#that would be so sexy of her

[readingbatfamficsat3am]

the way i would not give a fuck if a Throne of Glass tv adaptation was the biggest dumpster fire on earth as long as there was one (1) scene of queen mother Manon Blackbeak covered head to toe in blood.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The Quest Continues...

(part 1- part 2)

[evostrashbin]

pondering Nihility all by yourself, handsome?

[benevolenterrancy]

this description made me realise what one of my favourite MXTX character tropes is: Over-Worked, Under-Appreciated Employee Who Is Not Above Becoming Somewhat Evil About It

[vaggietheangel]

Pov: You're Vaggie entering hell.

Hide away if it was accurate.

[rayghosts]

"there should be more problematic women in media" you guys couldnt even handle allison hargreeves in season 3

[possamble]

farcille postcanon characterization warmup that got way out of hand. beware, here be spoilers, dragoncock, and bottoming as an extreme sport.

~~~

Marcille has always loved Falin’s voice. Soft, high, airy and girlish—it was always as gentle as the rest of her, even in the midst of pitched combat. When things went to hell in a handbasket, it was always Falin’s whispery incantations that kept Marcille grounded as blood and monster guts sailed through the air. 

And that hasn’t changed. No amount of dragon could really change that, Marcille thinks. Yes, she she has moments when her voice becomes rough and ragged and guttural, mostly when she’s swinging her mace or her fists, or gritting her teeth through a monster claw stuck into her side. But maybe that urge to growl was always there, and she’s just finally able to voice it now. Marcille finds that she’s loud at times she would have been silent before—grunting with exertion when she would have grimaced quietly, singing some nonsense melody over a mundane task when she would have hummed it under her breath—and that’s a good thing.

But otherwise, nothing has changed. Falin’s voice is as delicate as ever, chiming in a lilting giggle behind a dainty gesture of her hand. Rustling like pages of well-loved books as she casts her protective wards, or ponders over how to cook a new monster, or murmurs right into Marcille’s ear while she…

Well. While she’s got Marcille bent over her own desk with her nightgown pooled at her ankles. Marcille’s not sure if it’s rude or considerate that she didn’t get a chance to dress herself before she had a girthy cock shoved up her cunt first thing in the morning. 

“Marcille,” Falin whispers, unfairly shaky as if she’s the one getting fucked within an inch of her life. She’s mouthing at Marcille’s neck, draped over her and pressing as close as possible in every way, gripping Marcille’s hands tight and keening like she’s found heaven between her legs. “Marcille, Marcille…” 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that she gets to do that, that she gets to sound like that—with that sweet voice she’s always had, now making obscene little noises that are still whispery fine and almost ethereal coming from her mouth. These quiet, barely voiced sighs that puff against Marcille’s ear, the dulcet moans that thrum against her skin, and that demure little gasp when she thrusts a little harder and somehow finds even more space inside Marcille to bottom out in—

“Marcille…” she whimpers like she’s in pain, on the verge of tears, fingers tight between Marcille’s as they grip the edge of the rattling desk together. “You feel—so good, oh… You’re”—another moan buried just behind her ear—"so wet, so good…” 

It’s not like Marcille got the chance to be anything else right now, did she? Not when Falin fell upon her just as she was sorting through her documents, pressed against her back and already unfastening the clasps of her gown and slipping it off her shoulders. She was fully naked before she even got a playful good morning whispered into her ear—it’s a miracle she had the forethought to push her papers out of the way just before Falin had her wrapped around her finger in the most literal sense. 

Well. Fingers in the plural, really, since she always starts with two. Usually while pawing at Marcille’s tit with her other hand until her stupid knees give out and she ends up buckling over whatever surface is nearby—in this case, her desk, mercifully free of any uncapped inkwells at the moment. Now slathered with sweat that makes her tits slip and slide along the wooden varnish, of course, but otherwise non-disastrous. 

Hopefully her nightgown is catching most of the mess running down her thighs, or she’s going to have to make the most humiliating request to the castle staff about her carpets for the third time this month—

“Yes…!” Falin digs her heels in and fucks her even harder, taken with some kind of mindless momentum all of a sudden. “I love you,” she pants in that stupid—feathery, daisy-light tone that has no business being this sweet while she’s ravaging Marcille like this— “you’re perfect, you’re perfect—” 

Marcille’s going to die like this. This is how she’s going to go: Bleating like an animal with her cheek stuck to her desk with drool, eyes just permanently rolled back in her head, toes barely touching the floor as Falin keeps fucking her further onto the desk. She hasn’t said a single coherent word since her second orgasm however many minutes ago, just broken into an endless stream of guttural noises as her cunt slobbers and squelches around Falin’s cock almost as loudly as she’s wailing. 

“Marcille,” Falin keens, sounding like a bashful princess ravished to breathlessness—just something straight out of a high-minded erotica novel—all while hammering Marcille into the desk at a shallow, breakneck pace. “You feel—feel s–o good, you’re perfect, oh—oh, you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, I love you, I love you—” 

For the love of—fuck. Marcille can distantly hear herself scream, can feel the desk digging into her as she flails, her grasp on sanity getting thinner and thinner with each word that tumbles out of Falin’s mouth and shoots straight through her nerves. She’s—good god, she’s not usually this talkative. It’s almost always Marcille begging and blabbering about how much she wants Falin’s cock, how good it feels, how she wants it harder and faster and more, screaming and crying Falin’s name over and over—

But now, in the absence of Marcille’s pathetic yapping—after she’s already fucked the words out of Marcille so thoroughly—Falin’s taken it upon herself to murmur a stream of honeyed nonsense into her ear, her frail and gentle voice breaking with desperation—and fuck, it’s not fair.

“Yes, yes, oh—” Falin sobs into her neck. “I love it—I love it when you sound like this, I love you—you’re so good, so good for me, my Marcille—” 

No, no, no, she can’t do that, she can’t do that—she can’t say that, in that voice, while her cock is so deep in Marcille there’s hardly room for anything else, battering all her nerve endings and rearranging her so that there’s nothing left but her, Falin, Falin—

“Ah!” Falin cries out, like she’s the one getting reamed against her stupid fucking desk so hard she can barely breathe— “Yes, please, please—please say my name again!” 

Well. She can beg all she fucking wants, but it’s not going to be pretty and she has no one to blame but herself—it’s her fault Marcille can hardly speak, it’s her fault her name is only coming in rough wails with both syllables separated with heaving, crying breaths. Marcille gives it her all, scrapes whatever intelligence she has left to speak, and sounds like a dying animal in a way that can’t possibly be anything but hideous to listen to—

And still, Falin sobs, as if in utter ecstasy as she fucks Marcille so hard the desk starts scraping along the floor in harsh jumps. 

“Yes, yes—ah—” Her voice, not so whispery gentle now but still so melodious and clear, sounding out from deep in her chest— “I—love—you—” she weeps, punctuated by the hard slams of the desk against the floor as she drops the rapid pace in favor of mercilessly hard thrusts— “Beautiful—perfect—mine!” 

Then she finally, finally comes—not that it stops her, not with how she thrusts with every spurt. Like she’s not just satisfied with letting it spill out, like she needs to fuck it into Marcille with all her strength, once, twice, then one last time, stuffing her cunt absolutely full with searing heat—

And Marcille doesn’t even realize she’s coming until she’s unceremoniously ejected out the other side of the high, that telltale swoop of vertigo rushing through her veins. The orgasm doesn't even have the grace to let her go limp with afterglow, of course, and she’s left there convulsing and twitching like a drowning fish. With her jaw pressed to the desk, she can actually hear her teeth chatter from how hard she’s shaking, Falin’s warm weight on her be damned. 

(One day. One day, she’ll stop embarrassing herself like this—one day she’ll finish like a normal person during sex, instead of going off like a cheap firework every half hour and wringing an orgasm out of herself as soon as she feels Falin finish inside her, whether or not she even had one left in her to begin with.) 

“M-Marcille,” Falin stammers, her voice breathless but now shy and girlish again as she slowly untangles their hands. “Are you—are you okay?” 

The gall. To ask her that, when she’s nothing but a sweaty carcass slung over her desk, still twitching erratically. To be so gentle as she straightens up and kisses the back of her neck, tenderly brushing her hair to the side as she pulls out ever so slowly—

And still. Not. Slowly. Enough—apparently! Not with the sparks that explode in Marcille’s eyes again, utterly unclear if this is another orgasm or just a particularly brutal aftershock! She just goes squeaking and shaking and sliding off the desk onto her knees, hands clapped over her cunt like they’re going to protect her from the lightning racing up and down her spine. She doesn’t even know where she landed, really, convulsing and closing her thighs around her hand as cum and slick drools into her palms, falling forward and— and smacking her head against the edge of her desk.

“Oh!” Feathered arms clasp around her before she can slide past the wood with her sweaty forehead and land on her face. “Careful—are you okay?” 

The gall. The audacity. The—something, or whatever, fuck, Marcille doesn’t even care anymore. Her head throbs with an oncoming bruise, she can’t feel her legs, she can feel her pussy way too much, and it’s a wonder she hasn’t fallen apart on the spot—

“Okay… let’s…” There’s some maneuvering going on, but hell if Marcille can actually tell what Falin’s doing. “Here, let’s take a bath—I’ll go draw some water.” 

Marcille whines, because no—she doesn’t know where she is, she just twists until her face finds feathers and buries herself there. She even manages to bring one cum-covered hand to grip at the quils, because this mess is Falin’s fault and if she doesn't like it then she can wash it off herself—but she’s not allowed to leave. 

A little chuckle under her breath—and it’s so fucking cute and girlish like she hasn’t just demolished a full grown woman to the brink of unconsciousness, but Marcille can’t even find it in herself to be mad. Falin can ask her whatever the hell she wants, do whatever the hell she wants, so long as she doesn’t let go. 

“I’m bringing you with me, I promise,” Falin whispers so tenderly, pressing a kiss to Marcille’s head. There’s arms tightening around her back and under her knees, and she feels herself being lifted. “I wouldn’t leave you like that…” 

Better not, Marcille grumbles to herself. Not sure if it made it past her mouth, but it doesn’t matter. Falin’s going to take responsibility for turning her morning into—into this, even if it means having to draw some bathwater with an elf clinging to her the entire time. She’s going to be the one to wash her off, bring her their missed breakfast, and tell everyone why she wasn’t there at the morning meeting—

Maybe not that last part. 

“I’m sorry,” she hears, in that soft and whispery tone she’s loved for so many years. That voice that didn’t change, even with everything that happened—everything that Marcille did to her, and it’s—

It would be so, incredibly stupid if she started crying out of nowhere. 

“Liar,” she whines, digging the indignant annoyance back up to pout like a spoiled brat. “You liked… every second…” 

Another giggle that so infuriatingly lovely. “I did.” The sound of a squeaky valve turning, then rushing water that slaps against stone. “Did you?” 

Marcille just grumbles again and clings even tighter. Falin just laughs a little louder and strokes her hair, too kind to demand an answer in so many words—or, perhaps, impishly content to let Marcille incriminate herself with her silence, as she so often does.

[breegadey]

i see... i see...

[forgotmysword]

Sorry to all the girlies mad about the possibility of alicent going to oldtown instead of dragonstone in the finale but im here for the long haul. I want alicent exhausting every last option before going to rhaenyra. I want her as desperate as possible, begging for forgiveness after fully coming to terms with her life and her sacrifices truly being all for nothing. The day her life ended was the day otto had her go comfort viserys. Her and rhaenyra being torn apart was where it all went wrong. But maybe her youngest son, who she didn’t raise, who wasn’t poisoned by her or life in king’s landing, could be the one who saves her.

But he won’t be.

Bc in the end, even in chains, it will be rhaenyra who sets alicent free. It was always going to be rhaenyra.

[esmes]

look at me baby, dead in my eyes it's the end of our holiday, but it isn't goodbye carry me with you all of the time eat of me baby, skin to the bone body on body, until I'm all gone but I'm with you, inside

🎥 @theriddletrades

[deejadabbles]

Take a Ride (Rex x fem!Reader) Spice!

Summary: Rex had always had amazing thighs, but now there was only one fantasy you wanted to fulfill with them.

Fem reader, no mentions of physical description.

This is a 18+ content! Minors be gone!

A.N: So, after @littlemissmanga gave her analysis of Rex's armor in this post, I had way too many thots about how to abuse that armor. This is the result! Nothing but filth here folks. I sort of had a jedi reader in mind when writing this, but that's never explicitly stated, just has general "forbidden relationship" vibes.

Word Count: 3388

Warnings: Thigh riding, slightly dominant Rex, secret relationships, dirty talk, armor kink (sort of?), clothed male, praising, mutual masturbation, porn with minimal plot (riding Rex's thigh into the sunset. that's it. that's the plot)

Rex was a smart man. Observant, tactical, intuitive. And you were an open book to him.

Or at least, that’s how it felt whenever you locked eyes across the room. You didn’t have to spell out your desires to him, not now, not after so long of learning every inch of each other. He didn’t need you to bite your lip or bat your eyelashes, it was all there in the subtlety of your gaze, the rise of your chest, the clench of your fingers.

All he had to do was catch your gaze, and he knew what you wanted.

It was good, for so so many reasons, but paramount among them was the fact that you could hardly flirt so openly with him. The two of you had to learn to communicate with nothing more than the smallest of gestures, the shortest of glances. The only times you could truly call out to each other, beg for each other, demand each other, was in the stolen moments of a locked office or cheap hotel on Coruscant.

So really, it shouldn’t have come as a shock, that he could read your wants, when he caught you staring at something more specific than his whole (damn sexy) person.

No one could blame you. Rex always had amazing thighs, you loved biting them as you teased him mercilessly, loved gripping them when you had him moaning at your mouth, and you loved being tangled in them as he buried himself inside you. You had always loved his thighs, but this made something new flare in you, now that you had noticed a certain…detail in the new clone armor.

How had you never noticed it before? Every free moment you had near him was taken up with staring him up and down, knowing you’d never get your fill of him. You had memorized every inch of his body, gazed endlessly at the armor that kept him alive day after day.

So why had it only been when he pounded you from behind while in full armor that you noticed his tassets had ridges to them?

Your body throbbed at the memory, the way he had sought you out the moment he was back on the ship after weeks apart, the way he had ripped your clothes off with such desperate need, the way he took you hard and impatient.

It was only in that moment that you felt them digging in, the subtle little peaks cresting the full length of the armor piece. And now they were all you could think about. Rex had always had amazing thighs, but now there was only one fantasy you wanted to fulfill with them.

Rex was observant and tactical and intuitive. He knew all your subtle looks and gestures, so, it didn’t take him long to figure you out when you started staring at one part of him in particular.

The first time he caught you staring was during a briefing. To your credit, you were still listening to Anakin’s report, you were just also stealing glances because you were a skilled multitasker. You had been feigning contemplation, letting anyone who might look your way think that you were staring at nothing in particular, while you were actually focused on those little raised ridges. When you sensed you had been ‘gazing absently’ for too long, you made yourself look up- only to catch Rex’s eye.

He tilted his chin up just the slightest bit before looking away.

In the private language of your subtle gestures to one another, that might as well have been a knowing smirk. 

Of course, he knew you were thinking about him, but, he probably didn’t know exactly what you were thinking; besides general heat and need, right? Force, he probably assumed you were staring at his codpiece, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. The knowledge of your exact fantasy was safe.

But that was an assurance that became harder to hope for the second time he caught you staring.

You were helping him run drills, stopwatch pulled up on your bracer, clocking every trooper who ran Rex’s course. At first, Rex had been pacing along the end of the track, hands behind his back in an authoritative stance as he watched his men work. Then he stood to the side, hands on hips as he barked orders. If both of those hadn’t been distracting enough, then he had propped his leg up on a crate as he called for them to keep going and live up to the 501st standards. 

That did you in.

The way his thigh was level, lined like the perfect seat, was too much. Your mind was racing with the most impure thoughts, the ideas of what the hard, angled plastoid might feel like made heat fill you almost instantly. It just might be the perfect shape, slotting perfectly against your clit, between your folds. And with Rex being the one under that armor piece? Maker, you knew he’d buck and roll you perfectly against it, make sure it moved just right for the friction you’d crave and-

Kriff!

You almost- almost didn’t stop your watch in time when Fives came darting past you.

You could already feel the mess pooling in your panties, just the thought of it all making you wet- that would be fun to deal with for the rest of the drills. Somehow, you managed to keep your voice mostly steady when you called out Fives’ time, but, when you met Rex’s eye again, you knew you were caught. He held your gaze firm, a silent knowing passing between you, that he had heard the barely there shake in your voice. The stare was practically a smug scolding, reminding you that it would be a long time before you could change out of the sopping underwear. He allowed his gaze to slide south, glancing over your core as they turned to Fives. Something no one but you would notice.

Considering all the other times you had stolen glances at his thighs, you had thought that he wouldn’t make the connection, having only caught you twice. But you should have known better, you should have known he’d figure you out.

Once the drills were done and everyone was making their way out of the simulator, you trailed far behind everyone else, trying to get your breathing under control. Keeping your mind out of the gutter for the rest of the training had not been easy and you were ready to change into clean undergarments.

Until you passed an adjacent corridor and felt hands grab you.

You gasped as they pulled you in, but the familiar feel of your captain filled your senses as your back hit the cold wall. Lips closed over yours before you could so much as blink up at him, gloved hands scrambling to find your wrist and pin them beside your head.

“You should know better than to look at me like that in public, mesh’la,” Rex growled against your mouth.

“You’re one to talk,” was your panted retort as you glanced down the empty, but still very open corridor. This was not like Rex, he never indulged in you in such an easy place to get caught. As appealing as the fantasy was, neither of you could stomach what would happen if you were caught.

He hummed in response, even as his legs started moving, “That look of yours worked me up too much,” one slotted itself between your thighs, shoving them apart as it pressed into you.

And you let out a shaking moan.

Rex only chuckled as you clamped your hand over your mouth, face hot as he pressed his armored limb against your throbbing center. “So, that is it,” he mused into your ear, “That’s what you’ve been thinking about. You think you're so sneaky, stealing looks at-”

He paused suddenly, going stiff as you heard it too: armored feet closing in. Rex flew off of you as fast as lighting, but you still barely had time to lower your hands into a dignified position before the troopers rounded the corner.

The men instantly saluted when they saw you two, but otherwise paid no mind as they marched by. Still, it was enough for both of you to come to your senses. Rex still looked at you out of the corner of his eye, breathing just a little ragged as you both waited for the group to be out of earshot.

When Rex spoke again, it was low and clear. “My office. Tonight,” the pupils of his eyes were still blown wide as he flicked them downward, to where he had likely felt how soaked you were. “And don’t change out of those.”

“Sir yes sir,” you hummed, because you knew it would make him just as wet as he made you. The shuddering breath he let out told you it took all his willpower not to pin you against that wall again.

The night couldn’t come fast enough.

It was only through years of self-discipline that you were able to get any work done at all, between your mind replaying that scene over and over again. Rex’s body holding you at his mercy, his hot mouth devouring yours, even the thrill of almost getting caught. Above all though, you ached at the brief preview of his thick tight bucking up against your core.

You were glad you hadn’t bothered with changing (as per his orders), because the clean pair of panties would have just been ruined as you turned the memory over in your head again and again. 

Getting through your daily reports was the worst part, Rex’s words coming back to you between each line of text you managed to type. Of course, it was almost a blessing, because when Skywalker came by to check on you, you still had a pile of work to groan about: the perfect cover. Everyone would think you were busy working all night, not sneaking off for a secret rendezvous.

And when you finally thought it was late enough to slip away unnoticed, you never flew through reports faster.

The corridors were empty save for the occasional trooper who saluted you, so there were no setbacks when you reached the door of his office. 

“Enter,” came his voice after a short pause when you knocked.

When the door slid open, you were greeted with the sight of him sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair, legs spread wide, and chin resting on his fist. You sealed the door the moment it closed, not taking your eyes off him as it locked.

“Finally,” Rex hummed, a hint of a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. Then he beckoned you closer with the hand that wasn’t supporting his head, “Come here, cyare. I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you made your way across the room, shifting off your first, outer layer of clothing as you went. The garment fell to the floor as he slid his chair back, leaning forward to pull you between his legs. 

Rex’s hands were instantly pushing your shirt up, “Take this off, sweetheart, I want to have a nice view.”

A whimper at the combination of his words and hands left you, but you did as told, stripping your top half while he pulled at the belt of your pants. Fingers worked their way across your skin as he slid them down your legs. He had obviously regained his patients in your hours apart, because he took his time sliding his hands over the backs of your legs as he made his way up to your underwear.

Only then did he take his eyes off your body, lifting them to meet your own, right before his hand cupped your pussy. Your head fell back with a moan as he massaged you through the fabric and hummed with approval at the wet state of them.

“You’ve been like this all day, haven't you, mesh’la?”

“Yes,” you breathed, but managed to look back at him again, “that’s what you do to me, Rex, just thinking about you gets me wet.”

Once upon a time, Rex would have turned red at such filthy, bold words, so awkward and unsure of himself, but you two were well past that now. 

He proved it when he said, “Oh, I know what you’ve been thinking about, cyare.” 

Rex always struck fast when he had a plan in mind, and here with you was no different. He grasped your hips, those big hands of his able to move your body any way he wanted, and he wanted you against him. 

An ‘oh!’ of pleasured surprise rang through the room when he pulled you down to straddle his thigh. He didn’t say a word as he shifted you, lining you up perfectly with the ridge of his armor. However, when you tried to rock yourself against him, his hands gripped your hips in warning.

“No. Not yet,” he said and despite the firmness, his tone was gently patient, “You don’t move until I tell you, mesh’la.”

Your skin prickled at the soft command, you loved it when he got like this. “Anything for you, Captain,” you made sure your own voice was delicate, practically a moan of its own.

And oh, did Rex’s smile turn dangerous as he said, “Good girl.”

With that, he kept his eyes on where your still-clothed core met his armor, and started pulling you forward. Pleasure rippled up your body instantly, and he let out a pleased chuckle when you had to reach out to grip his shoulders for support.

“You’re already soaking my leg. Just thinking about this got you so worked up?” Rex let out a little mock of a disapproving noise, then started back in on the sentiment he wanted to say back in that hallway. “You thought you were so sneaky, stealing glances at me like that.” 

His hands gripped your hips harder, digging in just enough to leave a faint mark as he kept dragging you forward against the hard length of plastoid, sending pulses of pleasure through your core. 

"You don't think I notice, the way you look at my thighs? Is this what you were imagining? Were you thinking about how perfect it might feel, hard between your legs?" He finally looked up from the mess you were making of his armor, eyes locking with yours again, "Tell me how it feels, cyar'ika.”

The answer came out like a needy whimper, “Perfect!” The ridge got higher and more pronounced the further up you went, and it pressed so deliciously against your clit. “Maker, it feels perfect- you feel perfect, Rex!”

He hummed approvingly, then looked back down at his handiwork. Rex heard the sounds you let out as he pulled you higher and higher up his leg, and as always, he was a smart, intuitive man.

“Right here,” he whispered, seating you right at the point where the peak of the armor was highest, digging into your most sensitive spot delightfully. “There we go, perfect.” 

That’s when Rex started rocking you back and forth in short motions, making rapid bursts of pleasure coarse through you. He was testing the waters and loving the resulting cries you let out. 

“Just the right spot for you, and the perfect view for me,” Rex hummed in approval.

He wasn’t wrong, your bodies were close, but not so flush against each other that he couldn’t see you grinding against him. Unfortunately, that’s when he stopped his rocking motions and let go of your hips.

You didn’t bother hiding your whimper of disapproval, but he only cupped your face lovingly.

“You’ve been a good, patient girl, cyare. Now, I want you to get yourself off. Ride me until you come, understand?”

“Yes- yes, sir.” Your mind was so hazy with need, but, the desire to please your Captain broke through the blissful fog, “but what about you?”

“Me?” he chuckled again as he dropped his hands and leaned back, eyes drinking in your almost naked body, “I told you I wanted a view, and I’m going to enjoy it.”

In that case, you would give him more than a view, you’d give him a show.

Despite still feeling shaky, you managed to let go of his shoulders. Your half-lidded gaze stayed on his as you started trailing your fingertips across your collarbone. The way his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he watched made you smile. Then, just as you started moving your fingers between the valley of your breasts, you rocked your hips forward.

That pleasure burst through you again, making you throw your head back, not caring how graphic you sounded as you took what you had been craving, what you needed. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Rex scolded, “keep your eyes on me, mesh’la,” his hand reached down and cupped his codpiece, “want you to look at me while you have your fun.”

You obeyed, whimpering as you rocked back and forth and met his eyes again. Maker, the way he looked at you, hand rubbing himself down while his gaze took in your wandering hands and your thrusting hips, only to dart back up to your eyes again. Since the first night he saw you bare, and all the other heated moments, Rex always looked at you like that. He looked at you as if you were the most intoxicating sight in the galaxy.

That alone made you quiver, but the way your climax was already starting to build had you shaking. You knew your body and knew how to get your end, and as much as you wanted to relish the moment, you weren’t sure you could last long with his hungry gaze watching your every move.

As your lower body pulsed with every rub against his thigh, you cupped your breasts, biting your lip at the added sensation. Pleasure wracked through you on both ends now, and it was hard to keep eye contact with him as you moaned and gasped.

Rex let out a pleased noise at the show you were giving him, “By the force, you look so perfect like this, my perfect girl-” his breath hitched on the last word as his hand continued to work at his cover cock.

You were close now, climbing to the peak, spurred on by him getting off from nothing but the sight of you. Fingers pinched your nipples, as your own thighs clamped on either side of his. Somehow, as your rocking became fast and shallow, you still kept your eyes locked on him, that coil tightening and tight-

“Scream for me, cyar’ika,” Rex growled, “scream my name!”

That’s what did you in, and his name came out a ragged wail when your orgasm ripped through you. It was a whole-body kind of climax, the kind that sent numbing ripples of pleasure all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

Rex’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you against the hard plate of his chest as you shook and heaved your ragged breaths. The armor was cool against your burning skin, and Rex rubbed his hands up and down your back with care.

“That’s my girl, doing as asked, keeping your eyes on me the whole time, making pretty sounds. Now look at you, so spent, you enjoy riding my thigh that much?”

Despite the fact that you knew it was a rhetorical question, you nodded your head against his chest, which made a chuckle vibrate under the armor.

“Well then, we’re going to have to do this again, aren’t we? I liked watching you get off like that, mesh’la. You were stunning.”

“Thank you,” you panted, sounding tired and half dazed, breath fogging up his armor, “thank you for always knowing what I want.”

Rex kissed your temple, then he was pulling your body into the position he wanted again, this time curled up in his lap as his hands wandered where they liked.

“You know giving you what you want, is what I want, cyare. Always.”

As soon as you were able to move without shaking, you were going to give this perfect man anything and everything else he may want.

Tag list: @blueink-bluesoul @dystopicjumpsuit @sinfulsalutations

@freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar (you two seemed interest so I hope you don't mind the tags lol)

[colinfeatherington]

its not going to happen but holding out a tiny little bit of hope that we get colin sneaking into penelope’s room because he simply can’t wait and he has to see her

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 7 thoughts

hmm. hmm. that is the sound if me pondering what i just watched.

(i understand that this episode was an analysis into mulder's self-destructive behaviors when faced with overwhelming grief, but. that does not mean i enjoyed vampire hookup time)

well. we shall start from the top!

i read that it was an episode about vampires which i thought was a weird narrative choice because. hello. scully still gone??? but then i remembered that i too ignored the main quest in skyrim to hunt some vampires and that i had no place to judge

(granted, my main quest wasn't finding scully though. might have given that a bit more priority than saving the whole world. because she IS my whole world)

we open with a guy that looks like joe biden meeting with an attractive young woman. they're making out in a hot tub and we just know someone is gonna get slurped upon. and woe, it be upon us! double vampire attack.

back in DC, mulder gets his old office back! it's covered in plastic. he takes some of it off. he adjusts his calendar from may to november, so we see how much time he and scully had been assigned to other tasks, which also has me wondering how she managed to get a new house that quick.

(also, this calendar is... scantily clad women posing next to tools such as hammers and saws. was this allowed? was this acceptable? was it normal? were the 90's a lawless wasteland and mulder an irreparable freak?)

well. scully is an x file now, and he puts her glasses and id into an evidence bag and closes the filing cabinet which was sooooo evil. but he can't bring himself to put her necklace away. oh man. oh he's gotta have it in case he finds her. he has to hold her close. i'm Fine this is Fine.

so. he goes out to california to deal with the joe biden looking fellow being murdered. and he is not wanted on the crime scene. we know this because someone greets him by saying "nobody called the bureau" and he says "well, they should have" and lifts up the tape to let himself in. because one thing about him is that he's gonna let himself into a place he isn't wanted.

he sees the writing of a bible verse in blood on the wall and says something about their grasp of biblical knowledge being "feeble and literal" and i was like okayyy need to have a theological discussion with him

he then scares the other guy who originally wanted to kick him out by reciting a LARGE amount of facts related to similar cases and it's very much giving photographic memory. got me thinking, have we ever seen this man forget something? (directions don't count. they're confusing. but everything else sticks in that man's brain)

he just needs one thing: a phone book. which he uses to call a blood bank and ask about a new guy. who must be the vampire who did this!

so he rolls up to the blood bank and i'm over here struggling because i do Not Do Blood, and i knew at this point this was gonna be a tough watch, but i didn't anticipate the non-blood related reasons why this would be true

anyway he's sniffing around the blood bank and he hears some slurping and wouldn't you know, this dude is tearing into a bag of the red stuff like it's a capri sun. somehow he gets him into custody, where the dude refuses to talk because the lights are on, and mulder comes in with a lamp he put a red filter over, because he was prepared for vampire interrogation.

the vampire is going on about how what he did isn't murder because it's not like animals hunting prey is murder which is. not the greatest approach in terms of legal defense. mulder tells the guard that the guy is delusional and it's best to play along, and he believed this to be true... until he, quite literally, burned to a crisp in the sunlight. and died.

he's talking to the coroner and rattling off a bunch of vampire facts and says he didn't believe in vampires which is so funny to me because like. why is that where you draw the line, my friend. not at bigfoot and definitely not at aliens. but man. vampires are just too out there for spooky mulder. until now!

the coroner has a very funny line: "you are really upsetting me... on several levels" which seems to be the general effect fox mulder has on people. and also because i felt the same way about his dumbass actions during this episode.

coroner finds a stamp on the dead body's hand, which seems to come from a nightclub. so naturally our fbi agent ends up there.

you often see posts saying that "(insert character here) should be at the club". i fear that this is not the case for fox mulder, but it's possible that it's his suit and tie that are throwing me off. he just doesn't seem like he belongs there. i ask myself, where should he be instead? perhaps some sort of star wars convention would suit him better. a book signing with some author he likes. idk, an interior decorating festival. not here.

i shall use my verbatim words to walk you through the next scene:

"pause. he's talking to a woman who was looking into a compact without a mirror. so. vampire suspect. and now why are they getting so close together. and getting a drink. okay now they're leaving to a new spot together? AFTER she admits to vampirism"

(here she did some stuff that required me to look away from my screen due to my Weak Constitution. but also it would have felt necessary to look away anyway because it was getting... charged)

she tries to get him to... suck on her finger... but he won't do it because aids. which is fair. i think that's a smart move, actually. it's just that getting flirty with a vampire he knows was involved with a ton of killings was such a stupid move, i don't know why it's now the braincells start to kick in.

that kills the vibe, though, so she gets another guy to take his place and things escalate.

mulder pulls in at a restaurant called ra. nice! the sun god! and he is... through a window, witnessing some more slurping action. he seems to want to intervene and save this poor soul being feasted upon...

but the poor soul is no poor soul at all! he comes out and decks mulder, and delivers this line with stunning conviction: "i don't know who you are, freak, but we're two consenting adults" and with this, he is forced to flee.

and yeah. it made me laugh. my expectations for the genre were subverted. he signed up for that shit! what he did not sign up for, however, was the next part, where he was killed by the other vampires.

cut to investigating the crime scene. mulder has brought along a forensic dentist, which is a job i had no idea you could go into. he needs to see about those bites, which are very human.

next they go to vampire woman's house. it's a very nice place. mulder... opens her oven. and sees a loaf of bread in there. and i'm thinking, man, i hope this doesn't go where i think it's going. baked goods... ovens... i never want a vampire pregnancy arc. but he cracks open the loaf and something red spills out and somehow, this to him means that she is gone and isn't coming back. he can read the signs of the bread. so add that to his resume. what did the bread tell you, my liege?

he seems to have stayed in her house, however, because he's there when she's back, and says he knows she was using the bread as a charm to ward off evil. because apparently that's an eastern european thing, blood bread to warn off evil. sound off if any eastern europeans in the chat wanna confirm or deny.

anyway. he's IN this woman he thinks is a vampire's HOUSE? what the hell. mulder seriously i need you to stop and think. like you should have stopped and done some thinking a while ago. honestly i'm not mad i'm just disappointed. and he's like "i want to save you come with me before they kill you" ohhh big tough man needs to save her huh. make him feel good inside. huh. certainly no ulterior motive here...

she's monologing about her horrible childhood and how sweet blood tastes. um girl. don't lie to him like that. i have busted my lip open before that stuff does NOT taste sweet and dangerous. it's like a penny with rust that you found in a parking lot.

it seems her vampiric origin story, if to be believed, is that things simply got too kinky. which is a new take on the genre.

(it's also about being caught in an abusive relationship and the damage that inflicts, but it seems abusive boyfriend came into vampirism at his kinky parties and things escalated from there. which. well. it blew the eyebrows clean off my head, to be fair)

at this point we see that he is WEARING SCULLY'S NECKLACE? he says something like "it's from someone i lost" and she says that she "hopes he finds her"

i did not like the undertones here and certainly not the overtones. because i knew where this was going. he was shaving in her bathroom. and let me tell you something: there is only ever a shaving scene in media because the writer needs a way to get some blood out of someone's body and into the real world. and man. i knew it was coming.

but what i didn't see coming was her SHAVING HIM??? girl. i am uncomfy. and she does, of course, cut him, and then they kiss. aggressively. terribly aggressively. can anyone answer what was going on in a satisfactory manner?

but the gag is: the original vampire- who burnt to a crisp in the jail cell, and was the abusive ex she spoke of- HE'S WATCHING THEM THROUGH THE WINDOW!

he breaks in and taunts the vampire woman about how he had to "wait for her to finish" and i was like cool. thank you SO much for that mental image i'm super happy with it. i definitely don't feel like i need a shower. but then he's going on about how he can't be killed.

here, at the tail end of the episode, we learn the rules of vampirism in this world: a vampire cannot be killed by a non-vampire. and a non-vampire BECOMES a vampire by consuming the blood of a believer and also taking a life. it is only here we realize that this woman is not an actual vampire yet, she just appropriates their culture by drinking blood unnecessarily.

mulder's still sleeping in her bed and she's like "you need to leave" and she stabs the wall to make her evil ex think she's killing him. but when they go to break out, mulder ties him up quite handily and he gets in the car to escape with vampire woman. until ANOTHER vampire woman jumps on the hood of their car. and main vampire woman knocks her out for a bit by running into her with said car, which is super effective.

mulder's leaving the place in shambles, his shirt still unbuttoned, wandering down the side of the hill. back at the house, now that we know the vampire rules, main vampire woman says she can finally kill the evil vampire ex. and he's like how!! you haven't had the blood of a believer or taken a life. so. she licks the blood off her hands (unclear if it's hers or mulders tbh) and says she'll take her own life. and drops a match after pouring gasoline.

so. that brings that to an end. and shabby looking mulder sits on a hill as he learns all four in the house died.

the episode ends with him playing with scully's necklace. which i don't even sort of feel like unpacking right now but maybe another time.

probably not, though, because i just didn't like this episode. and yeah, a lot of it comes down to me not wanting to see mulder hook up with people who aren't scully. can you blame me? is it so wrong to have preferences in this world?

but also, narrative wise- do you honestly see the guy fucking off to cali while scully's still missing to deal with an unrelated problem instead of devoting every hour of his life to finding her, like we saw him do in the last episode? you expect me to think he just puts it off for a lil while? the guy who, just last episode, pulled his gun on the ski lift operator to get to the top where she might be a little faster, and then choked his one and only suspect out of fury? you're thinking this is the guy that's gonna go soak up some west coast rays?

and yeah, he was obviously not himself through the episode- very cold and analytical- but c'mon. we all want to bang a vampire. he's not special. i just personally wouldn't do that if my friend were gone. like how is that gonna help the situation. be so for real. time and place!

and also the whole only learning the rules of being a vampire about 5 minutes before they need it to be plot relevant. that annoyed me too.

overall, mulder, like i said, i'm not mad, just disappointed.

let me know what you thought on this episode- i try to not be a hater, but i also understand that hating in small doses can be good for the soul. if it's a widely beloathed episode i'll feel better in my judgement as i join a long tradition of haters who have come before me.

[theartthatleavesthemark]

Flint's sailing choices are 10x sexier if you have spent even a little bit of time working on a historic boat of any kind like i worked on a Very Easy To Sail 1920s schooner and trying to pull any of his maneuvers in that would have been far beyond any of the crew or our captain LET ALONE on an old square-rigger which is 10000000x more difficult to pilot and he is THROWING her into the wind HEAVING on the wheel it took literally dozens of people to raise our mainsails IN THE HARBOR and he is putting the t'gallants up at TOP SPEED while his other sails are NOT MADE OFF insane man

[zeravmeta]

still not over issekai shikkaku im still recovering from the fact that this is the most pained expression that sensei ever shows. a man who is thoroughly depressed hates his own life leading up to his isekaing and actively tries to kill himself 24/7 has his most agonized and distraught look when he sees that the supposed village of love is demonizing someone for not conforming in how they love. it's especially painful because for all of this mans pessimism its entirely self-directed: he wholeheartedly believes that people can become better through and despite suffering and even when encountering absolute monsters and pathetic people in both native inhabitants and otherworlders he still holds a fondness for their complexity as humans and believes that they can always be better, so seeing this truly bleak scene before him does hurt him in a way that quite frankly nothing else in the story does

he also has one of his softest and fondest expressions watching diantha and eliza leave towards their happy future

[sexynetra]

She’s the only woman ever. To me.