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controlmyfeet · 1 year

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i still feel everything when you are near - matty healy

matty healy x ex!reader

angst

warnings: exes, alcohol consumption, insecurities, jealousy (kinda?), pining, kissing, crying (lmk if there’s more i need to add!)

a/n: not sure about this. i think the last time i tried to write fanfiction i was 13, so feedback is appreciated but pls be nice lol. also, english is not my first language!

3570 words

it still hurts.

i didn't think it would hurt as much after 6 months, but seeing him in the flesh makes me realize it does. i thought i was already used to it, thought i was actually doing a good job moving on, if we ignore my slump in the first 3 weeks after the breakup, where i would just leave the house for work and groceries (that i would overbuy because i forgot i'd just cook for myself), i think i was doing pretty okay.

i should've guessed he would be in the city. he can't stay in one place for too long; if he has a few days free in between shows, he's going to look for a studio to work in. usually in london, los angeles, or here. most of the time, he ends up here.

but i never know where he is anymore.

i deleted twitter from my phone after 2 months. maybe because of the questions, perhaps because i didn't care, or maybe i was tired of reading all the tabloids and fearing they were true. maybe i care too much. whatever, right? it just means i haven't seen him in a while, even in pictures.

i'm sitting by the dark wooden bar counter when i first spot him. he's standing with charli and george in the vip section near the dj booth, surrounded by people as always. my friends noticed that he's here too, but they haven't said anything, which i'm grateful for. i'd rather pretend it doesn't affect me.

he looks different, though. his arms are bigger, and his hair is longer; soft curls fall over big brown eyes that crinkle whenever george says something funny. he still has that boyish smile.

lulu and bea went dancing and i said i'd join them in a minute. we go to this club every time we're in the city, but tonight it is more crowded than usual. my secluded spot at the bar being the only place i won't be pushed around. still, i feel bad. it's my best friend's birthday, and we came to new york together to celebrate, but instead, i'm drowning my sorrows with cosmos.

"you won't even say hi now?" i hear matty's voice from behind me and turn around, startled. he stands tall and confident as always, but his eyes no longer hold the same energy. here, up close, i can see that his eyebags look more prominent, and his stubble has grown slightly. he looks tired. i don't think i look any better.

"hi," i say, looking into his brown orbs, phlegmatic, as if the butterflies in my stomach aren't going batshit crazy right now "i didn't see you, sorry."

he grins cheekily, "it's alright, darling."

i don't really know what to say. he should hate me, honestly. it wouldn't be surprising considering how we left things, with all the yelling, name calling. with all the broken picture frames. it started with another rumor while he was on tour, another leaked picture. he was so dismissive and vague about it that i just couldn't find it in myself to trust him, and he could only complain about how childish all of it was.

i guess he doesn't, though. they have free drinks inside the vip section. i remember it from when we came here together. he doesn't need to come all the way to the bar for a drink.

"it-it's good to see you," i stutter, apprehensive now. fearing that maybe he really does hate me, and just walked over to tell me how much so. i mean, i would hate him, too, if i could. but no matter how hard i try, i can't. and believe me, i've tried.

matty is standing so close that the loud music sounds muffled now, and the warm, dim light of the bar reflecting on his silky skin makes me want to melt into his arms. so i try to keep my eyes focused on my feet.

he seems to notice that i'm struggling as i fidget with my empty glass.

"can i get you another one?" he asks amicably. my eyes shift from my feet to the glass in my hands and back to his eyes.

"sure," i reply shyly.

he asks a bartender polishing wine glasses next to us for another cosmopolitan. behind the man, shelves from the same material as the counter hold a collection of glass bottles of different colors with labels sporting french and italian names. matty sits on the barstool beside mine. "so…what are you doing here in new york? i thought you hated the city this time of the year."

and it's true, i hate new york during the summer. the concrete buildings seem to make the temperature much higher, and tourists crowd every corner. it feels claustrophobic. the subway also smells extra bad during these months. but i loved being here with him, no matter the season. i loved being anywhere with him.

"well, yeah. but it's lulu's birthday, and she wanted to celebrate it here, so here we are. the three of us."

"bea is here too?"

"she is, yeah."

him talking about my friends is familiar. many sunday evenings were spent on his couch sharing a bottle of red with my newest candle burning on the side. at the same time, i'd tell him about the most recent gossip in my friend group, and he would listen.

the barman places the new drink before me and takes the empty glass. i thank him and take a sip of the pink liquid. it's sweet and sour, and the vodka calms my nerves a little bit. he's staring at my lips. so i lick them clean.

he shifts, and suddenly, i feel his calloused fingertips brush against my elbow resting comfortably over the counter. much more tender than last time; my skin burns where he touches it.

"how's your writing going?" he asks, looking into my eyes now.

i tell him i'm still at the magazine, it's going alright. not a lot has changed since we broke up. but it's less exciting, more monotonous. i leave that part out. and he asks me about my own stuff, poems and essays hidden in my drafts.

it's just awkward small talk. so awkward. like we're just acquaintances. friends of friends being left alone, being civil to each other.

it's also a conversation we've had before. documents on my computer that weren't fitting enough for the editors or that i just wrote on a whim. he used to tell me to publish them either way, to leave the magazine and find people who actually appreciate my work, or to start my own thing. but it would be useless; they're not good enough.

"well, i don't know, it's been a while since i've written anything out of work." i take another sip, just to calm down a little. "haven't felt very inspired lately."

oh my god, shut up– i can't say this to my ex. it's embarrassing, pitiful.

"it happens." he takes my hand and brushes his thumb over my knuckles. i still shiver "you're really talented, love. you should be proud of yourself. i am."

even his praise hurts now; i miss hearing it daily. it's a stab in my chest, salt on the wound. so i just bite my lip and nod. afraid that if i say something, a choked sob will come out.

there's longing in his eyes, and he gets a look like he wants to say more. but his gaze flickers behind me for a moment, and he drops my hand and gives my left shoulder a squeeze, showing me a soft smile.

"i'll leave you be, then. it was nice seeing you, love."

there's a voice in the back of my head begging me to make him stay, but i know i can't do that, not when i recall why it ended the way it did. still, i want to reach for his hand and pull him back to me, just for a few minutes at least. but someone grips my shoulders.

"there you are!" lulu says excitedly, already a few drinks ahead of me. her dark blonde hair messy and her skin glimmering with sweat from all the dancing. bea follows right behind her. "c'mon, let's do some shots, you need to power up for all the dancing you owe me."

"alright." i force a giggle and down my drink as bea asks the bartender for three tequila shots.

a few minutes and many shots later, the three of us are on the dance floor, swaying wildly to the loud, thumping bass of whatever music the dj's playing. just being around my girls makes me feel less anxious, and the flashing lights, plus all the alcohol already flowing through my body are making my mind a bit hazy, which helps me let loose a little.

as i move, i can feel the beat of the music inside my chest, sweaty bodies pushing against me without a care. i even forget about matty for a minute. i don't think about how his hands used to feel on me when we danced together, not at all.

we dance for maybe 30 minutes. until lulu finds one of her many ex-flings, and, as they catch up, bea asks me to go to the bathroom with her. taking my hand, she leads me out of the crowded area and towards the door labeled "ladies' room".

the contrast from the mostly dark club to the bathroom's white walls makes my eyes squint. it's colder in here, quieter. i can hear the stifled bass from the music and high heels clicking against the floor tiles.

as i wait for bea, i brace myself on the sink in front of me and look into the mirror. everything is happening too fast. talking to matty, downing shots, and being dragged to the dance floor immediately. my head is pounding. i didn't have the time to process what is going on tonight.

my ears are ringing, and it feels like all the alcohol has suddenly lost all its effect. instantly sobering up, i grab a paper towel and dab it on my arms and face to try to get rid of the sweat. turning on the sink, i wet my hands and place them on the back of my neck to cool down and try to help with the dizziness. i hear the toilet flush, and bea comes out of the cubicle, running her hands through her wavy black hair. i reach into my purse and pull out my lipgloss, coating my lips evenly while looking at myself in the mirror.

"i'm going to the back for a bit," i tell bea as she approaches the sink next to me.

"you okay? do you need water?" she asks, concerned

"yea- yes, i just need to breathe a little."

"okay, text me if you need anything." i just nod and leave the bathroom. she knows me, knows i need to be alone.

pushing through crowded bodies, i head to the club's back door, leading to a narrow alleyway where the employees usually store extra liquor bottles. it also doubles as a smoking area, so i shouldn't be surprised when i see him as soon as i open the door. tattooed arms flexing as he lights a cigarette, probably not his first one of the night, and i turn back to try to leave before he sees me.

"leaving so soon?" i turn around again and already feel my cheeks heating up. embarrassed, like a kid caught eating dessert before dinner. "you can stay."

"it's okay, i'll go somewhere else," i wave him off mindlessly. he came here to enjoy his cig on his own, right? he doesn't need his ex-girlfriend plaguing his chill alone time "i don't want to bother you, i just need some air."

"please stay." it's not the first time he says this, but this time i do.

with pink-tinged cheeks and heels clicking loudly, i slowly walk down the three small steps in front of the door and move to stand across him with my back resting against the club's brick wall. the warm summer air hits my skin, and i can hear the rustle of the traffic. "you could never bother me." i pretend i didn't hear him.

"i thought you were quitting," i motion to the burning cigarette between his fingers. the moonlight illuminated the alleyway, making the smoke around him look like some kind of silver aura. he smiles at me.

"i'm trying," he says, taking a drag and blowing it out by the side of his mouth, and i laugh.

"it sure looks like it," i reply, still smiling. i'm not as nervous as i expected i would be in this situation; maybe the alcohol hasn't worn off as much as i thought.

he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. "well, you know me".

my eyes follow his every movement, long, calloused fingers holding the rolled paper limply and bringing it up to his red, pouty lips. i start to fidget with the end of my skirt, trying to distract myself by looking at how my fingers twist the fabric. busying myself, so i don't remember how those same lips used to feel against my own or on the curve between my neck and shoulder.

i look up again when i hear matty step on his cigarette– putting it out– and he starts to walk in my direction. my breath hitches. we are face to face now, noses almost touching. closer than we were at the bar. i can see every freckle on his face when he's this close. i can see the chapped corner of his mouth and the grey that's starting to show up on his now tousled hair.

"why did you leave?" he's straight to the point. his voice comes out low, almost a whisper. at our position, there's no need to be louder than that. there's no hatred in his tone; still, he's not smiling. a flash of hurt appears on his face for a moment. "didn't i make you happy?"

"of course you did, matty." i build the courage to look into his eyes, honey pouring out of them. "we've already talked about this."

he lifts his right hand to rest it on the wall beside my head while letting out a scoff. "but i don't get it," his tone is a little bit louder now. he's not aggressive, but he's not whispering anymore. "what happened?"

"it was for the best." i've stopped whispering too. i place my hands on my forehead. as if to avert the impending headache that will follow this conversation. i don't really know what happened either or when it started happening. i feel sweat droplets running down my hairline, not sure if it's from the summer heat, our closeness, or my disquietude.

"for the best of who?" he questions, lifting an eyebrow, "i don't feel any better!"

"we were fighting all the time, you know this!" there's a lump in my throat, and i can already feel the pressure between my eyes, working hard so the tears don't fall. i lower my voice again. "it was only a matter of time until one of us left, i just left first."

his gaze softens– probably after seeing my flooding waterline– and it's a while before he talks again, as if he's gathering his thoughts. thinking before he speaks for once, "i could never leave you" it's a low, gravely whisper, and i probably wouldn't have heard it if we weren't this close. "i wish you'd stayed."

it's a blow to my chest. like a gunshot, blood running down my ribcage. and for a second, i don't think i can breathe.

"i wish you'd done a lot of things, matty." my vision is blurry now, and i feel a single tear roll down my right cheek. i wish he would answer my calls when he stayed late at the studio. i wish he would listen to me when i said i felt neglected. i wish he would give me more security when i felt jealous of the girls partying with him and the boys while i was on the other side of the pond. i wish i stayed. when i can't sleep because i suddenly realize that my bed is too cold, too empty. when i wake up, and there are no kisses on my bare shoulder. when i have to climb over my kitchen counter to reach the can of pasta sauce on the top shelf. when i'm so anxious, and there's no one to hold me… "sometimes i wish i stayed too."

slowly, his hands cup my jaw. long fingers run lightly across my skin and wipe the lonely tear on my face. the hairs on my neck straighten up, and my heart stirs, beating a little faster. he carefully traces his right thumb over my lower lip, giving me time to reject and push him away. and then, his soft lips lock on mine. no warning. i feel his stubble rub against my chin and let out a sigh. there's a flutter on my lower stomach, burning. i should have pushed him away. instead, my fingers trail up his neck, nails brushing against his skin, and finally into his hair as he coaxes his hot tongue into my mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, of course. i can also taste the rum and lime from the mojito he had earlier. one of his hands travels down and he pulls me by the waist, bodies touching fully now. matty groans into my liquored mouth and i preen; it's good to know i still have that effect on him. that i can still make him let out those pretty sounds with just a kiss. it might be selfish, but we both are. because i bet he's proud too, that every touch of his still sends shivers down my spine. i pull out for air first, lungs already starting to burn. my fingers are still buried in his curls as he rests his forehead on mine, both breathing heavily.

"i need you, love," he whispers against my kiss-swollen lips, voice cracking. there's a smudge of lipgloss on the side of his mouth. it was no use reapplying it.

"matty, i can't," my voice comes out weak, just like how i feel.

"why not? you got somebody?" matty frowns, starting to sound a bit agitated.

i shake my head lightly "i don't."

"what is it?"

"i already told you" it's my turn to cup his face now, scuff prickling against my palms. "we already had this fight before, you get annoyed because i can't trust you, and i start yelling because you don't take me seriously!"

"of course i take you seriously!" he defends, already becoming increasingly exasperated. i just shake my head; there's no use going through this all over again. it hurt enough the first time. however, i still close my eyes, knowing that if i keep looking at him, the chances of me believing him are higher.

"i'm not built for this, matty," for being away from him, for time zones and phone calls, for pretty girls throwing themselves all over him "i'm not strong enough."

"look at me, baby." his hands moved from my waist up to cup my face again, thumb brushing lightly over my cheekbones. "please," i open my eyes.

"do you love me?" he asks. i realize his eyes are glossed over now "because i love you. so fucking much."

it will be easier if i say no, break his heart all at once. give him a reason to give up. it takes me a while, but i nod.

"yeah?" there's a glimmer of hope on his wet iris.

"i do, but-"

"then we'll figure it out" it's not that simple; just figuring it out is not enough. we hurt each other.

"we'll just end up in the same place, matty," i explain firmly. at this point, tears stream both of our faces. his chest heaves, and i try to contain another sob. he turns his face slightly to press his lips to my palm, just for a second.

"stay with me, please." our noses touch, and i can no longer distinguish his tears from mine. "i'll do better, i swear."

"it's not going to work."

"just for tonight at least, please," it comes out ragged, and he grazes his lips on mine, leaving a gentle but salty peck. "just for a little bit."

this shouldn't be happening. it's a mess, all of it. no matter how hard or how many times we try, even if we start all over again, we'll just end up in the same place. i know how i am and how he is. our love is tainted, a ticking bomb. so no matter how much i love him, how much i want him, i know we'll just go back to those screaming matches and broken pictures.

but if we keep doing this again and again, maybe then we won't have to say goodbye. at least i won't have to spend an entire lifetime missing him. so maybe just one night won't hurt, right? i've done it a million times. staying for just a little bit won't hurt…i think.

okay, just for a little bit.

#matty healy x reader #matty healy angst #the 1975 #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty x reader #the 1975 fanfic

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oftenwantedafton · 5 months

Text

Hush - William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 1

Word Count - 4k

Rating - Explicit

CW - sexual content

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission from Alex_zlo on X and Instagram

It’s one of those rare evenings in Hurricane where it’s actually raining.

Not just raining, either; this was a torrential downpour. Sheets of water spilling off of buildings, pummeling cars and unfortunate pedestrians, soaking earth and pavement. It’s a terrible night to be out, but you don’t want to be alone right now, the last words you’d heard you boyfriend—now ex-boyfriend—speak still ringing in your ears. We can still be friends. As if he’s doing you a favor, as if throwing away two years isn’t a big deal, all so he can shack up with someone else from work. Caught and not the least bit guilty. Acting entitled. As if it’s your fault he got bored and wanted something new. Someone other than you.

You’ve never sat at a bar alone before.

You curse the walk to the front of the building, the nearly full parking lot in the rear revealing that other patrons had all shared the same idea of going out for drinks. You’re instantly drenched, still wearing your work clothes, the office attire plastered to your skin as you duck inside the establishment and grab the first empty spot you see. You want to be numb, and you want it to happen fast. Vodka will do the trick nicely, tempered with a little club soda and syrup and lemon juice to balance out the bitterness.

You’re in the processing of securing some damp strands of hair back into some semblance of tidiness and order when you notice the man, just that slight dip of your head affording you a glance down the row of seats, a mixture of occupied and the occasional empty. Everything about him is lean and long —arms, legs, torso, everything a significant stretch. One foot is hooked on a rung of the barstool, the other easily touching the floor. He’s got some amber colored drink in front of him, the glass rotating over the beverage napkin on the counter with the aid of fingers that are also lengthy, clutching the mouth of the cup, turning it this way and that, staring contemplatively into those golden brown depths.

You’ve forgotten the fingers still resting in your damp tresses, the task already obliterated from your mind when the man’s eyes lift and find yours. Perhaps he’d felt your eyes lingering, studying you as the bartender places your order down in front of you. Beneath that thatch of dark hair—dry, you note absently, he hadn’t been caught in the rain unprepared like yourself—is a pair of the most intense eyes you’ve ever seen in your life. Gunmetal gray irises framed in lids with lashes you’re envious of, visible even at this distance, the shadowed bottom lids likely smudged from exhaustion looking like some sort of smoky eyeliner. You take inventory of his other features quickly—high cheekbones, full lips that are oddly pale, sharp nose and jaw—but it’s the eyes your focus keeps coming back to, demanding your attention in a gaze that could be anything from placid curiosity to a stern reprimand to a means of stealing your soul. Judging eyes, haunted orbs that have seen things, shaded windows that are temptation and danger all rolled into one.

He returns his attention to his drink and you feel as if you’re bursting through the surface of deep water, gasping for air, clumsily nudging your own alcoholic beverage and spilling a few drops before you can grasp it properly and take a deep swallow. A tartness fills your mouth, the level of sweet not what you’d been expecting. Heavy on the booze, though, which you appreciate as you mull things over, reflecting on what had gone so wrong with your ex.

Things had been going south for awhile in your now previous relationship, if you’re being honest. He’d never been overly concerned about getting you off, but at least he’d attempted at the outset. He’d used to suggest date ideas. Bring home flowers or chocolate. Surprise you with a bubble bath when you got home from work. There had been something there, right? You hadn’t imagined it. It was good before. Making it easier to be blinded and forgiving when it stopped being that good. Perhaps it’s like they say and hindsight is 20/20. Either way it still hurts and you don’t want to feel it. You finish the rest of the Vodka Collins and request another.

The dark haired stranger is looking at you again.

You can feel the weight of it dragging on your body. Too harsh to be considered a caress, but maybe you like the roughness of it all the same. You allow yourself to look in his direction again, appraising his features, always coming back to those eyes. What would it be like looking into those when you were fucking him?

The thought makes you set the glass firmly back on its makeshift coaster, jostling the ice cubes inside. What has gotten into you? Lusting after some guy you didn’t know, had never even spoken to, less than an hour after breaking up? On the rebound for sure. A good way to get yourself hurt even worse than you already were feeling.

The door to the entrance of the bar opens and a group of three men enter, all around your age, the cold air—it was late autumn, making the inclement weather even more unpleasant—immediately making you shiver in your damp clothes. There are more empty seats where you are, so close to the door, and it seems as good an excuse as any to move, offering up your spot, walking down the narrow aisle between the counter and the beginning of the booths and tables until you reach your goal, boosting yourself up onto the stool, your emptying drink less than a foot from the man’s on the polished surface.

It’s difficult to tell how old he is. Up close you can see the smooth skin is unblemished, largely free of any lines or creases. Still older than yourself, certainly, but maybe not by much, and even if he is, you don’t mind. You’ve never been with someone older. It’s a little intimidating. You’re usually accustomed to the consequence of being shy. But here you are. Making the first move. Being bold enough to sit beside this gentleman. No. Not the way to think of him. Some instinct tells you there’s nothing tame about this one. He’d be aggressive. Passionate. You bet he wouldn’t stop at making you explode once. A matter of pride with him. A generous lover.

You’re on you’re third drink and he’s on whatever number he’s on when your eyes meet again. He’s so pale. Even his mouth. Plush lips you want to taste.

They part but before he has a chance to speak you’re interrupted. The group of young men you’d vacated your spot for have made their way to you. What must be the leader, the more outspoken party member leans too close, his breath already smelling of booze.

“Why’d you run away? My friends and I here would like to buy you a drink.” The bearded man grins.

You shake your head, murmuring a polite decline for his offer. “No, thank you.”

“Come on. Let us help you out.” The smile widens. You find yourself unconsciously leaning closer to the suited man seated beside you.

“No, that’s nice of you, but I’m all set. Enjoy your night.” You turn away.

A hand closes over your shoulder but is instantly removed, the man with the intense eyes reacting swiftly. “She’s with me.”

His voice, the first time you’ve heard it, is low but still audible in the crowded room filled with talk and laughter, the television broadcast above the bar failing to compete with that declaration.

“Since when? You weren’t sitting anywhere near each other before.”

He clearly doesn’t hear the warning in the seated man’s tone. Trying to save face in front of his companions. You watch the long fingers dig in further, blanching the skin, his wrist twisting past a comfortable, natural angle and the youth gasps and tugs his arm away. No emotion on the dark haired stranger’s face at all during the entire exchange. Calm. His arm settling against the edge of the counter. Just looking, now. Waiting to see if he’ll be challenged again.

“Whatever. Let’s go get a table.”

The trio disappears and you realize you’ve been holding your breath for the last few moments, releasing it now with a heavy sigh.

“Thank you. Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I didn’t know they were going to cause trouble.”

The man shakes his head. “It’s nothing.” He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a sip.

“I can move if you want…”

“No need.” He sets his drink back down.

You sigh internally. He wasn’t giving you much to work with conversation-wise. “You’re lucky, it looks like you managed to escape the rain.”

“I believe in being prepared. Even for things that seem unlikely. Unfortunately, it seems I didn’t think quite enough steps ahead.” He points and you follow the direction indicated, seeing a wastebin just visible across from where you’re seated, where a sad looking specimen of umbrella is poking out of, one of the metal braces bent at an awkward angle. “Gust of wind caught me unaware.”

“So now you’re going to carry two umbrellas, in case the second driest state in the country has another monsoon like this one?”

His lips twitch. Almost a smile. “Maybe.”

You signal for another drink. There’s a pleasant buzz thrumming through you now. A nice warmth in your face, a different kind of heat somewhere lower, deeper.

“So what brings you here on a night like this?” It sounds like a corny pickup line, but it’s the only thing you can come up with.

“The same reason most people are here, I expect. Distraction from unpleasant thoughts.”

“My boyfriend and I broke up today,” you volunteer a little breathlessly, pushing the words out. The first time you’ve acknowledged the split out loud.

“Condolences.” The next batch of whiskey he doesn’t swallow right away. You can see his jaw working, rolling the liquor over his tongue.

“I thought…I thought being numb would make it easier to get over.”

“So did I,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just can relate to that feeling. Something…happened at work today. I wasn’t even working. Wasn’t supposed to be there. It just…happened.”

The explanation sounds very vague, but you appreciate his attempt to commiserate. “So you want to forget, too.”

“Yes.” His eyes link with yours again. “But maybe there are better ways to cope.”

“Better than getting hammered and feeling numb?” He nods. “Like what?”

“The polar opposite. An over abundance of feeling. A tidal wave surge of it that drowns out everything else.”

Wait. Was he suggesting…?

The folded leg straightens and he slides smoothly off the bar stool, reaching into his pants pocket for his wallet. He withdraws a bill and tucks it beneath the glass he’s been drinking from. Eyes back on you. Waiting.

“It’s still pouring out.” You glance back towards the glass front entrance, where the deluge continues to pound the pavement.

“Yes, it is. No telling when it will end, either. Are you afraid of getting wet?”

Something in that query drags right across the place between your thighs as you face him again. “No.”

“Coming with me?”

Again. Another flare. You’d never anticipated this happening. You’d only intended on getting intoxicated. Just a brief stop before you went home to cry your eyes out.

But this, what the stranger was offering, sounded so much better. No commitment. No obligation. Just acting on instinct and mutual attraction.

You nod, digging cash out of your wallet to settle the bill before you ease off the stool, a little less gracefully than your companion had managed. He gestures for you to lead the way. You hesitate by the door. Bracing yourself for the deluge you’re about to experience.

Then you’re no longer just looking at it or thinking about it. You’re in it. A sobering flood. The man slips a hand in one of yours. The rain is cold, the droplets finding every exposed inch, seeking those that aren’t. Creeping down your neck. Inside the front of your blouse. You’re tugged along at a brisk pace. Your new acquaintance takes long strides. It’s difficult to keep up, especially wearing a narrow skirt and heels, but you’re anxious to be away from this and into some kind of shelter.

You’re led to a sedan, some older titanic model of a car from the previous decade, long like its owner who swiftly unlocks the passenger door for you. A beat of hesitation before you enter, one last unheeded caution about what you’re actually doing, and then your damp hand is squeaking on the vinyl seat as you settle inside, surrendering to your lowered inhibitions.

The door creaks as it swings shut. You wipe at your damp face, a little breathless as you watch the man run around to the driver’s side. You lean over and pull the lock up and he yanks the door open, hurriedly shutting it behind him.

A hand rakes through his saturated hair. There are water droplets clinging to those long lashes of his. He slots the key in the ignition. There are a lot of others on that keyring you note as he starts the engine. The opposite hand rests on the steering wheel. A wedding band is visible on the fourth finger.

The windshield wipers strain to keep up with clearing the window as he exits the parking lot, thumping loudly. A echo of your own pounding heart. There’s a vacant lot behind the bar’s, a relic from a strip mall that’s been abandoned for several years. He parks in the shadows, avoiding the direct glow of the street lamp that struggles to ward off the darkness. The brief burst of warm air from the vents departs as he shuts the car off, the green lighting on the dashboard extinguished. The defroster hadn’t properly gotten a chance to manage clearing the glass obscured with condensation. It feels private enough, you suppose.

You haven’t made out in a car since you were a teenager.

Funny how that all changes once you’re an adult. You get an apartment and you can fool around whenever you want. No longer having to worry about a patrol officer shining a light in a car window or a parent lecturing you about curfew and birth control.

Yet here you are. Two fugitives from the storm. A chance meeting leading to this. Whatever this was.

You’re still wearing the blazer of your suit. He’s neglected to bring a proper jacket, the suit one already removed, resting on the back seat. You struggle to shrug out of yours, finally shedding the damp coat and tossing it over his. The silence lengthens. “You’re married,” you say, cursing yourself as soon as you do. Nothing like stating the obvious. A good way to kill the mood, too.

“Yes.” He rolls the band with his thumb, the dim light from outside glinting on the gold. It’s loose. He’s lost weight since he’d first acquired it, you think.

“You ever do this before?”

“No.” Another clipped answer. The confidence he’d exuded inside the bar seems to have evaporated a bit. Maybe he was having second thoughts.

“Do you still want to do this?”

The rejection would sting, but it’s hardly the worst slight you’ve endured today. You’re a big girl. You’ll manage.

“Yes.” His eyes are still intense even in this wan illumination.

You reach for his hand. The one with the jewelry on it. Bringing his fingers to your lips. His skin is damp, cool. Your lips part to take the fourth finger inside your mouth. Teeth hooking around the metal. The flavor of it heavy on your tongue as you drag your teeth against it, easily shifting the ring up, up, up until its clutched between your lips, his finger now bare.

You remove the wedding band and set it on the dashboard, atop a thin layer of dust. The older man leans towards you and kisses your mouth. You no longer hear the rain pelting the alloy you’re encased in. You pry his lips open with your tongue. He’s a good kisser, not that you’re surprised. Those cushioned lips soft. He tastes like the rain. Like the whiskey he’d consumed earlier. His tongue strokes yours and your stomach somersaults. There’s a hand touching your cheek, your jaw. You reach for him, for the sooty hair and stiff work shirt collar and the expanse of one polyester clad thigh. Whatever you can rake your nails against, whatever flesh you can knead through the clothing. He’s got a handful of one breast, the other cupping the back of your neck. Mouth sucking and mashing along your jaw. You’ve finished the journey along his lower extremity, sliding along his crotch. Hard. Large. He huffs a small sound of pleasure, frustration, trying to get inside of your skirt until you abandon his pants just long enough to dig for the hidden zipper in the side seam, lifting your hips up so the loosened material has room to shift out of the way. There is still the barrier of your stockings and panties but that first feel of his hand between your thighs is bliss. You need him, need that dizzying oblivion that scatters your thoughts once he’s wedged inside, stroking your clit.

“Lever…side…” It’s all he spares for direction but you understand, reaching blindly on the side of the seat. It rocks backward faster than you’d expected it would. Further, too. Maybe there was something to be said for these older model cars. Certainly more space than what you had in your newer one.

You can’t imagine it’s comfortable leaning over the center console like he is, but if it bothers him he doesn’t reveal it. His mouth is back at yours, his hand working impatiently in the narrow confines, the clinging nylons restricting movement. You hastily aid him again, shoving at the offending layers concealing your sex, eagerly dragging the panties and stockings down to your ankles, letting your feet finish the job of removing them from your body.

Oh, this was infinitely better. Now the man can properly access your pussy, one thumb working in circles over your bud, his middle finger dipping inside of you. Your body’s already inviting him inside, arousal slickly guiding that violation. It’s the perfect touch, the perfect pressure. Only minutes of being intimate and this man understood your body better than your ex ever had.

“What’s your name?” This gasped beside his neck. He draws back to look at you, that solemn face hovering above yours. “Just your first name, just so I know…oh God, you’re so good at…what to say when I…”

“William.”

“Hi, William.” It suited him. You wonder what he preferred for a nickname. “It’s nice to meet you…fuck.”

“Likewise.” He’s added another finger to the repertoire of invaders, his thumb flicking and grinding your clit.

Your pelvis arches, seeking him even deeper. You’re on fire. Soaked, and not just from the outdoors. Your tongue is sloppy against his. You’re losing some finesse, lost to the pleasure he’s gifting you. The fingers inside you curl and touch that hidden space and you moan, clutching at his shirt.

“William….you're going to make me…”

Pressure. You feel ready to burst. The last thing tethering you to reality is that hand working inside of you, against you.

He kisses you. His face above yours again. Watching you. You’re lost in those eyes. Shaking violently. He’s got you there.

“William…I’m cumming…oh my God, I’m…”

Your pearl throbs and tingles, the muscles inside your canal spasming around his fingers as the back of your skull digs into the cradle of the headrest, your thighs tremoring, hips squirming restlessly against the seat. You’ve shattered, you’re broken, built up again piece by piece with gentle kisses, his hand leaving your sex, allowing you to recover.

“That was…” You don’t even have words.

“Good?” He supplies, eyebrows arching.

“No, beyond that. Amazing. You’re amazing. Thank you, William.”

“You’re most welcome.”

He climbs over you, the languid kisses and caresses growing more heated, driven, needy. His cock presses into you, stretching you back open. There is no longer the taste of rain or whiskey. Now he tastes like you, from the fingers he’d just sucked clean. The vinyl cushioned chair beneath you groans in protest at the weight being forced upon it. You’ve got a hand braced against the roof to shield his head from colliding with it. There’s just so much of him, that tall figure filling the space of the vehicle, the space inside of you. You keep coming back to his throat, to explore the taste of his skin there, easier now that you’ve loosened the collar and tie. Hints of aftershave from that morning, so many hours ago. The slight scrape of facial hair just starting to reclaim its territory rough against your tongue. Tracing the prominent arch of his Adam’s apple. You want to bite and suck his skin but you know you can’t mark a married man.

Your knee is wedged against the door. The other crushed between the console and somewhere near your new lover’s ribs. The steady, relaxed pace has quickened. Breath panted. It’s hitting deep and it’s good, like everything else with him. The way fucking was meant to be done. “William,” you gasp, and it is the first word spoken in a long time. His mouth hushes you, tongue insistent between your lips, nuzzling that wet muscle, his hips snapping against yours with more frenzy. You wish it was just a little more brightly lit, just enough to really see his eyes when he comes apart against you in a flurry of groaned motions, shaking as he fills you, flooding your insides with his seed.

His head drops between your breasts as he withdraws, his body resting on yours. It’s not the ideal place for any sort of post coital cuddling but you like it, like it when he’s back at your mouth again after he’s returned to his own seat, clothing somewhat returned to where it’s supposed to be, still leaning over and kissing you, like he can’t quite get enough of it, like he doesn’t want the intimate moment to end.

Maybe that’s it. The real reason for procrastinating. Because after this, it’s back to the real world. Sliding that ill fitting band back on his ring finger. Returning to face whatever had happened at his job while you continued to process the fact that you’ve been lied to and cheated on. Now you’ve aided and abetted this man, helping him commit the same sin. Even worse, because he was married.

You don’t regret it, though. You simply won’t allow yourself to. You enjoyed it. You needed it. Selfish, maybe, to use someone that way. Except it doesn’t feel like that either. You don’t know how to classify it, your mind still a little addled from the alcohol, from the chemicals still surging through your system. An alibi of impaired judgment is available if you need it, but you don’t think you will.

He drives you back to your car and you push the door open, the encroaching assault of damp and cold instantly reminding you that you’re going to get another shower as soon as you exit the vehicle. You’re not sure if you should thank him again. You’re not sure if you should say anything at all.

You can see his face properly, now that you’re in the bar’s parking lot, the newer bulb of this streetlamp bathing his features in artificial yellowish light, those remarkable eyes that pierce and captivate you sparkling. It’s so difficult to leave them. Your force yourself to step back outside, hurriedly shoving your car key in the lock, eager for shelter. You hear a now familiar creak of a door opening behind you. He’s left the car, coming towards you. Ignoring the downpour.

“William…”

His mouth on yours. Rainwater. The taste of someone new.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you

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xoxomoonlightxoxo · 9 months

Text

Don't Get Attached | Part 4

➪ Playlist (Spotify)

➪ Warning: 18+

➪ W/c: 867

Do You Miss This?

Once the elevator doors open Jungkook's grip on my waist tightens as I stumble in my 4-inch heels letting out soft whines of annoyance. My feet are dead and so is my dignity as the alcohol finally begins to wear out of my system. Did we just leave the club to go back to his apartment? Maybe. But, please, Jinni was just as checked out as I was and there’s no way in hell Jungkook would have left me alone in this state.

So, I push his hands off of me and run through the corridor, abruptly stopping at his front door before placing a few knocks. Looking back at his confused face, I notice his little eyebrow raise.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, careful not to wake the rest of the sane neighbours around us.

“Giving your women some time to hide,” I say with a teasing smirk in reference to his little cheating scandal. Unfortunately, though, my victory is short-lived as he lifts my body over his shoulder, hushing the helpless yelps.

“Get in, you smartass,” he chuckles, placing a smack on my ass as his grip on my legs tightens. Inches away from his own ass I protest, demanding to be put back down before threatening to let the whole apartment floor know of his doing. Ignoring my weak hits on his back, he walks us to his bedroom, finally placing my body on the soft duvet.

“Wait here,” he says, heading to his closet for a quick outfit change. Grabbing an extra shirt, Jungkook kneels in front of me before placing it on my exposed thighs. Resting his chin on the soft fabric his hands caress my pale skin as his gaze stays focused on my pouty lips.

“Koo … I need to shower,” I whine, lowering my eyes.

“Ok, let's go shower,” he answers enthusiastically, lifting himself back on his feet before reaching for my arms.

“No, not together,” I scoff, watching the smile on his face fade as a small chuckle escapes my mouth. Helping me up, his hands now rest on my back as we make our way to the bathroom. Finding the zipper to my dress, he is gentle with his touch, trying to respect the set boundaries without giving in to his desires.

“Don't leave,” I say softly, feeling his eyes on my naked body.

“So, you won't allow me to shower with you but you will torture me by showering in front of me? Got it,” he replies, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well, what if I fall? Just keep your lips zipped and don't watch,” I snap, turning on the hot water. Doing the exact opposite of what I asked, Jungkook plops himself on the countertop before focusing his darkened orbs on my form. Tilting his head, his eyes pierce through the steamed glass wall, following my every move.

“Shoot, I don’t have a towel. Koo, can you please bring me one?” I say, squeezing the water out of my hair before reaching my hand out for Jungkook's delivery. Except, instead of simply handing the towel over, he gently pulls my arm towards his body wrapping my form with the soft fabric. As my hands rested on his chest, the space between us became no longer apparent. Caught off guard I look up with furrowed eyebrows, noticing his heavy gaze on my lips. Caressing my flushed cheek with his thumb, his grip on my waist tightens, pulling us even closer.

“I miss you, y/n”

“What do you miss, hmm?”

“I miss your pretty mouth,” he whispers, voice all raspy, leaning in closer to meet my eyes before placing a kiss on my parted lips. Fuck. Stay calm, y/n.

“That’s too bad, I didn’t miss you at all,” I say, intertwining my hands in his soft hair.

“Yeah?” he smirks, nibbling on his lip rings as his eyes lower to my breasts which are pressing on his now wet shirt.

“Mmhmm,”

“Do you miss this?” he says softly, lifting my body onto the countertop before coming in closer as my legs naturally spread following his touch. Dropping the useless towel on the floor, his fingers trace soft lines down my form as he kneels in front of me. Licking his lips, he takes a moment to appreciate the beautiful mess.

“Because I do,” Jungkook grins, looking up one last time before placing a trail of kisses on my thighs, inching closer towards my wet core. Letting out soft whimpers, my hands pull on his hair from the feeling of his tongue, while sinful sensations travel through my body. Each lick is needy and full of desire.

“Koo, please,” I manage to let out as my breath hitched in my throat. Raising his heavy gaze, he leaves one last kiss on my throbbing core before getting back up. Using his thumb to wipe the juices running down his lips, he prompts my mouth to open. Looking at his darkened orbs I do as he wants, sucking every last bit as the tension between us becomes almost suffocating.

“It’s a pleasure to taste you, y/n” he whispers into my ear, nibbling on the soft skin.

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supernaturalgirl20 · 2 years

Text

The Viper & The Lamb

Prologue

Pairings: Oberyn Martell x f!reader

Warnings: References to sex, kidnapping, arson, mention of death and murder, reader has dark hair, light eyes and is curvy.

Summary: Oberyn is one of the bosses of the Martell crime family and he’s out for revenge. Revenge for the murder of his beloved sister Elia and her family. He will stop at nothing to bring down the Lannisters, including kidnapping their precious daughter and using her as leverage. But you’re not who he was expecting, so when you completely flip his world upside down, he’s not prepared for the inevitable outcome. Falling madly in love with you.

A/N: just a short little piece to wet your tastebuds 😜 my migraine has been kicking my ass this week so I haven’t done any writing. Apologies if you’re waiting on requests to be answered. They are coming I promise 🥰

Series Masterlist

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

The air was thick and reeked of smoke and blood. The familiar smell filled his senses as he sat on his bike and looked behind him. A smile worked its way onto his face as his lips curled slightly at the corner of his mouth.

The Lannister crest fell to the ground as their club was engulfed in flames. Not his handiwork but his determination to see them ruined played a part.

The rev of engines roaring to life filtered out the muffled screams coming from Jarons bike. His eyes drift towards the sound and his face becomes serious again. You!

Another Lannister bitch. Not the one he was hoping for but he got what he came for all the same. Leverage.

“Ready to go, boss?” Trystane asked as he came up beside him on his bike.

His eyes flicker to you again briefly before he nods at his men. “Let’s head out before daddy dearest catches wind, and ruins all our plans. His time will come but not tonight.”

Oberyn stayed put a moment longer, watching as his men rode off, one by one. His eyes somehow found you once again and he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you were.

Dark hair falls over your shoulders, drawing his attention to the curve of your breasts. Beautiful and perky, barely contained in the black silk dress you wore, begging for his attention.

Your skin glistened with perspiration, no doubt from fear, and it somehow turned him on even more. His cock strained against the zipper of his jeans growing harder by the second as his mind conjured images of you writhing beneath him.

Something he would never acknowledge out loud. He would rather gouge out his eyes than ever admit to being attracted to a Lannister. The panic he saw in your light orbs stirred something within him.

Guilt twists in his gut as tears begin to stream down your face. A small part of him wants to set you free but the memory of his sister dying in his arms was enough to drown out those thoughts.

Everything he did was for her.

For his revenge on the man who took his sister.

Even if that meant condemning an innocent woman to death.

He was the Viper after all. And his venom was poisonous.

Part one

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @browneyes-issac @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80 @allthe-ships @tintinn16 @hungrhay @rosie-posie08 @manuymesut @all-the-way-down-here @iccedays @tusk89 @graciexmarvel @pedrostories @musings-of-a-rose @untitledarea @your-voice-is-mellifluous @majestyjade @avengersfan

#pedro pascal #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #oberyn x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #oberyn martell smut

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foryiujeans · 1 year

Text

i wish you roses.

synopsis. a certain secret admirer alwavs leaves roses on your desk and at valentines, you had finally caught the person.

pairings. admirer!kim jiwoong x fem!reader.

warnings. swearing.

word count. 2k

general taglist. @forsobeans

“jiwoong, they gave me another!”

it was in first grade when you became friends with jiwoong. your teacher had given your class a seating plan and you'd been put next to him. you hadn't really spoken with jiwoong before that day, but you were generally a shy kid, usually opting to quietly colour during recess instead of going out into the playground.

he was one of the more boisterous kids in your grade, known for his visuals that swooned every female in the campus.

you remember the very first words jiwoong ever said to you, "that's a pretty drawing." he complimented, watching intently as you messily continued to scribble the green chalk as you coloured in the grass. you’d drawn an artificial yellow sun in the top corner of your page and a little red house on a hill in the middle with roses around it. a simple drawing, but one that you proudly gave effort to.

“another bouquet of roses?,” his voice beams from behind, gazing at the flowers in your hand, “i guess they really like you.”

“they’re so sweet.” you comment and hugged the bouquet to your chest.

jiwoong felt giddy inside seeing you so happy these fast few weeks. he couldn’t lie when he said he doesn’t have a crush on his best friend though that story is a bit cliché. him telling matthew he had no guts to confess, his friend suggested to just hinting and be secretive.

the flashbacks of him seeing you drawing roses for the first time came back and he had an idea of giving you flowers twice a week.

“i wish i could tell that how much i appreciate them.” placing them back in your locker and locking it.

the tall male beside you only hummed in response but was panicking inside. it has been exactly 24 weeks of him giving and wishing you roses, he wasn’t ready to be revealed.

he felt insecure to confess to you. you were absolutely an angel — perfect, friendly, popular, smart and active though he was the same, he felt that the love was all you. lecturers respected you and juniors, they look up to your kind actions.

while jiwoong was just an ordinary handsome man that plays that typical male character in the story. he plays basketball and is on the way on becoming a model for his good looks.

“hey y/n,” seeing a male from afar, he was waving at you with a small smile, “saw you holding roses, secret admirer huh?”

a scoff leaves your lips, “hey seunghwan, yes and i really really wanna find out who this is.”

“okay then i’ll help keep guard for your locker.”

that made jiwoong’s heart drop to the stomach in panic. he eyes seunghwan and you who were talking amongst each other and joking around. he swore he was going to pass out any moment but still kept his blank stoic-like face.

“i have to get to cinema club, see ya jiwoong, hwan!” you walked away, holding onto the books pressed to your chest.

jiwoong’s orbs followed your figure that was walking giddily to your specific location. he adored you. the way you spoke to him, the way you look at him, the way you always act kind and friendly towards others, the way your leadership brings everyone together and the way whenever he sees you, his smile just widens even more.

a hit on the chest made him caught off guard — seunghwan looking at the male suspiciously and eyeing him up and down with his hands in his pockets.

“you’re the admirer right?” the sudden question made jiwoong’s eyes widened in surprise.

then, the black haired male gripped the back of seunghwan’s collar, dragging his friend at an empty hallway that was gloomy and dark.

jiwoong pinched the bridge of his nose, “how’d you know?”

“i come early and see you slipping in a note and roses in y/n’s locker, matthew was with me but he didn’t say anything about it.”

the male was glad that his best friend didn’t spill anything about his plan or anything else about his crush on you. seunghwan knew about it since it was too damn obvious.

“listen,” seunghwan starts, “i wish you the best of luck but y/n’s a great detective so, be careful. wish you all the best man.”

and with that seunghwan walked away from him, him feeling his heartbeat had raised.

“281312”

it was another morning where kim jiwoong was placing another bouquet of roses in your locker. he was putting in the code of your birthday that was placed on the red locker, unlocking it smoothly.

he puts the bouquet in beautifully, searching into his pocket to get a note that he would wrote to you every week. but then, he hadn’t felt any type of paper in it. he was frantically searching for it and there wasn’t anything. then searching in his bag, he had gotten a pen and a small heart shaped sticky note.

“this would do.” he mumbled and opened the black inked pen to write.

“i feel really tired today.”

the moans of the cold wind were whooshing through the trees that were rustling. your hand holding onto your jacket and yawned, a hand placed over your mouth.

a deadpanned look from matthew made you stop yawning, “who asked you to go early today?”

“just because.” you easily answered.

“why me? not seunghwan, woongki or even jiwoong?” the last name he had said made you felt unsure.

asking jiwoong to accompany him to see your secret admirer would be tiring to him. jiwoong being the sleepyhead he is, you knew he would never get out of that deep slumber of his to go to college early. he sure was a heavy sleeper.

“jiwoong will never get out of his bed.” a logical answer made matthew nod, agreeing.

arriving in front of the college grounds, seeing it so empty without that many people around made you feel at ease. usually, it was crowded and loud for you to take in. the beep of matthew’s card to enter was heard, automatically opening to see a familiar figure in front of your locker.

he was opening your red locker, slipping in a note in his hand. that hand.

matthew froze beside you, glancing at you if you were witnessing the scene in front of you. the person had closed the locker shut, dusting off his jeans and stood up properly. the slicked back hair had totally knocked you over.

“jiwoong?”

the familiar voice of yours rang in his ears, shooting you a surprised look. jiwoong was panicking, he didn’t know what to do. his eyes staring into yours that were confused and questionable. and with that, matthew ran away.

you walked up towards him, seeing him in his round glasses, white t-shirt and jeans, topped off with a varsity jacket you had gifted him for his birthday. of course it would be given away just by his clothing. his orbs staring somewhere else that wasn’t you.

that feeling when your hand grabbed his, he finally looked at you, utterly shocked.

“if you wanna explain, you can.” you say, him inhaling sharply after.

“you see, umm, i honestly don’t care if you don’t answer me oppositely but i liked you for a really long time. i asked matthew for advice but i was the one stubborn and didn’t want to do it face to face. so he suggested to be secretive and i guessed you know what i mean.” he starts, staring into your eyes.

“what-”

“i gave you roses since it reminded me how i first met you — you drawing a scenery of a house and roses scattered.”

the cute memory made you grin lightly while jiwoong was fiddling the end of his shirt with his other free hand. it was not that he was scared to get rejected. he was scared and worried that you might be uncomfortable or him being over the boundaries line as friends.

jiwoong gazed at you just when you wrapped his arms around his waist. gosh, that smile of yours brightens the whole universe, that cheeks of yours with cute dimples, those delicate hands of yours so soft and gentle. he surely was going to melt into your touch.

a chuckle escapes your lips, “you can wish me roses any day.”

that easy sentence of yours made him smile and hugged you to his warm embrace closely. the butterflies in his stomach when he held you was fluttering lots.

“i might as well still wish you roses even if we’re together.”

oh, i wish you roses.

a/n ! thank you so much for reading and giving me requests. i’m thankful that you guys enjoyed reading it and giving all the notes and support. i do not own any characters, music or pics given, will definitely work harder for the next ones !

signing out, miaaa hihi !

#zb1 imagines #zerobaseone #zerobaseone imagines #zerobaseone fics #zerobaseone x reader #zb1 #zb1 oneshots #zb1 fics #zb1 x reader #jiwoong #kim jiwoong #kim jiwoong x reader #jiwoong imagines

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literallykenmaandshoyo · 1 year

Text

I'll Know

Tendou Satori x Female!Reader

Warnings: Language, outdoor blowjob, creampie, cum swallowing, oral (male and female receiving), lots and lots of praise!! I wrote Satori as reader's first intimate partner! Just smutty smut smut smut lolol

Word Count: 3.3k

Author's note: Oh my god, it's been so so long since I've posted a fic on here this is insane. College and life have been so so hectic and I completely forgot about the page Mod Kenma and I made :,) Mod Kenma is so good with keeping consistent and everything on here and I'm going to try and do the same since I've found myself writing with them a lot more now! I'm so sorry for the long hiatus, but I wrote this fic a couple of weeks ago and thought it would be a nice way to start my comeback! I hope you all know that you're more than welcome to request anything from me, just make sure you specify that you want it written by me haha! I hope you enjoy the smut, I had so much fun writing it!!

I'd love to hear everyone's feedback on this, so don't hesitate to let me know on how I can make things better or if you enjoyed it!

~Mod Shoyo <3

The bright lights of Shiratorizawa’s gym hurt Y/N’s eyes as she walked inside. Today, the volleyball club was going to be hosting a late night practice. Normally, Friday nights were reserved for date nights between Y/N and Satori, but she never ever minded coming to watch Tendou practice. There was no hiding how she really felt about watching him practice.

It got her going.

Something about her tall, lanky boyfriend sweating his ass off playing sports just did something to her. She was well aware of this feeling and found it slightly funny every time Satori tried to push practice to the side for her. “Now, why would you do that, ‘Tori? Volleyball is your passion. I really don’t mind staying for a couple hours to watch you and then getting to hang out with you after!”

Tendou always appreciated Y/N so much more when she said things like that. Little did he know that he was only fueling her drive to chase him. To jump his bones the second that he was finished with his practice. Tonight was no different. Y/N came waltzing into the gym in her black t-shirt dress, her eyes darting across every single body she saw to search for her boyfriend. The second that Tendou noticed her, his posture stiffened and he made a bee-line straight towards her.

“Well, look at you in that black dress of yours,” Tendou flirted, his tone light and playful but his voice was resting in a deeper part of his throat. “Don’t you look delicious.”

Y/N blushed and stood on her tippy toes to kiss him. He smirked against her kiss and brought his right arm around her waist to pull her close to him while his other arm carried his water bottle. The second they pulled away, she could already feel herself getting riled up. His normally spiked up hair was sitting slightly damp now. Most of it was still intact, but some of the front strands were sticking to his forehead, absolutely drenched in sweat.

“How’s practice going, baby?” Y/N smiled, her eyes too focused on his sweat than his actual ruby orbs.

“Coach had us do some punishments because Goshiki didn’t receive a ball correctly,” Tendou tossed a look over to Goshiki who was cowering in a corner, gripping a ball tightly in between his hands cursing himself. “Other than that, It’s going pretty average.”

Y/N smiled and nodded her head. “Well, go knock ‘em dead baby, I’ll be right here watching!”

Tendou grinned from ear to ear and stooped down to press one last kiss to her lips. As Tendou turned on his heel to start running back, Y/N leaned forward and laid a harsh slap on his ass to motivate him. Tendou turned slowly with a smirk and walked back towards her. He towered over her like a skyscraper, looking down on her with the most shit-eating grin she’d ever seen.

“My turn.”

Before she had any time to think, Satori's hand was unleashing the most pain-inducing, heartstopping, panty dropping slap on her ass. She yelped and listened to the sound echo throughout the gym. His palm remained on her right cheek, she could feel his fingers curl up and feel around. He jumped slightly, then leaned down to get his lips right next to her ear.

“You dirty girl,” He whispered huskily. His voice sent shivers down her spine and she could feel the heat between her legs growing. “No panties huh? And were you thinking about telling me?” Y/N gulped and turned to the side slightly.

“It was supposed to be a surprise after practice.”

Tendou hummed. He turned on his heel once more and walked away. His shoes squeaking against the gym floor slowly dissipating gave her the ‘okay’ to finally relax. Y/N made her way over to one of the courtside benches and took a seat. With her legs crossed, she let her eyes linger on her red-head boyfriend.

The middle blocker was working overtime tonight. His guesses were on point, every single possible hunch he could have had about a spiker’s decisions were completely right. She could only imagine the type of psycho-analysis that was going on in his head right now, how meticulous he had to be in order to block everyone on the other side of the net.

She was wrong.

Tendou was on his game because he knew that she was watching him. He could feel her eyes lingering on him, only paying attention to his movements and no one else’s. Who was she, to sit on that damn bench with no panties on in front of all of his teammates. He could only imagine the juices that were marinating in her cunt right now, he was salivating at the thought of it. His hunger was only fueling his movements, a snide smirk resting on his face.

One of the managers rushed around giving all of the players’ some towels to wipe themselves off. Once Tendou was handed his own, he turned slightly and noticed Y/N had taken some extra interest in watching him. He scoffed and pressed the towel against his forehead and neck, wiping off all the remnants of his hard work. Y/N licked her lips and didn’t let her gaze falter for a second. Tendou’s legs carried him over towards his girlfriend once more. His aura was radiating pure starvation. He couldn’t even keep eye contact with her for more than a millisecond before letting his eyes drop down to her crossed legs. He could feel himself get hard just knowing that he was the only one that got to spread those legs. To see what was beyond her gorgeous thighs.

He tossed the towel at her nonchalantly. “Hold this for me, would you baby? Just a little while longer.”

Y/N was quick to catch the towel and let it rest in her lap. She could feel herself getting warmer, at this point she started to regret not wearing underwear. She knew that she was going to spill the juices that Satori claimed as his all over the floor once she stood up, but for right now. At this very moment. She could care less. Her mind was turning into mush, and it didn’t help that Tendou would toss her looks in between practice sets.

Her pussy was aching. Tendou had been her very first intimate partner, and she loved the idea that her pussy was molded into a hole that fit his dick perfectly. She was growing more restless by the second, counting down each second that went by that Tendou wasn’t rearranging her intestines. Finally, like a bright light shining down from the heavens, practice was called to an end and everyone started to pack up the equipment and their things. Once everyone was finally done with their chores, Tendou slowly made his way back to his girlfriend.

“Can I see that towel in your lap, pretty girl?” Tendou grinned, holding his hand out in front of her. She nodded and dropped the towel into his palm. “Thank you darling~”

As Tendou wiped his face again, Y/N was fuming. Her entire body was quivering with nothing short of pure lust for Satori. And the worst part of it all, was she knew that he was teasing her. He was dragging his feet when he walked, he was taking his time to get each individual bead of sweat off of his face, he knew that she was dying for his touch.

“Alright baby, let’s go. Are you ready?” Y/N didn’t give him any time to change his mind. She was off the bench and ready to go with her purse at the sound of his voice.

Tendou chuckled and draped an arm loosely around her shoulders, pulling her close to him as he slung his duffel bag over his left shoulder. They had finally made it outside the gym. Sure, they only took one step outside, but Y/N was practically dizzy with how much fresh air was hitting her face right now. Before they could walk any further, Tendou stopped them both in their tracks.

“Oops! I forgot my jacket on the bench, I’ll be right back love,”

Y/N was fed up. She was seething, begging to be touched and he kept setting them back. She looked to her left and noticed a corner that the lights weren’t hitting. She moved into the shadows and waited patiently for Tendou’s figure to walk out the door. After watching most of his teammates leave with their bags and set off on their journey’s back home, Y/N was ready to get what she wanted.

The second she could smell his after-practice musk, she grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him into the corner with her. Tendou looked down at her with a cocky smirk and raised an eyebrow. “And what’s this about?” She looked up into his fiery ruby orbs and made no sound.

Her fingers grabbed hold of the band of his practice shorts and looped a finger into the band of his briefs before using all the strength she had to yank them down his legs. His cock sprung to life before her very eyes and she found some sort of relief in knowing that he was just as worked up as she was. She licked her lips and nearly drooled at his feet just at the mere sight. His tip was swollen, his shaft curved upwards, it was a gorgeous sight to see. Tendou gulped before finally speaking.

“Suck it.”

Y/N had already gathered up all the spit she could in her mouth. She spat onto his cock and didn’t even bother to start to stroke him. She took his entire dick in her mouth and felt his tip hit the back of her mouth. She had no strength to push her legs together anymore and slowly just let them spread apart. Her knees were starting to burn from the small rocks and pebbles that had littered the sidewalk, but she was too busy drowning in her horniness to care. The guttural groan that left Tendou’s mouth as she deep throated him was enough to send her over the edge. Her head was bobbing up and down his shaft, her lips gliding across his drenched cock.

“Fu-fuck baby. Take this cock like a good girl,” Tendou sighed heavily. “Fuck, you suck me off so good baby.”

The words of encouragement egged her on, pushing her to grip whatever wasn’t covered by her mouth with her hands and begin to stroke while she sucked. Tendou nearly banged his head into the wall from the immense pleasure that took over him. He was trying so hard not to cum down her throat as fast as he wanted to. Y/N knew that he was holding himself back, but she didn’t bother to berate him or tease him for it. What mattered was that she had his cock in her mouth and she was going to swallow every last drop of cum he had to offer.

She could feel him twitch in her mouth, every vein that was ready to burst getting eased with the coolness of her saliva. She deep throated once more and felt some pre-cum slide down her tongue. She pulled her mouth off of his dick, still stroking him with one hand while she popped his cleanly shaven balls in her mouth. Tendou clamped a hand over his mouth to try and prevent the loud groan that fell from his lips; even covered by his hand his moan was loud enough to get some stares.

Y/N moved back up to eye-level with his cock and spread her hot mouth all over it once more. She bobbed her head as fast as she could, feeling his dick twitch faster than before. It wasn’t until Tendou’s sweet groan entered her ears that she realized he had painted the back of her throat with his cum. She pulled herself off of his dick for the last time, snot falling from her nose, tears falling from her damp eyelashes and down her swollen cheeks.

Tendou looked down and moved her loose hair out of her face, watching her tongue fall out of her mouth still covered in his cum. Within a second, she swallowed whatever of his load was leftover in her mouth and let her body slump. Tendou noticed her relaxed nature and immediately lifted her up into his arms.

“Don’t think this is over. I’m going to fuck the shit out of you when we get back to my dorm.” Y/N laid in his arms completely lifeless, her mind still only focused on the pleasure she had given her boyfriend just now.

She had no concept of time, or even realized how much time she had taken to suck him off outside of the gym, but none of it mattered. It wasn’t until he threw her onto his bed that she snapped back to reality. Her hair was a mess, her face was flushed with a red color, her legs could barely stay closed. Tendou was huffing, heavily breathing as he threw his shirt over his head and tugged his boxers down once more. He didn’t bother to take Y/N’s dress off. What was the point if he had easy access anyways?

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of this pussy,” Tendou growled, pressing lazy kisses to the sides of her neck. “My pussy.”

Y/N’s ears were ringing. The second she felt his lips on her neck her entire body went into shock. She felt so sensitive, anywhere he touched immediately made her quiver. She wanted to take every piece of clothing off of her, she felt like she was roasting in 100 degree summer heat. Tendou’s long, slender fingers wrapped around her knees and yanked her legs apart. His eyes widened and he stared at her glistening pussy like it was a gift given to him by god. And it was. Tendou licked his lips and fell to his knees. He gripped the backs of her legs and pulled her to the edge of his bed, her pussy right in his face.

He wasted no time in diving his tongue in between her folds. The tip of his tongue flicked her clit before gathering up some of her wetness like a spoon. He was eating her up like a starved man, smacking his lips and burying his face in her. Her noises were enough to wake up every single member of his team in the building, but that was the least of his worries. He had a cunt, shining with pure excitement under the lights right in front of him, and it was all his. His dick was so painfully hard and he wanted nothing more than to just slam it inside of her, but she was dying to suck him off, and he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t dying to feast on her pussy.

“Te-Tendou, please,” Y/N whined. “Please just fuck me, I-I can’t take it anymore.” Her words stopped his actions. She whined from the loss of friction and his swift motions.

He stood up and wiped his mouth of whatever juices she left on his lips. He had never heard anything more sexy than her pleads for him to fuck her in all his life. He smiled from ear to ear and came down to press his lips onto hers. “Whatever you want, baby. Your wish is my command.”

Tendou lined himself up with her entrance. He slowly started to push his tip into her. Once just his tip had been swallowed by her cunt, he grabbed hold of her hips tightly and bucked his hips so hard into hers that she nearly screamed. The harsh slap of his balls slapping against her skin made a clapping noise, and he started to pound into her like his life depended on it. The sound of her loud moans only fueled him to keep drilling his cock into her. He leaned down and buried his face in her chest, loving the feeling of her tits bouncing in his face. He pulled himself out of her and lifted her into his arms. He sat down on the edge of his bed and sat her on his lap. Y/N got the picture and quickly slammed herself onto his dick.

“God damn, Y/N. Ride this dick, take this dick like a good girl.”

Y/N sank her teeth into his shoulder as she bounced up and down on his cock. She could feel the coil in her stomach slowly unraveling with every slap their sweaty bodies made. She pulled her face out of his neck to see that his eyebrows were furrowed, the groans leaving his mouth nearly making her cream on their own. Tendou grabbed a fistful of her hair into a makeshift ponytail and held it up for her, the breeze that hit her neck sending goosebumps down her hot skin.

Tendou could feel that she had gotten tired of picking herself up, his hands moved down to her hips and gripped them so hard that she was sure his fingers would be bruised into her skin. He held her up and thrusted as fast as he could, his balls slapping against the bottom of her ass with every move. Y/N dug her nails into his back, sure that she drew blood with how hard she was holding him.

She lowered herself back down onto him once more and simply served as a hole for him to fuck himself with. He moved her at his own tempo, lifting her body up and down his cock with the strength he had. Her legs quivered and she could feel herself getting close.

“To- Tori, I’m gonna,” She couldn’t even finish her sentence before it was drowned out with the harmonious sounds of their moans joining together.

“Let it go love, cream all over this cock for me.” Tendou practically yelled through clenched teeth.

Within seconds, both of their moans joined together once more for a grand finale. Y/N’s body fell limp, her bare chest resting on top of his. Tendou was still twitching inside of her, his hands coming up to caress her back lovingly. After a few minutes that way, Y/N finally sat up to pull herself off of his dick. The sight she was met with nearly made her want him to fuck her again, but she was far too tired.

Satori’s ruby eyes focused on her pussy as she pulled herself off. Strands of their combined cum looked like strings holding their two bodies together. Y/N relaxed and Tendou could see a cluster of his cum slide out of her pussy and down the sides of her legs.

Tendou reached into his drawer and grabbed some cool wet wipes to clean themselves off, he handled his lover with such care, feeling her jump every time he brought the wipe anywhere near her still sensitive pussy. Tendou moved every article of clothing that sat on top of his covers off and threw it somewhere into the corner of the room. He grabbed Y/N’s waist and pulled her next to him, helping her get under the covers and into his arms.

“That’s probably the best sex we have ever had.”

Y/N nodded, barely able to catch her breath. “I feel so much better now,”

Tendou just chuckled and pressed his lips lazily against her own. “I love you baby, with all of my heart. Thank you for always being so devoted to pleasuring me.”

She smiled and pressed a kiss against his lips before nuzzling into his neck. “I love you Satori,”

The two of them yawned, falling asleep within seconds. Satori felt his entire body finally truly relax, and knowing that she would be here in his arms in the morning made his sleep that much better.

He thought to himself that maybe every date night should end like this, but he knew he would never hear the end of that conversation.

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somethinginworl · 2 years

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The two lovebirds... Err, I guess I should say lovespiders

SS for @squishysquib in the Orb Appreciation Club Discord!

#Joronia #Sectonia #Taranza #TaranzaxSectonia #TaranzaxJoronia #Kirby #Kirby fanart #teehee

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hapan-in-exile · 6 months

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Volume 4 - Post #4: Say goodbye to the old me

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

GIF by dindooku

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 5.6K (fourth post in Volume 4)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

_______________________________

IV. “Hey! Watch it! I–oh…I, um…” the Trandoshan’s words died on his lips the moment he looked up to discover who he’d bumped into.

The Mandalorian hated working on Coruscant. It was noisy, crowded, and endlessly labyrinthian. Most of the filters in his helmet were rendered useless due to the sheer number of life forms in such close proximity. Continuous vehicle traffic across every level of the city overloaded his motion sensors.

The frenetic energy of the megalopolis set him on edge.

But what Mando really hated, what he absolutely loathed, was visiting the Uscru District. It was all the worst parts about a place like Daiyu—gambling dens, night clubs, garish neon lights, vendors shouting, the flashing, stochastic holograms—made somehow worse because it was repacked for gawking tourists.

Acrobats hung from cables crisscrossing overhead, their lithe bodies shimmering, while street musicians played for coins. Instrument cases littered the walkway, and goods were hawked on the pavement.

He felt uncentered. The next idiot who tripped over him to stare slack-jawed at some fucking juggler was getting bodied.

Luckily, it didn’t come to that. Mando couldn’t afford the delay.

The Mandalorian turned onto Daring Way, toward the sky bridge that would take him to the Floating World. Tourists liked to keep to well-lit thoroughfares, so the foot traffic here was sparser, and he made better time. Soon, the soft, glowing lights of the pleasure quarter came into view.

Music spilled out from decadent parlors where the doors and windows had been flung open to lure passersby. Beings of every gender and species could be seen lounging, sprawled out on display, wearing little more than scraps of fabric and gaudy jewels.

Each house catered to a different clientele, their specialty made known by the facade of the building or else the costumes worn by hosts welcoming their clients inside.

Most tourists never entered the brothels of the Floating World. They just came to take in the scene and watch the crowd, which was a sight in itself. Amongst the extravagant fashions and decor of the houses, many visitors donned elaborate masks or robes to conceal their identities.

So the Mandalorian was surprised to discover that the Dark Garden had no hosts waiting in the doorway and nothing on display in the windows. Instead, they were closed, sealed tight behind intricately carved black shutters.

The whole building was black. Its gleaming stone exterior looked more like a palatial mansion than a pleasure house.

The woman stationed behind the desk in the entryway was also dressed in black. It was a stark contrast to her pale pink skin, white-blond hair, and nearly colorless gray eyes. She looked up at him from between two onyx vases overflowing with vibrant red blossoms that matched her painted lips.

“Welcome, sir. We appreciate your business. Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I’m not in need of your…services. I’ve come to see Mistress Anassa. She’ll know why I’m here.”

“Mistress Anassa is very busy,” she smiled apologetically. “Her clients book months in advance. I cannot promise she will have time to—”

He slid several gold peggats across the highly polished surface of the reception desk.

“Tell her a Mandalorian is waiting. I’ll be here until she finds the time.”

“Very well, sir. Please come with me.”

She led him through a dark passage to a lounge filled with curved sofas and circular ottomans, where clients–some wearing masks, others with their faces bared–sat huddled in conversation, drinking from elegant carafes or smoking ornate water pipes.

The hostess directed him to an alcove beneath a cluster of illuminated, floating orbs.

“Can I offer the Mandalorian anything while he waits? Company, perhaps?” She lowered her voice as she leaned in to place a pillow behind his back. “We cater to every desire here.”

“My desire,” he said evenly, “is for solitude.”

“As you like,” she smiled again, leaving him to wait for Mistress Anassa.

But he was conspicuous sitting alone, and it wasn’t long before another hostess dressed in black strode toward him. She walked over on towering heels he imagined Thuli would have loved to see if the Mandalorian needed attention.

She artfully placed one of the gilt carafes onto the lacquered table beside him and poured a drink. “May I offer the gentleman anything else?”

Her voice was as supple as her corsetted leather dress.

“No. Thank you, I–”

The sight of two luminous violet eyes caught him by surprise, and his heart stuttered. He turned sharply to see a woman entering the parlor. On second glance, she looked nothing like Thulindhara. But the eyes were unmistakable—their iridescent sheen, how they glowed bright like full moons. She was Hapan.

“Perhaps the Mandalorian sees something to his liking?”

It wasn’t her, yet the thrill that rose inside him didn’t ebb. It clutched the breath from his lungs and twisted his stomach into knots.

Mando knew he would miss her, but he hadn’t expected to feel her absence as a physical pain.

“No,” he said. “Thank you. But, no. I’m here to see Mistress Anassa.”

He watched as the woman who wasn’t Thuli walked up to a Keshiri couple at the bar, gesturing them to follow her down a long corridor hidden behind a pair of lush velvet curtains.

Beside him, the hostess offered the drink she’d poured, and he accepted it. Not for the sake of politeness but because he felt compelled to hold something in his hands. Sensing his discomposure, she looked meaningfully towards the curtains as they fell back into place and whispered, “They say to lie with a Hapan is to open the doorway to heaven.”

The Mandalorian had heard that said many times and always dismissed it as a self-serving rumor. He didn’t pay for sex, but mercenaries loved to talk about how they would spend their take on Hapan courtesans. The most expensive pussy in the galaxy, they said. Once you’re between her thighs, you’ll forget your own name.

Now, Mando understood the truth of these stories. Well…he hadn’t forgotten his name, but she did taste like heaven.

For most of his life, sex had been about release. Lust was simply another physical need. Like hunger or sleep, he met those needs for the sake of his body. When a woman felt so inclined, he obliged—helmet sealed, armor intact—to let her take what satisfaction she could find.

With Thuli, he learned that sex could be something beyond physical pleasure. They shared a connection unlike anything he’d experienced. Real intimacy. Mando hadn’t kissed a woman since…he’d barely been a man. Still a child, really.

To be with Thulani, naked and vulnerable as he had never been before, was not about release. It was fulfillment. Satisfaction of body and soul. And, yes, part of that was being between her thighs.

In the abstract, he’d been a little intimidated, but in the moment, it had felt entirely natural. He wanted to linger over her every curve, to put his mouth over every inch of her body, and he had loved all of it—the way she tasted, her fingers tugging at his hair, how her hips lifted with his touch.

It made him feel powerful in a way he hadn’t expected, drinking her in until she was soaked and breathless under his tongue.

Then, a door had opened—a door between their consciousness, when he’d felt her pleasure cresting through his body, rippling over his skin in waves that matched the stroking of his fingers. She’d lost all control, and his whole being was suffused with her ecstasy, so intensely passionate that he saw stars behind his eyes. Maybe it was heaven?

Thulani’s trick was making people believe in her openness, yet Mando recognized how rigidly she held herself in check. He sensed the wild, fierce nature in her heart that she constrained. It made him feel both immeasurably powerful and deeply gratified to be the one who made her unravel.

“The Mandalorian asked for me?”

A woman in a crisply tailored black suit stood before him. He did not immediately recognize her species, but the horns that spiraled around her long, folded ears and convex nose reminded him of a dray goat.

“You’re Mistress Anasssa? The proprietor of this…establishment.”

“Mmm, the Mandalorian is polite for a mercenary,” she sat beside him on the bench and reached out with slender fingers (no hooves) to take the glass from between his hands. It struck him at once how artfully the gesture was both sensual and dominating. “In answer to your question…” she drank deeply. “Yes. The gentleman would be wise not to let the crystal and chandeliers fool him. This is a dungeon. And I am its master.”

“I see.” It was all he could think to say. “Boss Set’ki said you’d be expecting me.”

“My apologies. I was otherwise occupied when the Mandalorian arrived.” She looked at the untouched carafe on the table. “I am sorry my vintage is not to his taste. And none of my ladies, either, I hear. If it is males he prefers, the gentleman need only—”

“That is beyond my purpose, Mistress Anassa. I’m here on business.”

“I doubt the Mandalorian would burden himself with such formality if he intended to capture me,” the mistress smiled curiously. “What is his business?”

“I’m interested in one of your clients.”

She scoffed. “The gentleman must realize discretion is an essential tenet of my profession. Why would I betray my client to help him?”

“Because Set’ki owes me a debt. And while you may be the master of this dungeon, your master is Boss Set’ki.”

Her features became resolute. “Then let us discuss this matter in private.”

The Mistress rose and walked toward the velvet curtains. Mando followed her down the long corridor until she stopped before a door with gold flowers embossed along its hinges.

She placed a tasseled fob against the keypad. “I hope the Mandalorian will appreciate that it is to everyone’s benefit if he appears to be another of my clients?”

“Very well,” he said and stepped inside.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected. The black walls did not surprise him, but the abundance of those same red flowers, blooming from vases and wall hangings did. They matched the illuminated floor tiles that pulsed with crimson light.

Otherwise, the room was sparsely furnished to accommodate the…equipment. There was a saltire cross with a rack of whips and paddles positioned beside it and a polished steel beam with manacles chained to its post. A length of rope dangled from one of the ceiling beams overhead. Instead of a bed, a quilted leather couch sat in a far corner of the room.

Plastered across one of the walls was a diagram of knots with cautionary notes about circulation and nerve damage.

“I’m sure the Mandalorian must be very accomplished at tying knots,” Mistress Anassa said from over his shoulder.

“I prefer cuffs.”

“Mmm…” He felt her eyes rake over him with heightened interest. “I have never met a Mandalorian before, but I begin to see why you inspire so much fascination. The armor, the brute force, stalking, capture, imprisonment—all potent themes for bondage role play.”

“I am Mandalorian. Violence is my trade. Weapons are part of my religion.” Mando turned to face her. “I’m not playing a game, Mistress.”

He could tell Anassa enjoyed hearing him call her that.

“Of course. Though I’m sure someone has offered to suck your cock in exchange for their freedom. Can you honestly say their begging has never aroused you?”

Her tone was frank, not seductive. A businesswoman appraising a commodity.

“I think the Mistress has a false impression about the sorts of people I’m sent to collect.”

At that, she laughed. “Still…I see the appeal. If you’re ever interested in a new line of work, I believe the Mandalorian and I could make a great deal of money together.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mando recalled that Thulani had said much the same thing. A Mandalorian would make good coin at one of those Keyorin brothels.

He suddenly wondered if this was something Thuli might enjoy. Bondage? Role play? The clamps and paddles didn’t exactly appeal to him, but he wouldn’t be opposed to tying her up if that’s what she wanted.

Mando looked at the steel beam, and his mind couldn’t help but stray towards fantasies of throwing her over it and fucking her senseless.

“About your client, Mistress Anassa.”

“What is it you wish to know?”

“This man, Ronan Carr,” he said, taking the holo-puck from his pocket and activating its profile. "I’m told he makes use of your services when his wife is out of town.”

Mistress Anassa schooled her features, but it was too late. He’d seen the look of panic cross her eyes the instant she recognized the man’s face.

“The Senator will be leaving on a diplomatic mission. Does Carr have an appointment scheduled for her departure?”

The Mandalorian suspected that Ronan Carr had an appointment booked for later that day. He’d been following Carr for the past week. Yesterday, the man had reserved an entire hotel floor under a false name and given his personal assistant the night off.

“He does,” the Mistress confirmed. “But I won’t help you. Boss Set’ki may kill me for my refusal. I will accept that punishment. A political assassination would condemn every soul under my care. That I will not accept.”

“I have no intention of killing Ronan Carr,” he assured her. “It’s information I want.”

“I suppose that is his trade,” her eyes weighed the Mandalorian, and she dropped the artful persona. “You won’t harm him? No kidnapping or torture?”

“If those are your terms, then I will agree. I only want to talk to him.”

“What if I have other terms?” The Mistress asked shrewdly.

“Name them.”

“I don’t want any of my people harmed.”

He nodded. “Do you know who you’ll send?”

“Yes, there are a few he favors.”

“Then give me some token or signal. But tell no one of this.”

She paused before coming to a decision. “I will go with them tonight. To ensure all will be as you promise.”

“These are your terms?”

“He’s a good client,” she waved her well-manicured hand vaguely, “And if word got out? If he thought I’d helped you?”

“Ronan Carr won’t risk the Senator discovering his…hobbies.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Here,” he pulled out a folded wallet and handed it to her. “To compensate for your loss of business. Though I expect a man with his proclivities should be back before long.”

“Thank you,” she gave him a curt bow. “You know where to find him?”

“Carr has gone to great lengths to conceal his plans, but yes, I know where he’ll be tonight.” And without really intending to, the Mandalorian said, “His desires make him weak.”

Mando was surprised at the scorn in his voice. Surprised to hear himself say that. Did he believe desire made him weak? His desire for Thuli?

It certainly made it difficult to concentrate. How many times did he think about her each day?

Maker, if he was being honest…he woke up thinking about Thulani, and the thought seemed to last all day. He worried about whether she was safe. He’d make some stray observation and imagine her reaction. He saw something beautiful in a window and wondered if she would like it.

When he lay inside the sleeping compartment alone, surrounded by her scent, he thought of Thuli’s mouth on him, those delicate fingers stroking his cock, and his body ached. He could not bring himself off without thinking about her.

Mistress Anassa looked at him with genuine sympathy as though she could sense his turmoil.

“Shame is Ronan Carr’s weakness,” she said. “If he were honest about his desires, you would have no power over him. His wife might even oblige. But shame feeds arousal. Maybe you can understand that?”

“Excuse me?”

Shame. Was that at the root of his sudden anger? The Mandalorian was not ashamed of his relationship with Thuli. He did not believe she made him weak.

But he did feel shame about his own selfish cowardice. That in her absence, he’d realized how deeply he cared for her, and it killed him knowing he could never say those words.

Why? Because they gave her power over him? No. Whether he said the words or not, didn’t change his feelings. But to say them aloud would be a promise. One he couldn’t make.

She’d met him on those terms, yet he felt ashamed he couldn’t give her more. She deserved better than a man who could not share his name or his face or his life with her. It would always come back to that.

“Shame is one of the most effective tools of repression,” Mistress Anassa shrugged. “But repression simply fuels temptation. Temptation transforms into desire. Desire generates more shame.”

Anassa opened a hidden panel in the wall and beckoned him forward. Lightly placing her fingers over a wooden slat, she slid it open, and a pinhole of light pierced through the room. The muffled sounds of moaning grew louder.

Gesturing toward the peephole, she said, “It’s only when we embrace our desires that we become free of this endless cycle.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, the Mandalorian looked. What he saw was the Keshiri couple from the parlor. The man was fully clothed, on all fours, his hands and knees braced against the ground. His partner was naked, splayed on his back, while the Hapan woman fucked her roughly with a strap-on.

“They were honest with each other about their desires. Now, it creates a bond rather than a wedge.”

Mando hadn’t anticipated that visiting a sex dungeon would prompt so much soul-searching. His eyes strayed back to the peephole, towards the Keshiri in the throws of climax, eyes shut tight as though she might die from ecstasy.

While he felt ashamed that he could not tell Thulani he loved her, he could at least ensure she felt loved. When he worshipped her body, when he fulfilled her desires, when he made her unravel—she would know the depth of his feelings.

“I’ve heard it said that true Mandalorians do not remove their armor. Perhaps the gentleman prefers to watch?”

He pulled the slot closed. “I’ve seen enough.”

**********

One thing the Mandalorian did appreciate about Coruscant was the simplicity of bribing government officials. As with any vast bureaucracy, front-line New Republic workers like the port operatives were overlooked and underpaid.

Flush with cash from Ryun Vos, Mando was able to dock under fake tabs at a shipyard centrally located in a safe and discreet area. Money made all things possible on Coruscant.

“Please tell me something in that bag is fried?” Nito moaned as the Mandalorian stepped inside the Razor Crest.

“I got some of everything, so your odds are good.”

The Ardennian was sitting at a makeshift table of stacked cargo containers with the Child seated in his lap. He had his mechanic’s apron on while the kid was stripped to his breechcloth. And they were both covered in paint.

“There better be a bath planned for after this,” Mando growled, reaching to wipe the Child’s talons clean with a take-out napkin.

“What? Yeah. Sorry,” Nito said dimly. “Yes! Oil bread. And rice balls! Fuck yeah!”

The Mandalorian thought vaguely that Thulani would try to curb Nito’s swearing, but he only had so much paternal energy left in him today, and he needed it for the baby.

Mando pulled the fried bread out of reach and replaced it with the box of bean pods. “Hey, kid, you need to eat at least five of these.”

His enormous ears wilted in disappointment.

“How’s the programming going?” Mando asked, searching for the sweet and sour broth.

Nito shoved a rice ball in his mouth and swallowed it whole. “Do you have any idea how complex a unified operating system for an industrial plant—with residential facilities can be?”

“No,” he admitted. “That’s why I’m paying you.”

“Paying me in more than dumplings, I hope.” Nito laughed cheerily. “Assuming it’s the Imperial coding language, I think it is…”

“We’re going to find out tonight.”

“You got Carr?”

“I know how to get to him,” Mando said. “We leave in three hours. Spend at least one of those cleaning up the kid.”

“Okay. Okay.”

The Mandalorian was relieved to have such a tidy solution for Ronan Carr. It wasn’t in his nature to wait for reconnaissance or planning. He was a blunt instrument—brute force, as Mistress Anassa had said. But Nito proved that hacking the man’s communicator could be useful. Coruscant was not the Outer Rim. Best to be cautious here.

Months ago, he would have stormed the hotel, shoved a blaster in Carr’s face, and broken the man’s fingers until he talked. Now, when Mando considered this approach, the crew from Dark Garden weighed on his conscience. Not everything needs to end in a shoot-out, Thuli had chided him. She wasn’t even here, yet her memory was wringing these little bits of decency from him.

Nito snapped his fingers in front of Mando’s viewplate. “You in there?”

“What?” He shook his head.

“You’ve been staring at those dumplings for an eternity. I want to eat them.”

Mando passed the container.

“I was telling you about this utter stroke of genius I had.” The Ardennian lifted the kid onto the table and pulled something out from his apron pocket. “So, he’s green, right? Well, I painted his face. And when I put on the bonnet…See! He’s Mirialan.”

Underneath the paint splatters, Mando recognized the geometric facial markings.

“That’s–sure, that is pretty genius.”

Nito beamed. Thuli told him things would be easier with the kids if he put in a little effort. So far, it was working.

“I mean, he hates having his ears tucked, but it’s only temporary, buddy. Just to keep you safe.”

The Child squirmed and pounded his fists against his thighs.

Mando had to suppress a laugh. “Bean pods and bonnets. Guess you got it pretty rough, kid.”

The baby stopped mid-tantrum to glare at the Mandalorian.

“Anyway,” Nito went on. “We had the paint out, so I found some packing paper…and look what he made.”

Mando tilted his head and squinted, “It’s a…bantha?”

“It’s the Razor Crest,” Nito snorted.

“If you say so.”

The kid squealed until Mando handed him a meat pie.

“I miss her too, you know.”

“What?”

“Fish dumplings are Thuli’s favorite,” Nito said quietly. “It’s hard not to miss her when she makes everything so…” he shrugged, “cozy when she’s around.”

The Mandalorian nodded. “You heard from her today?”

His heart twisted painfully in anticipation. It did every day when he asked that question. But he knew she must have checked in that morning. Nito would be inconsolable if she hadn’t.

“Yeah, I got the signal.”

Good. She's alive. Hopefully safe. “We’ll see her soon,” Mando assured them. “We’re stocked up on supplies, weapons, equipment. Once we get what we need from Carr, we can make a course for Lakaran.”

“Did you get a gift to bring her now that you guys are, you know, sleeping together?”

The Mandalorian choked on his soup. The steel jaw of his helmet caught him painfully on the lip, and he had to pound his chest a few times before he could breathe again. “Did she–ahem–did she say something…about…?”

“Didn’t have to,” Nito waved a furry hand. “For months, you’ve both just wreaked of longing and frustration. Then you came back and smelled…satisfied. Pretty logical conclusion.”

“You can smell that?”

“Oh yeah! It’s kind of funny that humans can’t since all of your emotions get communicated through hormones and sweat glands.”

Mando shook his head again. “I’m not entirely comfortable talking about this,” he sighed. “But while we’re on the subject, there are some…things I should…we should probably…discuss before we leave to find Carr.”

“What? Like, sex stuff?”

The Mandalorian groaned. Where do I even start…?

**********

The hotel Ronan Carr had booked was elegant enough for his aristocratic tastes while also offering the assurance of privacy. There was a separate entrance and elevator for the penthouse floor so he could avoid bumping into anyone from his social circle—or his wife’s senatorial colleagues—in the lobby.

Mando opted to gain entry from the roof.

“You hear something?” One of the bodyguards asked.

But just as their partner began to answer, the Mandalorian slipped behind him and placed a blade to the man’s throat. In an instant, he had grabbed the guard’s wrist and raised his blaster. Mando shot the other bodyguard before they could cry out in warning.

To stage this right, the knife needed to go in at just the right angle. But the man continued to struggle under Mando’s grip, trying to break free from his hold. The guard tried everything—stomping on the Mandalorian’s foot, slamming his head against the Beskar, thrusting his shoulders against Mando’s arm around his neck.

The bounty hunter might as well be a statue for all the give there was in his frame. The guard’s death was inevitable, but he refused to make peace with it.

Mando hooked his leg around the man’s ankle and sent them both hurtling toward the ground. The force of impact drove the knife into the guard’s throat.

A wet splatter hit his view plate when the man coughed blood onto the Mandalorian’s helmet. Yet he still fought. Hands flailed blindly until Mando drove the blade deeper, severing the spinal cord. And finally, the fingers clawing at his wrists fell limp.

He rolled the bodyguard onto his back and returned the blaster to the man’s right hand. Should be enough to cover my tracks.

Mistress Anassa had left the south-facing balcony doors unlocked, just as he instructed. They slid open with a soft rolling hush before he made his way silently through the suite. She was waiting for him in the study, hunched over a display monitor.

“You look a sight,” she arched an eyebrow at him. “Can I get you a towel?”

“No.” The blood was war paint. It would make what came next that much easier. "I staged the guards. You can claim a fight broke out, and you had to get your people to safety."

Anassa cleared her throat and nodded. It was the first time he’d seen her unsettled. “The false name on the hotel reservation avoids a paper trail, but I can’t decide whether Carr realizes Set’ki is tracking all of this.”

“Do you record him every time?”

She glared at Mando. “No, but I had a feeling my master wanted some insurance. I don’t expect Ronan Carr will be making any future appointments with Dark Garden after tonight.”

Involving Set’ki and Anassa—at all—was an unnecessary risk. The Mandalorian had done it to ensure the safety of her employees, and he didn’t feel any remorse about the Mistress’s bottom line.

“Tell them to leave the room.”

She crossed her arms with a frustrated sigh. “I know I don’t have a say in any of this, but it shouldn’t go unspoken, this is a gross violation of my professional ethics.”

“You’re arguing ethics after admitting to blackmail?”

“Those restraints are intended to aid his submission. He needs to feel safe to surrender control. And instead, you’ve co-opted them for violence.”

Mando huffed. “Are you referring to the silk scarves tied around his wrists and ankles?”

“The type of restraints are irrelevant. Bondage is a kink that depends on trust. It’s a choice to be helpless. Consent is based entirely on trust. This is a violation of trust. I feel the weight of what this will do to his psyche, and I ask you to acknowledge that before you step inside that room.”

The Mandalorian couldn’t fathom why she was looking to him to absolve her guilt.

“And I told you, violence is my profession. Get—your people—out.”

From the display screen, Mando watched as the Mistress entered the bedroom. Her sudden presence startled the other women, but she quickly ushered them into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

When he was confident they were gone, the bounty hunter opened the bedroom door. The first thing he did was drape a towel over Set’ki’s camera. Mando didn’t want any record of his presence on Coruscant.

He approached the chair Carr was bound to without bothering to stifle his footsteps. The man had a sensory deprivation mask covering his eyes and ears. He hadn’t sensed the ladies from Dark Garden leave the room, and he was becoming agitated, sitting in a puddle of urine, confused as to why they didn’t end the session.

Ronan Carr paid to be tied down and tickled until he pissed himself. The kink wasn’t inherently sexual. It didn’t make him hard. He didn’t come, and nobody brought him to completion. The tickling made him laugh and his muscles spasm, and eventually, the stress on his pelvic floor emptied his bladder.

Then, he slept for ten hours. It simply…relaxed the man.

“Whoa!” Nito said when the Mandalorian explained this. “So it’s like getting a massage? But, like, a really extreme massage.”

It wasn’t not sexual…he paid to be tickled by beautiful women, after all.

As he ripped the mask off, Mando tried not to think about Anassa’s sanctimonious pleading. He felt no remorse for Ronan Carr, either.

The bounty hunter unholstered his blaster and pointed it in the man’s face so it was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. On cue, Carr jumped, recoiling in terror at the sight of the Mandalorian.

“Don’t cry for help," Mando said, his voice cold and stern. "You don’t want anyone coming through that door to find you like this, do you?”

Ronan Carr shook his head.

“Good. Do what I say, and I won’t have to hurt you,” he growled. “Tell me you understand.”

Ronan Carr took a deep, steadying breath. “I understand.” The man’s voice quavered, but he didn’t panic. Some people became paralyzed with fear, which made interrogation that much harder. If Carr could keep it together, this would be over quickly.

“Untie yourself.”

Despite Mistress Anassa’s speech about trust and surrender, her words were meaningless sentiment. Ronan Carr had never given up control. The scarves were tied with enough slack that he could easily lift his hands over the headrest and pull free the knots at his wrists. After that, he only needed to lean forward to release his ankles.

“Where is everyone?” Carr asked nervously, massaging his wrists.

The man was wiry, more muscular than the bounty hunter expected from someone who spent his life behind a desk. Intimidation was his best tactic to keep Carr in check. Use of physical force would only complicate things. And he made a deal with Anassa.

“You don’t need to know what I did with them. Worry about yourself.”

After a lifetime of doing this work, Mando knew most people’s imagination was far darker than any threat he could make. The man looked at the blood splattered across his helmet, and all the color drained from Ronan Carr’s face.

“What is it you want?”

“I need something, and you’re the person who can get it for me.”

“My wife—”

“This has nothing to do with the Senator. And it doesn’t have to. You give me what I want, and she won’t discover what you get up to under the name ‘Kirk Satu.’” Carr’s eyes went wide with horror. “The piss play makes for an awkward conversation, but I think all the bank transfers will be harder to explain.”

Now, he had the man’s full attention. “What do you want?”

“First, I want you to put some clothes on. Meet me in the study when you’re ready.”

The man’s suit hung neatly from the bathroom door, yet he stared at the garment like it might transform into a torture device.

“You’re not—you aren’t going to lock me in?”

“We both know you won’t run,” Mando said. “You’re going to do what I tell you. Then you can forget all about this.”

The look on Carr’s face when he walked into the study made it clear this encounter would haunt him for some time.

“Is your communicator on?” Nito asked from behind his data-pad. “Your real one. Not the burner?”

“What?” Ronan Carr stammered. “I–yes.” When the notification bell chimed, he pulled the device out from his pocket.

“Okay, read me the security code.”

“Wait! This is about work? You want something from the Archives?”

Carr looked between Nito and the Mandalorian.

“You do realize the New Republic Library doesn’t store any military or intelligence records. This is not…what could you possibly need that isn’t already publicly available?”

Mando thrust his blaster in the man’s face. “Ask me about my business again and see what happens to you.”

“The security code?” Nito drolled.

Mando grabbed the communicator from Carr and handed it to the Ardennian.

“I’m just…we have a records request system online…”

“For redacted documents!” Nito howled. “If you guys just uploaded everything onto the Net, you could enjoy your tickle party and we wouldn’t be here.”

Ronan Carr’s face turned scarlet. “It’s our responsibility to make sure sensitive information doesn’t fall into the hands of…criminals.”

What a fucking hypocrite. “Can we hurry this up?” Mando barked. The fact that the bodyguards in the foyer hadn’t burst into the penthouse meant that Mistress Anassa had done her part. But their luck wouldn’t last long.

“Well, it’s not my fault the file structure isn’t intuitive,” Nito looked at Ronan Carr with disgust. “And you call yourself an Archivist?”

“I–I don’t oversee information architecture.”

“Ah! Okay…security question for the download. What is the name of your first pet?”

When Nito had the files he needed, Mando thrust a disc into Carr’s hands.

“What—?”

“I lied when I said this didn’t involve your wife. That’s for her. From a former Rebel fighter, Ubaa Dir. Remember the name. The next time you hear it, give the Senator that disc. You’ll know when.”

“How will I explain—”

“You’d rather explain the sex workers and money laundering? Figure–it—out,” Mando snapped, and Ronan Carr jumped.

This time, the Mandalorian did lock him inside the bedroom.

He found Mistress Anassa in the living room, offering the Child sugar cubes from an abandoned tea service tray.

"I'm done here," Mando said, watching as the kid delightedly crunched the crystals between his teeth. "He's unharmed, as per the terms of our deal. Are you satisfied?"

"Very," she smiled serenely at him. "I thought I'd be spending the night cleaning brain matter off the walls. Instead, I got to play with an adorable baby."

Anassa lifted the Child from her hip and handed him back to the Mandalorian.

"You still want me to bind and gag you?" Mando asked. "I could just lock you inside, like I did with Carr? It might take him a while to break out, by the way."

"No," she shook her head. "I've got to sell this if there's a chance I can retain his trust. And he'll need a witness to help explain what happened to the guards." Mistress Anassa looked thoughtfully at the Mandalorian. "When life hands you an opportunity, it's best to seize it with both hands."

"Very well." Mando reached for the plush, decorative rope tying back the curtains—he could at least ensure that she was comfortable.

"Speaking of which," the Mistress grinned. "I do hope you'll reconsider my offer. There are a number of ways we could leverage your particular talents at the Dark Garden."

The Mandalorian offered her a chair.

"After listening to the ruthlessness in your voice saying, You're going to give me what I want..." she shivered rather theatrically. "Fear is a very potent form of arousal. I'm confident we could find clients looking for nothing more than degradation."

The audacity of her proposal impressed him, and his mouth quirked into a begrudging smile beneath the Beskar helmet.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

"And what knots do you plan to use?"

Mando huffed—not quite a laugh. This was beginning to feel like an audition. "A bowline. But I can use a hitch knot if you prefer?"

"Merely professional curiosity," Mistress Anassa grinned, sitting in the armchair as though it were a throne. "Do you have a suggestion for the gag?"

The Mandalorian cocked his head, "Give me your necktie."

He wasn't entirely comfortable with how much keen interest lit up her face. A businesswoman through and through.

She hurriedly fished something out of her suit pocket. "Take my card. You're a working father, after all. It pays to be flexible when there are mouths to feed."

****************

Continue reading: Volume 4-Post #5: Wish You Were Here!

Back to Volume 4 - all posts

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mando smut #sexy mando #sexymando #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars smut

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azumetapraline · 1 year

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This is the result of the collab we did in my Kirby server, Orb Appreciation Club! I am happy and honored we could finish such a project for Pride Month, a very important month to us! 🏳️‍🌈

I want to congratulate and thank everyone who gave a bit of their time for the collab. Without you all, neither this, nor the server would exist, so I feel very lucky to know you all! This piece truly shows how all of you are so kind and awesome! 💖

Credits in order of appearance (please check them ALL out, they do really good stuff!!): @autumnleafdraws @technicianlearner @imelht @what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me @giantchasm @gizmothorne-art @mimiktales [to be added] @deathmilkshakes

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skvaderarts · 2 months

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These builds use DLC items, so just a heads up! More details about each build are below if you are curious. Thanks for voting! And if you spread the poll, EXTRA THANK YOU! I appreciate it! A larger sample size makes this more fun!

Saint of the Bud: An Arcane/Faith/Dex Scarlet Rot build using the Antspur Rapier with the Poison Flower Blooms Twice Ash of War and the Poleblade of the Bud. The Ant Skull Plate shield is a great contender for this build. I'll also be using spells such as Pest Threads, Pest-Thread Spears, Scarlet Aeonia, and Rotten Butterflies. Will use the rotten stray summon and makes liberal use of crafted items such as rot pots and fly pots. Wears the Full Bloom Chest piece and the Mushroom Crown for a truly unhinged look. Utilizes Maleina's Great Rune/Rykard's Great Rune.

Finger Witch: A Strength/Intelligence build with a possible touch of Arcane. This build specializes in finger weapons and spells. Uses a dueling shield. Both the Gazing Finger and the Ringed Finger scale best with strength, and despite the scaling of the staff that boosts finger sorceries requiring arcane for a spell class that USES NO ARCANE (Fromsoft stop doing crap like this. I like arcane staffs, but this was a weird one to pick for that) I will be using it and possibly adding the oracle bubble spells so that I have something to do with the Arcane requirement late game. It utilizes all of the finger sorceries such as Glintstone Nail, Glintstone Nails, and Cherishing Fingers as well as both finger weapons. One hammer and one colossal weapon. An interesting combo, to be sure. It will also use the new finger summon and the finger robes which are VERY disturbing looking. Utilizes Morgott's Great Rune/ Radahn's Great Rune.

Blasphemous Knight: A Dexterity/Faith (optional intelligence) build that uses the Blasphemous Blade (Which, funny enough, I've actually never tried despite how popular it is!) and the Spear of the Impaler. It included the now-fixed Messmer's Flame Incantations which include Rain of Fire, Messmer's Orb, and Fire Serpent. It may optionally include Rykard's Rancor (which is where in intelligence requirement would come from since it needs a whopping 40 Intelligence!) and could possibly include the Blood Incantations but only if Arcane is added to the build, so that's not likely. The core build is just the Messmer fire incantations and the two remembrance weapons. Wears the Hoslow/Messmer Knight sets. Utilizes Rykard's Rune. Still seems like a fantastic build!

Putrescent Death Bird: A Strength/Intelligence/Faith/character with an optional touch of Arcane for status build-up. Themed after the Death Birds. Wears the Death Gravebird's Blackquill set. The set boosts jump attacks like the Raptor's Black Feathers set in the base game. They specialize in different types of death sorcery. They can cast spells such as Rykard's Rancor, Ancient Death Rancor, Spectrial Rings of Light, Explosive Ghostflame, and Vortex of Putrescence. Not Tibia's Summons, though. I have standards. Putrescence Cleaver, Helphen's Steeple, and the Spirit Glave. The Eclipse Great Shield would be a good pick. Essentially, It's a very fancy frost build. Utilizes Radahn's Great Rune.

Beastial Tree Sage: A Strength/Faith build focused on pure holy damage. (which is shockingly good in the DLC but more tricky in the late main game due to the number of bosses with extreme Holy resistance.) The weapons consist of two colossal weapons that both scale to Strength and Faith and an optional dagger for a faster option if needed. Those are the Great Club and the Shadow Sunflower Blossom. The dagger is the Cnquedea. The Erdtree Greatbow is also a great fit for this build and will be included as an additional ranged option. They would specialize in Beastial Incantations such as Stone of Gurranq and Gurranq's Beast Claw as well as Holy spells like Wrath of Gold, Elden Stars, Land of Shadow, and Crucible Incantations such as Thorns, Bloom, and Breath. Wears Freya's set and uses Radahn's Great Rune.

Fire Prelate: A build focusing on strength and Faith. Utalizes the Prelate's Inferno Crozier and the Cranial Vessel Candlestand. It also uses the Giant's Flame incantations, such as Giant's Flame Take Thee and Flame Fall Upon Them. Uses either the Hoslow Set or the Fire Prelate set for cosplay purposes. A very powerful and versatile fire build. Uses Radahn/Morgotts/Malenia' Great runes. BONK.

Spellblade Cannoneer: A Strength/Int Build using the Moonrithyll's Knight Sword, the Great Mace with Waves of Darkness, and Rabbath's Cannon. It also may use the Jellyfish Shield, Carian Dueling Shield, or the Cuckoo Great Shield. It utilizes Carian Sword Sorcery such as Magic Glintblade, Greatblade Phalanx, Carian Peircer, and Carian Greatsword. It also contains Glintstone Sorcery such as Gavel of Haima, Cannon of Haima, Spiral Shard, and Loretta's Greatbow, and Moon Sorceries such as Rellana's Twin Moons. It uses Relanna/Loretta's armor sets and Radahn's/Morgott's Great Rune.

SO! Thanks for reading! I appreciate your interest in my builds XD If you want the stat sheet for any of these, just let me know and I'll post them! And if you want to see these builds in action, I'll be streaming them on Twitch. I'm SkvaderStreams. Original, I know lol! But feel free to come and lurk. It's a good time! Thanks again! It's always fun having someone to share my build ideas with. If you ever want one, let me know!

Have a great day!

#Poll #tumblr polls #polls #Elden Ring #Elden Ring Builds #my polls #random polls #fun polls #poll time #thank you so much!

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vibratingskull · 1 year

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Can I request a human f-reader x Thrawn. Reader is a famous HoloNet actor. She is intrigued by Thrawn and flirts with him a bit. He asked her to go to an art gallery with him and she does. I leave the rest to you🙂

You certainly expected some fluff, but instead you'll get Thrawn realizing he needs therapy

Thrawn x f!reader

You wrap a part of your expensive coat over your figure while checking the time.

Any minutes now.

You readjust your sunglasses on your nose, careful to hide your identity. You got so much paparazzi after you lately. Not surprising for an actor of your standing but still as annoying.

Nobody should have followed you to an art museum, you’re more known to frequent the high restaurants and private clubs, not galleries. It should be a breath of fresh air for you, changing you from the daily routine.

The idea comes from the gentleman that you're waiting for, a polite Grand Admiral with blue skin and burning red eyes. He titillated your curiosity, he was truly an oddity in the system, how an alien could have become a Grand Admiral? You desperately wanted to know more, especially considering that he was a new face in this old and familiar gotha, a little bit of fresh blood. He was the only gentleman to not indulge in your cleavage the night of your meeting, which you appreciated and tried to get to know him better, although the press immediately labeled you a man eater for coming after the rising star of the year.

You sigh.

This stupid reputation is impossible to shake off, just because you found a new boyfriend too quickly after a rupture in the eyes of the public. Now every man under the sun expects you to sleep with them and is just waiting for their turn.

Idiots!

But not him.

He just patiently talked to you like he would have done anyone else, explaining his passion for art in minute details. He was calm when he talked to you but you could see the fire of his passion in his eyes as he spoke. You listened to him all night… When you revealed you didn’t know much about art he seemed a bit disappointed, but he smiled when you accepted his proposition to discover the latest art exhibition.

So here you are, waiting on the front steps of a museum with large sunglasses despite the rain, waiting for a mysterious gentleman for a delicate soiree full of knowledge and delicacies.

Or at least you hope.

You shiver with the wind and wrap yourself in your coat. Your stilettos are killing you, but your agent would kill you even more if you were surprised outside not wearing the latest trend of the luxurious brands.

“Lady (F/n)?” ask a deep melodic voice.

You raise your gaze to meet deep red orbs.

“Ah! Grand Admiral Thrawn, you’re right on time!” you praise him.

You check back your chrono, he’s in time down to the second! You blink, incredulous.

“Shall we go inside?” he proposes, offering his arm for support.

He ditched the white uniform for a burgundy turtleneck and white jacket, much more casual and, thankfully, discreet.

You take his arm with a smile, it eases the pain in your feet a bit.

“Yes! And by the way, I’m not a lady, I’m an actress, “miss” would do just fine.”

“But you are a famous actress, some call you a treasure of the cinema. Would it not be impolite to refer to you as anything else than a Lady?”

“Well, you have my explicit permission to refer to me as "miss "."

“Very well.” he nods, understanding.

He guides you inside the Museum with warm light and cold marble. You take off your glasses and hat.

“Is it wise?” he asks, concerned.

“Nobody expects me here, so they won’t see me.” you explain “Plus, out of the two you’re the most noticeable one!” you tease.

“You are probably right, miss.” he smiles lightly.

“So? What are we going to see?”

“You did not investigate the subject of the exhibition?” He raises an eyebrow.

You pout then smile at him, if you were a child you would have stuck your tongue out to him.

“Of course I know, but you were so passionate the other night when you talked about art, I was hoping to ignite the fire again.”

“I am passionate when I speak about art? I always thought I remained calm and collected to not disturb others.”

“You are calm and collected, but something immediately ignited in your gaze when you spoke about it, like a spark of a flame. It was fascinating to see!”

He tilts his head and holds his chin like he’s thinking.

“I never saw myself as fascinating, I am surprised you would define me in those terms.”

“Well it was very much the other night. You spoke all night long, we didn’t change the subject once!” you laugh.

“I… I am sorry if it bothered you. I will try to remain focused tonight.” he says almost pathetically. He seems genuinely surprised to have his demeanor pointed at, even in positive lights.

“Don’t be. I came here to see the art nerd that you can be. Now let’s go!” You grasp his arm firmer and pull him into the gallery.

___________________________________________________

He never shuts up.

He always has something to say about a piece.

He’s really lucky you find this absolutely adorable.

Even though, to be fair, you’re not helping him to shut up with all your questions. Each time he finishes speaking you ask something, putting a coin in the machine again and he goes for another 15 to 20 minutes of explanations.

You ask as much because you're curious than because you revel in him talking. He has such a voice… you refrain from biting your lips in front of him.

At some point you sit down on a bench, in front of a painting he’s explaining to you, but you have eyes only on his haughty profile, such majesty in his features, such fineness…

“You are not listening.” he finally lets out.

“I have never been so focused in my life.” you breathe.

“Despite that, you are not looking at the paintings.”

“I have found another piece of art, much more interesting.” you whisper with a sugary voice.

“Really? Where?” he asks with sparkling eyes, looking over the room to find it.

You can’t help but giggle.

He’s so cute.

“I am talking about you, Grand Admiral.” your lips caresses his ear and you put the emphasis on his title.

He turns back to you with… Surprise? Concern? You don’t know but he certainly gots an expression right now.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” you insist.

Maybe he’s just a bit headstrong.

“I do not follow.”

You purse your lips. What? He’s playing with you?

“What do you not follow? You proposed to me on a date in an art gallery and here I am! As you wished! I’m just going with the flow.”

“I…” now he does seem surprised “I wanted to show you the exhibition.”

What is he…

Oh.

Oh….

“You…” you let out “You didn’t… You wanted… You were just interested in the gallery?”

“Yes.”

Ouch.

This one hurts.

You feel the wave of shame of rejection washing over you. You cross your arms to hug yourself.

“I am sorry if you thought it was something else.” He says infuriatingly gently “It never crossed my mind, I-”

“Yes, okay, no need to twist the knife!” you answer abruptly.

He seems taken aback, but you can’t look him in the eyes now.

You’re so embarrassed!

“You do not understand, it didn’t cross my mind because… I do not define myself outside of my work. Such prospects and opportunities… evade me constantly.” He tries to explain.

You turn to him, raising an eyebrow. What is he on about?

He seems as embarrassed as yourself, like a deer between headlights.

“I just work constantly to reach my goals. And outside of that my life is empty.” He continues.

You open your eyes round.

“Do you realize how sad that sounds?” you finally ask after a minute of embarrassed silence.

“It hitted me as I spoke, yes.” he simply says, eyes in the void “But that is how it is.”

You would have never imagined that, him who was so full of confidence the other night, seemed like someone with a life full and exciting, meeting people at every corner.

“You have nothing? Absolutely nothing? Not even a friend?” you inquire.

“I do have a friend, several even.” he says quietly.

You’re not convinced at all.

“What do you do all day?”

“I work.”

“And during your leisure times?”

“I work… and go to art galleries”

“You don’t meet people?”

“People rarely want to be disturbed when at a museum, and I am often absorbed by the pieces.”

So it’s none? Nada? Zero? You’re suddenly very worried for him now.

“So you never go to a cinema with your friends? You don’t go on coffee dates? You don’t lounge with a loved one?”

“No.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?” you press him.

“No.” he responds, but it looks like his situation downs on him.

“You-”

You’re silenced by a flash that burns your eyes.

“What the?”

Then suddenly, an armada of flashes crackles around you as you try to protect your eyes.

Paparazzis!

You curse yourself, they find you!

As you're about to shout at them to leave you Thrawn seizes your hand and starts running. You follow him the best you can with your heels through the long corridors of the gallery, you hear the crowd of journalists following, their steps thundering behind you.

Hurry!

You’re being thrown into a dark room with Thrawn following. You hear the army of journalists passing by the door as you try to catch your breath from the sudden sprint. You’re in some sort of space for brooms and vacuums, a staff only area.

“It was an error to come here.” Thrawn finally says, having recovered his stern and calm demeanor. He looks at you with a hard gaze, making you shiver.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“You tricked me. You knew I do not navigate well in politics and took advantage of it.”

“Wha- What are you on about?” you’re completely lost.

“I have heard the Ministry of propaganda is pulling the strings between certain entities of the State to strengthen the message and offer an appearance of coalition to the population. A Grand Admiral and a famous seductress actress on a date must be perfect for them.”

You look at him with round eyes.

So that’s what he truly thought, that you manipulated him to go on a date for journalists to take juicy pictures of two famous figures of the Empire happy together. You’ve heard of that last communication campaign of the Propaganda Ministry, but you didn’t pay it any attention. Now you understand better the enthusiasm of your agent when you told them you had a date with Thrawn.

Maker damn it! How could you have been so blind?

“Listen, I am sorry. I never planned for it to happen, I swear the only hope I had when coming here was to know you better.”

He looks at you like he’s gauging you, but you don’t back down.

“It’s true, I would have not trapped you like that. I know how annoying it can be to have them on your back and having your image manipulated to fit a narrative.”

He raises an eyebrow after a long minute of silence.

“You do not seem to be lying.” he finally admits.

“I am not. I am as surprised as you are.” you insist.

“Alright, I will concede you this point. I-”

He cuts out, grasps your arm again and pulls you against his broad chest, pressing you both against the wall. You’re about to ask what he’s doing when the door opens, letting light enter the dark room, but you’re protected by the back of the door and invisible.

It’s a paparazzi, still looking for you apparently.

“Hey! That is a staff only room, get out!” you hear a voice behind them, and they close back the door leaving you both alone.

You let out your breath, but you don’t budge from your position, pressed against his large chest, maybe a bit cheekily you let your palm on his breast. You feel safe in his arms.

Strangely he doesn’t release you, but he seems too concentrated on the sound of steps out of the room to even realize it, maybe he thinks the danger is not away enough.

You raise your head to admire his profile, his shining red eyes in the dark. You can smell his cologne, a mix of chemistry scents, lavender and honey. He smells really good.

He finally lets you go, looking down at you from his height.

“I am sorry for this abrupt reaction.” he presents his excuses.

“No, it’s nothing. You got really sharp reflexes.” you praise him timidly, a bit intimidated by his stature. “Hum… You know, I can teach you, if you want?” you try.

“What do you mean?”

“To take time for yourself, to relax properly. If you trust me enough, of course…”

It’s been a while since you served such bad pick up lines, but something tells you he won’t pick up on that.

“I told you my life pleased me like that.” he blocks you with.

“Really? You did not seemed that certain back on the bench, in all honesty you seemed more lost than anything else.” you counter.

“It is just-” He says angrily but he instantly calms down.

Clearly he’s not used to having his life dissected like that by someone else, contrary to you.

“I am content with this situation.” he finishes more gently.

“You are content, but are you happy?”

“My happiness does not matter.”

“Wha… Of course it does!” you say furious.

“No, it never has and it never will, my goals are more important.”

“Do your goals take you so much time that you can’t even indulge yourself with a friend?”

“I told you I have friends here.”

“Really, how many?”

“Two.”

You never heard something that sad in a while.

“Let me guess, those plentiful two friends are also your colleagues?”

“Yes.”

You have the sudden urge to shake him violently.

“Do you hear yourself? Do you TRULY hear yourself?”

“I do. But what I fail to understand is why you care so much about my life.” he answers placidly.

“I don’t know?! Maybe because I met a nice gentleman one night and he seemed polite and gentle? And I hoped to know him better? Maybe more? And then he just dumped on me the most heartbreaking situation I ever heard off and he says he’s contempt with it? What I know for sure it’s that if he didn’t clumsily propose to me on a date we would not be in this situation in the first place!” You shout.

He seems to bite the inside of his cheek, looking straight into your eyes.

“It is useless.” he finally says and extends his hand towards the knob of the door.

“WAIT!” you stop him. “Wait. I shouldn't have said that, but you telling me your happiness didn’t matter got to me.” you explain trying to hold him back.

He looks at you once more, gathering the pros and cons of staying with you in this closet.

He finally turns fully to you and clasps his hands behind his back.

“I am listening.”

“It’s just… It’s heartbreaking to hear. How could you say that about yourself?”

“You know nothing of my situation.”

“And nobody will if you don’t let them reach you. Why would you say that? Why would your happiness not matter? You’re a Grand Admiral of the Empire, you have the right to be happy too.”

“It is interesting that you list my standing as a condition, would my happiness not count for you if I was not a Grand Admiral?”

You wince, he’s really gonna fight you on semantics right now?

“What I mean is everyone’s happiness matters. Why yours would not?”

“I already told you, my goals are far more important.”

“But why would one have to clash with the other? Why not reaching your goals and be happy?”

“Maybe my future happiness depends on my success in reaching my goals, did you think of that?”

“What kind of grand goal are you pursuing to neglect yourself like that?”

“Security. Absolute control over the uncertainty of the universe to protect each life from greater evil.”

“For the Empire?

“For everyone.”

“But you do realize it is impossible, right?” You try reasoning him “You will never be able to control each parameter to the degree of perfection needed to provide security as you envision it? You’re just running a race you’re bound to lose.”

“Maybe. It will not prevent me from trying.” He doesn’t let go.

“You will just burn yourself, consuming your soul to complete annihilation. It is not sustainable.”

“Somebody has to.” He simply remarks, but you hear a touch of sadness in his voice despite his clear gaze.

“It doesn’t have to be you.”

“It might as well be. I was the only one worrying about it back there and I am the only one worrying now.”

“Back there?” you remark.

“Forget it! My point is: I am the only one capable of doing it, I am the only capable of carrying the weight of what it entails, I am the only one capable of paying the cost.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

Now you’re just sad. Does he truly have to bear all of that or did he convince himself he had a higher mission than everyone else?

“Be not mistaken, I am aware of my own capacities and limitations. That is why I am the only one fitting the job.”

“You speak so highly of yourself for someone who looked so shaken back on the bench. Do you have to bear this weight alone?”

“But I am not alone. I have my two friends, or “colleagues” as you called them with an acid tone.”

You purse your lips. He gots the thickest head you ever met!

“Are three people really sufficient to save the universe?”

“I have got a whole system behind me to help me in my quest.”

“And that system will still be here for you once you’re done?”

“It will welcome me back with open arms.”

Welcoming back ? Then he's not talking about the Empire ? Then who ? His people that exiled him ?

"And while you're here ? Who takes care of you ? Who dresses your wounds ? Who hugs you during hard times?"

"I take care of myself. Like I said, I alone can bear the weight of that mission."

"And why do you do it ? For a medal ? For recognition ?"

He shakes his head.

"Sometimes hard work bears its own fruits. I do it because it is necessary."

You lower your shoulders. He doesn't budge whatever you say, you can't get to him.

It's disheartening to see.

“So that’s all? You’re just gonna let yourself fall as long as you win?”

“Who says I am falling?”

“You did, when you negated your own worth as an individual being and right to happiness.”

“Are you not a tad dramatic?”

You pout.

“I’m an actress. That is my job to be dramatic, but that also means I’m good at picking up when someone is masking and playing a comedy.”

“So you hypothesize I am masking and playing a comedy to the rest of the universe?”

“I don’t hypothesize, I affirm it and you’re playing it to yourself.”

He remains silent.

“I don’t know how you manage to do it, but you convinced yourself that your worth was measured by your success in your career and your capacities to carry out your duties…”

He raises an eyebrow without stopping you.

“But that is not how things work, you matter as an individual being and your worth exceeds your success and failures. I don’t know how to tell it for you to take it seriously but you need therapy. A LOT of therapy.”

He holds his chin, pensively.

“Well, we got therapists for post traumatic stress in the Navy.”

You shake your head. Well at least he didn’t outright reject the idea.

“No. It’s deeper than post traumatic stress, you must be carrying that since far longer.”

“Oh, you are a therapist yourself?” He slightly grin.

You give him a black look.

“I’m serious, Grand Admiral.”

“Let us say I follow your advice. I go on therapy and then what? Will you be happy?”

“And then I don’t know. Try gardening, write a book, fuck someone and dump them the next day, try all the coffees of Coruscant, collect dvd’s, find yourself new hobbies. Live for yourself for once.”

“And find new friends?” He teases again.

“Yes! Plenty of friends, build yourself a new system dedicated to your well being.”

“And you hope you will be among them?”

You shrug.

“Why not? You stayed to listen to me in this little closet, why not continue over a beer or a coffee?”

“Well, it is an interesting proposition.” He grins “You got some boldness to suggest a Grand Admiral of the Empire needs therapy and friends.”

You grin back.

“Keep me in your circle and you’ll see what I am truly capable of.”

His grin vanishes as he recovers his collected attitude. You see a touch of pain in his gaze.

“What you suggest will take years of unmaking.”

You extend your hand to him with a comforting smile.

“Taking care of one self is a battle of every moment. And that is why having friends is important, to support you through your inner changes.”

He looks at your hand, considering it.

“Is it a pure proposition, or are you hoping for more?”

You wince, he didn’t lose track of that little point. He’s less clueless than you hoped.

“No, you’re right.” You choose honesty, you don’t want to tell him lies “I have hopes it leads to something more.”

He remains silent once more, lowering his head.

“I can not promise anything.”

“I know, but aren’t you willing to try too? To see for yourself, what life can offer you?” you graze his hand with your pinkie finger.

He opens his mouth to close it again.

“We can start as simple friends, and see where it leads us. Maybe nowhere, maybe to something great....”

“I do not like uncertainty,” he counters.

“It is the spice of life.” You smile comfortingly.“I can accompany you through it.”

He hesitantly takes your hand and you squeeze it. His skin is warm and soft.

“It will be your first step towards a healed self.”

And you oh so gently came to press your lips on his cheek.

He doesn’t reject you.

“Well!” You exclaim “We still have to escape those raptors of journalists.”

“You have a plan?” He asks.

“Trust me, I became a master at escaping them. Follow me!”

And you burst out of the closet together, holding his hand firmly, ready to take up any challenges.

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar

@thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics

#thrawn x reader #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x y/n #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth’raw’nuruodo #fanfic #vibratingskull

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zoeyslament · 4 months

Text

~~red wine supernova~~

estelle has never seen zoey this drunk. luckily, her girlfriend is pretty cute either way

Estelle’s face flushed as red as the glass of wine on the table before her as she stared across at Zoey, who was slouched over in her chair, swirling her drink around in one hand. Her lipstick was smudged onto her chin, grinning wildly. “That’s the good shit.” She took another swig, then motioned to Estelle’s glass. “You gonna finish that?”

Estelle picked it up, smirking at her girlfriend. “You’re drunk.” She noted, standing up and tucking her skirt back down around her ankles. She swayed slightly as she carried herself to the kitchen counter, setting the glass of wine down there. “And you have work in the morning. Nora won’t appreciate it if you come in hungover.”

Zoey seemed to ponder this for a moment before polishing off her drink. “So? She knows it’s date night.” The brunette stumbled to her feet, shuffling out into the kitchen and leaning over, hugging her girlfriend from behind.

Estelle rolled her eyes lightheartedly, feeling Zoey’s long, chestnut brown hair blowing into her face as her lover’s head fell onto her shoulder. “Do you mind? I have dishes to do.” She wriggled away, turning and placing a kiss onto Zoey’s cheek.

“Estelleeeee, come onnnnn~” She whined. “Let’s go sleep together, let’s go…let’s go kiss or something.” She sounded like a 5 year old who couldn’t decide what she wanted for dinner, pouting, sharp green orbs settling onto Estelle’s own amber owl eyes, unblinking.

“Zoey, go sit down. I told you to go light on the drinks.” Estelle turned on the water, tossing a dish towel over her shoulder. “Besides, we can’t do any of that stuff tonight. Drunk sex kills, you know. You get careless.”

“But…that makes it fun. Sloppy and wet and…squishy.” Zoey giggled to herself and hiccuped. Estelle had never seen her so drunk, which made her wonder what the hell the brunette had been guzzling.

“Thank you for the descriptors, baby girl.” Estelle tested the water with two fingers, wincing at the rush of heat that hit them. “Maybe when you’ve sobered up.”

Zoey didn’t seem keen on taking no for an answer. “Please? Please, Estelle? Come on, you know you want me!”

“Not when you’re stumbling over your own words.” Estelle didn’t even turn to look at her, focusing all her attention on rinsing the dishes. “You can’t consent when you’re drunk, didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

“I’m consenting just fine!” Zoey protested. “See? I’m on the couch! I’m gonna take my clothes off! Can I have your wine now?”

“No.” Estelle said, gentle and stern. “This isn’t a club where you can just get buzzed and bang.” She sighed, the realization that she wasn’t going to be getting the dishes done. Zoey was spread out on the couch legs flying apart the moment Estelle looked her way. Estelle dried her hands and hung the dish towel back up on its hook, padding towards the couch.

She could see Zoey’s eyes glimmer in excitement, but ignored it and just sat down, crossing her legs, right over left. Zoey frowned.

“You had me all ready and then you go do this? Come on, Estelle! I’m starving!”

“We just ate!” Estelle chuckled, taking Zoey by the shoulder and pulling her up so they were sitting, side by side on the sofa, leaning against one another.

“Not for food,” Zoey clarified matter-of-factly. “For pussy.”

Estelle stifled a laugh. She’d never seen Zoey so out of it, but she had to hand it to her girlfriend: even when heavily intoxicated, she knew what she wanted.

“If you were so hungry, you wouldn’t have filled up on wine. Was that even what you were drinking? You seem way more…you know.”

“Hot?” Zoey fluttered her long, dark lashes, to which Estelle immediately replied: “No.”

The brunette leaned forward, her slightly alcohol-tainted breath tickling Estelle’s nose as the ginger made eye contact with her lover. Zoey was drinking her all in: soft skin dotted with freckles, wide, caramel-hued eyes, unruly curls the color of autumn leaves, plump lips and slightly crooked, but pure white teeth.

She cracked a smile. “You’re pretty. Are you single?”

“Zoey, we’re dating.”

#ocs: estelle #latte catte #not gonna maintag this

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pancake-breakfast · 1 year

Text

I've lost track of what migraine day I'm on, but Trigun Book Club persists and so shall I.

Stream-of-consciousness thoughts for TriMax Vol. 13, Chapters 4-6 below.

Chapter 4: Black

Voiceover Narration: Little did Livio know, but both the hat and the cape provided him with a +10 bonus to strength in addition to the moral boost. Someday, he would open up the stat screen for both and discover this, and then he would weep grateful tears that those who had so little gave him so much.

Oh, Elendira's got her own stat boost outfit, I guess.

I love how much tone she has in her voice. Between her body language and the translation, she's just a very easy character to hear in your head.

Ok, this panel is badass.

Ooh, she actually landed a hit on him. Hasn't done that in a bit.

Why's she sizzling? Is it because she's on fire right now?

(Also, she might be in full badass mode, but goshdarnit, she better not seriously injure my Livio. He's important to me and needs to live!)

Aaaand we're back to Legato's monstrosity.

Dude. He has to save some for fighting Knives, dummy. He's not Gojo utilizing Limitless and being able to just go forever. He's going through his Last Run. There's a hard stop to his power and it's coming up quick.

Hahahahaha, these poor guards. Space ships are, like, history bordering on mythology nowadays. They'd be more mythological if their bones weren't scattered across the planet. Seeing an actual functioning one that came from actual space would be quite something.

That's RIGHT, Luida's the one in charge!

Vance? As in advance? I mean, I know it's an actual name, but it's not a very common one and Nightow really seems to like just making names up, anyway....

Ok, so... Knives has always been a bit OP, but what I'm gathering from the Earth Fleet presentation is that this is a bit ridiculous even by the standards of a culture used to Plants.

Ok, I already have questions about how they know about any particular individual. I'm guessing they gleaned a lot of relevant information out of the remnants of Domina, but yeah.

Goshdarn, of course they were hoping to find Vash....

Dramatic Legato pose!

Man, why'd he get so sweaty all of a sudden? That can't be comfortable.

Awww, Legato's little toy got wrecked. TBH, that looks more like Knives' work than Vash's... but that's only because it's hard to tell the curvature of the cut. Knives tends to do straight cuts while Vash destroys things in orbs.

Ugh, Vash might look badass, but he does not look good. Someone get him a sports drink or something to perk him up. Do Plants love electrolytes in this world?

I wonder who the other two were. Knives and pre-bagworm Legato?

Uh, oh. Guess who's back. You done threatened Livio too much, Elendira.

Chapter 5: Battle of the Mystics

Yeah, Raz doesn't fuck around....

It's weird seeing Raz with short hair. Like, Livio with short hair? Not as cool as if he'd cleaned it up but kept it long, but it was so uneven I get it. Raz with long hair and that undercut? Good for his level of chaos. Short-haired Raz? Just feels too restrained for him.

"Some dumbasses," huh? That's a rude (but perhaps not inaccurate) way to refer to Wolfwood and Vash.

I do appreciate how much more intense and unhinged Raz is compared to Livio. Even Elendira seems a bit taken aback by the mood switch in her opponent.

Oh, that's right. He's used to wielding full-out punishers rather than the double-fangs.

He's gonna burn through ammo so fast using them like that. It's a good thing the guns in this series have ammo in plot amounts.

LOL, Elendira is already sick of Razlo's shit.

Uh. That's a lot of nails. I don't like this. She's being mean to my boy.

Oh, gods. I'm not sure even he can survive this.

OH GOOD IT WASN'T REAL. Dammit, Nightow. Don't scare me like that.

Oof, he's still not in good shape. :/

Chapter 6: Tag-In A Person

I feel like... Livo and Razlo are gonna tag-team this fight somehow....

Mmm, seems like Raz can't deal with Elendira's bloodlust.

Elendira! He needed that leg!

Oof, tiny Wolfwood memory....

The way Elendira says this makes me think she has some experience being on the receiving end of this herself.

Look at him. Pumped full of nails again, but still going. He's a freaking machine.

Ok, I love how Nightow has used the dialog bubble to let us know that Livio is back in control here. It's a small thing, but excellent use of the medium.

I love this conversation between Livio and Razlo. It's Livio making peace with himself, with him recognizing his alter and... sort of validating Razlo's existence, I guess? That Razlo is him and isn't him, and that's ok, and they are part of a tandem structure?

Oooh, are they both fronting? Or... like... Livio's fronting, but Razlo's kinda there, too. I'm not sure how much that works with DID, but it's interesting from a narrative perspective.

Again, wonderful bit of paneling here.

Hahahaha, he didn't even bother to remove the nails. I realize this is a way of telling us that someone is a badass, but... like... having holes in your muscles and/or tendons seriously mucks with your range of motion. If you have a healing factor, get that shit out of the way so it can kick in. Otherwise, you're limiting yourself pretty severely. Like, he shouldn't be able to stretch out to his full wingspan with stuff popping through his back like that. Ok, I'll stop. I know I shouldn't expect realistic anatomical consequences in this series.

Wait, where's Vash? I'm worried about babygirl....

Heheheheh, backwards-firing gun trick shot. Again.

Oh, this is lovely. He's fighting right now with a balance neither side of him generally displays.

Ooh, he got a solid hit on her.

Heheheheheh, mind Razlo still has the mohawk. As he should.

Elendira's got her priorities straight. Kill first, ask questions later.

There's something very satisfying (and maybe very important) about Livio praising Razlo. Not just leaning on him when he's afraid, but honoring Razlo's skill and technique and complimenting him on it. Raz wanted so bad to be needed and to be praised, and now he's getting the praise from probably the person he needed it from the most.

Wait. Wait, is Razlo going somewhere??

What's coming next that's so bad that Raz isn't sure he can keep up with it??