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dilf-hunter-fantasies · 5 months ago

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I was wondering if you'd write anything about Joel and free use?

Love your account babe💗

thank you so much babe, i loved this idea! i hope you enjoy my take on it. i was fantasizing about...

renting a room from joel miller and striking a deal to lower your rent.

3.5k words 🍒warnings: explicit smut, no outbreak au, age gap (reader in college), female reader, brief mention of f masturbation, free use!!, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, use of: sweetheart, darlin'

click here for more of my writing

So you end up short on options for housing after breaking up with your ex. You know it seems weird to be a young woman willing to rent a room from an older man who is …well in all versions you spin it…a total stranger. But, your aunt swears he’s a good guy.

She used to live in his neighborhood, knew his daughter, figured he has the extra room and put you in touch. And all things considered, she hasn’t led you astray. I mean, he hasn’t murdered you.

Okay, it’s not that bad. He doesn’t give off murder vibes either. More like…grumpy single man vibes. But that works out for your arrangement. You’re both pretty quiet and you keep to yourselves. And he’s not too bad to look at. You catch yourself straddling a line between not being the creep yourself and just wanting to get to know him a little bit.

The real problem has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Well with your bank account. You’ve been bleeding your measly savings trying to keep up with life and the job you have isn’t really enough to live off of. It was a dream to find a hybrid schedule and work for a non-profit with a mission that matters to you. But it doesn’t pay for shit.

It’s not like Joel’s overcharging you or anything either. Nothing is affordable.

And now you’re on your last legs. If you can’t keep this together you’ll have to pack it up and crawl home to your family? Not an option. It’s not like you haven’t been applying for other jobs either. But you either don’t hear back or the schedule won’t work with your classes.

So here you are. Pacing back and forth in your sparsely decorated room. Between your bed and your desk, wearing a groove into the carpet, chewing on your fingers and obsessively checking your phone to see if your sage friends have any better advice.

They don’t.

Well, they suggested selling feet pics online, but even if that could be lucrative—it doesn’t get you the money to spend by tomorrow. You toss yourself onto your bed, exasperated. Last resort. You’re gonna have to be honest.

It takes a long time to gather the mental courage. You stare at your ceiling for so long your eyes blur. You can hear Joel in the kitchen and with a deep breath you force yourself up, dragging your feet down the hallway until you see him.

The kitchen is warm, whatever he’d made for dinner earlier smells good. So good it makes your stomach growl, announcing your presence in the doorway. The sound makes you grimace—for a split second you’re tempted to hide. To run back to your room and pretend like there won’t be any consequences if you just don’t bring it up. Ever.

Too late. He shuts the dishwasher with a loud click and turns, his sharp brown eyes meeting yours. You immediately regret this idea. Your feel like you’re sinking into the floor. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at him now.

“Hey,” he says gruffly, his voice low and even. He turns back away from you, putting leftovers in the fridge, like it’s no big deal you’ve been standing there silently like a weirdo. “You need something?”

Your throat is suddenly so dry, you can barely unstick your tongue to speak. “Yeah…uh, can I talk to you for a second?”

Joel pauses mid-motion, before shoving the last container onto the shelf and letting the fridge door shut, trapping you in the silence together. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks toward you. The way his shirt stretches across his shoulders makes you nervous for reasons you don’t want to analyze right now.

“Sure.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands twisting in front of you like they’re trying to strangle each other. His eyes flick down to the motion, and you force yourself to stop.

“So, uh…I was wondering—” You swallow hard. You can do it. “I need to talk to you about my rent.”

His eyebrows lift, and your chest tightens.

“Let’s hear it then.”

“It’s just that I’m in kind of a tight spot right now. Work’s been—well, it’s been fine but money’s tight, and I just—” You’re rambling. Words all running together. “I’m not saying you’re charging too much or anything like that, but—”

“Slow down,” Joel holds up a hand, and the rest of your words fall flat. His voice is calm, but firm. “You sayin’ you can’t afford it?”

“I can!” you blurt out. “I mean, I can’t by tomorrow, but I can soon. I just thought, maybe we could work something out. Like…if you could give me some more time or if I could do something to work off some of what I owe.” Joel tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that makes your skin prickle. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just thinking, and the silence stretches too long for comfort.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, dropping his arms and leaning his palms on the counter behind him. His voice is lower when he speaks again, quieter, like he’s weighing every word.

“You wanna do something for me?”

Your heart skips, and you blink up at him. Maybe that was a dumb suggestion. You don’t even know what you have to offer. The house is always clean, the yard maintained, he seems to enjoy cooking.

“Uh, yeah?” your face contorts a little as you try and come up with a suggestion. “If you’d consider giving me a discount.”

His lips twitch, just the barest hint of a smirk, and something about it makes the air in the room shift.

“Well,” he drawls, “If I’m cuttin’ you a deal,---”

“You’ll consider it?” You look at him with a smile already starting to break on your face. You can breathe.

“Maybe you can cut me one, too.” He finishes his sentence. Your mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out. There’s something behind his words you don’t fully understand, but it’s stuck in the air between you.

“What kind of deal?” you manage to get out, your voice hesitant.

Joel pushes off the counter, closing the space between you in a way that’s casual, but calculated. He’s close enough you can make out the lines at the corners of his eyes, the salt-and-pepper in his beard. His gaze holds yours, steady and charged with something new.

“You say yes,” he starts to explain, his voice dropping into a gravelly timbre that makes your pulse quicken. “And I’ll knock your rent down as much as you need. Simple.”

The room suddenly feels small, too warm, like his gravity is holding you in place.

“Say yes to what, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is soft, just a whisper rolling off your tongue. You have an idea what he’s proposing. The way his eyes flicker with something dark and knowing when you refer to him as Mr. Miller. The crackle in the air between you.

“I think you know what I mean.”

You shake your head, ever so subtly, wrinkling a brow. In what feels like slow motion, Joel tips your chin up, between his thumb and curled forefinger. Your face is on fire. Somehow exposed even though nothing else has changed.

“Whenever I need you. Wherever I want you.”

For a second you think he might kiss you. It feels like everything in your body is calling to him. His mouth is so close to yours. The words are still replaying in your mind.

But he pulls his hand back. “Think about it,” he murmurs and brushes past you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. He glances back at you once on his way out of the room. “Offer’s on the table, sweetheart,” he says over his shoulder. “Up to you.”

You’re left standing, still as a stone, heat prickling up your spine as his words replay in your head.

What the fuck just happened?

“Hey!” you call out, starting down the hall after Joel. “Wait.”

He turns, hovering in the doorway to his room.

“Uh, are you talking about sex?”

“Yep.”

Your breath hitches. The corner of his mouth quirks, smug. You look at him with fresh eyes. He’s an attractive guy. Not exactly pleasant, but not a jerk. You can’t imagine he’d have a hard time picking up a date.

“I’m not a whore, you know.” “I know, darlin’.” His face softens a little.

The next couple of days are filled with tension so thick it’s impossible to ignore. Whenever you’re in the same room you can feel his eyes lingering on you. He brushes past you in the kitchen in the morning, his hand grazing your hip when he reaches for his coffee mug.

You catch him watching you from across the room, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world. His eyes roam all over your body, dark and deliberate, and you can feel the promise in his gaze.

It’s driving you fucking insane. You thought he’d have made a move by now. Hell, you thought he’d have made a move the second you agreed to his deal. But he’d only made sure you each had a few ground rules and that was it. End of conversation.

“Have a good night now, darlin’. Hope you sleep better without having to worry about your rent.”

Right. You didn’t have to worry about rent. You just had to spiral in your own room wondering when it would happen. How he’s going to take you.

It’s got you so worked up thinking about him you keep spacing out during your work meetings. Swiveling restlessly on your office chair in your bedroom, trying to remember to look focused and add your two cents in for participation.

But all you can think about is Joel. You’re on high alert whenever you hear his truck roll into the driveway, the door slamming shut with a thud. His heavy steps coming down the hall. You wonder when he’ll want you. You know he meant it.

You hope he meant it.

That night, his footsteps pause outside your door, his presence thick in the air, setting your pulse racing. It makes you squirm, adjusting the skimpy pajamas you’ve taken to wearing as your heart beats faster. You can’t tell if he’s debating coming in or if he’s just fucking with you, but it’s got you breathless.

The next morning, you’re standing in the bathroom doorway, brushing your teeth when Joel suddenly appears, shirtless and still damp from his shower. He gives you a lazy once-over, stepping close enough that you have to press yourself against the door frame to let him pass.

His voice is low and teasing as he murmurs, “You’re in the way, sweetheart,” leaving your cheeks flaming.

The next day, you’re still tense.

Stretching in your desk chair as your coworkers read through their budget updates and data tracking for the grants you’re funded through. It’s hard to stay focused, Joel has taken over all of your thoughts.

Jaz finishes her update and another department leads the rest of the meeting. You’re shuffling your notes around mindlessly, barely hearing a word. Every thought in your head is Joel, Joel, Joel.

Last night, you’d nearly combusted when he finally walked away from your door. You’d been seconds from begging him to come in, to just take you already. By the time he left, your thighs were slick, and the ache was unbearable. You had to handle it yourself, coming hard and fast on your fingers, imagining it was his thick, calloused hands instead.

But now, twelve hours later, the tension is already back. Worse than before. Every noise in the house puts you on edge. His truck rumbling into the driveway. The front door shutting.

The meeting drags on, voices fading into a blur—until a soft knock jolts you back to reality.

Before you can answer, the door swings open, and Joel steps inside like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. He leans against the frame, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly in the middle of something.

Your heart races. Your eyes flick to your camera to make sure it’s off. Muted. Thank God.

Joel doesn’t say anything, just watches you with a smirk that makes your stomach flip. His dark eyes roam over you, slow and deliberate, and it’s like every molecule of air has been sucked out of the room.

He takes his time crossing the space between you, letting the silence stretch. You can feel the heat radiating off him as he crowds you, hands bracing the arms of your chair, caging you in.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” he drawls, his voice low and gravelly.

Your throat is so tight you can’t even speak. You shake your head.

Joel’s smirk deepens. “That’s what I thought.”

His big hands tug you to the edge of your chair, spreading your knees wide. He runs his palms along your thighs, leaving a trail of heat that burns your skin through your soft leggings.

Your heart jumps to your throat, chest tight.

The thought of your coworkers just a click away only heightens the thrill.

Joel doesn’t hold back. Pulling you to stand. Turning you to face your desk and pressing until you lean your elbows on the smooth surface, framing your keyboard.

You arch your spine eagerly, holding your breath, bracing for his next move. He smooths a palm over the curve of your ass, humming softly to himself, before slipping his hand between your legs.

You tilt your head, a shaky breath escaping as his fingers press against you, making your thighs tremble. You know he can feel how wet you already are through the thin material. All day you’re wet for him, just waiting and waiting.

His touch is firm and you grind into it without thinking, making him laugh under his breath. “Shit,” he murmurs. “She needs it worse than I do, huh?” You don’t answer. Just dropping your head between your shoulder blades as he rubs circles against your clothed pussy.

He retracts his hand, swiftly pulling your leggings down, exposing your puffy, wet folds to the cooler air.

You stay folded over, forehead resting on your desk, ass arched in presentation. You don’t know what to expect next, your pulse thunders in your ear as you wait.

His hands frame your cunt, spreading you wider so he can look closer. You’d be self-conscious being studied so closely if you were any less desperate for him to touch you. But all you can do you is silently beg him to do something.

“Christ,” he murmurs reverently, dropping to his knees behind you. “Just a taste first.” It sounds like he’s talking to himself. You don’t care.

You gasp sharply the second his tongue dips between your swollen lips. It’s so much better than your fingers and your frustrated, rushed orgasms last night. It’s so much better.

He uses his whole face, diving deeper, as he groans into your pussy. Your meeting is still in progress, but the voices coming through your speakers could be speaking a foreign language. They mean nothing to you right now.

The only thing that matters is between your legs. You’re almost embarrassed at how close you already are. You don’t know if you should say anything. If he cares if he makes you cum. Before you can think any harder, he’s back on his feet and you’re whimpering at the loss.

“I know.”

The soft clink of his belt followed by the sound of him unzipping his jeans has your knees weak. The thrill that shoots through you is like lightning, ripping through your system and activating every nerve in your body.

Be good," he growls, dragging his cock through your slick.

“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the awe and the relief. The heat, the thickness, the pressure. It’s everything you need, but not enough at the same time. He continues for a moment, coating his length in your arousal as you try to swallow down your needy moans.

He slots his blunt tip at your entrance, adding enough pressure to make you suck in air. Without even seeing it, you know it’s going to be a stretch. Like he can read your mind, or at least your body, he runs his hand soothingly over your spine.

It shouldn’t melt your nerves so fast, but the gentle touch eases your mind. For reasons you can’t explain—feelings really, you feel safe.

“We’ll start slow this time, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

And then he’s nudging into you, working you open around his wide cockhead. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but you welcome the dull ache. Your throbbing pussy has been begging for it. He pulls back, repeating the slow movement, splitting you open for him a little further each time.

It makes you needy, you try to push back against him, but he only swats at your ass. “I told ya to be good.”

Your cheeks feel hot at the scolding.

“Sorry, Mr. Miller.” It comes out more confident than you expected, your voice smooth and low.

You can feel the way his dick twitches at your response before he continues, painstakingly slowly, filling you up. You’re still frustrated, but each time he thrusts into you, your knees almost buckle and you know he hasn’t made it all the way in yet. You’re still hungry for that feeling, for his hips to meet your ass, flush.

You can’t hold back your moans as he drags along your nerves. He already has your eyes rolling back and he’s not even fucking you yet.

Until he stops, held still halfway inside of you. You blink your eyes open, trying not to whine.

He says your name like he’s been calling it and you’ve been ignoring him. “Hmm?” you respond.

“Think they’re waiting for your answer.”

“Oh, shit.”

Joel still doesn’t move. You unmute your mic, trying to steady your voice. “I’m really sorry, uh, can you repeat the question?”

“Just confirming your mid-cycle reports are already submitted.”

“Yes.”

“Great.”

You mute the mic again and Joel slams the rest of the way home, making you cry out in surprise.

He doesn’t hold back now, his rough hand gripping your hip as he takes you, low grunts echoing in your room as he snaps his hips forward. Your ass ripples, bouncing off of him with every thrust and the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin fill your ears.

He hits so fucking deep at this angle, you can barely think. His balls slap against you and for some reason that makes you even more crazy for him. You meet his every thrust with the same energy, fucking hard. So hard your desk rattles, but neither of you can be bothered by it’s structural integrity.

He keeps you on edge, pounding into you as the pressure builds. When you shift slightly, his cock drags over the devastating spot that makes you nearly wail.

“Yeah?” he asks as if you could respond right now. “Right there?”

“Mmm,” is all you can manage.

“Good. Let me have it. Rub that pretty clit of yours for me, I wanna feel her trying to milk me dry.”

Fuck. His filthy words nearly send you over the edge immediately, but when you slip your own hand between your legs, it’s euphoric. Furiously working at your slick, swollen bundle of nerves you drive yourself to the brink.

“Gonna–ah!--gonna cum,” You get the breathy, gasping words out right as your pussy starts to clench around him. He groans lowly, making you see stars as your climax tears through you.

The waves are still rolling through your muscles, your core still tensing, when he pulls out. The slick sounds as he pumps his cock rapidly are obscene and you don’t want them to stop. But then you feel his hot cum painting your ass, and you’re moaning in unison.

Then he’s pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before slinking out of your room. You grimace. Tuning back in to the speaker still rambling on about god knows what on your computer. Before you can move, Joel is back with a small towel to clean you up.

You’re stuck in a daze. A blissed-out state, as you straighten up and pull your leggings back up. Joel’s about to slip back out the door as if nothing happened. Before he steps out of the room though, he gives you a knowing smirk, “You did good for me, darlin’.”

You’re left staring at the closed door, breathless and trembling, the heat of his touch still lingering on your skin. Rent isn’t the problem anymore. Joel Miller is.

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@lovely-vamp-princess @mushgloomz @untamedheart81 @kyloispunk

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #smut #pedro pascal #free use kink #mickey's fantasies

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userparamore · 8 months ago

Text

#someone get this man his glasses 🥸🤨

#sorry this is a shitpost from me lol so feel free to ignore if you're tagged #pedro pascal #ppascaledit #gladiator 2 #useraurore #userallisyn #useroaks #usergal #userkam #usersco #userfanna #useryolanda #userrobin #*mygifs

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tightjeansjavi · 1 year ago

Text

Mine

A/N: um…hi! I write piss kink now? 👹 I don’t know what came over me today but I was sitting at my desk and just thinking about that mean old man, when all of a sudden, I thought hmm…what would it be like if Joel pissed on me? Then I proceeded to think about the prospect of him peeing on me while I was in a WORK meeting and well, you guess where this is going ;) oh! Fun fact, I wrote most of this in the shower! (How fitting) don’t read if this sorta content disturbs you, and if there’s any puritans out there that wanna call me a sick fuck and tell me I’m going to hell, baby, I’m already there! Feminism went completely out the window on this one!

~word count: 2.7k~

Summary: Joel Miller fucks you the same way he does every night…until he decides to switch things up for the first time.

Pairing | dark!joel x f!reader

Warnings: dark!joel, rough/mean Joel, overstimulation, heavy on the degrading kink, breeding kink, biting, dom/sub dynamic, oral f receiving, spit kink, pussy slapping, slight dubcon, piss kink, implied free use, Joel calls the reader his bitch and cocksleeve, unprotected piv, pussy pronouns, no specific age for the reader, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

Hot wisps of breath fan the shell of your ear. There’s a sheen of sweat coating your skin when his tongue darts out to taste a droplet of your perspiration on his tongue. His strong hips and thighs cage you posessively as he drives his cock further into your already ruined and messy cunt. His thrusts are relentless, and with each heavy punch of his cock into your cervix, you’re gasping for air; begging, pleading for him to let you breathe, but he always refuses.

He takes you like this the same way every night. Never soft and sweet, always rough and demanding. He’s like a rabid dog that broke away from its chain and headed straight for you. Ripping, clawing, and gnawing on your soft flesh. He takes and takes when, and however he chooses.

His large hands, calloused and scarred, act as a brand upon your skin. He molds you to his liking, pressing your face further into the seedy mattress till you can taste the dust ridden fibers on your tongue. His hands are capable of inflicting so much pain, and you can only imagine how many people he has killed with them.

He grunts against your ear, teeth biting down on the soft lobe till you’re yelping for him to stop and he removes his heavy hand from your soft cheek momentarily, only to grasp your hair between his fingers and roughly yank your head up from the mattress. Hot tears blur your vision. You’re in a confused daze, his words sounding muffled as you gulp down lungfuls of air.

“Ain’t much use to me if my favorite cocksleeve stops breathin’, sweetheart.” He gruffly teases, an edge of playfulness in his tone. “Keep on breathin’ in that sweet, sweet air. It’s the only shred of kindness you’re gonna get from me tonight.”

He forces your back to meet his chest, arching your spine to meet the heavy thrusts of his cock splitting you open. He drops your hair, your scalp feeling raw and tender from how hard he was yanking on it. His strong arms encase around your middle, fat fingers tormenting your nipples. He squeezes and pinches them before he shoves you right back down into the mattress.

“Turn your head to the side so that you can fuckin’ breathe.” Is all he says while he reaches for the old headboard for leverage. The shitty mattress shakes and squeaks beneath the weight of his heavy thrusts when he picks up his grueling rhythm, again.

You listen to his advice, if you would even call it that, and turn your cheek to the side so that your airway isn’t restricted. Your trembling hands reach for the tattered sheets, and your fists clench the fabric for any sense of support.

“Atta girl.” He rasps, blunt fingernails dig fiercely into the soft flesh of your hips, taking and marking you with red crescents indented in your skin.

“J-Joel.” You try to find your words, but they are muffled and fragmented. Your mind is too focused and centered on the pleasure rippling through your body to even try and protest.

“Shuddup and take it like you always do, baby. Know you can. Don’t gotta act stubborn about it.” He hisses between his clenched teeth, bending his chest forwards against your arched back. He sinks his teeth into the spot where your shoulder blades meet.

In some twisted and erotic way, he is mating you. His primal nature to breed you, and claim you as his; only his, takes over as he bites down on your flesh hard enough to draw blood to the surface of your delicate skin. And you have no choice but to let him, because despite how used and abused Joel Miller makes you feel, you keep coming back for more because no one fucks you like he does.

And when you don’t respond to his crudeness and condescending tone, he feels pleased by your submissiveness and need to please him.

“Was startin’ to think that my perfect little fuck toy wasn’t gonna show up for her fucking tonight. Thought maybe she had finally woken up and realized her worth, but then I find ya outside my door like a stray puppy jus’ waitin’ to be fucked.” He grunts deeply, slowing the movement of his hips before drawing them back slowly. “Cus’ no matter how many times you try to deny it, you love bein’ my cock sleeve. My fuck toy. You fuckin’ live for that shit baby, and you know what? I think it’s about time that I reward you.” He lets out a throaty breath before driving his hips forward, knocking the air from your lungs in tandem with his hips sharply jutting into the soft swell your ass.

His sweat slick skin slaps against yours, the obscene sounds of sex, and your ruined pussy squelching around the thick intrusion of his cock, send your eyes rolling back into your skull when you struggle to lift your cheek from the mattress to look over at him.

“W—what kind of reward?” You choke out, lips falling open in an o shape when his fat cock head nudges against that inner soft and spongy spot deep within the walls of your inviting warmth.

He chuffs a laugh, lifting his head up from where his teeth were just embedded into your skin. “Ah, there she is. Eager as ever, huh? Be fuckin’ patient, baby. Before I change my mind and decide you don’t deserve a reward at all.” He snaps, slamming his hips forward once more before he draws them back again. He slips out of your sopping pussy completely, leaving you on the edge of your approaching orgasm.

His cock is glistening in the low light, a creamy ring of your combined arousal coats the thick, veiny girth of his cock. He scoots back just enough so that he can watch the way your pussy pulses and drools a trail of enticing slick down between your trembling thighs.

He uses his thumbs to pry your inner lips apart before he spits a glob of saliva between your gaped, pulsing hole, and down to your untouched clit, swollen and puffy with need.

“Such a messy little pussy. You should see the way she’s winkin’ at me right now. So needy and desperate for my cock to fill her up with my seed, ain’t that right?” He sounds drunk, words slurred together, darkened eyes glazed over in lust. He licks his lips, inhaling the heady scent of your arousal like a hound dog locked on a trail. “Smell so fuckin’ sweet, too.” He groans before surging forward, burying his face between your parted thighs.

He’s never eaten you out before. Always claiming that you were undeserving of his skilled mouth and tongue. But tonight he’s finally given into tasting you, and once he’s had a lick, he can’t stop. He keeps you pried apart at his leisure, dragging his broad nose right through your trail of slick from the source. His lips suckle on your clit before dragging downwards to tease your folds, sucking on them, too. He’s eating you as if your pussy, and her sweet, sweet, nectar is his life source.

Your body jolts forward when his wiry beard scrapes at the apex of your thighs. He growls against you before reaching around for your hips and anchoring you in place once more so he can continue feasting.

He obscenely slurps and groans against your cunt before drawing his face back for a lungful of air. His chin and beard are glistening, coated in your arousal when he licks you from his lips. You think that maybe he’s finally having a change of heart when he flips you onto your back with ease, your breasts bounce from the movement when your back hits the mattress with a soft thud.

He never strays from fucking you from behind, on your knees with your face smashed into his mattress. That’s how he always takes you. His way only. And yet, here you are staring up at him with your big doe eyes bright and innocent. Your lips parted when he grabs the back of your knees and presses them towards your chest.

“Make yourself useful and hold those for me, will ya?” He barks out an order.

You scramble to grab the underside of your knees, sweaty fingers nearly slipping before you are able to have a solid grip around them.

“Good girl.” He nods before wedging himself between the small opening of your thighs. He catches that almost hopeful glint in your eyes and shoots it down immediately with an intimidating glare.

He brings one hand to the back of your scalp, roughly yanking your head upwards so you’re making direct eye contact with him. His dominant hand is loosely wrapped around the shaft of his cock, and he slaps the fat mushroom head against your puffy clit to gain your attention. “You focus right here.” He snips, brows furrowed together in a harsh line across his forehead. “Don’t you go and gettin’ this twisted, ya hear me? I know how you women work. Y’all think that jus’ cause a man does somethin’ different for once, that he’s softenin’ up to ya. He ain’t. You’re still my bitch, my little cocksleeve, and you’d best be wise to remember that, baby.”

“Y-Yes, Joel. I’m still your—”

He cuts you off with a low snarl when he begins to feed you his cock from this angle inch by inch, glancing down between your bodies so he can see your pussy pulling him in further. “That you are, my girl. Still feelin’ jus’ as eager for your little reward?” He questions with a cock of his brow, smirk tugging across his devious face.

“Please.” You beg him softly, not understanding what it was you were begging him for in the first place.

“Such an eager little cocksleeve to be pumped full of my seed, baby. Never thought I’d see the day.” He chuckles, pressing his hips forward till he’s completely bottomed out inside of you, and the coarse thatch of hair above his pubic bone presses into your clit.

Wait…what?

You look at him dumbfounded, shaking your head and hoping that you just misunderstood what he was saying. “What?”

“What?” He mocks your surprised tone condescendingly.

“Joel.” You try to reason with him, “we—we can’t! I—I don’t want to carry your fucking kid!”

“Aw.” He pouts, drawing his hips back before slamming them forward again. “You don’t wanna be filled to the fuckin’ brim with my seed? You don’t think your pussy wants that, baby? I think she does.” He teases.

“No, Joel. Please. Anything but that. You can come on my tits, my face, just please—not inside!” Your mind is already reeling at the possibility of having to carry Joel Miller’s fucking offspring in a world such as this one. You felt like one of those breeding mares shipped off to some stud farm to be passed around between stallions till one of their foals would inevitably stick—

He laughs cruelly at your fear and the way it dots your vision. He can imagine exactly what’s going through your mind at that very moment. “You should see your fuckin’ face right now.” He snickers. “Relax, sweetheart. I got a vasectomy years before the outbreak.”

“Jesus fuck, Joel! Why didn’t you just start off with that?!” You yell in his face, wishing you could punch that stupid grin right from the perfect pout of his kissable lips. You feel the tension visibly leave your shoulders when he satiates your fears of pregnancy, even if he does it in such a cruel manner.

“Cus’ I like toyin’ with ya. It’s entertainment for me, baby. You’re so easy to play with. I can do it with my eyes closed.” He muses before rolling his hips forward.

“You’re such a dick for that.” You attempt to chastise him, but your attempt is fruitless.

“Now, don’t go thinkin’ you’re entirely off the hook now, sweetheart. I do believe you said earlier that I could do anythin’ else I wanted to ya, right? Your words, baby. Not mine.”

Damn, his mind is sharper than a fucking arrow.

“Yeah…I did say that you could cum on my tits, or my face—”

“Mmm…nope. That ain’t gonna cut it for me unfortunately. I think I wanna do somethin’ else.” He trailed off, meeting your slightly nervous gaze with a small tilt of his head. How could his words and body language always be so fucking…mean?

“Okay, well, what else do you want to do?”

He shrugs his shoulders in disinterest before he grabs your hands that are still secured around the backs of your knees and removes them quickly so that your thighs fall open. He wants you spread at his mercy when he begins to ram into you, over, and over again. “You’re just gonna have to wait and find out.” He grunts deeply, bending down at an angle so he can nip at the juncture of your neck.

Your head lolls to the side so he has easier access and the pleasure starts to coarse through your body till he moves his mouth down the clavicle of your chest. First he starts off with chaste kisses to the swells of your breasts, and then he toys with the pert nipple between his lips. You let out a soft mewl that quickly turns into a high pitched yelp when his teeth sink into the sensitive pebbled flesh, hard.

“OW!” You cry out at the assault of his mouth. He does it again before switching to your other nipple, delivering the same mistreatment before he soothes the broken skin with his tongue.

You jokingly call him an animal thinking that he would disagree and scold you for it, but instead…he leans into that side of himself. He fucking loves it.

“Yeah, baby. I am a fuckin’ animal. You got that damn right.”

He fucks you like one too, till your creaming around his cock, leaking out around his thick girth that continuously punches into your pussy. He slips out suddenly with a wet squelch, leaving you feeling a little dazed and positively fucked out.

“Still want your reward, baby?”

You nod dumbly, cock drunk and eyes glazed with stars still twinkling behind them.

“Alright, my little cocksleeve. Close those pretty eyes for me, and no peekin!’”

Your eyes snap shut on command, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

The old mattress squeaks when his weight rises from it. You think about risking a peek to see what exactly it is that he’s doing, but you decide against it.

He stands above you on the mattress at his full height, looming over your spread legs while your ruined pussy is still drooling along the soiled sheets. He looks down at you with his cock wedged between his fist.

You can hear the wet sound of his fist jerking himself off before you feel the hot ropes of his seed coating your face, lips, neck, chest and lower. He shoots a load across your tummy, and right down to your pretty spread pussy.

Well, I suppose that’s a nice…reward? You think to yourself.

“Ain’t done yet, sweetheart.” He scolds you lightly from above when he sees your thighs beginning to close up like a nighttime flower closing its petals till the sweet kiss of sunrise.

He really has more than that? Damn, I underestimated this sick son of a bitch.

He relaxes his shoulders, letting out a decompressing sigh before he slowly releases his bladder with a sick smirk plastered on his face.

First, you detect the familiar stench of urine, and then the steaming liquid lands on your face, trickling down your lips. You let out a sound of protest and lift your hands above your head to shield yourself from his piss. It trails down the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and between your thighs, mixing into the trail of slick between them.

He’s marking you like a fucking dog marks his bitch, and you’ve never felt more degraded and humiliated in your entire life till you find youself under Joel Miller’s golden fucking shower. The stench of urine and cum stings your eyes and the sensitive hairs in your nose.

He bends down, cock now softened between his thighs and places one hand along the side of your face, brushing away a stray dribble of cum and piss from your lips with his calloused thumb.

“Now, no other man is ever gonna want to fuck my bitch when she’s reekin’ of my piss and cum.”

~~~

Banners made by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💗

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djotime-allthetime · 6 months ago

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Freaky Redheads

synopsis: interactions between you and fred hechinger at a red carpet event for gladiator ii.

wc: 2.5k+

rpf!!! don't like, don't read!!!

a/n: i love that soft, sweet, adorable man with all of my heart. my inspiration is how fred talks about sherry. the monkey. i'm down bad bro.

italics are supposed to be comments under tiktok clips of these interviews. i definitely have more in mind for these two, but we'll see how this goes. feedback is writer's fuel!

cross posted on AO3

next part>>

The flashing cameras and yelling reporters have started to become the new normal, which was so not normal for you. You couldn't believe how far you'd come.

Granted, your role in the movie was definitely more in the supporting cast territory, but you couldn't deny how massive the production was. But even as a supporting actress, you still had quite a bit of screen time as the unnamed favorite concubine to Emperor Caracalla.

The fans who knew you called out your name from behind the velvet ropes and you smiled and waved as you walked by.

"y/n! y/n! Over here!" A reporter called out. You nodded and smiled as you approached, indicating your acceptance of the carpet-side interview. Your agent had warned you that not every journalist might want to speak with you and that you should accept any interview you came by. Thankfully, as the start of your night would show, that wasn't the case.

"Hello!" You beamed, coming to a stop in front of the camera. The reporter greeted you back and handed you a microphone glued to a mini Romanesque column. "Oh, wow. I love the microphone!"

"Thank you," She smiled. With a quick glance at her blouse, you saw a name tag that said 'MTV UK: Claire'. "It was my idea, actually."

"Incredibly creative! They should give you a raise, Claire."

"If you wouldn't mind saying that directly into the camera..." Claire trailed off with a chuckle and a mischievous glint to her eye.

You shot the camera as serious a look as you could muster. "MTV, if you do not give this woman a raise, I will riot in the streets."

"Alright alright, enough of that." Claire laughed out loud with a few shakes of her head. "You look absolutely stunning!"

"Oh, this old thing?" You smiled bashfully, grabbing at your skirt to twirl it around. The styling department had made sure that all the gowns worn during press had some Roman inspiration behind them. The piece you were wearing was off white in color, representing your character's position in society. Even with your character in mind, your dress was still breathtaking. The gown was composed of yards and yards of fabric, giving it this dreamy, flowy silhouette. The neckline was so beautiful, in the cowl style and draped ever so slightly off your shoulders. To say that you loved it would be an understatement. "Thank you very much, you look amazing yourself."

"But you are on a different level!" Claire gasped, no doubt to return the topic to you. Just like you were media trained, the reporters were too. "What was the thought process behind your look tonight?"

Your eyes lit up as this was something you had wanted to talk about. "Well, the styling department and I actually workshopped this look together. Of course we wanted it to be glamorous, this is the red carpet after all. But we also wanted to show the character through the outfits, you know?" She nodded along.

"Right, your character was quite impactful even with the few lines you had." Claire added, and you smiled in thanks.

"Yeah, thank you." You felt your face heat up at the compliment. "We wanted to still be true to her, under all the glitz and glamour. So that's why we went with the understated color, to not only show her position in society but also her demeanor throughout the film."

"But your jewellery is anything but understated." She laughed.

"Yeah, I couldn't help myself." You laughed with her.

"Give us a quick tour."

You were almost dripping in gold, from your head to your toes. "We've got the hair piece." You brought a hand up to show the gold pins connected with chains littering your up-do. "Earrings upon earrings, all hoops." You pulled a strand back to show off your right ear clearly. Some were clip on earrings as you didn't have quite enough piercings to get them all. "The necklaces, of course. Some bracelets, some rings. But I think this cuff on my upper arm is my favorite."

"And these are all borrowed pieces from different brands?"

"Most of them are, yes." You confirmed with a nod. "But some are from my private collection. And some I might steal." You joked, getting a laugh out of Claire.

"Well, you really knocked it out of the park." Claire smiled, a tone of finality in her voice that showed you the interview was coming to a close. "And before we let you go, we've got one question we're asking everyone tonight. I think we can all agree that the cast of this movie is full of beautiful men." You giggled, a bit surprised at the turn in topic. "But people on the internet have separated them into two categories."

"Oh, have they now?" You asked, unaware of what she was talking about.

"Yes, they have. Gen Z has divided them into the brooding brunets and the freaky redheads." She explained, pulling up two little hand held signs. One with Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal, the brooding brunets, and the other with Joseph Quinn and Fred Hechinger, the freaky redheads.

You couldn't contain the surprised laugh that escaped you at the sight of their little printed faces. "Oh my goodness!"

"So, as the resident Gen Z-er on the cast, who is your pick?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm the only representation of Gen Z here." You mused as you grabbed both the signs from Claire. You lifted up the 'freaky redheads' sign and pointed to Fred. "My friend is right there with me in the Gen Z territory."

"Alright, as the representation of Gen Z women, which team is more your style?" Claire asked as you studied the signs. "People are saying they went into the movie for the brunets and came out converted to team redheads."

"That's actually really funny," You chuckled as you looked down at both signs. "This is hard." You mumbled. A small smirk found itself on your lips as you thought of Fred seeing this clip later. Someone no doubt showing it to him, as he wouldn't find it on his own. "I feel like- yeah." You nodded with determination. "I'm gonna have to go with Fred- I'm going with team freaky redheads." You nodded. "I think it would be treacherous otherwise."

"Good choice. You'd break Emperor Caracalla's heart."

"And then he'd have my head." You laughed, stepping back. "Thank you for your great questions."

"Thank you for your time." Claire waved as you walked away. "We're gonna have a tally going throughout the night, and we'll see who wins. Team brooding brunets, or team freaky redheads." You heard her say to the camera as you moved further down the carpet.

'She looks so pretty!!'

'i love the thought process behind the outfit, you can tell she really loved her character'

'the reporter asked y/n if she prefers lucius and acacius or geta and caracalla and this girl really said FRED 💀'

'i love seeing new faces in hollywood, give young new actors a chance!!' ↳ 'right?? im so sick of them recycling the same actors for every big budget movie'

'she mentioned fred, not caracalla, twice, unprompted. i see you, y/n. you're just like us.' ↳ 'have you seen his interviews? he's literally the cutest i cant blame her 🥺'

A few steps down, another reporter flagged you down. This time, the questions were more centered around the acting itself.

"And was it difficult? In a previous interview, you've said that your character's growth was significant, but she had almost no lines in the movie."

"Yeah, I think in the final cut she only has... three lines?" You winced, looking upwards as you tried to recall what was and wasn't cut. "Though I'm not sure."

"So there were scenes where she could've said more?"

"Oh yeah, for sure! There was a lot of experimentation with my character throughout filming. Ridley's a genius and he was kind enough to truly take in my suggestions. There were times where I felt like she would actually stay quiet during a scene, whereas other times I felt like she would speak up. But yeah," You breathed in and furrowed your brows in thought as you tried to focus your answer back to the original question. "It was definitely a challenge. I had to really work on my micro-expressions. Lots of research, lots of practice. And lots of trust, too. With a character like mine, I really relied on Fr- on my fellow actors in those scenes. So yeah, definitely challenging. But who doesn’t love a good challenge?"

"And did you take any inspiration from other people's work? Any source material that helped you out as you built your character?"

"Of course!" You smiled, a hint of humor in your tone as you thought of your response. "Yeah, I did. Actually, one of the biggest inspirations for my role, believe it or not, was Ferb. From 'Phineas and Ferb'."

"The- The children's show?" The interviewer questioned with a grin.

"Yeah, Ridley thought it was brilliant!" You laughed. "We watched compilations of Ferb scenes on youtube together. And I know that Fred- Fred Hechinger, who plays Emperor Caracalla-, he also brought up Sid Vicious with Ridley, as well as other sources like that. Sir Ridley Scott has great taste, there's no denying that."

'ferb as inspiration for a movie like this,,, gen z in the film industry really are the gift that keeps on giving'

'im just imagining y/n and ridley scott curled up on the couch watching phineas and ferb reruns. that man is 86 years old. this is brilliant.'

'bro didn't even have to say anything and y/n still brought up fred 💀'

'the gen z cast members making ridley scott watch cartoons is sending me'

'not her pretending she didn't mean to say fred when she talked about trust, we all heard you y/n'

Unbeknownst to you, Fred's interviews were going much like yours, only a few feet behind you on the carpet.

"You look amazing today!" Claire, the same reporter you spoke to, told Fred during his first interview on the carpet.

"Thank you, thank you." He replied bashfully as he tried to subtly look around for you, but he couldn't see you just yet. "Everyone looks so great, everyone."

She asked him a few questions and then came time for her ending segment.

"Alright, to close off, we've got a little game here."

"A game?" Fred smiled with raised brows. "I love games." He said softly, not realizing that the microphone would pick it up.

"Yes, a quick one. You just have to choose between team brooding brunets and team freaky redheads. We've asking everyone to join."

"Woah!" Fred exclaimed as he received the signs. "That's me." He pointed out his own face in the picture of him and Joseph. "What are we basing our choice on here?"

"Well, the internet is battling on who is more attractive."

"Oh my god." Fred chortled, not expecting that answer. "Who's played the game?" He asked, still examining the hand held signs.

"As of now, we've spoken to Joseph Quinn, Connie Nielsen, and y/n l/n." Claire recounted.

Fred's eyes lit up and his cheeks reddened at the mention of your name. "And what's the- what's the consensus so far?"

"It's two to one. Can you guess who's in the lead?" Claire asked.

"Let me think... Well, Joseph -my brother-, he definitely voted for us." He pondered aloud as he counted the votes off on his fingers. "Connie... I think Connie went for team brunets. I mean, it's her husband. She's gotta." He grinned when it came to you. "y/n chose me, right? We're in the lead?"

"Yeah, you're right on all counts! You really know your cast members." Claire laughed. "y/n didn't want to anger Emperor Caracalla."

"Oh, she couldn't. I’ve got too much of a soft spot for her." Fred shook his head emphatically.

"So, are you keeping team redheads in the lead? Or will you give us a tie?"

"No, I'm going team redheads!" Fred exclaimed. "I'm not helping out my competition, no way!"

'this man has bewitched me with his beautiful eyes and calming demeanor'

'he always calls joe his brother im CRYINGGG'

'did you see his face when they mention y/n, this man can't hide his crush for the life of him 🥺' ↳ 'neither can she lol'

'what do yall know about fred hechinger 🗣️🗣️🗣️'

'fred immediately knowing that y/n chose him, kill me right now.' ↳ 'mind you the choice was caracalla. she still said 'fred' and he said 'me'. can they be more obvious?'

'the way this man said 'i love games' protect him at all costs'

‘he said ‘i’ve got a soft spot for her’ is this the year of men yearning?’ ↳ ‘it’s just the paul mescal effect’

It was during his next interview that he saw you. He was talking about his experience building the character of Emperor Caracalla with Sir Ridley Scott as well as Joseph Quinn when he finally caught sight of you. You had spent a bit longer with a specific reporter down the carpet, causing Fred to catch up to you.

“Of course, y/n was a great help as well.” He smiled, reaching over to brush against your elbow to catch your attention. At the perfect time, too, because you had just finished talking to the reporter in front of you.

“Oh, Fred!” You beamed, coming over to give him a hug.

“Look at you.” Fred spoke against your shoulder. He pulled away from the hug and brought you into his side in front of the camera, almost like he was showing you off. “Look at her, isn’t she stunning.”

“Stop it,” you rolled your eyes as you tried your best not to show how his compliment affected you. “I’m sorry for interrupting, I just had to say hello.”

“No worries,” the reporter reassured you. “Fred was actually saying how you helped with the building of his character.”

“Yeah, we worked really closely during pre-production actually.” You nodded, acutely aware of Fred’s hands on you. He had one hand casually tucked into his pocket while his other arm draped across your waist, his hand resting against your hip. “My character was almost like Caracalla’s sidekick, so the motives for all her actions are really based around him.”

“I’d argue that she was more of a mirror, actually.” You turned to look at Fred, never passing up an opportunity to hear his view on these things. “She’s the complete opposite of Caracalla, but in a way she represents who he truly is under all the pressure of being in Geta’s shadow.”

“And under all the syphilis, of course.” You added, causing Fred to giggle.

“Yeah, and under the syphilis.”

‘he seems like such a sweet guy 🥺’

‘did you see his face when he saw her??? 😫😫😫 theyre in love, your honor’

‘him showing her off like that is peak soft boyfriend behavior’

‘they just called me single in seven different languages’

‘his laugh is actually so cute, who is this man and why am i in love with him? 😍’ ↳ 'get in line' ↳'behind y/n, you mean?'

‘the way he’s touching her???? im just gonna go take a nap in front of an oncoming train’

‘im calling it, new hollywood it couple’

‘look at how he looks at her!!! may this love find me 🙏’

#fred hechinger #fred hechinger x reader #emperor caracalla #fred hechinger gladiator #gladiator ii #rpf #fred hechinger x you #emperor caracalla x reader #this fic didn't fit the vibe of my other blogs #and this blog is barren #just one rpf fic #so i guess it works here #might change the aesthetic tho #another day #thoughts comments concerns?#please feel free to share #this has been the plot for all my mal-adaptive daydreaming as of late #so i genuinely have a whole life written for these two #as well as a rewrite of the gladiator script to include y/n's character #havent been this in love with an actor in yeeeeeaaaarsss #wrote this in like 2 hours and am hitting post no lie #i usually ruminate on stuff like this for a while but i just love this man so much #anyways #if youve read all these tags send me a blueberry emoji in my ask box #paul mescal #joseph quinn #pedro pascal #connie nielsen #ridley scott #sir ridley scott

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firsttarotreader · 7 months ago

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Pedro with May Calamawy during the Gladiator 2 filming. Because she was completely erased from the movie, so Pedro reminds everyone she was there.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #gladiator 2 #may calamawy #free palestine

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dimalink · 2 years ago

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Basic and Pascal Art

Basic and Pascal – are definitely rather big event in a world of programming. There are lots of things in there. For example, Free Pascal, Pascal ABC, QB64. It is what about modern versions of these programming languages. So here is to go a modern art, dedicated to theme of games with Basic and Pascal.

It is art pictures to have more positive and fun – about to programming with Basic and Pascal.

Art pictures are based on already made games. Or they are about main theme Basic and Pascal. By the way, it is used screenshots from already written games. So bright and beautiful illustrations.

Art 1

It is very first pack of wallpapers. Retro resolution. Are made based on Basic and Pascal programming. And games that are written with them. Resolution is 1024 at 768. It is so true retro. Then – it is Basic, Pascal. Main theme. And written games. So, here you can see game screens from such wonderful games as Frinsh, Curse of the Sands, Fish in the Lake, Crest and Shooting, Funman, Tier Gun, Pond Game. Such images will bring you in retro theme!

Basic Pascal pack - whole pack of games and programes, written with basic and pascal. It is retro. With each game and program there is a page at author`s website. There are aditional information, descriptions, pictures, arts.

Basic Pascal: http://www.dimalink.tv-games.ru/packs/basicpascal/index_eng.html

#8 bit #16 bit #ms dos #qbasic #pascal #free pascal #pascal abc #qb64 #retro programming #retro #wallpapers #retro art #gamedev #indiedev #videogames

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eggdrawsthings · 1 year ago

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Happy Father's Day to my fave dad and son duo ever. One drawing for each year I'm obsessed w these two. 2021-2024 and counting 😌

#i might draw them less now but i still think about them all the time #literally unable to free myself from them lol #din djarin #grogu #the mandalorian #mando #baby yoda #pedro pascal #clan mudhorn #star wars #my art

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italofobia · 24 days ago

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don't go away just yet!

please, i need you to take a moment of your time to read about @ammar-family24 's campaign (which has been verified by @90-ghost ):

Samah's son, Ammar, was born only three months ago, and yet he is already struggling to survive. he needs medical care, food and shelter, all things that are either unavailable or hard to find in Gaza as of now.

please, please, don't waste this opportunity. donate what you can, even the smallest donation can make a big difference, and remember to share this campaign with anyone you know.

DON'T SCROLL PAST WITHOUT DOING ANYTHING. DO THE RIGHT THING, FOR ONCE.

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bumblebeezer · 3 months ago

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Flying Lessons - Din Djarin x Reader

Word Count: ~1760 Warnings: NSFW! Minors, do NOT interact with this one! Reader basically gets edged, and then overstimulated to the point of tears. Mando gets a little rough, but it's all consensual. Prompt: The Mandalorian is teaching you how to fly. He's also being horribly distracting, but you can't say you really mind. Also, we're in the Razor Crest because it was simply the best setting for Din/reader fanfics and canon will have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.

“Wrong. Start over.”

You groan in frustration and duck your head, leaning your forehead against the console.

“Din, c’mon, can’t we just—“

“No,” he grunts out, stopping you in his tracks, his voice crackling through the modulator. “This is important. One of these days, you’ll have to fly the ship without my help,” he reminds, his gloved hand tangling in the hair above your neck, sharply pulling you from your spot against the console.

The act earns another whine from you as you straighten, determined to obey his orders.

As you straighten as best you can with the Mandalorian’s dick buried inside of you, anyways.

Din gives your thigh a little smack, the sharp snap of the leather against your skin sending a jolt though you and demanding your full attention.

Sitting up, you begin again, trying to mimic the usual steps the Mandalorian goes through each time the Razor Crest takes flight. You lean forward, breasts heaving as you pant like a massiff, ignoring the way Din’s cock twitches inside you as you lean over the console, and begin checking the control locks.

Of course, with the Razor Crest in deep space, far from anyone or anything who might interrupt, all systems are go. But for the sake of this…little game of Din’s, you’re meant to pretend that you’re on the ground, preparing for lift-off. But, gods above, it’s so difficult to pretend that anything else is happening with the Mandalorian slowly fucking up and into you, stretching you out with each measured thrust.

It doesn’t help that you’re completely naked, having been carefully and methodically stripped by Din as he pulled you into his lap, his helmet nuzzling your neck as he proposed this bantha-brained idea. The cold vacuum of space seeps into the metal walls of the Razor Crest, perking your nipples and causing goosebumps to erupt along your skin.

A primal sound leaves your lips, swollen with your constant biting and parted with exertion, as you try your damndest to focus on the flight controls in front of you. But if Din is bothered by your frustrated groan, he makes no indication of it. “After checking for control locks, I…I check the—the fuel,” you pant, tapping the circular gauge with your fingertip, the tap tap tap sound giving you something to focus on instead of the slick and, frankly, obscene noises coming from the apex between your thighs as Din continues thrusting in and out of you. “Good,” he praises, rewarding you with a deep thrust, pulling you back until you’re flush against him, the back of your thighs and the plush globes of your ass pressed against the canvas of his flight suit and the cold beskar making up the armor plates covering his strong thighs. “What’s next, cyar’ika?” His voice pulls you from your reverie, bringing you back to the task at hand: learning to fly a fucking starship while a Mandalorian leisurely ruts into your cunt, expecting you to have very little problems focusing in spite of the very distracting circumstances you’re in. Groaning, you move ever so slightly against him, just barely rolling your hips backward, sighing in relief as the tip of his cock hits your sweet spot just right before he’s slapping your thigh again, a silent reminder to focus. “What’s next, cyar’ika?” He repeats, his voice gruff and unforgiving. “If you stop, I stop,” he reminds, the warning in his voice very real. Huffing, you lift from his lap on shaky legs, swallowing a whine of disappointment at the loss of him, and take hold of the yoke, thankful that the steering has been disabled and that the auto-pilot system is currently flying the ship for you.

“Next, I’d prepare to lift off,” you huff, unable to keep the pout from your voice. Typically, Din might chide you for your petulant moue, but he must be feeling merciful today, because all he does is offer a pleased grunt and another languid thrust. “Mhm,” he slowly murmurs, and though you can’t see his face, you’d be willing to put credits on the fact that he’s smirking beneath the beskar, reveling in the way you’re struggling not to squirm on his dick. He knows you well enough to be aware of the fact that you’re close to breaking and outright begging for him. As a matter of fact, he’s surprised you haven’t done so already. Proud, too. When you continue without his prompting you to do so, he hums again, rewarding you with another deep thrust as you point to the different meters and dials, dutifully explaining each one’s function (even if you pant and whine through each explanation).

“Good girl,” he coos from behind the beskar, his gloved hands gripping your hips, appreciatively eyeing the way your flesh yields beneath his leather gloves. “My clever little cyare, hm?” He’s teasing you now, and you can hear the grin in his voice, and it takes all of your effort to refrain from glaring at him from over your shoulder.

It seems he knows you all too well, knows that you’re pouting through the Crest’s windshield, staring angrily at the stars beyond the transparisteel, because his gloved hand is gently tangling itself in the hair at the back of your head once again, silently urging you to turn and meet his gaze through the imposing t-shaped visor of his helmet. “Are you pouting?” He coos, voice mocking and teasing and pleased all at once. “Don’t be like that, cyar’ika, you’re doing so well…”

In an instant, your irritable facade breaks and reveals the desperate state you’re really in, your hips rolling back against him, earning an appreciative groan from the Mandalorian. “Din, please,” you beg, eyes half-lidded and glazed over with want. “I—I need it—need you-” you whine, your hands gripping the edge of the Razor Crest’s console, nails clawing at the metal paneling in an anguished attempt for something to cling to. “I need to feel you, need it f-faster…I’ve been so…so fucking close for so long, Din, please-”

With a smug grunt, the Mandalorian grips your hips and hauls you back against him, all but slamming into you. You’re suddenly pulled away from the console and into his lap, your bare back against his beskar chestplate as he thrusts upward, pounding into your mewling, trembling form. His gloved hands move to your thighs, holding your legs open as he pistons into you, the wet noises forming from your joined bodies echoing throughout the cockpit, mixing with Din’s grunts and your moaning, all melting together to make one pornographic symphony.

“Take it, cyare.”

His voice is a rough mutter between harsh pants and deep groans of pleasure. The beskar of his helmet, cold and unforgiving, digs into the warmth of your neck as you lay your head back against his shoulder, as if he’s trying to nuzzle you. His cowl remains tucked beneath the chestplate and swirled around his shoulders, and it’s surprisingly soft and warm, a sharp contrast to the beskar digging into your skin, creating an intoxicating polarity.

A particularly well-aimed thrust has you crying out, your back arching off of his chestplate, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t give you any time to recover before he’s continuing, ramming into you, prodding at that sweet spot over and over and over and over until tears of overstimulation sting your eyes.

“Din,” you gasp, hands finding and grasping at the inside of his forearms, careful not to grab at his vambraces. “Fuck, I’m close!”

Your whimpered warning spurs him on, and he somehow becomes even more primal, rutting into you like he’ll die without your release. “Kriff—let go for me, cyare,” he grunts, one of his hands moving to your mouth, a leather-covered fingertip pressing into your mouth. “Bite down,” he orders, pulling his hand free from the glove when you do so. His hand, surprisingly soft, hurriedly moves to the apex between your thighs, his middle and ring finger hurriedly rubbing at your clit. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, a far cry from the usual finesse he has with you. But it’s enough to have your cunt clenching around his thick length, earning an involuntary growl from the Mandalorian.

“I’ve got you, cyare,” he mutters through gritted teeth, face screwed up with pleasure beneath the beskar helmet. “I’ll catch you. Just come undone for me—” As if on command, your body obeys Din’s rasping demand, squeezing around him, rhythmically clenching and relaxing as your orgasm crashes over you in a wave of pleasure. You cry out, your back arching against him, and as your body is wracked with sensation, Din comes undone with a grunt of his own, thrusting up into your cunt one last time, spilling into you with a hoarse cry.

As you come to, you suddenly become aware of the fact that you’re trembling. Din murmurs soft praises in Mando’a, gently dipping his chin and pressing the forehead of his helmet to the top of your head—the closest thing to a kiss he can give.

You gladly accept it, turning to press your own forehead to his helmet, your breath fogging up the shiny metal as you pant with exertion, bare chest heaving as you catch your breath. With a soft grunt, Din slips from you with a slick sound. Your shared release drips from your cunt, staining the pilot’s seat as Din gently places you back on the chair. With his bare hand, he brushes your hair from your forehead, and hums appreciatively at the sight of you so spent and satisfied, his cum staining your plush thighs.

“...You alright?” He murmurs, a fond smile evident in his voice.

Nodding, you offer a soft ‘uh-huh,’ blinking dazedly up at him, lips plush and parted.

He returns your nod with a definitive one of his own. “Good. You did well, cyar’ika,” he murmurs, unable to help himself as he bends to give you another Keldabe kiss. “Think you could really pilot the Crest?” He teases, his voice a soft hum of amusement.

“Sure,” you pant, eyes fluttering closed. You’re still stupefied from the sheer overstimulation, you’re only half-aware of what he’s asking you.

“Good,” he repeats, brushing the hair from your face before straightening. “Then I expect you’ll be able to pilot us out of here while I get our bunk ready for round two.”

He’s already brushing past you when his words finally register, your eyes widening as you straighten in your seat. “Wait, what?!”

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0liver-hope · 21 days ago

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The people of Gaza are in desperate need of the qualities that all these flowers symbolize.

Abd Alhadi and his family, including his young nephew Osama (pictured below eating ice cream for the first time in two years), have been experiencing displacement and the devastation of their home, living in tents with limited access to food, water and medicine, like so many others in Gaza right now.

Please consider donating if you can, and share this post regardless.

#free palestine #gaza genocide #gaza #gaza strip #save palestine #palestine #pride month #flowers #plants #polls #tumblr polls #random polls #mutual aid #urgent #gofundme #fundraiser #pedro pascal #doctor who

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khawla-gfm2 · 9 months ago

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📰Khawla's Family Campaign Update: 40📰

$5,772/$20,000 as of September 23rd [10pm CDT]

Currently $228 away from $6,000 as a short term goal.

The next immediate target is $10,000 as the halfway mark of the initial goal.

Please consider donating even just $5, $10, or $20 to help push the campaign further along to reaching it's goal! And keep reblogging/sharing the campaign so that more people who can donate may see it!

[for more information on the campaign: check my pinned post, the campaign page itself, or message me directly if you have any questions]

[tag list under the cut]:

@corpsenurse @vita-e @guiltycrunch @onetruesirius @gaysebastianvael @inplodinggofer616 @iamthecatthatkilledthecar @d3lph1unkn0wn @confusedsheepsblog @p33rpressure @ahperrytheplatypus @your-13th-suffers @hericanee @murderbot @arceusbeta @tam-shade-song @coleheinous @frizzyhairedfriend @diberhaze @space-batzz @devilmeows @gizdathemxel @slowbrobutch @hotsugarbyglassanimals @dubiousyuri @pinetreesdoodles @mores0 @suzu-by-starlight @sparky-is-spiders @natsukashiisan @hellotheretraveler @hahvdh @archferret @softeninglooks @moronic0xymoron @darthferbert @virgincognito @animebabe55 @profoundlyscreechingkryptonite @princessnessa2017-blog @just-little-confused @neptuneschaos @the-mold-under-your-bed123 @ropes3amthoughts @wild-forest-bee @rsquid2 @faerie-lights @lapastelr0sa @allegedlysicktomystomach @number-1-carrie-white-fan @adept7777

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