#dyn: moonlight and the night.

[myriadimagines]

Hello sweetie Could I please ask for a Drabble with The Mandalorian (star wars) and F/Reader please, Promts are 30 -" I love you, okay? I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.” and 41 - "“The only person I need right now is you.”, Thank you, Hope you have a lovely Day/Night

Characters: Reader x Din ‘The Mandalorian’ Djarin

Warnings: —

Prompt: 30. “I love you, okay? I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.” & 41. “The only person I need right now is you.”

Word Count: 499

A/N: hope you have a lovely day as well!! also ughFH i don’t know how to address him at all like the mandalorian??? mando??? dyn???? GOD. EDIT: i had to come back and edit my mandalorian drabbles now that we know the real spelling of his name and of COURSe star wars had to clown us with a ridiculously spelled name

NOT TAKING ANYMORE REQUESTS!

You heave your door open, the metal shrieking against the rusty hinges, and you blink as you find yourself face to face with a familiar figure in your doorway. His armour looks different now, no longer tattered and war torn but instead shining at you in the moonlight, and you gulp, “Mando.”

“y/n.” the Mandalorian responds coolly as you notice the hovering container beside him. The Mandalorian follows your gaze, reaching out to protectively place a hand over the Child’s crib as he vaguely explains, “I know this is sudden, but I need your help.”

Confusion washes over your expression, and you ask, “What can I possibly help you with? Can’t the Guild—”

“y/n.” the Mandalorian cuts you off, his tone stern and urgent as you apologetically shrink down. “The only person I need right now is you. I’ll explain everything to you, but inside.”

You nod, stepping aside as you let the Mandalorian and his mysterious package inside, and you firmly close the door behind you. You light a small lamp, illuminating your tiny house as the Mandalorian sets down his rifle before pressing something on his wrist, revealing the small creature inside the container. Your eyes widen as you step closer, seeing your own reflection in the creature’s round eyes, and you look up at the Mandalorian as you stammer, “What…?”

“I was supposed to kill it.” the Mandalorian replies. “Others are coming after him, and I don’t know why. But I need a place for the kid to hide, just for a bit.”

You don’t even hesitate. “He’ll be safe here.” 

“Good.” the Mandalorian nods, grateful that after all this time, you’ve still got his back, despite your history. He stands to leave, and you frown as you watch him make his way to the door.

“So that… that’s it?” you ask, voice trembling. “You’re just going to leave, just like you did all those years ago?” 

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond, feeling his own heart breaking at having to do this again. But he knows if he stays, he’ll want to stay forever, just like he came so dangerously close to doing the last time he saw you.

“Din,” you blurt, and the Mandalorian freezes, hearing his real name for the first time in years. You can see his shoulders tense, and you choke back tears as you confess, “I love you, okay? I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it. Just… don’t go, please.”

The Mandalorian pauses, his head tilting towards you ever so slightly, as if he’s stopping himself from turning around. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about abandoning everything he once stood for to pursue a life with you, a simpler life where he’d no doubt be happier. 

But he’s chosen his path, again and again. Letting out a heavy sigh, he shakes his head, turning his back to you as he sighs, “I told you not to fall in love with me.” 

#star wars imagine #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine #star wars #star wars drabble #the mandalorian #the mandalorian drabble #din djarin #din djarin drabble #imagine #imagines #reader insert #drabble #drabbles #anonymous

[ma-serannas-vhenan]

Bio: Witcher Abel

Fandom: The Witcher.

Full Name: Abel.

Nickname: None.

Title: Cat witcher, Feline, the Feline of Fox Hollow.

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Pronouns: He/Him.

Ethnicity/Race: Aen Seidhe elf.

Backstory and Early Life

In the year 1179, Abel was born in the village of Fox Hollow in Toussaint, a vassal state of Nilfgaard. Since his mother died shortly after giving birth, he was raised by his father on a farm on the outskirts of the village. Nightmares plagued him as a child, nearly every night he woke covered in sweat and screaming. Visions of blood and death, inhuman howling and the cold black of loneliness. It would be decades before he learned that he had prophetic dreams, though he would never learn how to truly read them, as they were far too muddled.

1188. At age nine, his father went out to hunt. No more than half of an hour passed before a scream ripped through the air, and next he knew Abel was sprinting into the trees with empty hands. He found his father laying in a small clearing, covered in blood and ripped from claws, bone exposed yet still breathing. Running to him and falling to his knees, he was too stunned to do anything other than stare and gasp, fragments of his previous nightmares flashing through his mind.

Hearing the rustle of leaves he came face to face with his father's killer, a creature he would later learn to be a fiend. It was large, larger than most, a set of long scars covering one side of its face and rendering an eye useless. When his father's hand gripped his arm and he told him to run, Abel did so. Without hesitation he turned and fled, the monster's roar following after him along with the pound of feet. He did manage to escape, though only barely, the beast giving up its chase once Abel broke from the trees. However, the memory would forever live stark in his mind and in the scars that would form on his back.

He didn't stop running until he reached his home, though that place was far from safe either. It was burning, razed from a candle that he had carelessly dropped in his haste to find the source of the scream. Part of him didn't realize that tears stained his cheeks, part of him didn't care. No one tried to help and he could do nothing, so by the time the fire died and the ashes settled there was nothing left.

After the death of his father and the burning of his home, Abel traveled to Beauclair, the capital city of Toussaint, surrounding the Palace of Beauclair. Since he couldn't find anyone who was kind enough to give him a ride, he walked, somehow managing to get there without being attacked.

For five years, he lived on the streets and slept in the back alleys of Beauclair. Making his living any way he could, by working for whoever would hire him, he often found himself with less than desirable jobs. He quickly grew into a striking lad, however, and learned how to have a tongue to match. It worked to his advantage, as he often found himself needing to charm someone into giving him a place to rest, or to talk a young rebellious noble out of their wits so that he could make away with their coin. His nightmares never left him, and was plagued with the same one for over five years. Every night he dreamt of pain gnawing at his bones, the smell of vomit and sickness heavy on his senses, hoarse screaming and the clash of metal meeting metal.

At age fifteen his fortune took yet another drastic turn. Upon finding a trio of human men cornering an elven woman behind an inn when he stepped out, he couldn't bring himself to ignore it. Because of this decision, he soon had a knife in his hand and blood on his knuckles, his lip split, and three men at his feet either unconscious or gasping. The woman had fled during the fight, and what greeted Abel when he caught his breath was a pair of glowing eyes in the darkness. The cat eyes of a witcher he soon learned, and one who wanted to recruit him, seeing potential in his fighting abilities.

After learning what they do, he was quick to agree, setting off early the next morning with the man who would become his mentor. At the time, the idea of slaying monsters was preferable to spending his days cleaning floors and stealing, or hanging from the noose. The thought of killing the thing that murdered his father also had a heavy weigh in his decision.

1194. Thus began his training as a witcher at the School of the Cat at Stygga Castle, and indeed what grueling training it was. Compared to his fellow witchers-in-training, however, he stuck out. Not only was he the only elf there, he did not have the same penchant for aggression as they did. He was charming, engaging, sharp as a whip, and a flirt. But he did indeed have a bitterness to him, one that came from his childhood and the way he had been forced to live.

Despite how difficult and dangerous the training was, Abel was a prodigy, learning the unique swordplay and countless monster types with surprising speed. He wished to keep people safe, but determination and revenge drove him above all else. By the time he was twenty he was deemed ready to take on the Trail of the Grasses. Looking back on it now, it wasn't a wise decision. Rather it was rushed, his training and studying not truly complete.

The Trail of the Grasses nearly kills any who undertake it, and when it came to this Abel was no exception. In fact, it affected him more harshly than any in his group, though he was one of only two that survived. He was given the alchemical formula that intensified his emotions rather than suppressing them, and his memories of both the Trail and the Changes are things he prefers never to think of.

Much like everyone, Abel came out of the experiments changed. He didn't have time to properly adjust, however, as only a couple of days after he recovered an army marched onto the grounds of the School of the Cat with the intent to kill them. He was one of the few Felines to escape Stygga Castle, and for the first few months was a part of the Dyn Marv Caravan. But he realized soon that he did not agree with the way the Cats sold their swords, and split from the caravan and his Feline siblings.

1200. The first thing he did was travel back to Fox Hollow in Toussaint, back to where he was born, for he had unfinished business. Like riding a horse, he never forgot the path to his home and upon arriving he saw his prey on the notice board, as if by a stroke of Destiny. And so he rested from his journey, spoke with the contractor about the beast, oiled his silver sword, and stepped into the trees where his father was killed. In the same clearing that his father died, Abel fought and slew the fiend with the scarred eye. It was a rough battle, his first large contract, but once all was done a resolved peace settled on his shoulders, the death of his father avenged and the people of Fox Hollow safe.

After that he traveled as all witchers do, from Nilfgaard to Mahakam to Skellige, taking contracts and coin. And quite often, he walked away with hearts as well. Adopting a strict code and a neutral stance as he walked the Path, he avoided politics, refused gold for use of his steel blade, and kept a solitary life save for those who warmed his bed. He did not involve himself in the Witcher Tournament and the blood that was spilled there, nor did he share a hatred of the Wolf School that snapped at other Cat witchers' heels. Winter was a toll on one who had no warm place to spend it, but he managed to survive that alone as well, refusing to stay with the Dyn Marv Caravan.

Every night he dreamt of warmth and the color of gold, soft skin and the smell of linen. It would be decades, however, before the future showed what this dream meant.

1221. While on a rather strange contract in Vengerberg involving a red ribbon, a pitcher of fine wine, and a psychopathic higher vampire, he met Vissoma Vil Anvaze. Another higher vampire, framed for her kindred's wrongs, and one that Abel nearly killed out of said misunderstanding. It took him later saving her life for her to forgive him, and after a friendly conversation and some fine wine they became fast friends, and remain so to this day.

1255. A little over half a century into his life as a witcher, Abel took on a contract from a noble in Toussaint. The noble, Vren van Lwur, claimed that there was a monster taking up residence at his country estate, and had offered such a high price to be rid of it that Abel didn't hesitate to speak to the man. Upon traveling to the estate with the noble and his son, at their insistence, and further investigation into the mystery, the Feline learned that the monster was a cockatrice. The beast had tried to surprise him, but when that tactic failed it went after his employers. While Vren van Lwur managed to flee out of range, his son was not so lucky, and Abel was only just fast enough to save him. Once he has the cockatrice's attention and was able to steer it away from the other two, he made quick work of the beast.

So grateful was Vren van Lwur to the witcher for ridding him of the monster and saving his son, that he offered Abel free board for the winter, along with the coin promised beforehand. As the colder months were fast approaching and a witcher never turns away free board, he accepted. Thus began his stay at the van Lwur country estate.

Francis, the esteemed van Lwur's son, had taken a shining to the Feline and often spent time in his company. He was fascinated by Abel's tales of contracts and of monsters, and the elf would often gladly indulge him. Only three weeks into his stay, the two became involved in what started as a dalliance. Once it began Abel's dreams came anew, strange flashes of white hair and green light, blossoming pain and moonlight bathed in old ache. Francis did what he could to help the Feline rest peacefully, but no amount of tea or massages could ease them.

Alas, their dalliance only lasted the winter, as Francis was placed in an arranged marriage. He wished to give it all away to be with the witcher, to run with him, but Abel refused to let him ruin his life in such a way. The four month stay transformed their dalliance into an affair steeped in feelings and half unsaid love. It was a sad goodbye, one that would haunt both of them for years.

From then on Abel kept a careful distance from people, returning to his solitary life on the Path with conviction, his heart scarred once again. His dreaming continued, the same visions that he could make no sense of. After a few years he once again began to bed other people, but he never took another lover, nor did he have friends aside from Vissoma Vil Anvaze. He traveled far and wide to take contracts, learning lands and people, and coming to understand what his dreams truly were. There was even a time he met a strange pale woman, golden branches tattooed across her face, and assisted her. However, never did he let the Path lead him across the border of Toussaint.

1272. Thus was how he walked his life until his destiny was intertwined with another, bringing happenings that he dreamed of and yet could not understand until they came to pass.

Age: 93 in 1272.

Day of Birth: May 12th, 1179.

Height: 5'11".

Physical Description: He had the build of a nimble fighter; agile, flexible, and littered with the occasional scar from both claw and blade. A handsome and clean face that turned the head of many, his ebony hair windswept and his eyes a bright yellow, nearly glowing around the trademark slit pupils of all witchers. Pointed ears showed his elven blood, as did his lithe form and large eyes. A well-healed scar traveled from the underside of his jaw and down his neck to his collarbone, pale pink against his cream skin.

Fighting Style: As a Cat school witcher, his fighting style is based and focused around speed, precision, and agility. Where he doesn't land heavy and raw damage, he makes due with well placed hits to vital areas that are almost always deadly. A smooth and near silent fighter thanks to years of grueling training and the witcher mutations, he is a dangerous man to cross blades with.

Clothing Style: By extension of his fighting style, his armor and gear were designed to maximize flexibility and provide the best possible range of motion. Light armor made of dark blue and black leather, his chest piece often sleeveless though not always, silver buckles clasping everything in place. His casual wear consisted of an open white shirt resembling that of a pirate's and a pair of black leather trousers. Knee-high boots accompanied both his armor and his casual wear, made of dark and durable leather.

Weapon of Choice: His silver and steel swords.

Special Skills: Singing, he has a strong talent for magic, has prophetic dreams.

Family: His mother died shortly after giving birth to him, his father was killed by a fiend when he was nine years old. He has no siblings.

Love Interest: Francis van Lwur (briefly), Cirilla Riannon.

Closest Friend: Vissoma Vil Anvaze.

Biggest Fear: Helplessness.

Guilty Pleasure: Wine from Toussaint.

Hobbies: Whittling.

#Witcher Abel #the witcher #the witcher oc #hydra speaks #not dragon age #my pictures #click for better quality #*exhales deeply* #finally got it typed out #meet Abel he's a fuckboi #i love him

[lopsided-whiskey-grin]

Fire Meet Gasoline

It was about two weeks after the Mandalorian, an ex-shock trooper, and a rag-tag group of villagers worked together to bring down a Klatooinian raider gang and one hell of a nasty AT-ST that Dyn found himself sitting on a porch watching the sun set. He still couldn’t believe they’d pulled it off; a bunch of inexperienced Omegas and Betas with sharpened sticks? A small part of him had thought they were all doomed for sure. But Omera had surprised the hell out of him with her blaster handling skills and he knew they’d at least have a chance. 

As Dyn watched, the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, splashing the clearing and surrounding trees in a purple-hued gloaming. He welcomed the oncoming night, hoping it would bring a little relief from the day’s unseasonably balmy temperatures. Enfolded by a stillness he’d had never known, it struck him how this was the longest he’d spent in one place since he’d been a child, well before his differentiation into an Omega and his first heat. He’d always moved from place to place, job to job, with hardly a break in between. This was The Way. But this interlude here in Omera’s village, as unexpected and long as it had been, seemed destined to be. 

A dawning realization hit him then, along with a sudden unwelcome warmth low in his belly, and he lurched upright in his chair. 

“Shit.”

When was the last time he’d taken his heat suppressant? He hadn’t planned on this job taking more than a week so he’d left most of his essentials on the Crest back in town and those essentials included his twice monthly pills. He had been so preoccupied with trying to keep the villagers (and the kid and Winta and Omera) alive he hadn’t even spent a fucking thought on his suppressants. He cursed himself for being so careless. 

With his ship more than a day’s journey away, there was no way he’d make it back before the overwhelming clutch of the first heat he’d had in years raked him over the coals. Dyn licked his lips, hidden under the cover of his helm, and fisted his suddenly trembling hands on his knees. He looked from side to side, feeling vulnerable and exposed. He had to get out of here. 

Just then Omera walked around the corner of the hut beside his, lit in a beautiful wash of campfire and moonlight. She was heading straight toward him, a question already forming on her lips. 

“Would you like to join us toni-”

Dyn stood abruptly, his wooden chair flying back against the hut with the force of the movement, and quickly retreated into the abode, slamming the thin door behind him. He despised being so rude, but he was quickly becoming desperate to be alone. And without an Alpha anywhere in sight to help him through this oncoming heat he came close to panic. He wrapped his arms around his middle and paced about the small living space, his breath coming out through the voice modulator in harsh pants. wondering how in the hell he was going to get through this. If there was a small mercy in any of this it was that the kid was with the other children at a sleepover tonight. 

Being an Omega was something Dyn had slowly come to terms with in his adult life, but he never considered it a defining characteristic. He had always seen himself as strong, willful, even with that tractable title of Omega. Never one to beg or plead, he only ever relied on himself, stubbornly denying the submissive nature of the dynamic. He was so much more than the weak and vulnerable nature that society dictated of an Omega, and he’d worked harder than most to shirk those labels. The Mandalorians willingly accepted any type into their clan and had accepted Dyn just the same, but he felt like he had had to fight and claw his way to the position he was in now; it had not been an easy road but this was The Way. 

He had tried and mostly succeeded in hiding his dynamic, taking his suppressants religiously and probably too often, if he was being honest. He just wanted to do everything in his power to avoid being reduced to the needy, wanting, shameless mess he became when he was in heat. But now he had no choice. 

Heavy arousal hit him low in his stomach and he sank to his knees with a moan. His cock, suddenly and painfully erect, strained against his cargos and he pressed the heel of his hand to it, but felt no relief. Heat seared across his skin, making his clothes feel far too confining. His body ached for the thick knot of an Alpha and he had no way to quench the scorching wildfire growing more out of control with every passing second. 

Omera’s voice filtered in through the door and Dyn had to bite back a strangled groan. “Is everything all right?” she asked softly. 

“Please,” he rasped. He meant to finish with leave me alone but the words wouldn’t come. He knew in this village of Omegas and Betas, with Cara grouped in the latter, there would be no one to help him through this. Tears welled in his eyes as another wave of heat swept through him, tightening his guts, making it hard to think clearly, and he crawled across the room to the bed. 

Omera was so quiet at the door Dyn thought she had left. But then she spoke again. “I can help,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Goddamnit.” He didn’t need her help, he needed to be left alone. But that wasn’t quite right though, was it? He didn’t need to be alone. He needed an Alpha who could bend him over and fuck this cursed heat out of him until he couldn’t see straight. The sudden mental image of a strong, capable Alpha taking control, opening him up, filling him beyond capacity caused a sudden rush of moisture to slick down his inner thigh. 

Shaking, Dyn somehow managed to pull himself up onto the bed. He slumped down onto his side, trying to coordinate his fingers enough pull off his gloves and undo the vambraces on his forearms, but they wouldn’t comply.

Omera was suddenly back with a polite but firm knock on the door before walking into the hut. He rolled away from her, not wanting her to see him like this. Perspiration slicked his skin beneath his clothes and helmet, stifling and far too constricting, and he curled in on himself helplessly.

“Omera, please go,” he rasped.

He heard her step up beside the bed with her hands full of something. “You’re in heat,” she said matter-of-factly and Dyn barked out a humorless laugh. How did she guess? 

She ignored his sarcasm and continued on. “You don’t think a whole village of Omegas without an Alpha in sight would not be prepared to help one another through it when the time comes?”

Dyn stilled except for his labored breathing and he slowly turned his head to look back at her. She wore a patient and understanding smile and held a large muslin sack in her hands. A corked water jug rested on top. His mouth thirsted for a drink. 

Omera set the items on the floor and helped him up to a sitting position. Kneeling down, she settled a hand on his knee and looked up at him. The touch, as light as it was, sent a shock-wave through him that went straight to his cock. Arousal was clouding his brain, making it hard to think. Dyn swallowed against a dry throat.

She patted his leg then began unpacking the bag after setting the water jug beside him on the bed. His fingers found the glass neck and he grasped it in one hand almost hard enough to crack it. His other hand was pressed firmly to the bulge at his crotch, trying to relieve the ever building pressure to no avail as he watched Omera pull items from the sack. 

 First came a blanket and a few washcloths then a rather large, complex-looking dildo, and finally a vial with a screw top lid. Dyn looked at the array of items in a guarded wonder; it seemed this village was prepared after all. 

Sitting back on her haunches, Omera opened the vial and all at once the cloying scent of Alpha pheromones assaulted Dyn’s senses. He dipped his head down in instinctive submission and doubled forward with a weak cry, almost toppling off the bed. His breath came in rapid, ragged puffs and more moisture soaked his pants. The scent was undeniably heady and perfect and held the promise of being well bred and sated.

Omera turned back toward him, concern drawing her brows together. “Why haven’t you undressed yet? We need to get these clothes off of you. You will burn up.“ 

Dyn shook his head. "I - I can’t.” Not even in midst of this scorching heat would he dishonor the Mandalorian creed by taking off his helmet in front of her. 

Omera sighed but nodded her understanding. She quickly stood and looked about the small room - for what he did not know. The Alpha pheromones were damn near driving him out of his mind. He squeezed his thighs together and shifted his ass down into the bed but nothing helped, and nothing would - except an Alpha’s knot. 

Omera quickly came back to him with a long, narrow strip of red cloth draped over her palms. “If I can’t see your face, you would be able to remove the gear, yes? I know you won’t be able to breathe with that thing on when we get in the thick of it and you’ll need to drink plenty of water to stay hydrated.”

“All valid points,” he conceded, coming to the very end of his control. “Put it on.”

He watched her tie the cloth over her eyes and knot it at the back of her head. The sight of her like that made his heart pump double time. There was no denying Omera was gorgeous, but the fact that she was willing to do this for him, to him, turned him on all the more. 

She held out a hand and Dyn took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet on shaky legs. Closing the space between them, she reached up blindly until her hands were on either side of his helmet, her head tilting up and her lips parting. She began lifting, and in a replay of that moment just a few days earlier, Dyn instinctively grasped her wrists. She paused, seemingly awaiting his consent. When his hands fell to his sides in surrender, she slowly lifted it up and off. 

That strong Alpha scent was even more intoxicating without the barrier of the helm and Dyn’s knees buckled. Omera helped to steady him then they both worked quickly to undo his armor and shed his boots and clothes. He stood before her laid utterly bare - the first time he’d been in such a state in many, many years - even though she couldn’t see him. The cool night air kissed his sweat slick skin and he began to shiver even as the warmth of his heat still simmered just under the surface. 

Omera’s hands suddenly found his body and she trailed hungry touches over every angle and curve, seeing him with her senses, not her eyes. Her fingers caught lightly over old scars, his nipples, his chest hair. Dyn bit his bottom lip to stop a gasp from tumbling from his mouth. 

She tilted her head to the side and Dyn could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her neck. “The pheromones,” she whispered. “They’re starting to affect me too." 

Alpha heat-response pheromones were notorious for pulling in immediate bystanders whether they were in heat or not, though the effect wasn’t near as strong as it was for an Omega on their cycle. 

Her fingers continued their journey down his stomach to his cock, rubbing up the achingly hard shaft then down to fondle his balls. "Omera.” He shuddered under her touch. A warning? A plea for mercy? Both all at once? Dyn did not know. 

Without waiting another second, he wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her clothed body against his own nakedness. Dipping his head down, he bumped their foreheads together in a gentle Mandalorian Keldabe kiss, then captured her mouth with a tentative press of his lips. Which, after an unexpected but wholy welcome sweep of her tongue, Omera turned into a searing crush of need-driven desire.

When they were both properly breathless, Dyn pulled back with a palm cupping her jaw. He drug the pad of his thumb across her kiss-bruised bottom lip and she drew just the tip in for a quick taste of his skin. He was so hard it was painful. 

“I- I need,” he choked out the words, swallowed, tried again, “you. I need you to break me of this heat." 

Omera released his thumb and nodded. "I will.”

He undressed her then with a few fumbling flicks of his wrists and led her to the edge of the bed. He could not wait another moment. As he watched, Omera stooped down, her hands blindly feeling for the muslin sack she’d brought with her. She found the dildo and pheromone vial and straightened again. A shiver of anticipation flushed through Dyn that was quickly burned up by another heavy wave of heat. A thick trail of moisture tracked down his inner thigh and he grabbed up the corked jug beside him for a couple greedy chugs of water. 

“On all fours, Mando.” Omera’s voice wasn’t quite the commanding tone of an Alpha, but it was just assertive enough to bring out the submissive nature he usually tried hiding, but in this moment he could no longer deny. He immediately complied, resting his head down on his forearms and presenting his ass for the taking. 

“It’s Dyn,” he murmured into the sheets beneath him. 

“Dyn,” she said reverently, like the offering of his name was a sacred gift. 

He felt the bed dip as she crawled onto the mattress behind him and his cock throbbed. Scorching arousal tightened his stomach almost unbearably and he spread his legs a little wider, urging her to please just end his suffering already. 

Omera’s hand was suddenly on his hip, her skin blessedly cool against his, and he moaned. The vial of Alpha scent was opened again and this time she splashed a couple of drops onto the dildo. She rubbed the phallus up and down his crack, damn near driving him out of his mind. 

“I haven’t done this blindfolded before,” she admitted. She teased his hole with just the tip. 

“But you have done this before, right?” he panted. He trusted her more than anyone, but he had to know he wasn’t in inexperienced hands.      

“Oh, yes.” Without another moment’s hesitation she began pushing the tool inside. 

Dyn’s immediately twisted his fingers into the bedding. “Kriff,” he swore, stars exploding behind his tightly closed eyes. It was the perfect amount of pressure and girth, stretching him open with an exquisite burn. The heat inside him swelled to overwhelming crescendo and he pushed his hips back eagerly, taking the full length at once.  

Omera squeezed his hip. “You take it so well, Dyn,” she praised as she maneuvered herself flush behind him. 

The plaudit stroked his Omega’s heart exactly how he needed it and he let out a low whine of pleasure. His thighs began trembling as his body screamed for Omera to keep going. “Please, don’t stop.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

With one hand grasped at the base of the dildo, she leaned forward over his back and latched on to his shoulder for leverage. Then she began moving. Swift, strong thrusts pounded his ass, pushing the cock in as deep as it would go with every snap of her hips, filling him in a way he’d never experienced before. He tried keeping up, pushing back on every shove forward, but the Alpha pheromones mixing with the scent of his arousal and hers, and the way her breasts grazed his skin, and the way she stretched him open, made it fucking impossible to even think straight. All he could do was moan weakly against the onslaught. 

Her hand moved from his shoulder to his hair, tangling her fingers into the thick, dark strands. She tugged and he brought his head up rapidly, willing her to use him however she saw fit, his body howling for her knot. Changing the angle of her thrusts minutely while continuing her brutal onslaught, Omera’s cock hit Dyn directly on that swollen bundle of nerves deep inside him. He cried out, tears welling in his eyes from the staggering amount of pleasure crashing against him, battering him like a ship lost in the stormy waters on Kamino. Precome leaked from his achingly hard erection down onto the bed. 

“You sound like you’re nearly there, Dyn.” She released his hair and he sunk his head back down to the bed. He tried and failed to control his breathing. Grasping his hip again, she pushed in harder, faster. “Are you ready for this knot?”

“Yes, oh, please, please, yes.” The words fell from his lips in a hoarse, shameless tumble. 

Omera pushed in one last time with a groan, nailing his prostate full force, and he came with a broken shout, spurting gleaming ropes of his spend all over the sheets. Just as he climaxed, the cock emptied some sort of synthetic release that was just as hot and perfect as the real thing deep inside him then began expanding in his ass, trapping the thick liquid, knotting him, thankfully breaking his heat for the time being. He knew he would only have a short time to rest before it was back, scorching him from the inside out, but for now it was abating. 

His body shook with the force of the aftershocks of one of the hardest orgasms he’d ever had and Omera gently helped to lay him down on his side. She spooned behind him, skin to skin, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his side, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder. The cock remained embedded inside him, still working to keep the second round of heat at bay momentarily. 

“Thank you for,” he began, grasping her hand and pulling it around to his chest. 

“Shh,” she quieted him. She absently traced circles through his chest hair, sending mini tremors through to his core at the intimacy of it. “No need to thank me.”

“And yet I do. I could not get through this without you.” 

“Then we are even,” she countered, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “You saved me and now I have saved you.”

He chuckled and brought her hand up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. Finding this planet seemed like some sort of cosmic kismet. Finding Omera here was his destiny. His heart swelled and he blinked back a curious sting of tears at the back of his eyes. He’d never felt such a strong pull before.  

Arousal bloomed slow and warm in his belly and he pushed his ass back against her. She gasped behind him and he smiled. “Again already, Dyn?” 

“Appears so.” He tugged her hand down to his hardening cock so she could feel for herself. 

Grasping his length, Omera nibbled playfully at his shoulder. “So it does.” 

#the mandalorian #dyn is in heat and omera lends a helping hand #omegaverse #the boy is a bottom y'all #in heat #mandomera #fanfic

[cheekyfitchmoved-blog]

tag  dump  ᴠɪ.  !

#ᴠɪ. — ❪ you say my name and it comes out like a dark confession / dyn. naomily ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ life isn’t always warm‚ isn’t always veiled in dusk and emerald / dyn. emily & katie ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ with the moonlight in our eyes‚ and constellations blooming within our hearts‚ we danced / dyn. gen 2 ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ you say my name and it comes out like a dark confession / p. naomi campbell ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ she smiled‚ and all hell broke loose / p. effy stonem ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ she spun herself a crown of gold‚ throne of bones and citadels / p. katie fitch ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ deadly roses still bloom from his decay / p. james cook ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ mood ring blood pumping spectrums through my veins / p. pandora moon ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ people with good hearts have a glow / p. freddie mcclair ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ i’m still dangerously soft / p. jj jones ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ i endured / p. thomas tomone ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ you cannot call my heartbeat hesitant noise / p. karen mcclair ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ you are as fleeting as a star and she is the night sky that envelopes you / sh. naomily ❫ #ᴠɪ. — ❪ our mouths open and we spill into each other‚ like wine / sh. effily ❫

[arabellaflynn]

Advent Calendar

From Manx Fairy Tales, by Sophia Morrison. David Nutt, London, 1911. Humans are so very odd about names. I spend a fair amount of time on subreddits like r/UnresolvedMysteries and r/gratefuldoe, where the denizens can be laser-focused on finding who the unknown dead are, and giving them back to their families. The latter sub was founded, in fact, after reddit managed to crowdsource a solution for the identity of the Grateful Doe, a young man dubbed thus because he perished in a car accident after attending a Greatful Dead concert. They've ID'd several Does since, many of whom have had their names and stories released to the public by their thankful families. It was many and many a year ago that the heiress of Eary Cushlin Farm had a little child. Eary Cushlin is a terribly lonely place; it stands high up on the Eanin Mooar, the big precipice, close by the steep brow of Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa. You might live there for months without seeing the face of clay, and no person knew of the birth of the child. It was not welcome when it came, and as soon as it was born, it died. Then the mother carried it, at dead of night, along the narrow path over the rocks, past where the waters of Gob-yn-Ushtey leap into the bay, past Ooig-ny-Goayr, the Cave of the Goat, to Lag-ny-Keilley. She buried it in the ruins of the lonely little Keeill that has been there on the hill-side for fourteen hundred years and more. There she left it alone. A short while after some yawls were going to the haddock fishing from Dalby. There was the ‘Lucky Granny’ from the Lagg, the Muck Beg, or Little Pig, from Cubbon Aalish’s, Boid-y-Conney from Cleary’s, Glen Rushen, and others, ten in all. Then it began to be said that something strange was going on over at Lag-ny-Keilley. The men would be fishing close in to land under the black shadow of Cronk-yn-Irree-Laa, the Hill of the Rising Day. When little evening came, the yawls would be drifting south with the flood tide, north with the ebb, passing and repassing the strand of Lag-ny-Keilley. Then they would see a beautiful light and hear a lamentation and crying, as if from a little lost child. In the end the light would run up the steep brow to the old Keeill, and go out. The men got so frightened that at last they would not go on the bay after dark, but would make from the fishing-ground as soon as the sun was getting low. Things became so black for the women and children at home that one old, old man, Illiam Quirk, who had not gone to sea for many years, said he would go with one of the yawls to see for himself. They used to say of him: ‘Oul Illiam has the power at him in the prayer, and he is a middlin’ despard fella; he will dar’ most anything.’ It was so at this time��his yawl was the last of them coming in; the rest were frightened. It was a right fine, beautiful moonlight night when he was coming down from the mark, and when he was near to Gob-yn-Ushtey he heard crying and crying. He lay on his oars and listened, and he heard a little child wailing over and over again: ‘She lhiannoo beg dyn ennym mee!’ That is, ‘I am a little child without a name!’ ‘Pull nearer to the lan’,’ said Illiam when he heard it. They pulled close in, and he plainly saw a little child on the strand bearing a lighted candle in his hand. ‘God bless me, bogh, we mus’ give thee a name!’ said Illiam. And he took off his hat, and stood up in the boat, and threw a handful of water towards the child, crying out: ‘If thou are a boy, I chrizzen thee in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Juan! If thou are a girl I chrizzen thee in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Joanney!’ In an instant the crying stopped, and was never heard again, and the light went out and was seen no more. from Blogger https://ift.tt/35GwZjt via IFTTT -------------------- Enjoy my writing? Consider becoming a Patron, subscribing via Kindle, or just toss a little something in my tip jar. Thanks!

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