but there was a slight hitch on his breath that told you he was enjoying the soft, almost ghost-like touch on the sensitive and swollen head of his member.

Your lips parted a little, letting your tongue brush against the velvety head and Donaka sucked in a deep breath, especially when the tip of your tongue probed against his slit, bringing forth a pearly white drop of his precum and making him harden fully.

God, your cunt ached in need to be filled but you knew you couldn’t touch yourself. Not until he allowed and that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Not until he had his release and part of you wanted to just suck him fully into your mouth, end this torturous teasing. Even if it meant a serious punishment later (or maybe especially because it would lead to a punishment).

However, the bittersweet pleasure of the edging and denial was like a drug too, making your orgasm be nearly blinding so you hanged on, gathering every little bit of patience you could find so you could continue to just lick the tip like a lollipop that you wanted to last forever.

After a few more moments of that painfully slow game, Donaka’s grip on your nape tightened, his blunt nails digging lightly against your skin, and you knew he was ready for more. You met his dark gaze, eyes hooded with pleasure lips parted in a soft pant as he watched you and he didn’t even need to tell you what to do.

“Sir, may I suck you now, please?” you pouted and kissed the head of cock for good measure, batting your lashes like a needy child and Donaka smirked.

“Yes, angel, you may.”

You didn’t need to be told twice and engulfed the thick and hard shaft into your mouth, whimpering at the burst of flavor on your tongue as he let out a small grunt of pleasure, his shoulders finally relaxing as he tilted his head back and just enjoyed your work.

You pushed him deeper into your mouth until your nose was almost pressing against the thick dark curls surrounding his member. The open fly of his dress pants scratching your chin as you hollowed your cheeks and hummed. Donaka cursed low and grunted, his hips raising lightly, driving even deeper, and you gagged, tears burning your eyes. Your clit was almost painfully swollen and each rub of the lace of your panties was torture. You needed just a little bit of…

“Take your hand off that cunt, angel.”

You had no idea how he knew. His head was still tilted back, eyes nearly closed but you didn’t dare to disobey a direct command. With a pitiful whimper and one last flick on your needy clit, you pulled your hand away, crossing them behind your back and Donaka’s smirked.

“That’s better.” He looked back at you, tugging you away until his cock slipped from your lips with a pop, and you gulped a breath. “No one ever taught you that you shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to you without permission?”

You said nothing because you didn’t have an answer to that.

“And to whom that little pussy belongs, angel?”

“You, sir.” Your voice was small and raspy from the abuse on your throat.

“Exactly.”

He petted your cheek once, before pushing you back toward his cock, and dutifully, you took him into your mouth again, letting your jaw slack so his shaft could slip in and out as he guided you to bob your head at a faster pace. His cock pulsed against your lips, and you could tell he was close. Soon enough, Donaka’s hot cum would be coating your tongue and you couldn’t wait. You were desperate for it.

Before him, you had never allowed a guy to cum in your mouth. Then again, before Donaka, the was plenty you didn’t let men do to you. He changed your life, and you knew you would never be able to go back.

His grip on you tightened again as he pulled you closer until your nose was buried against his pubes and you forced yourself to relax as best as you could as he let out a final grunt and pumped his cum down your throat.

The hot and sticky ribbons making you gag again and tears run down your cheeks as you blubbered and squeezed your wrists to hold them still. Only when he was completely spent, Donaka let you pull back, his cock slipping from your mouth, glistening with your spit and his cum as you coughed and gasped for much-needed air.

He only allowed you a moment, before he was forcing to sit on his thigh, your trembling legs spread as he pushed your panties aside and glided his long fingers over your soaked hairs and sensitive lips.

“My dirty little cockslut is this wet from sucking me,” he mocked with a biting tone, and you whimpered. “Do you want to cum, angel?”

“Yes, please, sir.”

His fingers rubbed over your clit, making you gasp and whine, the pleasure overwhelming to the point of hurting but you still thrust your hips up, seeking more.

“Please…” you were almost crying now, desperate for it. Exactly like Donaka like it. “Please, please, please. Oh God, please…”

Thick and fat tears ran down your cheeks and the same hand that had been around your nape, came to your throat, surrounding the choker and forcing you to tilt your face enough so he could lick away your tears and his two fingers finally entered you.

Your cries were high-pitched and needy as Donaka fingered you hard and fast, the heel of his large palm slapping your clit as he curled his digits and the hand on your throat tightened in just the right way.

Your climax hit you like a storm, lighting up every single one of your nerve-ends. Your vision darkened, your body tensed, your back arched and a wild moan tore from your throat as your cunt pulsed and throbbed and you squirted all over his hand and knee.

For a while you were nothing more than a conglomerate of nerves busting with pleasure that seemed to last forever as Donaka continued to thrust his fingers, pressing the rugged wall of your cunt and rubbing your clit, dragging out your bliss until another lightning struck and you came again in what it felt like was just seconds later, but you knew it had to be longer. Time seemed to shorten and stretch at once as you rode his hand, gasping, wheezing, and crying?

You couldn’t tell if that pitiful sound was really coming from your mouth, not when your body was electrified like that, your muscles spasming and feeling like jelly and you had to reach behind yourself for Donaka’s shoulders to hold yourself because surely you would slide to the ground if you didn’t.

And just as the blinding light of your pleasure was starting to dimmish and you thought you would be able to see and feel and talk and breath again, his hand restarted his motions and you cried because it was almost painful now. That sweet, incessant ache that made you seek it, and you could faintly hear sobs and pleas of stop and no more. You couldn’t take another.

“Safeword?” Donaka’s voice sounded clear in your ear, and it was on the tip of your tongue. You knew if it crossed your lips, he would stop, but your vocal cords refused to utter it. “Safeword, angel.”

You pressed your lips together tightly, like a kid with a secret, and shook your head. His lips drew into a pleased smile against your cheek.

“That’s my girl.”

His kiss on your jaw was almost soft and loving before his fingers restarted their dance inside you. Even faster than before and your hips were rocking against it, actively seeking out your third orgasm despite the aching of your abused clit.

Once again, as the climax overtook you, your body went rigid and seized, your vision whited-out and for several blissful moments, that intense pleasure made time fall away, leaving only the most perfect peace and comfort, like slipping into a hot bath after a long day, letting the scented water wash away any hint of tension in your body before you laid in your bed, the duvet and pillows soft like a lover’s caress, welcoming you to an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When you finally opened your eyes again, after what it felt like just a couple of seconds, you were in your bed, cleaned and tucked tight, the only evidence of your previous activities was the sweet ache between your legs whenever you moved and a deep, sad sigh escaped your lips.

It was always like this: Donaka fucked your brains out, then he would take care of you, clean you up and tuck you in and no matter how much your blissed-out self, begged for it – and you knew you always did – he would never stay. But this was the deal you made. You took whatever he gave you. You didn’t complain and you didn’t demand more.

You couldn’t. Too afraid of losing what little you already had.

xxx

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[iloveitwhen]

jasonette but like siblings but like angst- like that whole trope where they are blood related and got separated, or they didnt get separated idk thats cool too i just want some sibling jasonette😅

Wow. ok. uhmmmm. this is a lot i think?? I got a little jk a lot carried away and this past week was super busy so i’ll finish the second part later??

Again... a lot...

Jason is walking home after another night at the bar when he sees a small woman, teenager? Slip into a dark alleyway and two men follow in after her a few moments later. 

Jason curses and bolts across the street, what was this girl thinking? How stupid do you have to be to go into a dark alley where no one will hear you or care to help?

He jumps into the alley to find one man already slumped on himself on the floor and the other getting kicked in the teeth by army boots then falling limply. 

Jason curses again, impressed this time. He scans over the men noting that they probably had pretty good concussions judging from the dent in the garbage can the first man was laying next to and the way the second guy’s head smacked onto the concrete when he fell. He lands his eyes back on the woman, no, definitely a teenager, with a smile on his face that instantly falters. The girl is in a fighting stance and waiting for him to attack so he quickly raises his hands to placate her.

“I’m not here to fight you, I saw you get followed and I was coming to help.” 

“Nobody helps in Gotham,” she states, a dangerous edge to her voice that held a carefully hidden accent. 

“Not from around here, are you?” 

The girl narrows her eyes, “I was born and raised here, take a step further and you won’t be waking up tomorrow.” 

Jason pockets his hands and smirks. He likes her, she’s a fighter, she reminds him of himself when he was younger. 

“Ok. Just make sure you make it home safe. A girl’s going to get some unwanted attention at a time and place like this.” He turns around and crosses the street but as soon as he’s out of her sight he turns back and hides in the shadows to track her and make sure no one else tries to catch her alone. Just because she could handle herself the first time doesn’t mean she’s necessarily safe from the next attempt. 

The girl exits the alley and starts toward the direction of Jason’s apartment calmly as if she didn’t just get attacked. At least that means less walking for him. After a few minutes she slips into another dark alley, of course she does, and Jason crosses the street again going into his own empty alley before pulling his helmet on and scaling the building. As he peers over the side of the building his helmet scans the area giving him feedback he would normally miss due to the horrible lighting and telling him that the alley was empty. He figured she had somehow gotten into one of the buildings and decided to go home by rooftops since he was already up there. 

However, as he landed on the opposite rooftop his feet slipped from underneath him. Jason managed to roll out of it but before he could get his footing his hip was kicked into and he stumbled, tripped over a seemingly perfectly placed rock and smashed his head on the side of the stair house. Then, just as quickly as this all transpired, there was a body behind him, they hooked their fingers under his helmet and lifted it to expose his neck and press a knife with jagged points onto his neck. How did he know the knife had jagged points? Good question, it was, as previously mentioned, against his neck and piercing into his skin, drawing blood. 

“Why are you following me?” a girl’s voice filters through his mask and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His mask let him know through the constant visuals that the voice belonged to a female in their late teens, not that he didn’t already know that. 

“Making sure you got home safe,” he says carefully, weighing his options and trying to decide if he should let her feel like she got him or escape with a slight nick on his neck. 

Eh. Jason preferred to not have a bleeding neck no matter how small the cut. 

“Lies,” she hisses, digging the knife a bit deeper as a warning, maybe getting out sooner was a better idea. “What do you want?” 

“Knife off my throat first,” he manages without pushing his neck further onto the blade. 

A second later the girl releases him and jumps back with enough space between them to react if he ended up deciding to attack her. 

Jason gives her a quick glance as he stands up, a hand to his throat to check for blood. 

“I wasn’t lying-”

“You’re not fooling anyone you Red Hood wannabe,” she snaps. Jason just laughs in surprise, no one has ever accused him of being a Red Hood wannabe. He's the one who made the mantle into something to respect, something to fear. He stops laughing and levels a glare at the girl, his helmet telling him unhelpfully there was no match of facial recognition in any database. 

“I am Red Hood-” he started to growl out but she cut him off again. The audacity. 

“Red Hood wouldn’t have been caught by the person he was trailing, Red Hood wouldn’t have been caught off guard, Red Hood doesn’t have a stupid streak of white hair on his head. He may have been a theatre nerd but he wouldn’t do that.” 

Wait what. 

“What are you talking about?” But it was more of a demand than a question. 

“You’re not…” she trailed off waving her hand in the air trying to find a word, “slick. Same jacket, same shoes, same build, yeah. You’re not fooling anyone.” 

“Ok. Whatever, I’m going home.” He turns and starts jogging across the rooftop towards home. So much for helping out. 

“Where is he?” she calls out after him.

“Right here, princess,” he spat before jumping to the other rooftop. 

But as soon as his feet leave the building a big dark blue warbly hole appears and swallows him before he can react. Unfortunately for him the other side of that weird black hole was a face full of concrete. 

“Prove you’re him.” 

Oh this girl was something else. Jason shakes his disorientation away, he didn’t know how she did that, nor did he care but he was pissed. He swings his foot around and connects with her ankle, she falls as expected but easily bounces right back up and hops out of his range. 

“Do that again and I’ll have to break my no killing kids rule,” he growls out, staring her down for a moment. Her face was finally lit by the dim yellow street lamps and he could see the entirety of her face and all the raw emotions she was trying to hide. For a split second familiarity passed through him, like when you see someone at the library then at the store a few weeks later or you see an old school friend ten years later and can’t quite place them. Jason dismisses the feeling and turns to go. 

“Wait.” She says it so vulnerably that Jason gives her a chance, when he turns she pulls up her sleeve and shows off her forearm. 

In the center of her arm is a faded black tattoo that was a writing symbol, but because of its name and one of its uses it was used to brand child soldiers in Gotham from a particular gang that Red Hood obliterated as soon as his first order of business in Gotham. 

‡

It was the double dagger, or better known in Gotham as the death dagger. The children were expendable although highly trained and dangerous, they could give Damian a run for his money in the child assassin department. The tattoo was a reminder to the children and to the people they came across that they were soulless, emotionless, their lives and actions were not their own and they would give their lives willingly for the mission

Meaning who they were before was dead. No family, no connections, no one would notice if they went missing and no one would be able to identify their bodies if and when the time came. Sometimes poor families would sell one of their children and promise to forget them and to never contact them. 

Jason was led to assume that this was another child soldier looking to thank him, or kill him. It was 50/50 these days, some of those kids just never recovered. 

“So what is it that you want? You want my autograph across your head?” Jason asks dryly. 

The girl just huffs and pulls her sleeve back down. 

“I want to know if my brother is underneath that mask.”

I want to know if my brother is underneath that mask.

The words struck Jason deep in his chest but it only fueled his anger. He didn’t know why that hit so deep but he was not in the mood for this nor would he be at any time. 

“Just because I ended that gang doesn’t mean we’re family. Go find your other assassin siblings to play house with.” 

“Annette,” she calls after as he turns his back again. A strike of familiarity pulses through him and when he hesitates she continues, “that was my name before I was initiated. I was one of the first. Daddy’s little girl,” she was still talking louder than necessary since he hadn’t turned back around. “I’m the only one left from The 13.” 

Right. The 13. That’s what everyone called the first batch even as they were killed off, they were the most ruthless being the oldest and were also the most aggressive in proving their worth. It was common to find a number from 1-13 placed strategically behind at the crime scene, whoever had the most successful missions would be highly rewarded, or so he was told. 

“Do you remember?” 

“I remember destroying that gang and their stupid leader and having to kill some of your little friends and I also remember The 13 died within the first year and a half and were easily replaced by their younger friends.” 

“Do you remember me?”

“Look, kid,” he finally turns to look at her, “I don’t care, ok? Yay whoopdeedoo I saved you, get in line. It’s what I do, kill bad people and let the rest walk away. You’re not special.” 

“Annette Marie Todd,” she says hurriedly, like it’s a last resort. “Jason Peter Todd,” she continues, “just you. Me. And a blitzed out Mom.” 

Jason did not like this, he knew the Dagger Children were ruthless and expert manipulators but this was pushing it. He spun around to face her, ripping off his helmet, she already knew what he looked like and it was in the way of his death glare. 

“You don’t know who you are messing with. If you really were a Dagger you’d know that I am not one to be fucked with.” He slides his helmet back on and without a backward glance he runs off to the next roof and continues home. Thankfully not another portal thing opens up in front of him. 

———————————

Jason didn’t have a sister. He did not have a sister. He would remember having a sister. He would remember having a Dagger for a sister. But Annette was such a familiar name. And she had said her name was Annette Marie Todd. Todd. 

No that’s stupid. Impossible. She was just messing with him, for all he knew she could have been subtly showing her face in random places for him to react to the familiarity of her face and she could have said the name sometime in the last few months for him to vaguely recognize the sound of her name but not place it. 

But the Lazarus pit did alter his memories from childhood, it was like looking through a fog of red anger, or maybe it was always like that even before the pit, and it also completely wiped out other parts of his memory. But a sister? No. No way. 

Hours of this, circling around the possibilities and shifting around on his bed trying to get comfortable until he finally drifted off in a very restless sleep. 

Jason found himself in a familiar apartment, the one he lived in before his “mother” died. He looked around and it was more of the feeling of familiarity that convinced him where he was than anything else. He steps aside for a younger version of himself to run by him and turns to the window that led out to the fire escape and watches him climb out of it and close the window. Jason turns back around to see what Young Jason was hiding from. A man hands a thick envelope to his mother, Catherine Todd who had wrapped herself in a thin silk robe, her bony frame visible as well as her happy focus on the money inside that envelope. Jason couldn’t make out the man’s face but he turned around and grabbed the small hand of a little girl in pigtails. She turned her head and faced the window sending a smile but he couldn’t quite make out her face so he instead turned to himself sitting outside.

As he turned his surroundings changed but in his dreamstate he paid no mind to it. This time he was standing in an aisle of a store as a child. He looked around and found his mother dressed embarrassingly in a thin tank top and ragged jeans and flip flops. He feels a squeeze of his hand and looks down, his little sister is looking up at him and pointing to a rack of stuffed animals of Clifford the Big Red Dog that were suddenly there. He sends her a smile and looks up, intent on catching up with his mother and asking her to buy one but as he chases her his intent slips from his mind and instead he wants to taste the cupcakes he just saw. He opens a case and takes a bite but yelling makes him turn around and there is Batman towering over him. Instead of a tasty cupcake he is holding something thick and metal, a crowbar. He throws it at the man and turns to run away and jumps out of the parking garage and jumps into the air flying up. But he’s too slow, he tries kicking and swimming in the air to propel himself further away from Batman but a hand wraps around his foot. 

Jason jerks awake, breathing heavy and feeling uncomfortably hot. This was much more mild than his usual nightmares, if it could even be called a nightmare, but it was bad in a different way. It wasn’t unusual for Jason to be getting chased in his dreams by one thing or another and it always ended before whatever or whoever was chasing him got him but it was getting a little old honestly. 

His head was pounding so he slipped out of bed and poured himself a glass of water from the kitchen. As he takes a sip he recalls his dream and how he had looked down at his sister. But that couldn’t be right. 

A searing pain in his head forces him to tighten his grip on his cup before it goes away again. Stupid head. Stupid dream. Stupid girl trying to get in his head. 

As he lays back down a memory of clear grey eyes flashes across his mind’s eye. 

---

Throughout the next few days Jason tries to ignore the headaches and his dreams of the young black haired girl with grey eyes and of getting chased which was more frequent and more urgent than he remembered them being. It was just all a big waste of time. At least the Dagger girl wasn’t trying to find him anymore, he didn’t know how he would react if she showed up again. 

After another dream of getting chased, this time he was just so tired of it he got a few good punches in on the Bane/Joker demon that was chasing him when his phone buzzes, startling him awake. He ignores it in favor of a cup of coffee and checks the time on the oven that he never uses, it’s almost two o’clock. 

His phone buzzes again several more times in quick succession. He finally heads over and clicks his phone on to see five messages from Stephanie. 

Replacement’s replacement🤰

so u have a little sister and u never told me???

anyways shes at the big house and getting interrogated by bruce and i think hes ready to adopt her

hello

so rude

i mean it looks to me shes tellin the truth but like seems sus for obvious reasons and ur the only one that'll actually know so… hurry up??

Jason curses and rushes to grab his things before running outside and zooming to the Wayne Manor on his motorcycle. 

welp i’ll add with another part soon that i havent finished yet but anywho let me know if jason is too ooc or something😁😁

[seriouslysnape]

Ooh yey requests are open 💕 could you write something where reader is the one to propose to severus instead of the traditional way? With a ring and all?

OH STOP THAT’S SO CUTEEEEEEEEE.

__

Indecent Proposal

Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

A/N: HAHAHA. This gif doesn’t match this one-shot at all, but I thought it was funny out of context.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 2,511

“If you wish to ever tell me something, I’m here to listen.”

__

Severus knew the moment that he met you that you were the one. It was a sort of sensation that he couldn’t describe. It was like when he laid eyes on you, the final piece of his puzzle of life fell into place, completing a full picture. He knew that his life was fulfilled with you. It wasn’t until your third or fourth week of dating that he began to think about marriage. He spent several days brainstorming over what kind of ring you might like, or what kind of house you’d want to live in once you were wed.

Severus was never one to just jump right into things. He liked to calculate every aspect of his life, weighing all possible options and considering all scenarios. This was no different. Even though he could have very well gotten down on one knee after just a month of dating, he knew that was far too soon for a marriage proposal. There was no way that either of you were ready or prepared to get married yet. Severus, though, was a patient man when it came to you.

He was willing to wait as long as it took.

Fast forward to a year and a half later, Severus was beginning to feel that proposal itch once more. He knew the time was getting right, and he wouldn’t be able to overlook his heart’s wishes much longer. He was ready to spend the rest of his life with you. He wanted his proposal to be nothing short of exemplary. He had already bought a ring about a week ago, one that you had mentioned in passing that you liked. He made sure to make a note of it, going back and purchasing it when you weren’t with him. He had kept it in the box in his pocket ever since, waiting until he felt like the moment was right.

He wanted nothing to be out of place. He wanted every little detail to be exactly to his liking. All of this would take time to plan out, which was why he was planning to propose to you the following week to make sure he was ready beforehand.

However, you had been acting strangely over the last few days. You were jittery, almost nervous around him. When it was just the two of you, he couldn’t help but notice the way your leg bounced anxiously and you couldn’t keep your attention on him for longer than a few passing moments.

He watched how skittish you were during dinner. You couldn’t sit still for the life of you and you weren’t speaking much. When you did speak, your diction was so fast that he could barely keep up with what you were saying. He could tell you were preoccupied with something.

“Are you alright, [Y/N]?” He asked gently, catching your attention.

You visibly jumped in your seat. Your fork spazzed from your hand and hit your plate with a loud clatter, the sound echoing in your ears. He paused hard and stared at you like you were a mad woman. He furrowed his brows in confusion and curiosity.

“Yep!” You squeaked; “I’m fine, I’m great! Why wouldn’t I be alright?” You rocketed off rapidly.

He set his own utensils down, folding his hands and looking harder into you. You were straight as a board as you sat, your shoulders pushed way further back than normal. He was worried that something was bothering you that you weren’t telling him about.

“Darling, you’re so flushed.” He pointed out, looking at how your face looked quite spectral.

You shook your head vigorously, continuing to dig yourself into a deeper hole with your odd behavior.

“I think it’s just hot in here...is it hot in here? I think it’s a little hot in here.” You rambled.

Now he REALLY knew something was up. You always complained about how cold he kept his Hogwarts’ living space. There wasn’t a fire crackling in the fireplace, so there was no way you were overly warm. He didn’t question it, only smiling kindly and standing from his chair. He approached you, putting his hands on the back of your chair to persuade you to get up.

“Why don’t we get out and get some fresh air, yes? We can finish dinner later.” He suggested, taking your clammy hand into his.

He was afraid that maybe you were coming down with something, but you didn’t look or act sickly. He guided you from your chair, leaving a soft kiss to your forehead. He felt your shoulders relax at the motion. You felt a bit comforted for now, his touch putting you at ease.

“Yeah. That’s a good idea.” You said in a more standard tone.

He linked his arm into yours, sweeping you away and outside into the cool evening. It was a beautiful spring night, for there was not a cloud in the steadily darkening sky. The sun had mostly set below the horizon, just a few minutes needed to go by before it was fully dark. You and Severus strolled alongside each other, making small talk as he tried to gauge what had you so uptight.

He never wanted you to be upset. It absolutely broke his heart anytime something was wrong and draining you of any happiness. However, you didn’t seem unhappy or sad. You were simply just nervous about something, but he couldn’t even begin to think of what it could be. He was stumped.

Your hand fiddled in your pocket. Your fingertips clutched the silver, metal ring that was housed there. The material was smooth against your skin as you refused to let it go. You had been holding on to it for at least two weeks now, and the entire time you had been terrified of losing it.

You knew that a woman proposing to a man wasn’t conventional. It was very traditional for the man to propose to the woman with a stunning ring that is supposed to fit perfectly and they’re supposed to cry at the new chapter of their life that’s been opened. You had been through it all in your head already.

Naturally, you had originally wanted Severus to be the one to ask for your hand in marriage. You had been waiting for him to suddenly get on one knee and pull out a ring and ask you to spend forever with him. But the longer you waited, the more impatient you became. With each passing day, you reminded yourself that you weren’t getting any younger, and you wanted to be with him for as long as possible.

That’s when you got the idea.

You could just as easily plan a proposal. You could go out and buy a ring that you knew he’d like. You knew he’d want something private, quiet, and not in front of a crowd of people. That was a win-win, because at least if you were to be mocked for proposing first, it would be just Severus and not a group of others. You felt a little out of your mind for this, but you knew it could be really sweet and romantic. Either way, it wasn’t really about the proposal.

It was about spending forever with the one you loved the most.

At one point, he stopped walking with you. You were just faintly illuminated by the light of the moon far above your heads. He was taking in how pretty you were. In every moment of every day, you were the most beautiful woman in the world. He had never felt so fortunate to have such a stunning human being in his life. A charming, alluring woman with an even purer heart and soul.

“My beautiful girl,” He said, cupping the side of your face and stroking his cheek with his thumb. Your heart beat began to quicken. You knew this was the moment; “If you wish to ever tell me something, I’m here to listen.”

You were trying to disregard how shaky your breathing was every time you inhaled. You weren’t sure how he’d react to this, but either way you knew he’d say yes. Even then, you still couldn’t shake off the edgy feeling in your gut.

“Yeah, of course.” You said with an encouraging smile.

“If something has you disturbed, then I want to help you if I can. I don’t want you to believe that you have to deal with things on your own. I’m here for you.” He claimed.

This was one of the many reasons you loved him. He was always in your corner, and he never let you forget it. He would walk through fire for you. He’d do anything as long as it meant that you were happy. Your happiness topped anything else in his life. You were all that mattered.

“It’s nothing like that, S. I’ve just had something on my mind lately.” You explained.

As secure as Severus felt in your relationship, he still felt a drop in his chest. After saying that and the way you had been acting, he thought that maybe you were thinking of ending this. His head and heart were both getting ready to fight for you if you were. He couldn’t just let you walk out of his life, despite his internal panic, he remained level headed.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” He asked, bringing one of your hands to his lips and leaving a soft kiss. He brought your hand to his chest, just in case this was the last time he’d ever feel you.

If you had known that’s what he was thinking, you’d probably start crying. Severus was so used to rejection and disappointment in his life, before he met you. He still shrank into his old thinking ways, preparing for the worst every time he thought something was going wrong.

But he didn’t know that his life was about to get even better than it was.

This was it. You knew you could do it. With your other hand, you fished in your pocket for the ring as you replied.

“Well, yes...but there’s something I want to ask you.” You said, successfully retrieving the ring and holding it to where he could see it.

He eyed the silver ring, still holding your other hand to him. His other hand fell from your face as he stared blankly at the handsome piece of jewelry in your palm. He looked to you for an explanation, relieved now that you probably weren’t breaking up with him based on the blinding grin on your face.

“Severus Snape,” You said, almost as a whisper; “Will you marry me?”

His entire nervous system shut down for a millisecond and restarted. He felt a rush of static and something else that even he couldn’t identify.

Now, Severus knew there were a million different ways to react to this. Undoubtedly, the first thought that came to his head when he came to the realization that you were proposing was that you had officially lost your marbles. He had always envisioned himself being the one to ask you to marry him, not the other way around. He wasn’t at all miffed that you had decided to take matters into your own hands. If anything, he felt a little bad that he had taken so long that you felt the need to do it yourself.

Everything clicked in his head. Your nervous behavior was evidently because you had built this up in your mind and were afraid of how it would go. When he looked into your eyes and saw how they were filled with suspense and elation, he knew exactly how to react in the most honest, intentional way.

You half expected him to burst into laughter and make fun of you for doing it yourself. You even thought for a second that he might say no because HE wanted to be the one to do it. Instead, Severus caught you in a kiss so lovingly faultless and personable that it made you weak in the knees. He kissed you for a long time, standing under the gleaming stars and inky black sky. It was such a long kiss, in fact, that you wondered for a split second if he was stalling so he didn’t have to give an answer.

However, when he pulled away, his words were as clear as ever and his voice was as content as it had ever been.

“Oh, my love...my flower...” He remarked gingerly; “I thought you’d never ask.”

You both fell into tensile rounds of laughter, knowing that he was poking a bit of fun at the situation. You had matching smiles on your faces, so wrapped up in love and partiality that it was almost overwhelming. The ring fit well on his left hand, and made his hands look even more manly. It was a foreign feeling to have a ring on his hand, considering he almost never wore them. He’d grow used to it soon enough.

You kissed him over and over, so thrilled that he had said yes that you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You stopped your attack of kisses when he noticed he had pulled something out from his own pocket. You eyed the small red box, your raised brow falling and your eyes widening when he opened it silently to reveal the most breathtaking engagement ring you had ever seen. That’s when you realized it was the same one you had pointed out a while back.

“Sev, is that...?” You trailed off, with a soft giggle.

He nodded with a triumphant grin.

“Yes. I was going to ask you myself next week,” He admitted; “Looks like you beat me to it.”

Your laughter was harder and more chaotic this time, both of you cackling so much that you felt dizzy after a few moments. He slid the ring onto your finger, admiring how it looked so flawless on your hand. He brought you into his arms, your chin resting on his chest as you looked up at him.

“I know this wasn’t traditional, but I just-”

Severus put a slender finger to your lips.

“Shh,” He hushed; “It’s absolutely perfect.”

The two of you stood there in blissful silence, your hearts beating in sync with an inexpressible sense of euphoria. He left kisses in your hair, whispering sweet nothings in your ear every few moments to break the silence. This was far better than any proposal he ever could’ve planned. It was elegant, graceful, and most importantly, memorable.

“I love you.” Your voice rang out, your newly adorned hand brushing some of his hair from his face so you could fully see him.

He smiled once more, kissing the tip of your nose tenderly. He was excited for this new part of his life. He was excited to begin his life that would now be intertwined with yours.

He was unquestionably happy.

“I love you, darling. And now I’ll have forever to do so.”

[feral-dumbass]

Speak of the Devil

James “Bucky” Barnes/ Female Reader

Summary: You tag along with Bucky to a undercover reconnaissance mission at a goth club. Smut ensues. 

Includes: Degradation, Choking, little bit of slut shaming, unprotected semi-public sex, hint of cockwarming, dirty talk, oral

Words: 4,307

A/N: This is my first fic I have ever posted on here. I hope I included all the warnings correctly. Not sure if I need to include fingers in mouth, but that happens. Title credit goes to the Misfits. Tagging @gagmebucky​ and @babybluestan​. Thanks for giving me the guts to post this! I am so thankful for you guys. 

Masterlist

The bass of Molchat Doma vibrates the walls as you search for Bucky. When you stepped into the goth club on 66th street, you were more nervous than you liked to admit. The club had recently gone under new management and is rumored to be a place for arms trafficking. It is ingenious, actually. Under all the makeup and leather, anyone could hide their identity. Take Bucky for instance. Tight jeans, a black t-shirt, some eyeliner, and a leather jacket down to his calves, Bucky is unnoticeable. Also, helps that the most identifiable thing about him is covered under gloves. Don’t even get started on the leather band and silver chain wrapped around his neck. You need to fan yourself just thinking about it. 

You also look quite different from your usual lab coat and safety goggles and Bucky has certainly noticed. He could not keep his hand off your thick fishnet covered thighs the whole way here. 

With a kiss to your cheek, Bucky had left you at the bar to check out the area. That had been twenty minutes ago and sadly, people were starting to notice you too. 

You felt eyes on you as you mindlessly scrolled through the meme group chat. Peter and Shuri were having an entertaining fight on who sent the best memes. You couldn’t handle the creepy feeling anymore. You were ready to show this creep the pretty switchblade Bucky got you for your birthday. Chin raised, your eyes met with green ones across the bar. You tried to give your best resting bitch face with dead eyes, but he only smirked and took that as his cue to swoop in. You slammed cash on the table for your blood red drink and slipped into the crowd before he could make two steps in your direction. You went down a hallway in the back which led you to your latest predicament. Where the fuck is your thick ass boyfriend? 

You have enough PHDs under your belt to know not to yell out Bucky’s name. Searching for his wide frame under the neon lights is the only option you have left as you pass the restrooms. You think finding a 6’2” man would be easy, but apparently, every alternative person wears 5 inch platforms. Not like you can really blame them. If they weren’t so expensive, you’d be Bucky’s height too right now. 

As you fill with envy for people that can fit into knee high platforms, an arm wraps around you and yanks you into a unisex bathroom. “It’s me.” Bucky’s deep voice assures before you can even start going through the defense attacks he taught you. You slip out of his hold and turn around to face him. Ignoring the fact Bucky has taken off his jacket and his muscles are now stressing the seams of his long sleeve shirt, you cross your arms. 

“Where have you been?”

Bucky blinks confused before finding his answer. “Bugging this two floor building. Why? What’s wrong?” You will tell him sooner or later. Might as well do it now. 

“Nothing. It’s just, uh, a skeevy man was staring at me far too long. We made eye contact and he tried coming over.” 

“Did he hurt you because I will-” Bucky’s already heading for the door before you squeeze his arm. 

“Bucky,” you laugh astounded that he’s so ready to fight for you. You didn’t even give him a description. Bucky lets you pull him back to the center of the room. “I slipped through the crowd before he could try anything. I’m fine.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise. I’m fine.” You stand on the tip of your toes to kiss Bucky’s cheek but he turns his head to kiss you instead. He kisses you deeply just long enough to leave you wanting more.

“You still have your knife right?” 

“Yes, you dork.” He visibly relaxes at the confirmation. You take a hold of his chin and turn his face towards you. “You do realize you have cut on your cheek right?” It’s not too bad. A medium cut surrounded by bruising. Super serum is probably at work already healing it, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful. It’s not like you’re left with the best of first aid in the bathroom. You head to the sink to wet a paper towel with soap and water. 

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” You glare at Bucky through the mirror. “I don’t suggest going three doors down. A couple of guards are sleeping on the clock.” He walks over and cozies up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he kisses your shoulder. “Is that really necessary. I think there’s more pressing matters to attend to.” He rolls his hard on into your ass as he kisses across your shoulder and up your neck. 

“Really?” You pry as you wring out the paper towel.

“I have been hard since you walked out in the commons.” Your face gets warmer at his confession. “I mean-” Bucky groans as he looks down at your fishnet covered legs. 

“While we’re on the subject, the eyeliner is working for me.” You’ve piqued Bucky’s interest. He meets your eyes through the mirror again. “You should wear it more often. You look so much like-”

“If you say Chase from the Covenant, I’m leaving.” Life drains from his eyes as he speaks.

“Like a man who can get into my pants.” 

“Nice save.” 

“Anyways, I say fuck it. Let’s do it.” Bucky’s eyes light up with excitement. “But clean the blood off your face first.” Bucky takes the paper towel out of your hands, scrubs the line of dried blood off his cheek, and throws it in the trash can before you can blink. Bucky turns your face to meet his lips not even a second later. He kisses you even deeper than before slipping his tongue in your mouth. You lift your hand to thread through Bucky’s hair. At the feel of your hand in his hair, he breaks away. 

“No. No. Keep your hands on the sink. I think this could be fun.” He grabs both of your wrists and places your hands on the edge of the sink. He’s moving your hair off your neck before his lips connect with it. “So pretty, baby. Is this all for me?” He mumbles before placing a hickey on your neck. His hands squeeze your thighs before snaking up your torso and kneading your breasts through your top. Lost in the pleasure only Bucky can give, you assume his question is rhetorical. You learn it wasn’t as he stops his ministrations. “Is this mine?”

You scramble to find your words. “Yeah.” Your voice cracks. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” He looks directly into your eyes through the stickered mirror as he unzips the front of your top. Bucky brings his gloved hand up to your mouth. “Bite,” He mumbles before planting multiple kisses on your neck. 

You bite down on his index finger and he pulls his hand away, leaving the glove in your mouth. He quickly takes the glove, stuffing it in his back pocket, before his right hand is kneading one of your bare breasts. You sigh at the feel of his calloused hand on your soft skin. You get a moment to enjoy the feeling until Bucky is lifting his other gloved hand toward your mouth. You get the memo without having to be told. You help tear off his glove for his metal hand and he’s stuffing it in his back pocket again. Instead of going for your other breast, two of Bucky’s metal fingers tap on your bottom lip. 

It is not like you to deny him. You take his fingers in his mouth and suck on them, giving them the same attention you’d give his dick. Bucky leaves the growing patch of hickies on your neck to growl at the sight. “Such a fucking tease.” His metal fingers press down on your tongue making you take his fingers deeper. He let’s up when he knows you are about to choke. “Can’t wait to get inside you, but first I want to see you cum on my fingers. Would you like that, honey?” His right hand leaves your chest and plays with the hem of your short skirt. 

With his fingers still in your mouth,  you nod, widen your stance, and back your ass up into his crotch. He chuckles lowly right next to your ear before his right hand is yanking up your skirt. Your skin tight skirt barely budges with one hand. 

“You gotta be kidding me?” Bucky takes his metal hand out of your mouth and uses it to yank up your skirt. You pray to whoever’s listening that your horny boyfriend doesn’t rip your bottoms off. It’d make getting out of the club a lot more messier. “This skirt is annoying me. You’ll just have to be naked for a week to make it up to me.” Thankfully, your skirt moves up your body to bunch at your waist. You don’t have time for a witty retort or to even think about how you were airborne for a second before Bucky is digging his metal fingers into your sex. At the feel of fishnet over wet folds, he pauses. “Wait, are you-”

“Not wearing panties? Yep.” 

He lets out the longest groan to date. “You’re gonna kill me.” Bucky tears open a hole in your stockings at the apex of your thighs before massaging and digging into your sex with vengence. “That’s what you’re gonna do. Forget all the highrisks missions. The stupid fucking guards. I’m gonna die because my girlfriend can’t wear a fucking decent pair of underwear.” Bucky groans and he’s… he’s being unfair as two of his thick metal fingers slip into you. He knows how much you love it when he uses his metal hand. Bucky is using it against you to sear his touch into your brain. You throw your head back onto his shoulder as he reaches sensitive depths inside you. His right hand goes back to kneading your chest.

“Wearing panties makes it harder f-for… for you to fuck me. Need to be prepared for your horny ass 24/7.” You pant in between words. Bucky raises an unimpressed eyebrow. The speed of his pumping fingers quicken to the point where the both of you can hear how wet you are over the distant music. “W-when are you not… horny?”

“I’m not even going to entertain you with an answer when I have this wet pussy to play with. ‘Sides, I’m not the one who sounds horny right now. “ Bucky’s metal thumb rubs your clit. “I’m not the one desperate enough for my boyfriend’s cock that I'll spread my legs in a public bathroom. Honestly, you just went with it? No second thoughts?” You’re too overwhelmed with pleasure to even bother a response. Bucky clicks his tongue. “That’s not good girl behavior. More like slutty behavior.” Bucky’s eyes light up with an idea. “Be a good slut and cum for me.”

“Bucky,” you gasp pleadingly. 

“C’mon, you heard me. Cum for me. It’s the least you can do.” He’s sucking on a pulse point on your neck when you go rigid underneath him. You cry out as you reach your euphoric high. 

“God damnit, you’re so gorgeous when you cum.” Bucky makes you feel the full effect of your orgasm as he continues to pump his fingers and rub your clit. You have to practically tear his metal arm off you to get peace. Both of his hands leave you and you can hear the tell tale sound of his pants being undone. 

You get a small amount of reprieve before Bucky is rubbing his dick through your drenched folds. His thick cock stimulating your sensitive nerves. Bucky’s steel toed boot nudges your stance wider and he’s dipping into your entrance just enough for you to start to feel the intoxicating stretch of him. You’re arching your back at the burn when he pulls out suddenly. You sputter as you try to find your words. 

“I don’t think you really want my cock.” He goes back to spreading your folds over his cock. The tip runs across your sensitive, overworked clit every once in a while.

“I’m literally on display for your fucking dick right now.” 

“Then say it.” Bucky nuzzles your neck and blows cool air on the patch of hickies. 

“Bucky, please fuck me. I’ve been wet since you mentioned you had to wear a leather jacket. Let me have it.” 

Bucky snorts at that. “My sweet slut. Always so ready and willing for my cock.” 

“Only a s-slut-” Bucky slides into you slowly making you feel every massive inch of him  “- f-for you.” You whimper at the feel of him as your back arches. You're trapped in between Bucky and the sink. No choice but to feel all of him. 

Bucky rumbles right against your back. “My own little whore. I like the sound of that.” He tests the waters by thrusting shallow. You’re convulsing around his cock. It always takes a few to get used to the initial stretch. He groans. “Always so fucking tight. My own personal heaven.” He hasn’t been able to stop his little thrusts, addicted to the feel of you. 

“B-Bucky,” you gasp strained. “P-please, move. Do something.” 

“Look at you so desperate for my cock. I love it. Such a good whore.” He pulls out and you could cry until he’s thrusting back in, knocking the wind out of you. You gasp, collecting enough air for him to knock it out of you again. Again. And again. It’s not before long, Bucky is setting a brutal pace and all you can do is take it. You are going lax as the pleasure makes your extremities tingly. Bucky is pretty much the only thing holding you up as he brings three of his right fingers towards your mouth. He doesn’t even have to tap on your lips. You open your mouth for him to slip his fingers inside and suck on them. Bucky’s eyes zero in on your pretty lips wrapped around his fingers. 

“What a good slut. Such a good girl. I love you so much.” His metal hand gently wraps around the base of your neck. His index finger and thumb stroke the skin right underneath your choker causing goosebumps to break out. “This looks so pretty on you, baby.” He kisses the spot your jawline and neck connect before continuing. “I think we both know how much better my hand is wrapped around your neck though.” He gives a light squeeze, slightly cutting off your blood flow, and grins at you. A broken moan leaves you as drool pools around his fingers starting to drip down his hand and your chin. “So fucking stunning. Should have got out my phone before we started.”

A light, airy feeling starts to creep into your head, kind of like your floating. Bucky’s pace never lets up and you’re close. So, so close.  A few more thrusts and Bucky is reaching new depths. You’re knuckles strain as you grip the sink hard. 

“Shit.” He grunts. His fingers press down on your tongue not give a fuck if you gag. Your eyes widen as his warmth floods you. Bucky’s pace slows and he’s pumping his hips shallowly while he cums.

 As much as you love the bare feel of him, you’re pissed. You were so close to an orgasm and he stopped. It was without clittoral stimulation too. It was gonna be groundbreaking. You actually gag on the pressure of his fingers down your throat and smack his wet wrist. He quickly takes his fingers out of your mouth and apologizes. You can’t believe you're stomping your foot while still on your boyfriend’s dick, but there’s a first for everything. You’re actually pouting as you cross your arms over your bare chest and jut out your lower lip. 

“Bucky!” You wait for him to take his eyes off your ass and meet yours through the mirror. 

He smacks your ass, squeezes it, and hums, mildly distracted. “Yeah?” He glances up and does a double take. “You’re pissed?”

“Uh yeah. Do you know how close I was before you ruined it? I-” Bucky takes his hand off your throat and uses both to dig his thumbs in the dip of your back as he shushes you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you.” You’re frustrated and slightly on edge when Bucky slowly pulls out. “Don’t get more upset, but that was literally the hottest thing we’ve done. You have never looked hotter.” 

“Why would I get upset when I feel the same.” You begrudgingly agree. 

“Oh my god, you’re gonna hold not letting you come against me. You’re such a baby.” You open your mouth to defend yourself, but Bucky turns you around and lifts you on to the edge of the sink before you can start. Butterflies erupt in your stomach at that manhandling and you ignore it. While you avoid his eyes and glare at the wall over his shoulder, he wipes some of the drool off your chin. You melt on the inside and try not to show it. If you look in his eyes, you’re going to forgive him. If you look into his eyes, you’re going to forgive him. “This is ridiculous. When have I ever left you hanging? Don’t you think maybe I had a plan?” Your eyes slowly slide over to his. His eyes, still darkened by lust, bore into you. “I don’t want to see you cum on my cock through the mirror. I want you to face me, eyes rolled back, mouth gaping as I repeatedly reach all the sensitive spots inside you.” 

“You’re the one that’s the fucking tease.” You smack his broad chest. He takes your hand and kisses each knuckle. His hand then goes to knead your thighs dangling off the edge. 

“So, what do you say? Second round?” 

“I can’t believe I am saying this, but I’m sexually frustrated and still slightly mad. Fuck me before someone comes in.” He wedges himself between your thick thighs. Bucky leans down to kiss you and you thread your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck, happy to get to touch him.  He eventually stops kneading your thighs, just feeling the texture of the mesh stretched across your skin. 

Bucky groans as you nip at his lips when he pulls away. His head drops down and shakes it in disbelief.  “You need to wear these more often.” He looks very serious at you and you would snicker if you weren’t about to fuck. You do smirk at him though and swirl his hair between your fingers. 

“You gonna fuck me in public more often if I do?” You wipe some of your burgundy lipstick off the edge of his bottom lip as you ask. 

Bucky’s Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. “I-is that what you want?” He’s grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to the edge. You can feel his hardening cock against your hip. You’re so close to Bucky, you lean in just a few inches to press your chest against his and whisper sultry in his ear.

“I am constantly ready for your cock. Twenty four seven. Name a place and I’ll spread my legs. So fucking big. Feels so damn good.” You kiss right underneath his ear and then move a few inches down to suck hickey on a soft spot of his neck. With super soldier recovery rate, it won’t last long, but it sure does rile him up. He moans and it echoes off the linoleum poster covered walls. You love the vibrations underneath your lips as he tilts his head to the other side. You know his eyes are fluttering as you can’t help but to give him a few others hickies next to it. 

You lean back to admire your handiwork. Purple blotches litter his neck in between smudges of burgundy lipstick. You’re pretty sure you’ve wiped off all your lipstick on Bucky. His blown out pupils watch you like a hawk, hands digging into your ass. He’s rubbing his hard on into the crease of your stomach and thighs and he doesn’t even know it. “C’mon, I want to feel the ache of you tomorrow. Fuck me like the whore that I am.” You feel a chill run down his spine before he finally takes action. 

He rolls up his sleeves and of course, because your chest is now facing him, he needs to leave a few hickies on them. As he guides his dick to your entrance, you wrap your legs around his waist. Bucky momentarily ceases the hickies to watch your puffy folds easily accept his wide cock. Both of you are groaning at the feeling. 

“Your pussy’s so wet for me. Fuck.” Bucky’s too turned for a filter. You keep your edging comment to yourself and kiss his sweaty temple. The edging thoughts stewing inside are knocked out of you as Bucky fingers trace the place you two are joined. He uses the excess of your combined wetness to rub your clit. Pleasure makes your toes curl. 

“Not what I meant when I said fuck me, Bastard.” You can’t get Bucky to move his hips without falling on your ass. He seems perfectly fine to have you warm his hard dick as he kisses and leaves hickies along your collar bones. Your free hand grabs his bicep and you’re close to coming already. 

“Yeah. Your bastard.” You can feel him grin against your skin. You’d comment if you weren’t about to cum. 

“C-close. Please don’t stop.” You gasp out, begging as the rise of your orgasm hits. You’re squeezing Bucky while in your peak. He almost groans as loud as you’re moaning.

“You’re so gorgeous. Love when you convulse around my cock, honey.” He kisses your cheek momentarily before going back down to your chest. He starts pumping his cock in and out of you. This time literally knocking the wind out of you. You’re oversensitive from your orgasm and he never truly let you come down from it. Bucky is certainly making his promise. You’ll feel him in your guts for the next few days. Your hands run through his hair and pull on the ends. His mouth finally detaches from your chest as he moves with your hand. He lets out a full blown out moan that makes your heart pound. Bucky always lets out the filthiest moans when you pull his hair. You fucking love it. His metal hand leaves your ass. He grabs a hold of the edge of the sink as he pace picks up. 

As much as you love filling all your wet dreams with the hottest audio ever, you don’t have the strength to keep your arm up for long. Your hand drops to his back. His muscles ripple underneath your fingertips as you dig your nails into his back. Both of you panting into each other's ear. Your legs shake at the approaching orgasm. 

“I know you’re close. Be a good whore. Cum on my cock. I’ll wait for you.” He rubs your clit even faster. 

“FUCK.” You’ve never been happier for loud music blasting through the club’s speakers. An intense orgasm takes over you. White dots fill your vision as tears collect at your waterline. With how hard your gripping his cock, Bucky isn’t far behind. He can only get in a few more thrusts before he’s cumming again. He bites into your shoulder and groans. Shivers wreck down your spine as his warmth fills you for the second time tonight. Bucky lets the sink carry his weight as he grips it hard. 

There’s a groaning protest before a chunk of the sink falls off. You’re there to block him from falling. He pulls out and moves you closer to the other edge, away from the crime scene. You look over your shoulder. Thankfully, he didn’t break off any of the major plumbing parts. Water spraying everywhere would make looking yourself presentable a lot more harder, but maybe that could have been your excuse. Oh well. 

You turn back to Bucky. He’s still holding on to the broken piece of sink. Both of you break out into giggles as he throws it in the trash. 

“I can’t believe you did that.” You’re grinning ear to ear as he tucks himself back into his boxers. 

“I can.” Bucky shrugs. “I don’t think you get how tight you get when you cum. Me breaking things during sex is not new.” 

“My back. Our nice bed frame. The ottoman in the commons… Can’t forget the multiple tables. Shout out to Tony’s dented Acura hood.” You pull Bucky’s shirt to get him closer to you. You kiss him before he speaks. “Are you trying to seduce me?” 

“If you fuck me again, there won’t be a sink left.” 

He hums and rubs your thighs. He’s definitely addicted to the feel of the fishnets stockings. Good luck trying to get his hands off you for the rest of the day. “You have a point.” He drops to his knees. 

“What are you doing?” He’s spreading your thighs wide in front of his face.

“I can’t let my cum drip down your legs out there. That would be irresponsible of me.” That's all the explanation you get before he’s burying his face in between your legs, stubble scratching your inner thighs. You gasp as he licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit. Fuck what he said. You’re the one that’s gonna die. Bucky is truly your horny bastard. 

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Kiss Me In The Dark

winter prompts day 13 ❄️ rosy cheeks thank you @writinglizards for the title 😘

 Geralt is used to Jaskier staring at him. At first, it was a nuisance, something that only served to ramp up his anxiety, but he's learned to deal with it. And now that he understands Jaskier a little better, he even enjoys it. He knows Jaskier doesn't have the same concerns about his body, and that when he stares it's because he's intrigued . It took a long time to come to terms with, and he would never admit it to his brothers under pain of death, but he likes when Jaskier leers at him, even if it is a little uncomfortable to have so much attention on him all the time. It makes him feel sexy in a way he never thought was possible.

But today, Geralt is the one staring.

Jaskier has taken to the chores at Kaer Morhen as if he's been doing them his whole life and by the looks of it, this morning's task was chopping wood. He's flushed from the cold, his cheeks and nose a vibrant shade of red that Geralt struggles to describe as anything other than adorable. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's aware that Jaskier is talking to him and that he should be paying attention, but he can't tear his focus away from the flush across his cheeks.

He's pulled abruptly from his thoughts as Jaskier shakes him by the shoulders and he's quick to correct himself.

"You aren't even listening," Jaskier accuses.

"Yes, I am."

"Then when?" Jaskier crosses his arms and looks expectantly at him.

"When what?"

"Was the last time someone kissed you," Jaskier sighs and Geralt hesitates. It's his own fault for not paying attention. If he'd been listening, he could have waved off the question as Jaskier being ridiculous, but now he feels like he owes him an answer.

"I don't know," he shrugs, hoping it will be enough, "the brothel before we come up here." Whatever response Geralt is expecting, it isn't a heavy sigh of defeat

"Of course," Jaskier mumbles and his shoulder slump, "even you've been kissed lately." Geralt's eyes widen and he feels like he's about to be berated for something, but he's not wholly sure what he's done wrong. Then he catches a whiff of bitterness and realizes Jaskier isn't upset with him he's just upset and Geralt doesn't know what to do about it.

Immediately, he wants to fix it, but he doesn't know how. He's not used to Jaskier being sullen and it hits a little harder considering how cheery he usually is.

"What about Eskel?" he offers, knowing the other Witcher is less inclined toward brothels.

"Same as you," Jaskier sighs and Geralt winces. Trust Eskel to visit a brothel the one time he needs him not to.

"Lambert?"

Jaskier looks up at him questioningly. "Has been fucking Aiden since the second they arrived. Geralt, don't tell me you're that dense."

It's not that he's dense, it's just that he's been... preoccupied since they arrived. But he certainly can't tell Jaskier he's been too busy watching after him to notice what Lambert and Aiden are or aren't doing. So he just, regretfully, suggests,

"Vesemir?"

"I didn't ask. It didn't seem respectful. But probably, at this rate." Jaskier sighs dramatically and slumps against the wall behind him. "Since when does no one want to kiss me?"

"Jaskier," Geralt says softly, "we're up in the middle of nowhere. You can hardly think this is about you."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, my friend. It is about me. Even the last time I got laid, he just pressed me against the wall and-"

"Jaskier," Geralt bites. He immediately regrets being so harsh, but he can't bear to listen to him replay old encounters. Most of the time, he can hear them when it happens, the last thing he wants is to think about it again. "I get it," he adds a little softer.

"So what's wrong with me, then? Is that all I'm good for? A quick fuck?"

Geralt hesitates. Perhaps he made a mistake bringing Jaskier all the way up here for the winter. They'd talked about it a lot and Jaskier kept bringing it up, so he had thought it was a good idea. And he'd liked the thought of having Jaskier close by all winter, of not having to share his affections for months before they took to the Path once more. But now he's wondering if he shouldn't have taken Jaskier away from his admirers, from the business of Oxenfurt and all the potential lovers therein. Jaskier is the most confident person he knows and seeing him like this twists at something uncomfortable within him.

"It's not you," he says before he can think better of it. Jaskier's face brightens just a little and Geralt drops his gaze to the ground. "There's nothing wrong with you." It feels like he's pulling the words from his throat, but when he looks up at Jaskier again, he looks a little encouraged, so maybe it's worth it.

"Really?" he asks, barely masking the shock in his voice. If Jaskier doesn't believe him, that means it isn't too late to take it back, because his face feels as red as Jaskier's, but the little part of Jaskier that sounds hopeful is overwhelming. Geralt is the one who did that and he wants to do it again.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he mumbles, "it's them."

"You think so?"

"I'll prove it." The words are out of his mouth before he realizes he's saying them, so eager to cheer Jaskier up that he's inevitably digging himself into a deeper hole.

Jaskier looks up at him expectantly and Geralt realizes he has two options here. He can either back out completely and leave Jaskier feeling worse than he did, or he can kiss him. Shit.

It's not that he doesn't want to kiss him. If anything, he's spent so much time thinking about it that he's worried it won't stand up. And Jaskier has kissed so many people. So many people who have much more experience than he does. But Jaskier is just looking at him and the scent of sadness is still entwined with hopefulness and Geralt can't just leave him like this.

He takes a few steps forward until he's close enough that he can tip forward and kiss the tip of his nose. His heart is hammering against his chest and he feels like it might break through, but he follows through. And when he looks back at Jaskier to see the look in his eyes - soft and warm and something like relieved - he doesn't think before cupping Jaskier's face with one hand and leaning in to kiss him properly.

Jaskier lets out a little gasp as their lips collide, but he doesn't pull away and Geralt is encouraged. For just a moment, he's allowed to have this, so he puts everything into it, stroking Jaskier's cheek with his thumb as he crowds him up against the wall. It only lasts a moment, but in that time, his heartbeat settles though he's breathing hard when he pulls back.

"Oh," Jaskier whispers, and Geralt is relieved to find he's similarly breathless. "You're... very good at that." Geralt just huffs, but Jaskier reaches out, curling a hand in his shirt and fiddling with the fabric. "Perhaps you could... just once more?"

Geralt can't help the smile that spreads across his face and as he kisses him again, he winds his arms around Jaskier's waist, tugging him close again. This time, Jaskier hums against his mouth and when his arms wrap around his neck, Geralt sighs and sinks into it. It's overwhelming having Jaskier press against him, wrapped around him, and he has to be careful not to give away too much, but his body doesn't get the memo.

He doesn't realize he's lifting Jaskier off his feet until he's fulling in his arms, legs wrapped firmly around his waist. But Jaskier doesn't even acknowledge the change other than to hold him closer, so Geralt doesn't worry about it.

When he does pull back, Jaskier looks a little stunned, but he's smiling so Geralt considers that a good thing.

"You know," he says playfully, twirling a lock of Geralt's hair around his finger, "if you ever wanted to do this again, I wouldn't object."

"No?"

"Mmm, definitely not." Jaskier's eyes drop to Geralt's lips and he doesn't need any more encouragement than that.

"Good," Geralt breathes and without a second thought, he pulls him back again, kissing him deeply.

[uponrightful]

Second Chance Ch.1

Author’s Note: This is my first attempt at writing for The Mandalorian. I’m an English Major in college, and love to write but I don’t get to share what a write often. I hope you enjoy it. ♡

TW’s: Violence, Blaster Violence. (If I've missed anything let me know.)

Word Count: 9,951

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The child was gone.

The Mandalorian was left with no ship, no child and no true plan as to what was next. It was the first time in his life that there was nowhere he needed to be or someone he needed to hunt. A different man would take the opportunity and run; disappear somewhere and live the rest of his life without the smell of blaster charges and stale blood. Someplace that no one would recognize the steely image of a Mandalorian streaking across an otherwise picturesque landscape.

The Mandalorian wasn’t that man.

He knew that there was nowhere in the galaxy that would offer him a true safe place. He only knew one thing and that was the ability to hunt. He knew that hunting was the one thing that could save him again. Once he was away from Grogu, his life would be back to normal. There wasn’t an end in sight where he would once again have the child… his foundling, back where he thought he belonged. It felt like a new world had opened with its hungry mouth swallowing any sense of direction that the Mandalorian thought he once had.

He had made up his mind, before he had even set foot off of Moff Gideon’s ship where he would go first.

Nevarro.

He knew that Guild contracts were no longer an option, but despite the loss of steady quarry Nevarro was notorious for contracts. The Mandalorian knew his name carried weight, and now that Grogu was gone, it would be somewhat easier to return to his bounties. The Guild was not only steady work, but it had only been so because of his hard work. Four pucks weren’t normal, if not exceptional  in most cases; but for him there was no questioning. He always returned with the bounties within a thin time constraint. He was meticulous and that level of professionalism gave him advantages.

Advantages that he no longer had.

Boba Fett was quick to offer the ride to Nevarro with the promise of not-so-stale food and a little but more comfortable stay than he assumed The Mandalorian was used to. Fett talked much more than Mando had expected however it didn’t bother him much. Fett talked briefly about some of the more exotic women he had met -some from Nevarro- and recounted the nights that he had spent under the sheets with an unfamiliar woman getting his satisfaction.  

Mando listened not for interest in Fett’s bedroom habits but for information. He hoped that Fett might just slip something that would be useful. Maybe somewhere he could get resupplied, or even find a ship… but nothing of the sort happened.

Hyperspace was endless and the pure torture of watching is pass by was worse than leaving his child with the Jedi. His entire being ached from constant action and the even worse pain of a heart that had to heal. It wasn’t right that he should be forced to suffer so badly after only doing what was right. This was The Way. No matter how many times he tried to think it over, and find some sort of solace it only deepened the hole that kept growing in his chest.

“Mandalorian.” Fett barked, pointing towards the planet registering on his monitor.

Mando stepped up to check the readings and they were nearing Tatooine. Mando turned to see Fett preparing to push into airspace.

“I brought you here for a reason.” Fett continued, “You’ve been in my service and therefore I owe you repayment. I thought the child would be enough, but after everything that happened on that cruiser I can’t leave our interaction heavy on your end.”

“I don’t understand, what is it that you believe you owe me?” he asked, sitting down in the co-pilots chair and waiting for the ship to make its descent.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

The hellish landscape of Tatooine greeted Mando and Fett with a blast of sand the cut across their helmets making it almost impossible to see until the engines on the Slave 1 finally shut off completely. Fett had landed miles away from any town, and seemed quite confident was he strode off onto the barren sand flat below them. Mando wasn’t someone who liked the idea of blindly following anyone, especially when there was no real reason for him to be there anyways.

But after Fett didn’t turn around and disappeared over the dune, Mando begrudgingly followed. The sand fell around the gaps in his pants, letting the fine particles fall into his boots. The suns were blazing and by Mando’s guess it was at its highest point of the day. Heatstroke wasn’t impossible, even if he had just been in a ship moments ago.

He caught sight of Fett’s helmet glinting a bright white light toward Mando. He watched as the man knelt down and began shoving sand away from beneath his shadow that splayed downward. He shook his head, and caught up to further inspect what Fett could possibly be doing digging around in the sand.  

The two men stood at the bottom of what looked like a the beginnings of a sand dune in the middle of the flat. But after watching Fett struggle to dig deeper into what seemed like endless sand Mando grew impatient.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Dig with me. And you’ll see.” Fett’s voice was labored, proving how easy a possibility it was for the both of them to drop dead in this heat.

Mando started digging away. It took a good 15 minutes before Mando pulled out a handful of sand revealing what looked like an old piece of tan fabric. He was about to groan at how ridiculous this little job had been, but Fett began chuckling and walked away toward his ship.

“Stay there, I’ll be back.”

Fett was going insane. There was no way any of this was going anywhere good, but at this point Mando had two options. See why this piece of fabric was such a happy sight… or kill him. Fett brought the ship closer and closer towards Mando, kicking up sand and creating a small sandstorm that virtually blinded Mando to what Fett was able to see from above. Mando could barely see the shine of metal through the cloud that thickly surrounded him, choking out most of the clean air he could breathe.

After a few more seconds of fighting to get out of the Fett-made sandstorm Mando finally got a glimpse of what Fett had been so damn happy about. Under what had been a giant hill of sand, appeared an expanse of heavy canvas that took the shape of a ship’s outline. An ion turret jutted out into the blinding sun like it was proudly showing itself off for the first time in years. Mando was even able to recognize the tip of a Proton-Torpedo launcher sneaking out from underneath of the fluttering canvas shield.

Fett circled the newly unearthed ship, section by section revealing more and more of what looked like a transporter ship. Mando stood daunted, at the sight before him watching as the last corner of the cover slipped off the back entry hatch.

The Slave 1 landed right next to Mando its engines thrumming with the slight struggle of the burning temperate. He could even see the heat haze lifting up off the metal body distorting the edges of the ship like he was in a mirage. The last hour felt like it was all a dream, but the hard slap on Mando’s shoulder confirmed that he wasn’t imagining any of it.

“This is the Slave Two … it just so happened that it was my backup for quite some time.” Fett explained, walking towards the ships hatch.

“With updated blaster cannons and some damn good Deflector-Shields it wasn’t quite on par with Slave One… but still one of the best ships a man could own.” Fett nodded approvingly of his own assessment, lowering the hatch.

Mando walked up the ramp, and followed Fett through the hall and towards the cockpit. There were at least seven doors that he could count without the help of any lights on, and a streamlined floorplan that allowed Mando to navigate the ship even without Fett’s guidance. The inside of the ship looked like it hadn’t been touched for many years, with a weapons closet filled with an array of blasters and other devices that harbored a thick coating of dust and sand.

“This is yours?” Mando asked, glancing to see Fett climbing up through the floor into the cockpit above him.

“Yes, she’s mine. Come give me a hand Mandalorian.”

Mando climbed the ladder, and pulled himself to his feet to see Fett sitting calmly in the co-pilots chair looking out onto the desert that stretched ahead for miles. Fett seemed as if he was trying to find something out there, like if he looked hard enough it would just suddenly appear out of thin air.

Somehow Mando knew that he was feeling the same way.

“I’ve spent many years creating a life that has come back to punish me in ways that I’m sure you are beginning to understand Mandalorian. But when I heard that you gave that kid away… your kid. I knew that losing your Crest wasn’t the biggest thing weighing down that beskar.” Fett turned the chair for face Mando, mirroring their appearance in a way that Mando hadn’t experience in quite a while.

“You’ll take her, Slave 2.” Fett said with a satisfied tone. “If you treat her right, she’ll repay the favor just the same as I do.”

“I can’t.” Mando was willing to accept anything from Fett, well deserved or from pity. There was nothing inside himself that could allow any type of transaction like this to happen.

“You’ll do it because I said so.” Fett growled standing from his seat and closing the extra space in between them. “I didn’t bring you hear because I feel bad for you. I know what you’re after. You’re after your life before that kid.” He chuckled, turning back towards the windshield. “The only way you get do that again, is if you take her.”

Fett didn’t stay long enough to hear a response from Mando. He simply dropped back down through the floor into the hull and made his way into the hallway where the row of doors was. The ships control panel wasn’t anything unusual to Mando, but it felt strange to sit down in the chair, and begin turning on the ships controls to hopefully get the Ion engines running without any hiccups. After a few switches were set, and the efficacy level checked out, the Slave Two was hot and humming smoothly with the smallest beeps from the cockpit sounding all around him.

Mando watched as Fett came into view from the windshield, walking out away from the ship. He didn’t check to see if Mando was still sitting there until he was in the cockpit. He watched as Fett reached to press a couple buttons.

The Slave Two’s speakers crackled to life projecting Fett’s voice in the cockpit;

“I know some Hutt’s about 180 kilometers from here, they might be able to find you some… work.” He said pointing his finger towards the direction.

“Everything on this ship is-”

“Yours.” Fett snarled already knowing that Mando’s independence was going to make this difficult enough. “You’ll need it.”

“I owe you.” Mando replied.

Fett’s low chuckle sounded through the speakers “This is Your Way.”

Both men left without saying another word with destinations in mind. Mando however, was still unsure of whether or not doing business with Hutt’s would be worth it. They’re reliability was almost nonexistent, but if Fett was able to do business it might mean that so could he.

Slave Two was larger than the Razor Crest and from Mando’s judgment it was quite a well-handling ship. Not a single error button flashed, nor did the Deflector Generators need repaired. It wasn’t like Mando to pay much attention to the way a ship looked, but he knew that this ship was better suited to his work. He liked the controls, how well the ship responded to his ministrations. He even noticed the modifications that Fett had made during his flight toward the Hutt’s encampment.

Fett had wiped any memory on the ship, and there was a mock Hyperspace Tracker that could bounce signals around in hyperspace so the ships couldn’t be located easily. It was quite sneaky, and something Mando didn’t have the luxury of on the Razor Crest. Often times the worst part of the Crest was the recognition that it drew to plants like Nevarro-7 or even Tatooine. Before he could even land there were questions from ground securities wanting some type of registration information. None of that would be a problem any longer.

The Hutt’s base sat underground, buried underneath of a outcropping of rock mountains in the sand dunes outside of Mos Eisley. Mando could see the sandstone buildings, wavering from the baking heat. The door was guarded by a man, carrying a blaster with a smug look on his face. Hutt’s didn’t normally keep humans as guards, but Mando assumed he was a slave of some sort.

The guard didn’t ask for much, simply opening the door and mumbling something about ‘good business’ before pointing him in the direction of the cut-stone stairs that led down further into the ground. The stairs became damper as he descended with the smell of Hutt sneaking through his helmet. It was almost unbearable by the time he made it to the hall below.

His eyes first caught the women two women chained to the Hutt’s throne of sorts, the heavy links weighing down their wrists. They were skimpily clad, but had to have been the cleanest beings there. Four guards approached Mando, patting down his body finding his single blaster that was holstered to his hip. They made no comments but took the blaster and sat it down in front of the Hutt who laughed deeply at his first sight of Mando.

“A Mandalorian!” he boomed, using Basic language for Mando’s convenience. “What brings a fearsome man like you here, to me?” his chuckles still echoing through his question.

“I was told that I could find work here.” He replied, again darting his gaze back toward the two women who were no cowering behind the throne as far as their chains would allow. Their faces were covered with fear, but not of the Hutt… of him.

“Who told you this?” He boomed louder, rattling the sound equipment in Mando’s helmet. It made him wince at how terrible the enhanced sound felt against his ears.

“Boba Fett.”

The Hutt stopped his incessant chucking to look towards Mando was a harder stare, more serious this time. “I haven’t seen him in years… Do you have alike professions?”

“Yes.” Mando tried to keep his information limited for his own benefit. The less this Hutt knew about him the better off he would be.

“Bounty Hunting…” the Hutt said quieting his tone. “I have heard stories of your kind… yet only to this day met two.” His chuckles returned. “I have quite a few… interests that could use your level of expertise.”

He called out to one of the guards that had search him upon arrival and ordered him in Hutt nodding toward a hallway leading toward Mando’s right. The guard hastened away, trying to keep a professional tone. Mando kept quiet as his listened to the Hutt began talking again;

“I have three contracts… outer rim quarry that are needing some attention. You would be given their pucks… no tracking fobs or anything but their names and last locations.” He paused taking a labored breath, “The fourth is an exceptional job.”

“Exceptional how?” Mando pushed.

“It is a… cold job. But you would be given a fob.” The Hutt boomed with laughter.

Mando only nodded, familiar with the certainty that contractors wanted when dealing with quarry. A dead quarry wouldn’t cause problems, and Mando knew just how convenient that could be for the hunter as well.

“The other three are desired alive, and if they are not the payment would be reduced.” Hutt continued, “However, I do not pay out. I am only a middle man.”

“Where would I receive payment?”

“From a man in Mos Eisley, you would have different random contacts every time to secure… anonymity.”

The guard returned with the four pucks and one fob in hand. Sweat beading on his brow, he brought them to Mando and handed them gingerly to him before returning to his place against the wall surrounding the Hutt. Mando looked at the pucks, before returning focus to the Hutt.

“You would bring the assets to Mos Eisley, and they would be unloaded from your ship while you received payment.” He huffed, again out breath. “You would have three weeks to perform your duties… Do you accept?”

“I accept.”

***

2 Weeks Later.

“Hey man! Whatever they’re paying, I’ll double it!” the quarry yelled, struggling against the restraints Mando had put on him.

Mando stayed quiet, letting the bargaining spew out of his quarry’s mouth. It was so habitual that they tried bargaining, running or anything of their other useless attempts at escape. He never bargained… and he only let one quarry change his mind.

Grogu.

He did his best to push the child out of his mind while he shoved the quarry into the carbonite machine, quickly disposing the ship of the sounds of pleading. It became deathly quiet on the Slave Two after the carbonite had frozen his quarry into a thick slab. Only the sound Mando’s heavy footfalls signaled any life aboard as he walked back toward the cockpit.

The ship was too quiet for Mando’s true liking hyperspace was deathly silent and freezing cold. He couldn’t imagine it was any better than dying and that hyperspace was really where he would go after he was finally killed. His only solace became the beeping sounds of his ship, creating a pattern that was as close to a song as he could remember.

He only had job left, and it was the Cold Quarry. They were supposedly heading to Hoth to wait out any bounty hunters that were sent for him. Mando knew the quarry was hoping to dissuade anyone from coming to find him but Hoth’s snow and freezing weather wasn’t a problem. He had been on frozen planets before and it never distracted him from the job.

He would be on Hoth in a few days at most, and it gave him the opportunity to take a check of his low supply on food, and even lower supply of fuel and water. The Hutt had supplied him enough of both for about twelve days, not the full twenty-one. If it would have been the Guild he would have been well taken care of, and what wasn’t supplied for him was allotted in his job payments. A small part of him wished that he was able to return, simply for the respect that he had gained but he knew in his heart that he could never do so because of Grogu.

He hadn’t noticed how quickly his allegiance had changed for the support of the foundling, but after letting him go the full force of his protective nature had come crashing down on his shoulders with the weight of the galaxy. In those last few moments not only had he broken his creed, but he had felt true heartbreak for the first time. Of course, he had a moral compass, and anything that the Empire had planned wasn’t good for anyone, but it was a relationship that he was completely unprepared for. It was hard to let go, harder than any bounty he would ever have to catch.

He picked up a small can of soup turning it in his hand and inspecting his memories of eating with the child. It was one of his favorite things. He was cautious to not let Grogu to see his face, but after the first few times it was quite usual for him to sit facing the kid and eat without any issues of the kid trying to pull at his helmet.

Mando wasn’t hungry despite the churning in his stomach. He needed to get this job done.

Maybe he had forgotten just how cold Hoth could be. The wind cut through his clothes, and whipped his cape wildly in the gusts behind him. He could hear a small whistling from the gap in between his pauldron and the bottom edge of his helmet causing a ringing in his right ear. Mando didn’t spend much time hiding his ship, with the security of snow covering the visible planes from airspace. Not to mention how Hoth was almost deserted… except for the occasional bounty with a death wish.

He could easily see from airspace the most easily accessible to a man wanting somewhere to hide. And after landing down it was even easier to see the tracks made by a single set of shoes. They were undoubtedly a man’s, and from the information the Hutt gave him, these prints seemed like a dead ringer for shoe size and weight.

They were leading back into a separating in between to tall rock outcroppings that mostly likely afforded protection from the wind cutting through Mando’s layered shirts. He looked down to activate the ground security system with his vambrace, but after taking a second look, he could see a thin layer of frost covering even inch of the control section and even on the beskar surrounding it.

A cold bounty… he thought, finding no real humor in the situation.

Mando walked until daylight grew scarce. The weather had picked up, and if it hadn’t been for the two mountains he walked in between there would be no way for him to continue any further. The whistling in his ears were not helping his cause either. There would be no way for him to hear his bounty without being right on top of him. He’d had to turn off his audio enhancement so long ago due to the whistling becoming so loud.

The rock walls that surrounded Mando soared high up with ice and snow covering the jagged edges. Mando could see caves high up but the walls were too steep for anyone to climb up. He was looking for heat signatures, anything warmer than the frost covering everything, including him. There was nothing low to the ground, not even the footprints held any residual heat or memory, so his helmets enhancements were almost useless for tracking from the ground. But when he looked back up, he could finally see a little bit of heat. It was quickly disappearing, and the tell-tale red signature was barely visible, but it was still there.

A smoke trace.

It was too cold to not have some source of heat but burning a fire wasn’t smart for anyone hiding from a bounty hunter. After turning off his infrared display, the smoke was more visible in contrast with the bright white snow.

He was happy that the quarry wasn’t far, grateful his landing was well-founded in his good presumption of where the bounty could be hiding. His bounties were often well-hidden away, but this time he was truly struggling to keep a straight focus. Mando felt out of practice and it was only adding onto the feeling that this hunt was hard.

After what felt like an hour of trudging through the snow he could see the reflection of a fire licking up the side of the mountain. The flames burned high, and Mando couldn’t help but think how great it would feel to sit down at defrost his cold body. No shadow could be seen huddling around the fire or any real movement that Mando could see from his position.

His own footfalls were silent sinking into the snow as he drew upon a small cave lit up brightly by a roaring fire fueled by a small metal box that blew blue flames out into a controlled ball. A large man, laid close to the ball covered by a thick emergency blanket covering his entire body.

Mando drew his blaster, careful not to disturb the man before he was in position to wake him up.

“Wake up.” He demanded, expecting the man to shoot up out of bed.

The sleeping man stayed still. For a minute Mando debated whether or not to complete his job with the man unaware of his impending death. Killing him now would not only remove the chance of a fight, but also save Mando the risk of getting injured. He decided against it.

He leaned down, and shoved the man in the shoulder with his blaster. He watched as the mans’ body rolled over onto his back, covered in frost. The quarry’s skin was blue and the veins underneath were just as frozen as his skin. Mando’s eye widened, at the man’s brittle body, frozen in time right before his heart has finally frozen solid.

He hadn’t had to kill the bounty after all. But in the back of his mind, he knew that taking the dead man back tonight was not worth the risk. It was too cold to go back with extra weight after he experienced the cold without any slowed pace. He needed to get back quickly before the temperature dropped to low.

He employed the use of his jetpack, now that he was not at risk of spooking his quarry and cut through the blistering gales back to his ship. Before the door could shut he was stripping away the beskar covering his body. He sat it close to a small vent, watching for a second as the thick layer of frost slowly began dissipating around the edges. It was a magnet for cold, and it only accentuated how badly his core temperature had dropped outside. It wasn’t low enough for him to worry about any long-term effects however a hot shower was sounding better than even before. He even removed his helmet so the padding on the inside would vent and dry itself while he showered.

The steam rising out of the fresher welcomed Mando’s cold skin as he pulled away at the crunchy undershirt and pants he still wore. They had been soaked with sweat and frozen, leaving what was a normally comfortable shirt into a crystallized model of his body. The clothes landed with a heavy thud by his feet.

Mando sighed at the feeling of hot water soaking his hair and melting away the frigid feeling he carried in his muscles. He rested his forehead and elbows against the wall perfectly happy to let his ships remaining water supply to funnel down the drain. He stayed there for a long while, reminding himself that in the morning he would need to stop into a port and stock back up before leaving Hoth. There was an outpost not too far away that would supply everything he needed, but the price was what he occupied himself with.

His credits were uncomfortably low for his liking and if he showed any desperate need for fuel or water it would be easy enough for the normal price to become doubled. Hoth wasn’t known for crooked people, but you never knew what you were going to get when someone met a Mandalorian. Some didn’t give any protest, happy to supply Mando without any qualms… mostly driven by avoidance of conflict. But others were quite happy to make Mando’s life just a little more difficult, always staring at his beskar with a wicked look in their eyes.

He dried off, and retrieved another set of clothes from underneath his cot hastily pulling them on and retrieving his helmet from the floor to avoid losing any of the precious heat he had just regained. He eyed the cot and the heavy blanket that sat folded neatly at the foot, calling for him to actually lay down for once. He denied its pleas, and instead retreated up the ladder to the cockpit.

The pilots chair lightly groaned at his weight as he collapsed down into it. He lolled his head back, letting his helmet clink against the metal trim surrounding the headrest. He wouldn’t sleep, only sit in the darkness of Hoth’s night and listen to the howls of an ongoing snow storm rage against the sides of his ship. It rocked the Slave Two gently, back and forth creating a cradle for its inhabitants.

No sleep would come. Only the bright white reflection of sunlight casting off the continuously falling snow.

The bounty was easy enough in the height of Hoth’s sun. Giving him a small advantage in dragging the unbending weight of his bounty back to the carbonite machine. Mando almost thought the weather was comfortable until he stepped foot into a small cantina that hung on the edge of a small outpost.

The room was small, with enough seats for twenty at maximum with only five people filling those seats. It was decorated heavily with furs, and a roaring fireplace that licked high into the chimney space, like the quarry’s small metal box had. Only this one was filled with some sort of natural material. Mando had never seen anything like it before, and upon further inspection it looked like glassy black stones that gave off a sweet and smoky smell that permeated through his helmet.

It was only a light tap on his ribcage that brought his attention away from the fire. An elderly woman with deep age lines in her face, stood meekly in front of him with a small, crooked smile on her face.

“You look like you could use some heat.” Her smile grew wider as she ran a withered finger across his paulron. She inspected the gathering of frost on her finger, and watched it melt away before looking back up to him.

Underneath his helmet, the smallest smile graced Mando’s face at the woman in front of him. She looked old enough to be his ba’buir… his grandmother. Her fine white hair was pulled tightly back into a bun with small little strands staying out of the slicked back style. He couldn’t help but feel a small bit warmer with her gaze on him.

“I came for supplies, and fuel.” He said quietly, afraid of startling her with the crackling sound of his modulator.

Her wise eyes softened at his voice, and it only surprised him into silence as he waited for her response.

“Fuel is on the other end of the outpost.” She paused turning slowly to gaze toward the opposite end of town. “However, if you want supplies, I might be able to help you… Mandalorian.”

Her emphasis came with a charming glitter in her eyes, as she motioned for him to follow her. He did so silently, watching to make sure her shuffling feet didn’t catch on any of the chair legs that sat in her path. She opened a door, and let him walk through into what looked like a pantry. Shelves lined the walls, and were stocked with almost everything Mando could think of needing. Jars of unlabeled food -most likely hand filled- emergency medical supplies, and even random ship parts sat in metal crates stacked in a cobweb and dust covered corner.

He was quite speechless at the sight, but hesitated as she cleared her throat from hoarseness.

“You take whatever you need… if you can help me with my problem.” Her eyes focused right in on his, despite the black visor shading his eyes from view.

“Problem?” he asked.

The woman’s eyes that had glittered with pride, suddenly grew serious as she shuffled closer to him. 

“There’s a man out at the bar who desperately wants something I have.” She whispered, glancing every so often like the door behind her would bust open at any second. “I need you to get rid of him… and if you do, I’ll give you something that’s worth more than anything you’ve ever had before.”

Mando stood before a woman who he’d never met before, not fully understanding what it was that she was so serious about protecting or what she was willing to give him. Not that he wasn’t willing to help her, but her entire demeanor was surely enticing him.

“I’ll help.” He replied shifting his gaze back up to the door.

“He’s the only man at the bar,” she repeated reverently “He carries a blaster in his waistband… behind his back.” She whispered as she walked back out into the cantina’s dining space.

Mando focused back on the fireplace on the opposite side of the room, where he could sit and watch this man without gaining any more attention than he already was. A wooden chair sat close to the flames, and Mando found himself leaning back into it with the intent of looking as inconspicuous as he could.

The man at the bar was taller than average, but a full head shorter than Mando. He had broad shoulders and a bulge at his lower back. She was right. He thought, making a mental note of how observant the old woman truly was. He also sported a shaved head with many scars littering his skin with marred sections where the hair hadn’t grown back.

Mando couldn’t see him face, for the angle that he sat at. But he could tell from the wavering of his torso in his chair that he’s had one too many of whatever the elderly woman was serving. There was no way that Mando could get the man to leave without there being a scene, but something in the back of his mind told him that the woman was more than prepare for that to happen.

He even caught her out of the corner of his display, carefully taking glasses and other breakable items and stowing them underneath of the bar. Mando let her work quietly for a few more minutes, giving her enough time to save as many of her dishes as possible before he stood up.

“Another!” the man demanded loudly, slurring as he raised his glass in attempt to gain the old woman’s attention.

Mando reached the man’s side before she could, and reached his hand out to keep her from getting any closer. “I think you’ve had enough.” He stated, keeping his gaze straightforward.

He could hear the drunk man’s stunned choke as he whipped his head around to face Mando. He chuckled loudly, and dropped his half-full glass onto the bar-top spilling its contents all over the place. “And what would you know about it, tin can?”

“Enough to know you’ve had enough.” Mando repeated, this time turning just enough that half of his visor faced the drunk.

“How about you leave shiny. Before I make a mess out of you and this wenches bar.” His threat warbled with plastered slurs as he reached into his belt and pulled out his blaster, waving it all around before finally resting it on Mando’s chest.

Even if the man had been sober, he wouldn’t have noticed that Mando had already pulled out his own blaster and statuesquely trained it on the man’s head. It was quite the standoff, and Mando was quite certain in his ideas of why the old woman wanted him gone.

“Drop it, and you can leave Hoth alive. Or… I can drop you on the floor with a blaster hole through your chest.” Mando threatened, not letting his blaster waver an inch.

“I own this bar…” the man bluffed getting redder in the face by the second. “I own her-“ he jerked pointing to the old woman, “And her prize possession.” He spat turning back to Mando.

“You can live or you can die…. Your choice.” Mando growled, his finger resting on the trigger.

His ultimatum seemed to work well enough that the man dropped his blaster to the bar with a metallic thud, before stumbling off of his stool. He mumbled incoherently, even Mando’s helmet was unable to enhance what he said as he walked through the door, rattling the hinges as he slammed it shut.

Mando turned to the elderly woman, a sparkle in her eyes as she spoke to Mando again, “I’ll send word that you need refueled, and after you rest tonight, you’ll be leaving tomorrow.” Her satisfied tone rang through Mando’s speakers.

“I can’t stay.” He protested.

“You’ll stay here, for free.” She smiled, “Please, humor an old woman for a night.”

Mando could only sigh, and allow the woman to show him to a small room upstairs where he could place his belongings and lay awake, wondering what prize possession everyone but him seemed to know about.

As he listened, he could hear music playing below and a few bursts of laughter floating through the floor boards. He wasn’t comfortable laying there, but with the happy vibrations of celebration it did soothe his overly tense body enough that he could relax his helmet against pillow and cross his ankles to listen better.

He could hear the old woman’s hoarse voice sometimes making itself stand out from the other conversations, but nothing loud enough he could make out. He could hear a man’s voice speaking to others about the almost-blaster fight in the cantina earlier, embellishing the encounter with help from some liquid encouragement.

Under his helmet, he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling listening to the man talk about the ‘grand Mandalorian’ who kicked out Yir Fearbe. So that’s his name… he thought. They talked about the Corellian, and how he had left for Hoth years ago with the idea of taking over a port and making enough credits to further control the planet. Apparently, from the loud laughter his dream of becoming Hoth’s unofficial governor was hilariously outlandish.

Mando wasn’t surprised. Corellian’s were always reckless with a huge lack of reverence for anyone else’s existence. Mando knew of bounty hunters from Corellia, but they were all untrustworthy to say the least. Personal gain was the main currency for a Corellian. They had no creed, something that Mando was half-jealous and half-detesting of.

But as the man below continued with his stories and accountings of Yir, they grew much more serious in tone. He spoke of how brutal he was toward the elderly woman, but no one was able to win a fight against him… let alone win. The man barked out a laugh after saying that Mando was lucky he was too drunk to realize what was happening… and that “he would be back after the metal man left.”

The conversations droned on through the night, and early into the morning before silence fell over the downstairs. But it wasn’t two hours later that he heard the clinking of glasses and dishes being put away. He needed to get his ship re-fueled before mid-day, and be in hyperspace before that. The sooner he was gone the better.

He picked up his belts, and slung them over his chest also placing his blasters in their holsters before ducking through the short door frame. He was met with the tired eyes of the old woman, already watching him with a close gaze. Mando sat down at the same chair he had last night, letting the fire warm his back and neck, careful not to let his cloak get too close.

“Something to eat?” she asked absentmindedly, like a mother would.

“No, thank you.” He nodded his head, watching her slowly wipe down the bar top.

“Something to drink?” she queried again. Dank Farrik she was persistent.

He only shook his head this time, waving his hand dismissively at the offer. She only gave him a smile that creased the deep lines near her eyes and created heavy contours around the corners of her mouth.

“I expect as much… from a man like you.” She murmured.

“How do you know what I am?” he asked, leaning to rest his arms on his thigh plates.

“I have only heard stories of your kind,” she said looking fondly somewhere off in her memories. “But I expect that before you leave, you’ll show me just how good you are.” She pointed at him, her wrinkly fingers shaking.

Good.

Mando knew that wasn’t true. Even if she heard real stories she would know better than to think of him with any high regards to his goodness. Loyalty... sure. Maybe even a small sense of what justice was, but goodness wasn’t anywhere close to something he deserved. He was not only a warrior, but a contract killer. He made his living at the cost of others lives. Mandalorian’s were taught with weapons, not prayers to any gods. Children were trained not taught.

He thought of himself as a weapon.

They sat in silence, him watching her work and her consistently asking him for something to eat or drink. If she had been watching closely enough, the old woman might have seen his shoulders rise in the slightest when he huffed an amused chuckle at her progressively worrying tone.

“You do eat, don’t you?” she blustered, seemingly upset at his continuous declinations.

“Yes.” He tilted his head, trying to figure out just what it was she was upset about. “This isn’t about me eating is it?” he questioned back.

Her eyes drifted down towards her feet, suddenly looking more tired than she had after he came downstairs. She tottered across the room, and sat in down in a chair across from Mando, looking him up and down slowly before settling back on his visor.

“That was my husband’s chair,” she murmured. Mando made an attempt to get up, wanting to appease her, but she quickly stopped him. “No, no. You don’t have to do that. Hardly anybody likes sitting in that old thing, but if you like it… then you sit.”

He adjusted her hips in the wooden seat, and winced before continuing on, “That man you made leave last night killed my husband, years ago when he first landed on Hoth. My husband only owned this building, but Yir wanted it for himself. And instead of doing the honorable thing, he killed my husband thinking that I wouldn’t have the wherewithal to do it myself.” She shook her head, a small bit of arrogance flashing across her features.

“I have done everything in my power -which isn’t much- to let you know the truth. Giving every last ounce of my strength into keeping everything that needed protected, protected.”

Mando shifted foreword again, narrowing his eyes in focus and trying to understand her real meaning behind all of this.  

“But when I saw you walk through that door, I knew that you were my last opportunity.” She smiled, making real eye-contact through his visor.

“Who are you? And why do you trust me?” he blurted, desperate for a straight, uncryptic answer.

“Mandalorian, I’m just an old woman. Nothing more. That doesn’t mean I don’t know when I see a second chance sitting right in front of me.”

Mando was about to speak again, when the loud ring of a familiar voce began thrumming through the air, followed by incessant blaster fire. The old woman gasped, grabbing at her chest and hurriedly standing up with her gaze locked on the door.

“Maker…” she whispered. “He’s coming.”

Mando thought quickly, and rushed her over to the storage room she had brought him into yesterday, carefully trying to get her there before Yir could catch him with his back turned. But before he could close the door, he frail hand reached out and touched his chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“You are much more than a warrior… but at this moment, that is exactly what you need to be.” She stated reverently, before shutting the door herself.

He heard the sound of a lock click on her side of the door right before the one behind him smashed open with a bright read beam of blaster fire. Mando couldn’t remember what happened, or how he found himself being thrown around the room and being smashed into tables but that’s exactly what happened.

His beskar absorbed the brunt of most of the blows he took, but the man was so belligerent that he took too punching Mando in the helmet despite the ugly angle that balled-up fingers were at. Mando tried to fight back, but without a chance to reach for his blaster there was not much he could do but grapple with the man, and find an opportunity to reach down to his hip.

Vir growled ferally screaming about taking what was rightfully his, and other nonsense that Mando could barely catch before he was thrown once again this time, his back making solid contact with the hard, stone edge of the bar. Vir lifted him up, and angrily smashed him against the wall, trapping his throat and squeezing hard, trying to push past Mando’s thick cloak wrapped tightly around his throat.

“I’ll make more money off that beskar than I would on this planet in a lifetime.” Vir growled, smiling happing at his reflection in Mando’s helmet. “I can’t wait to see what’s under all that metal.” He barked happily, not noticing Mando’s free hand struggling for purchase on his blaster.

“I told you to leave.” Mando choked out, pulling the trigger and hearing a loud scream resonate from Vir. They both dropped to their knees, but Vir kept screaming at the giant wound in his thigh, or what was left of it.

“You…. You will pay for this.” Vir threatened with a tremble, gripping at his leg with a fierce grimace on his face. “They sent me here, for her.” He smiled, delirious anger taking over. “They’ll come for you once they find out what happened he-“

Mando silence Vir’s threats with another blaster shot.

“I told you to leave.” Mando repeated, struggling to his feet. His head buzzed with the rush of oxygen flooding back.

“Mandalorian!” the old woman hissed, rushing out the door and across to him.

He pushed away her attempts to check him for injuries, knowing well enough for himself that any blaster shots that had went off ricocheted off his beskar.

“I’m fine.” He said pushing away from her. “But I need to leave. Now.” He stated, giving her a hard look.

“Take what you need. Your ship is ready, I checked this morning.” She said pointing towards the storage room she had just came from.

He nodded silently, and quickly began grabbing what he needed, throwing all of it into a canvas bag that was hanging from one of the shelves. Canned food, and two medical supply kits were only a couple of the things he shoved into the bag before exiting to see the old woman standing with a huge coat and a change of boots.

“I’ll walk you there.” She stated, not giving him much of a choice.

“My pace.”

She only nodded, and lead him out into the street where at the end of the street he could see his ship had been moved.

“Who moved my ship?” he asked impatiently.

“Someone trustworthy.” Was her answer.

“Listen, I don’t know you. And I understand we had a deal, but that’s over with now.” he retorted, glancing over at her.

“Not yet, I gave you one last thing…”

He looked to see tears spilling over her sagging cheeks, and he shoulders slumped low like she was carrying a huge weight.

“You owe me a promise Mandalorian. And I entrust you’ll keep it.”

“What is this promise?” he asked, finally reaching his ships back hatch.

The hatch hissed as it began opening, and Mando reflexively drew his blaster pointing in at the figure who stood in the hull of his ship.

“Everything looks fantastic I fixed a few loose connections on the hyperdr-” A honeyed voice filled Mando’s ears as the figure came to a sudden halt, open hands raised in submission at the blaster trained on them.

“Who are you?” he demanded, feeling quite whiplashed by his last day and a half. He was ready to start shooting without asking questions.

“She’s mine.” The old woman cut in, rising her mittened hand to push away at Mando’s blaster.

“I refueled your ship, and check to make sure that you were ready to go.” The silky voice added.

He watched, carefully as a young woman walked slowly down the ramp of his ship, hands still raised up, with wide eyes trained on his. What is with these women… he thought, feeling quite uncomfortable with how easy it was for them to find his eye behind the visor.

The old woman pushed harder at his blaster and he finally dropped it down to his side, finally getting him to release his steady aim on the girl. “You have a promise to keep.” She murmured, looking at the girl, who was staring just as puzzled at the old woman as Mando felt.

“She is yours to protect.”

The girl immediately began denying the idea, and Mando himself finally cut off that annoyingly sweet voice to put up his own protest,

“I have no reason to take her anywhere.”

The old woman’s wise eyes fell back onto Mando, and consequently silenced the surprised interjections from his ship.

“You need a second chance…” she spoke almost prophetically piercing through Mando’s resolve. “And I might be an old woman… but I have seen what you can do. And that assures me that you’re the one man that can keep her safe…” she hesitated. “Promise me you’ll take care of her.”

Mando was about to question her again when the sound of a blaster echoed up through the snow-covered pathway. He shouted a warning, and reached to cover the old woman’s back  when she was already falling down into the snow, still as the quarry from the cave.

She was dead.

He heard more blaster shots, and a scream from the girl, as she attempted to run off the sloping hatch of the ship, carrying her own blaster and retuning fire. It wasn’t a good situation when Mando turned back toward the street again. A group of men masked, and carrying a lot firepower began making their way toward his ship, all pointing toward the girl who was squatting next to his ship, blaster trained down sight.

“Give us the girl!” one of them shouted, pointing a gloved hand past Mando.

He flashed back to the bounty droid, pointing its blaster at Grogu… the feeling he had now identical to that day. He tried to suppress it, but after a few more seconds hundreds of ‘what-if’s’ and what the old woman had said, he turned toward the girl;

“Get on the ship. Now!”

Blaster fire erupted, bouncing off the back hatch as it pulled up off the ground and Mando stepped back towards the hull space. He fired, eliminating the closest people in the group when he felt the ship lurch upwards into the sky.

She was flying his ship.

But, surprisingly he wasn’t as mad as he thought when the imminent threat of the men boarding became slimmer and slimmer as the distance between Hoth’s frozen ground and the Slave Two grew wider. Only after leaving air space in a hurry, did Mando make his way to the cockpit to see just who it was that was now on his ship.

She sat in the pilot’s chair focused on the dash of buttons in front of her, eyes flashing occasionally up to the interfaces showing their positioning. If it wasn’t for the red display flashing on her face he wouldn’t have noticed the tear streaks on her cheeks. Her breaths were uneven causing her chest to jerk, but she didn’t make a single sound.

Mando watched from behind her, quietly watching as the ship veered around small debris that floated in Hoth’s gravity, expertly guiding the ship out of the dangerous field. Her hand hovered over the switch that would send them into hyperspace. Her silence was a question, not just of if he was ready… but if he trusted her.

“Go.” he finally answered.

He pushed his shoulders against the wall behind her, preparing himself to feel the force press him back even tighter against the wall. Her ministrations over the controls were precise, even though the weight of force was pinning him back, she was able to smoothly operate until the streaking blue and purple lights of hyperspace lit up the cockpit.

Her chair spun around to face him, her small frame being swallowed by the chairs harness that she had pulled over her shoulders. Wisps of damp hair and sweat covered her forehead, and her eyes locked onto his with a mix of emotions that Mando couldn’t quite read.

“You’re the man my grandmother has talked about…” She searched up and down his body, carefully taking stock of his frame, lingering on the blasters that were strapped to his thigh and hip.

“I hadn’t met her before last night.” He answered, feeling like his response was inadequate.

“She told me you needed your ship refueled… but I had to move it.” She explained, pulling the harness off of her shoulders. “I didn’t expect for any of this to happen.” Her voice dropping a little. He knew what she was talking about, despite her lack of real conversation. “I wasn’t busy so I tried to clean up some of your wiring boxes…” she kept explaining herself, trying to bargain her value to him.

He let her continue, finding a similarity in her tone with the bounties that were sitting in carbonite slabs in the back of his ship. He saw her nervousness in the way she began chewing on her lip after she had run out of things to say.

“Where am I supposed to take you?” he asked, seeing a flinch of uncertainty cross over her face. He mentally chided himself for sounding so harsh. It wasn’t like intimidating her was going to benefit him at this point.

“I- I don’t know.” She frowned, still chewing on her bottom lip.

He shook his head, letting his frustration and lack of understanding in the situation show for the first time towards her. “Then why are you here, and why were those men after you?”

She huffed out a breath and ran a hand through her sweaty hair, pulling it off her forehead. “There’s a man named Vir… he came to Hoth and when he met me he tried to date me, I guess. But when I turned him down, it only made things worse.” She stood up, and leaned her back against the controls, “He killed my grandfather as a sick kind of punishment. And since then he’s been obsessed, following me around and threatening me constantly.”

Mando listened, taking in everything that the old woman -her grandmother- had said and finally put all of the pieces together. That old woman had been protecting the girl, and he was becoming more and more in awe of how fierce the old woman’s loyalty was. Even her last sentence was spent holding the him to a promise of security.  

“But now everyone is dead because of me…” she admitted quietly, before looking up to Mando with more tears in welling in her eyes. “You have to get away from me, whoever you are. You don’t know me and none of this is your problem.” She nodded at her own decision, seemingly satisfied at her plan.

They stood in silence again, her waiting on him to say something and Mando just looking at her under the cover of his helmet. She wore layered shirts, with a coat -too large for her- cloaking any real idea of what her shape really looked like. Her boots were tiny, and snow still clung to them. In the back of his mind, he weighed his options but kept thinking about the old woman’s voice: “I’m giving you something special…”

He wasn’t sure what she meant by giving her to him, but what he didn’t want to admit was that he was going to keep that promise.

“I can see you fly well, and I could use a co-pilot. I’ll show you where you can put any of your things.” He said turning away toward the ladder, with a small motion for her follow him.

He passed his own room, and pushed open the next door and let her walk in. She glanced around, and sat down on the corner of the small cot. She shrugged off her huge coat, and looked to Mando with a very innocent look.

“I can’t stay here for long.” She said with a sigh, “But I appreciate you helping me.”

He nodded and left without another word.

Mando retreated back to the cockpit, only to review everything the woman had said, and the story that the girl had told him. All of it raced around, especially the girls sweet voice that gave him a dizzying head rush. It sounded so pretty. He thought rubbing the forehead of his helmet like it would help subside the feeling of drinking too much spotchka. She looked so young, but the way she carried herself added to his confusion about her true age.

The old woman was her grandmother, but that didn’t help him get a better idea either. The dead man on Hoth had been after the girl for a at least a couple years so she was most likely in her early twenties. But one thing stuck in Mando’s head above all the images of her and her sugary voice in his head.

Seeing her silhouette framed by hyperspace, and the silky sound of her voice contrasted to his own was exceptionally difficult to ignore. She hadn’t been on his ship two hours and the idea of getting another glimpse at her was already pushing itself into the forefront of his mind. Mando always thought about anything ten different ways before proceeding. But for the second time in his life his gut had overridden his judgement. The second time.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know when I see a second chance sitting right in front of me.” The old woman had said.

A second chance.

His second chance.

If anything it only made his head spin more. What was it about himself that had given the old woman a sense of him needing a ‘second chance’? Not only that, but why did he need one? His only thought was Grogu, and how difficult it was to let his foundling go despite his knowledge that there was somewhere better for the child. He had fought desperately to return the child to his own people, but when the time came, he could barely let go.

Was he really supposed to take care of her?

If he was a different man, he would let her off on a safe planet before heading back to drop off his bounties. Leave her with a enough supplies and credits to settle herself somewhere far enough away from those men… and himself. But as he sat down in the pilots chair, and looked out at space flying past him, he acknowledged that he wasn’t that man. The idea of an old woman with wise eyes telling him that the girl on his ship was his second chance, was not only wildly dangerous, but something that he was already preparing himself for.

[djarrex]

Hi everyone, just wanted to address what happened last night along with some other things from before that all tie in together.

There’s multiple parts to the following post - please make sure you read all of it if you’re gonna take the time to even start.

It was midnight and y'all were still jumping in on anon and telling me how I'm awful for not commenting, owning up, or taking responsibility - I should have been in bed. I have a life and job outside this app; and with the several of you in my inbox and it being too late at night to address each, I’m gonna do it now. I can’t not say something about all of this. I just can’t keep quiet and ignore the problem - it’s not fair to you all. Deleting one post already has you guys even more riled up and all I wanted to do was offer something better than a “half-hearted apology” (it was very late at night when I wrote that very short apology, and wanted a redo tbh). 

I really didn't want to make a long post like this. I reached out to a select few on here because I care about them (there's more of you, but like I said, it was at the time after midnight and I was fucking exhausted). but I was being demanded for accountability. So here I am.

Allow me to be real with you all, if that's ok. If it's not, well, idk. First I wanna address all you anons, who, instead of speaking to me one on one about all this, want to criticize me and shame me and my writing when truthfully it feels like you haven't even read more than a handful of my work. I didn’t realize that I write the clones all the same way? That I always make them super aggressive and uncaring and dom? “you write every single clone as so dominant instead as unique individual men with their own personalities” Interesting. See, that right there tells me you haven't read nearly enough of my stuff for me to believe that's true. That's one accusation I absolutely will not back you on because I know it’s inaccurate - saying how I group the clones into some overly-aggressive, and uncaring category - that I always write all of them as mean in bed because they're men of color. And hey, if I do write rough smut - which yeah, it's out there and I write it, as do a lot of you - there are warnings at the beginning, aftercare, dialogue, reader sharing their feelings, and most importantly... consent between the two. That’s what warnings are for, so that you know what you’re going to be reading. That’s why I, as we all do, appreciate warnings listed at the tops of fics; honestly, write them sub or dom or switch or however you want but don’t come at me like that. I’m sorry if I'm coming across as rude because I'm usually not, I’m one of the nicest people you’ll meet, but I will not stand idly by while you chastise my writing (writing that is pretty much the same type of stuff a lot of you write & rb with the same characters) that you haven’t read enough of to back such claims.

Next: Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart,

I get it. Really, I do. I fully understand the problem of whitewashing in SW along with almost everywhere else, and I do not agree with it. It's a huge problem, and it needs to be rectified. Now just because I don't speak publicly about it and opt out of publicly shaming TBB, doesn't mean that I agree with what’s going on. Not everyone is comfortable with sharing their opinions on a subject, no matter what that subject is or which side they're on. You live and you learn when it comes to that. 

It has never been my intention to fetishize POC in my writing, which btw, the same people who are saying that it is my intention are the ones claiming I portray all of the clones as the same, aggressive men, lacking their individuality. It’s a claim that is simply not true, and I know I have followers on here to back me up on that. I know what I've written; how about you check it out and tell me that you don't see the words "soft" or "fluff" or "cuddling" or “gentle” or “tender” within my work linked in my ML. Clone character being a good partner and father? Tender love making? Holding each others faces in their hands? “We/you survived” sex? Taking care of their partner? Saying “I love you” to one another? Confirming the safe word and going slow at first? Oh my - riveting and harsh stuff - totally unacceptable.  

Now: My admittedly problematic writings of Rex + Zygerria,

I went into writing that rp fic totally unaware and unknowing of the true implications. For that, I sincerely apologize. When I posted the NSFW alphabet, that’s when I was called out on that rp fic - not when I first posted it. Which the timeline doesn’t matter, I know that, but it concerns me a little bit that no one spoke up about it sooner - letting me dig myself deeper into a hole that I didn’t realize I was inside of in the first place. I've apologized once, and I know that doesn't negate what happened; I acknowledged my mistake back then, but I suppose that wasn’t good enough. I had asked you, anon, to message me to give me guidance, to teach me on what to do about the fic - you stayed hidden. Well, respectfully, what the fuck? I know we're all adults but don't lecture me and avoid me when I’d literally reached out for guidance on how to properly rectify the issue. I fixed my wording in some of my fics (the things I’ve caught upon rereading them) because I recognized and more importantly learned about and from my mistakes along with the unintentional negative implications of how I wrote those characters. Some of y'all wanna tell me that I "haven't learned"? Who are you, my personal blog police? My professor? My life coach? Are you even my friend? If I'm wrong and haven't learned, then fucking educate me. I worked hard on that rp fic, just like I do with a majority of what I write, but it doesn’t matter because I will delete it knowing that it’s harmful to others and I apologize for inadvertently romanticizing slavery with what I wrote - it was unintentional, and I’m truly sorry to those who have been hurt by it. I know it’s wrong, and there’s no proper excuse for it. Can’t go back in time, but consider it gone now.

Since that first wakeup call, I’ve been working hard to ensure I avoid using certain words and ideas when describing the clones in my fics. If there’s still something you see that isn’t correct or is inappropriate, please tell me! Don’t hold it in but then jump on the “attack M” bandwagon. Private message me, or come peacefully off or on anon, there will be no hard feelings. I don’t mind being corrected when I make a mistake - that’s just part of life, we all make mistakes and we live and learn from them. Making mistakes doesn’t = scumbag human. When you hold your breath and choose not to take the time to guide me, and if I appear to still be making the same mistakes, well, idk. I’m telling you right now that I do not mind if you message me with the good intention of pushing me in the right direction. When you come at me with hostility on anon, well, no thank you. To the anons that came without rage: thank you! I read what you wrote, and I have a better understanding as to how my writing had hurt the lovely followers of mine, and tried to address as much as possible in this post. See, angry mob anons? It costs zero credits to be kind and offer up your thoughts and advice with a good heart. I’m not going to hate you or block you if you try to correct me. I don’t block unless you’re a snoopin’ minor. Just don’t hold a knife to my throat.

Now: Why did I delete the tags and then my response to that anon ask? 

Simply put: I felt awful. Deleting it doesn’t immediately mean I’m hiding from it and ignoring the issue. I wanted to come up with a better apology, explanation, whatever you wanna call it, because my followers deserve that. The ones who enjoy my work, the ones who interact, the ones who I call my friends, the ones who know that I’m a good person. Didn’t want to leave the tags/post floating around all night, giving more people time to sharpen their pitchforks and join the mob while I attempted to sleep. Trust me, I know saying that I had no ill intentions when tagging that post doesn’t make it better nor does it make it go away. I’m just trying to show you my point of view, that I knew immediately how I should not have tagged it that way, so that’s why I deleted them. I corrected my mistake. But y’all are too fucking quick I swear.

One more thing:

I know some of you who had called me out with the passive-aggressive inbox messages are still following me, and for what? You don’t like what I post, which is why one would follow another in the first place, so why bother sticking around? Do you feel like you need to police my blog? You want to be there the literal minute I make a mistake? I’m gonna turn off anon for a bit, so if you wanna discuss, message me. Just know that if you’re going to come at me with knives out, I probably won’t reply to you. 

To conclude:

I’m sorry. Truly sorry for the entire Rex + Zygerria outfit + slaver ordeal with both the fic from a while ago and then the tags from last night. We can’t go back in time; the only option is to correct past mistakes that are able to be corrected, and then move on with new knowledge that’ll aid in me working even harder to ensure my writing isn’t inappropriate or offensive, and doesn’t hurt my followers nor the characters I write for. I’m still going to write self-indulgent filth and fluff, post-order 66 Rex, and other misc shit. I enjoy writing fanfic, as I know a lot of you enjoy reading what I write and love to talk to me about it. I hope that this didn’t come off as me being a bitch, because I’m really not. I enjoy interacting with the handful of people on here that I’d call my friends, and I love reading your reactions and tags to my fics when you’re excited and/or horny (LOL). It’s just after lunch time where I’m at, so I hope you have a great rest of the day/night/morning whatever for wherever you are.  

<3 

M

[zeldas-cigarrette]

Illicit affairs. (1)

(not my gif:))

⎯ zelda spellman x reader

⎯ word count: 2,1k

⎯ warnings: slight mention of alcohol

⎯ summary: after a night out you wake up next to Zelda Spellman, later you find out you two met in a bar the night before.

⎯ ❥ author’s note: I don’t know how I got this idea but I thought it’d be fun to just write it down and see what happens, I’ll maybe do another two parts because I want to finish it with a happy ending:) ✨

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

A loud and penetrating noise tore you out of your sweet sleep, as soon as your eyes flung open you felt a sting in your head. The memories of last night were blurry and you had no idea how you ended up in your bed. Only the regularly set alarm on your phone stopped you from sleeping any longer. Usually, you weren’t someone who drinks but something about yesterday made you forget about it. You didn’t dare to move, everybody part seemed to hurt with the slightest of movements. It was just your white bedroom ceiling, that you saw. The sun had begun to rise and the morning sky was dipped in shades of pink. Without further thinking you started to get up, not wanting to be late for your job as a teacher in the academy of unseen arts. You were afraid of Zelda, the headmistress, the woman never seemed to like you. You never knew why.

Your head turned to the other side of the room to see if you had broken anything in your state last night. Unknowingly of what to expect next to you, your heart missed a beat for a second. On top of your fluffy white pillow Zelda Spellman was laying. Not even able to think clearly, you tried to put the pieces of last night in the place. In between some very clear scenes more and more occurred only black pictures. You had no clue how in hell the often resilient witch ended up next to you in bed. Curiously, you bent over her face to see if she was somewhat conscious. You waved your hand over her face, one time, two times; nothing.

Soft snores left her slightly opened mouth. This was bad; ‘when she wakes up you’re dead’ you thought. It took you a lot of courage to make the first step and poke her with your finger, not sure of what was about to happen. Her eyes quickly opened, her eyes met yours. A maybe unwanted cry escaped her mouth causing you to join out of surprise of the sudden noise. „Satan, why did you have to scream?” you asked massaging your ear in pain. „What am I doing here?” her voice still a bit raspy. You tried to play it cool, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks you turned away searching for any evidence of last nights events. Still nothing. „Did we…” „I don’t think so.”

It was awkward, none of you knew anything. Just now you realised how chill it was in your apartment. „Okay, don’t worry. We’ll figure this out, just get dressed, I’ll make coffee if you want some,” you declared hopping out of the bed and covering your body with a gown. You shot her a last glance before exiting your bedroom, though a bit shaky. How much alcohol did you consume to be in that state now? Passing the few paintings on your walls on the way to the kitchen, you switched on your coffee machine, hoping it wouldn’t be too awkward. Soon the smell of fresh coffee filled the air and also Zelda seemingly disappointed walked around the corner.

„What in Satan’s name happened last night?” the woman asked puzzled. You handed her a cup of coffee, noticing a silver ring tugging on her left hand. „Nice ring,” you smiled. „What ring? I don’t wear rings!” „Obviously you do now,” you replied pointing at it. The witch’ forehead laid in wrinkles before she shook her head as if she couldn’t believe her own eyes. „Why you? Why am I in your house?” she suddenly snapped and harshly placed the cup on the table. „Calm down, I don’t know and I could’ve also imagined someone nicer than you.” Wrong you couldn’t, you craved her attention. Since the very first moment you laid eyes on the red-headed witch, you found it hard to avert your gaze. Only an eye roll signalised how annoyed she was. „Okay, I came into that bar and ordered something… I don’t remember what,” you whispered to yourself. You heard the older woman scoff in. „What? Do you know what happened?” your voice grew energetic way too fast. Silence. It was this gruelling silence where you feel so little you don’t even dare to break the ongoing nothingness. You glanced down at your fingers, finding a silver ring, looking similar to the one that Zelda was wearing. „Why do I have the same ring as you?” in your voice grew to panic. Her head jolted in your hand’s direction. The pupils of her green eyes grew wide in split seconds. „You don’t think we-“ „I don’t know? I’m not even sure how I ended up at home,” you stammered unsure of what words to choose next. Obviously, the situation was uncomfortable for both parties, Zelda couldn’t stop herself from pinching the bridge of her nose in disbelief of her memory loss.

That woman always seemed like the most put-together person you knew, there were hardly any encounters or incidents that let people see kind of emotion. „You go to the academy and do whatever you have to, and I will look for any evidence or signs that could verify our theory,” it was hard to stay calm. You weren’t ready for such thing as marriage and Zelda clearly seemed to dislike you and if you both really did it last night; you couldn’t even imagine what to do then. It didn’t take long until the witch disappeared from your kitchen. You let yourself fall on one of the chairs, head in your hands, covering your eyes with fingers in the hope to bring back the memories.

The constant sips of coffee that ran down your throat didn’t wipe out the dizzy feeling in you nor did they wake you as they used to. Watching the sun as it rose just made you sleepier. It didn’t get in your head how you had absolutely no proper memories from your night out. Yes, it’s been stressful and you just wanted to take a break from your negative thoughts and all the stuff that’s been weighing you down, but it was never your intention to get so drunk or to upset the mighty Zelda Spellman herself. You gulped audibly before you forced yourself up from the chair. It was time to dig a little deeper and to scour your apartment, next to the bar you went to.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

It was useless, there was no paper or anything that could tell you what happened the night before. The whole morning and parts of the afternoon, you spent searching. Under your bed, you also rummaged through the kitchen drawers. Nothing.

A knock on your door nearly startled you to death, so deeply concentrated were you on finding anything in the living room. You pushed yourself up from the ground, walking up to your front door. A look through the spy drowned your mood completely. You knew the woman would show up at least in the evening, but you did not think it’d be right after work.

„Anything found yet?” „Well, Hello to you too, and no- nothing,” you sighed and let her enter your small apartment. „The last option is, to head to the bar and ask some people who’ve been there with us yesterday,” you shrugged and stared at the silvery ring you placed on the kitchen counter earlier. „The whole day I’ve been asking myself what has happened, and I cannot puzzle the pieces together, and as much as I hate to admit; you’re right,” Zelda’s sudden thought sharing startled you. „Alright, then let’s go.” You stepped on the gas as much as possible, still, it felt like a ride on a snails back. The whole situation was too crazy and odd to be true, but it was.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Arriving at the bar, a neon sign greeted you. You remembered entering the place and a weird smell embracing you, smelt like cigarettes mixed with Urin. The thought of spending time in there suddenly disgusted you. A huge glass door, meant as entrance, was pushed open by the fiery witch, stomping in the alcohol hole. She immediately rushed towards a young man behind the bar, who was mixing cocktails. „Tell me, what happened here,” while yelling her voice wandered between three different ranges. „What she meant was, Hello we need your help could you tell us what happened last night,” you intervened shooting her a warning glare. His shocked face softened, „You were the girls who got married last night,” a deep laugh followed. Zelda was just about to throw hands before you were able to pull her back to where she stood. „Oh so we did… get married,” you remarked confused, „Can you possibly tell us more?” „Yes sure, you two got drunk and started talking to each other.” „You don’t get married by just talking… Justin,” you read his tag. „Of course not, as the night went on the sparks flew,” Justin cackled. Idiot. „Mhh, the sparks flew, then?” it wasn’t easy to get the worst of you but this guy was on the best way. „Sorry, Sorry,” he defensively held up his hands, „There was a priest in the corner and when you two found out about him, you rather fast decided to get married,” the idiotic bartender explained. Zelda’s fox fur shook with her in anger. All your face muscles dropped, not knowing what’ll happen next. „Was it a catholic?” Zelda asked concerned. Oh god, if it was a Catholic priest, you two were fucked, dead, excommunicated, just all the bad stuff. „I suppose so,” he shrugged. Her face shot in your direction, the looks you two shared said more than words could. What made a catholic priest come to this filthy – you can’t call it a bar- hole. „We’re going,” she rapidly grabbed your wrist pulling you after her.

„Ouch, god what is it with you,” you freed your wrist from her grasp. „Do you know what happens if anybody finds out we got married, worse by a catholic priest from the false god?” she huffed crossing her arms in front of her chest. „It’s bad, but we can’t undo it,” you took a step back. „It is all your fault that this misery came upon us and you have nothing better to say than , we can’t undo it’,” she imitated you. You scoffed. „My fault?” ‘Never be so polite to forget to show power’ your grandma once said. The whole day you tried to be polite, to be understanding and to comfort the one who hated you from the very beginning you showed up at the academy. Now she was accusing you of planting the idea of getting married in her brain, to that agreement belongs two people. „Listen, I tried to be nice but right now you’re giving me a very hard time,” you hissed, „It needs two people to get married and obviously you agreed to it, so now Zelda Spellman I want to think about your next words or you can stay here and I’ll leave you alone with this drunk heads in there.”

Seconds passed before she spoke up again, „Alright I’m sorry.” „Good, let’s get in there and ask if there was maybe a certificate or anything that proves our marriage. I get that you do not want to be married to me, neither would I but we have to figure this out together.” The older woman nodded, realising that there was no other way out. Entering the bar for a second time you approached Justin again. „Do you -by chance- know where the certificate is?

„Yes you left it at the table and I kept it behind the bar,” he explained. „Okay, can I have it?” „And what do I get for that?” „What do you get for that? I’ll show you what you get,” Zelda hissed ready to lose it all. „Stop it.” You warned her and held her back. „What do you want smiley face?” the tone on your voice grew harsh. „A night… with you,” It left you speechless. A look at the woman next to you made it clear she wasn’t fond of it either. „Forget it,” you snapped trying not to put a hex on him. This was it, there was no way to sneak behind that stupid bar.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

„Don’t you dare to suggest I should sleep with that idiot,” you mumbled and closed the car door a bit too loud. „I wasn’t.” It relived you to know she wouldn’t go that far. „Okay, Okay, Okay,” you started to panic, „I’m freaking out, we are so fucked if anyone ever finds that out.”

You started the engine of the car, sighing. „Calm down, we’ll figure something out,” the usually emotional cold woman reassured you. You just nodded hiding a tiny smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad after all.

[yandere-sins]

Since your request's open, I was wondering if you could do a geralt yandere where he's in a village with darling, when the pair sees a pregnant couple. Darling makes the mistake of gushing over how lovely couple looks and how their child would look just as lovely. Geralt then takes this as darling wanting a child of their own. Since witchers can't technically have children, this frustrates him and makes him go a little feral back at home and just breeds darling into oblivion.

Thank you for requesting! Hope you enjoy ^-^

Rated Lemon

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««     

You were no newbie to the topic of sex. And surely no rookie to the feeling of Geralt’s cock buried inside you.

Still, he usually wasn’t as ferocious as he was that night. You two barely made it back to a tavern, his hands constantly all over you, grasping at what his gloved fingers could reach. Throwing you over his shoulder and navigating Roach into a designated spot, he only grunted, “Room,” at the innkeeper, throwing way too many coins into his direction before staggering upstairs in the next best private room with an open door.

Geralt was many things. A witcher most of the time, murderer to some. You’re always doting, a little possessive partner usually, and on some nights a lover. He’d never let you become what he was, but you were thankful for the guidance that he gave you after you traveled so long to meet him. To you, he was a legend, somewhat of a hero - even if other people didn’t see in him what you saw.

Perhaps, you were a little blinded by the holiness of traveling with the person you were praising to the heavens and back. Maybe it would have done you good to see the truth more clearly, realize what really was going on. It’s not like the love and admiration you felt was something you expected him to reciprocate, but you liked to imagine that the hints he showed you were his form of affection only for you. He cared, always keeping other people who gave you lecherous sideglances a good scare. And despite you being a burden and sometimes too rowdy for the companion of a witcher, he did his best to keep you around.

Surely you could do without getting strapped to Roach ever so often, so that he could keep you where you were and not follow him into dangerous areas. And admittedly, he took your words a bit too serious sometimes, buying you whatever you deemed ‘fancy’ and taking more than the usual odd job to pay for it. You also really couldn’t remember a night anymore without him watching you falling asleep, laying on top of you all night, and then greeting you even before you opened your eyes. It was intense some nights, where you insisted on sleeping on the floor or at least as far away as the bed allowed, Geralt just sighing and pulling you closer again. A war of tug that only ended with you back in his arms, suffocating by his embrace, standing no chance against muscles and knowledge of what would make you subdue to his strength.

Geralt also tended to misunderstand you - a lot. That morning you had sighed longingly at a small family of three, so happy as they taught the little toddler to walk. Not like you wanted a child or a to settle down, but you might have joked about how cute it would be if the two of you did build a family of your own someday. Had you known it would have caused the pressure in his pants, your hips grinding against his as he turned around and urged Roach back to a city with an inn, you would have worded it more carefully for sure.

But this way, you were out of options other than complying. Geralt always had a need for efficiency, and he usually did not waste time on minor things. While he still worked to strip himself out of gear and armor, his fingers were already tugged under your undies, freeing one leg of any hindrance like clothes. Part of you was well aware of what was happening, but it felt different than usual. Latest by the force he tugged at your ankle as you tried to move up the bed and make some space for him, you knew this wasn’t what you could expect from laying with him.

Parting your legs, this clearly wasn’t the love-making you were used to, glove barely off his fingers as he pushed his digits in to test the waters. You flinched, self-lubrication being a wonder of nature, but not always the most reliable form of self-help. Reaching for his wrist, you tried to pry him out again when his second hand snaked behind your neck, pushing you forward and against his lips, rough and demanding.

He at least changed the number of fingers to one as he pumped it in and out of you, trying to arouse his hole. Still wearing more clothes than usual, the fabric brushing up against your thighs with the harshness of worn-out cotton, sending stings of pleasure up your nerves. His hair fell in your face, and before you knew it, you were breathing him in more than you were getting air to supply your body with, falling victim to the man.

When he finally laid you down, you were enticed with his touches, seduced by the feeling of his lips and tongue crawling down your skin from your lips to your collarbones, nipping at your shoulder. Hands came up to caress your nipples, pushing the annoyance that was your shirt aside for access. You couldn’t notice the goosebumps that appeared on his skin when your first moan escaped you, no one else but you bringing this kind of tickle over him these days. It was a desirable sound, urging him on, telling him that what he was doing was right, and he was quick to free his stiff member from his trousers, having waited long for the meal you were to his troubled desires.

Because truth be told, after all this time, you were only the fourth person ever to bring quite this joy into his life. And Geralt was planning to taste as much as possible from it. His rational brain told him that the idea you had put into his head was absurd, but maybe the faintest hint of hope came from his heart, that, perhaps, he might get you pregnant if he tried hard enough.

When his hips approached yours, your legs willingly parted further, though the feeling of his tip entering you still forced you to whine. Luckily, he was well-endowed, but with your body calling out that something wasn’t right, you weren’t quite ready to accept him yet. Most of the time, you were at least a bit drunker than that night. One time you two did it to get rid of an awful spell when one of his potions broke. There was always something to relax you - just this time, you were bareback and well aware.

Not heeding your ragged breaths, he forced himself inside, groaning over the tightness of your cunt as he spread your walls. You bit your lip in the weirdest feeling of pain and pleasure, legs flinching as if they were ready to kick him off. This feeling was new, and you weren’t all to sure you liked just how little he seemed to care as he began to pull out and push in right away. Hands pushing against his chest, you pleaded for him to give you a moment, his movements hurting you internally. “H-Hold on, give me a moment!”

But no matter how hard you gripped the shirt he was wearing, Geralt didn’t slow down, much less stopped. Forced to fold your arm, the witcher leaned down, bodies rubbing together, and stealing your breath as he kissed you again, tongue slipping in. It only got more unbearable as he caged you in between his arms on both sides, stinging eyes looking down at you, showing you your miserable reflection, an expression on your face that clearly wasn’t as willing as it sounded when you did a half-moan, half-sob.

However, no matter your attempts to stop him, he wasn’t one to stray away, too deep in it, and in you, to stop anymore. In an inefficient wiggle to get free, you heard the low rumble of a groan in his chest, followed by a couple pulsating pushes into you. Before you knew it, he shifted, pushing himself even deeper inside of you. Warm spurts of hot cum shot right into insides, coating your walls, adding some fake lubrications to the already irritated flesh.

You were relieved once he took a few breaths and proceeding to sit up again, thinking it was over. But the sudden grip on your thighs was something you did expect, and you struggled as he pushed your legs back, never having excited your pussy completely. Legs over his shoulders, he used them to continue to fuck you, holding on to them roughly with his fingers digging into your skin.

Geralt’s cock slit in and out easier of you now, cum bubbling on your entrance and spurting out with every hard thrust he did. Altering his technique a little, he started to grind his cock into you, his tip pushing up against your abdomen and low into your bowels, making you squeal whenever he managed to hit a new and sensitive spot.

“W-Wait, at least give me a break!” you demanded, but his answer was an inaudible mutter, followed by his grunts and the smacking sound of your hips. You were given no break as you couldn’t help a toe-curling orgasm as his member forced it’s way up to your cervix, kissing the entrance with force upon every push into you.

In the blink of an eye, Geralt spun you around, a moan escaping you as he gripped your asscheeks hard, pulling your entrance smack against the end of his shaft. With force and diligence, he wiggled his way forward into you, knowing that if he wanted to make any difference, he had to bring his semen as far as he could. Your body too recognized the breeding position, but you were to weak to resist under him, victim to his hips smacking and grinding into you, cock threatening to burst its way into your womb. And at least the hot strings of cum managed to get inside, despite if they’d impregnate you or not.

“Don’t say you didn’t want this,” he mumbled into your ear as he hovered over you, giving you little personal space or time before he resumed his grinding. Lips pressed down your shoulders, smothering them in pecks and kisses while you rode the waves of pleasure. “You know I’d do anything for you. You shouldn’t test me by saying you want a family.”

All he needed to do was pull you up by your arm to turn you onto your back again, satisfied eyes watching him through the shine of tears. “Next time, just be honest if you want to be bred so badly, no need to hide it behind the idea of a family that you know we can’t have.”

It was a low effort to slip into you again, your walls instantly clenching down hard on the overstimulation. “I-” he grunted, pulling your hips onto his, not minding the bruises his hands will leave on your skin. “-would do anything for you. Just say the word.”

And with his final orgasm, Geralt finally pulled out, having to watch all his effort slowly beginning to drip out and stain the rented bedsheets. Maybe, so he thought, plugging you up and hoping for a wonder would do well, your abdomen lovingly swollen under the multiple cumshots he had put into you. Reaching for an empty glass bottle for his potions, he pulled out the cork in it, opening up your hole with two fingers before slipping it inside under the weak protest of your mouth that ended in a sigh.

You were pulled snug against his body as he settled down next to you, taking a sip of wine he found at the bedside table, and making a mental note to give another tip to the innkeeper later just so you two wouldn’t be damned for all eternity. But with a sense of satisfaction did he watch the little swelling under your tummy, caressing it with his hand under your shallow gasps. Kissing your temple, he pulled a blanket over you, happy with just holding you in his arms that night while you lost conscience. You were unable to think for yourself anymore as you sighed in his hold, just relieved to have someone to lean on after going through such a carousel of emotions, unsure how you two would be able to proceed after experiencing this.

Unsure if he had other plans with you, once you woke up again even.