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pianokantzart · 10 months

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I want to discuss the difference in the relationship between Mario and Luigi in the games vs in the movie universe. I mean, is their bond wholesome in both scenarios? Yes. Obviously. But there is a special closeness between Movie Mario and Luigi that I really need to ramble about. In the games, Mario was born into the world where he belongs– a world that needed a daring hero. One of his first acts was to go on an adventure to rescue his brother, even though he was a literal infant at that time. He hit the ground running the moment he gained consciousness, and hasn’t slowed down since. Everyone sees this heroism and determination, and admires him for it.

But in the Movie Verse, Mario is born into a lower-middle class family of blue collar workers in a world that doesn’t take well to reckless heroism. Bullheaded bravery is considered amusing at best, and an embarrassment at worst. There are no monsters to fight or princesses to save, there is only money to make and jobs to do, and Mario does his best to adapt.

In the games (the Mario & Luigi RPGs in particular) Mario doesn’t react to people disregarding or talking down to Luigi unless Luigi shows it bothers him, because, otherwise, I don’t think Mario even knows it hurts him. He probably thinks that surely Luigi knows his worth, and that there’s no use getting defensive over pointless nonsense when there’s more important things at stake. There is a lot of love between the brothers, but there is also the natural divide between someone who has fit in effortlessly his entire life, and someone who has been struggling desperately to keep up with him, just to get brushed aside because he doesn’t measure up in the eyes of the world.

Heroism doesn’t come easy to Luigi, but he does it anyways because he cares about his brother, and wants to do the right thing.

In both the games and the movie Luigi is an anxious, goofy, clumsy victim of continuous bad luck, whose kindness and good nature always shines through despite everything. He is deemed too gentle and nervous to fit in, an easy target who can be mistreated and pushed around without consequence... ... unless, of course, Mario is there.

In the games, Mario will argue on behalf of his brother if it’s clear his feelings are hurt, but in the movie verse Mario is prepared to throw hands in a heartbeat the moment you disrespect Luigi, because that version of Mario knows what it’s like to be talked down to. He knows what it’s like to be brushed aside and belittled, he knows that whether you take it personally or not all those small insults wear you down over time, and he isn’t going to let anyone do that to his little brother.

On the flip side, Luigi is one of the few people who sees Mario for himself, and loves him for it. Though there are no monsters to fight or princesses to save (yet), Mario’s brashness helps Luigi stand up for himself... helps him move forward... balances him out. Luigi has always been the one person in this world who needed Mario to be as brave, bold, foolhardy, and heroic as he was.

Neither of them fit in, but they see each other and love each other for what everyone else has determined to be their weaknesses.

In the games, Mario can easily stand on his own because he’s being helped, uplifted, and supported by everyone and everything around him. In the movie? Luigi was, for the longest time, the only one who allowed him to truly be himself.

#anyways #I LOVE INSECURE MARIO I LOVE MARIO WHO IS DOWNTRODDEN I LOVE MARIO WHO IS ALMOST AS MUCH OF AN UNDERDOG AS HIS BROTHER #Mario and Luigi have always been close but the movie verse has a special flavor to their bond that makes me go absolutely RABID #They're both hurting and they both find comfort in each other #They are each other's best friend in the whole universe and they NEED each other #Mario Movie #super mario brothers #Mario Commentary #Mario #Luigi #long post

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astarionsilverbough · 7 months

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"It should've been him.

"I know - I know better than most - I know we are born to die. It is the - the natural order, the mandated law of your kingdom. All living things must one day return to the earth whence they came, yes, but -

"And I know it is the ultimate sin to seek life eternal. Mortal flesh was forged from the same magic as the earth that sustains us. But...

"Oak Father - would it be sin to seek it for someone else? Would that not be the greatest show of - of love, of devotion, of..."

Heavy silence.

"Because it should've been him. The sun dwelled inside his bones. What is the earth without sunlight?

"What is the earth - without sunlight, Oak Father? Please - what is the earth without sunlight, what - what am I without him?"

Knees crashland in the moss. Hands plant in the grass. The dew of morning has long been licked away by passing deer; tears glimmer where the blades catch them. Hold them.

"It should've been him," utters the bereaved elf, head bowed with the weight of the grief that falls from his lips; "death - should never have been allowed to touch him!"

His nostrils furl in a snarl. The beast bites at the back of his teeth.

And where were you, druid?

He breathed his last alone, afraid. They said he had over thirty wounds. Was nearly unrecognizable. Your sweet sun-star. Your Astarion.

So where were you?

Halsin grinds his teeth together until his jaw aches. A rough-hewn sob punches from him and he curls his fingers into the rich earth, packing his palms with its soft flesh.

The amulet around his neck swings like a pendulum over the wounded ground.

You let him run. You did not chase after your mate, and your inaction killed him.

Fire shoots into his throat, billowing from the mouth of the wicked demon awakening in his belly. Halsin's vision goes white with the heat of it. He can't let it out. There is no fire. It is only bile and saltwater from swallowed tears.

When he thinks of Astarion's final moments, something inside the druid Halsin threatens to combust. Try as he might, he cannot seem to force the thoughts to stop; the cruel imaginings of the way he might've looked when he was found, rigid body twisted with the agony of a wicked death.

He would've been so cold.

Was he cold when he died?

Was the last thing he saw the sheer hatred burning in his murderer's eyes?

When the roar comes, it threatens to shatter him. The beast claws at the cage of his body but it cannot break out. He remains horrificially human in the throes of a grief so powerful Halsin thinks for a moment he might actually be turning into an infernal thing, some wicked new demon that would ruin the world.

Breathe.

He cannot. The roar throttles him.

A soft breeze passes over his hair.

Breathe, darling.

Fractured shards of ruined air slice through his lungs. He chokes on the taste of blood. Another gentle breeze caresses his face, his neck, his chest.

That's it.

Breathe. Let it pass.

Come back to me, Halsin.

To what? A world without you?

Halsin.

I'm right here, darling.

The breeze becomes warm flesh. A breath of life floods Halsin's lungs, coaxed into them by the hand on his chest as his meditation finally breaks.

With a ragged sound, Halsin opens his eyes and finds himself gazing at the sun.

"There you are," Astarion hums, thumbing over the apple of Halsin's cheek with a small smile.

The vampire is propped up on his chest, sunset gaze weary but so, so tender. His soft white hair is bed-rumpled and there are little indents on his cheek from the creases in his pillow. Halsin is moving before he's even aware of it, one big hand sliding into Astarion's hair. The elf holds his gaze as he allows Halsin to roll him back into the sheets, pliant and trusting when the larger elf cages him down beneath the bulk of his body.

Astarion is alive. They're in their room in Last Light and Astarion is alive, skin gloriously sleep-warm under Halsin's hands.

Exhaling a ghost that never was, Halsin presses his brow to Astarion's. The elf reaches up to push Halsin's hair back from his face, gathering it in an idle hand as he nudges the bridge of Halsin's nose with his own.

"I'm sorry," Halsin rasps, "I didn't mean to disturb you."

Astarion chuckles and passes his fingertips over Halsin's lips. He kisses them on instinct and Astarion bites his bottom lip, smile darting close to grin territory before his concern chases it away.

"The only time you disturb me is when you apologize for suffering, darling," Astarion murmurs. "Your heartbeat was so frenzied it pulled me out of my trance - you were whimpering as if you had a paw caught in a bear trap."

Halsin lets out a faint sound. Astarion nods slightly and utters, "yes, like that," against Halsin's lips when the elf finally breaks and surges down to kiss him. The vampire melts into it immediately, eyes fluttering shut as he lets Halsin lick into his mouth.

No words come to him. That's just fine. Astarion knows him - he's borne witness to the aftermath of Halsin's strange, nightmarish meditations before. Memories, all of them; sometimes they're of the battle against the Thorms. Sometimes they're of Isobel, the way her eyes had gone big as her body registered the glaive splitting it open in the middle.

And sometimes, they're the memories of his worst moments of grief in the long between of Astarion's lifetimes.

He has no words because none would do the memories justice. He could tell Astarion how he mourned, how viciously he grieved, until he was blue in the face - it wouldn't matter. Not because Astarion wouldn't care, but because it would not unburden Halsin whatsoever.

It would only serve to cause more grief.

No - there was no healing in the confession of his dark moments between Astarion's lifetimes. Healing comes here, like this:

"Darling," and it's breathy and aching, "let yourself feel me, really feel me. Bury it here, sweet boy - let it be gentle, now."

The words ignite in Halsin's belly. Astarion slides his arms around the big elf's massive shoulders and kisses over his cheek, hairless thighs whispering against Halsin's hips. The vampire wraps himself languidly around Halsin with practiced ease, lean body blooming in an exquisite arch beneath him.

When the scent of the slick entrance beneath the jut of his long, half-hard cock hits Halsin, the entire world narrows and the tendrils of cloying agony begin to ebb away. Splaying a hand over Astarion's belly, Halsin cups the back of the elf's head in the other and noses down the line of his throat, mouth parting over the faint echo of his pulse.

"That's it," Astarion groans quietly, hips rolling instinctively as he grows even slicker between his spread thighs. He radiates a sweet, intoxicating kind of need, the kind of need that makes Halsin's head spin and his cock throb and weep dewdrops over Astarion's groin.

"I'm here," the elf exhales against Halsin's ear. "I'm right here, darling, feel me. Touch me, Halsin, please."

A clever hand slides over the one Halsin has on his belly and guides it lower. With an absolutely dulcet little moan, Astarion steers him around the hard line of his cock and down to his cunt instead, pressing Halsin's fingertips right to his slick entrance with an aching whine.

"Let it go," Astarion breathes in elvish against Halsin's mouth, beautiful red eyes flickering over his face to meet his heavy gaze. "Be here with me. Don't stray from me now, Halsin - not when we've found each other again."

An echo of the plea he'd given Astarion in the Underdark. Tears bloom along the seam of his eyelids as he kisses Astarion deep, two fingers delving gently into the wet heat of his body. He uses the slick caught between them to prepare his cock, drawing a membrane of glistening spend over the head.

Their moans collide between their mouths as Halsin sinks home. Astarion's cheeks are tinged with pink, ears burnt red; by the end, the flush will spread down his chest. Halsin thumbs over a hardened nipple and massages the nape of Astarion's neck with the hand still cradling his head.

"Halsin," Astarion groans - it's a dangerous thing, that groan, because it makes Halsin think he might be a god - "darling, oh - I feel you in my throat, you're perfect."

And this is how he heals.

It's:

"Faster," and Astarion growls it against his jaw, blunt nails digging into Halsin's back. "Faster - ah! Yes, fuck - oh, fuck, Halsin - sweet boy, oh -"

Every plea is a prayer, each cry of his name a hymn; Halsin pants like a beast in rut against Astarion's cheek, one big arm wrapped tight around his lean waist now as he drives into the tight clutch of his body. Astarion's belly is a battlefield of spunk and sweat, his pink cock still hard where it smears through the mess.

This is how he heals.

Not through broken confessions that only bring more grief, but:

"Yours," Astarion whines, and Halsin is groaning like he's been driven through with a pike as he fucks into the vampire, finally chasing his own release; "you know I'm yours, you know I've only ever been yours - come on, sweet boy. My beast. Mark me, leave yourself inside me."

And it's obscene and it's aching and Astarion is clinging to him as if Halsin is the tree the storm is trying to shake Astarion from. Blue-white heat spirals up and down Halsin's spine. His sac tightens. The golden threads of tension in his belly snap and Halsin's skin ripples with a fleeting fever as he buries himself inside Astarion, unbridled moans and whimpers pouring from his kiss-bruised mouth.

"Oooh," groans the beautiful, divine thing beneath him, body relaxing as if Halsin's seed was the medicine it needed to do so. "That was a good one, wasn't it? My sweet beast - look at me now."

Halsin does. Astarion smiles. There's a hint of smugness to his smirk and Halsin revels in the taste of it - whiskey and sunlight on his tongue.

Gold.

Everything about him is... Gold.

"There you are," Astarion murmurs, voice thick with praise. Halsin's throat tightens. He wants to die looking up at the face beneath him. There are still pillow creases on Astarion's cheek and Halsin, wrought with a far softer kind of agony now, puts his lips to them and utters a faint prayer.

"Well you're welcome," says Astarion, hands gliding absently up and down Halsin's back, "but there's really no need to thank me, darling - loving you isn't exactly a chore."

This is how he heals.

Not in the bitter confession of tormented memories, but the creation of sweeter ones.

#baldur’s gate 3 #the land of gods and monsters verse #halstarion #astarion #halsin #rambles #grief #mourning #intersex trans masculine astarion #mourning halsin #i love hurting this big stupid man #astarion is SUCH a darling when he's in love and it ruins me #he is very gentle and it makes me so emotional #nightmares #ptsd #ursa minor

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skitskatdacat63 · 9 months

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"Bring on The Dancing Horses"(x) - Echo and The Bunnymen × Ferrari Drivers

#yes this web weave was titled 'Bring on The Prancing Horses' in my docs....yes im proud of that....#long post whoop!!! pls scroll back thru and listen to the song while doing so if you wanna experience it better :)#this was originally supposed to be an edit but i have no patience for that and im very happy w this!!#i daydream to music a lot and when i first heard this song i could only think of ferrari seb then sebchal then ferrari drivers in general #but this hurt me a lot to make(for several reasons)#one: AAAAHHHH IT MAKES ME SADDDDDDD!! now im only gonna be able to think of the myth of ferrari when i listen to this song #it rly hurt to look up the pics for this bcs it still feels sore to me and it makes me so sad #but at least i didnt have to watch vids! id probably burst into tears #two: fighting for my life in google docs trying to format the text hahaha... i refuse to use photoshop #special thanks to cofi (@sweatyflytrap) for giving me the idea to put the TPs for the lies lyrics!#its both funny and unfortunate that domenicali was the TP for both felipe and fernando #it would be a bit better if there was a different tp for each but ah oh well #also hehe changed the lyric a tiny bit for the Kimi part. in the og lyrics its Jimmy not Kimi but yknow felt odd to leave it as it was so!#other than that i really really ardently feel that this song fits the cycle of ferrari drivers soooooo well #the 'bring on the new messiah' at the end of the song PLEASE IT FITS SO WELL! with how they drop their prev golden boy for whoevers next!#also omg the way seb's verse is 'you're breaking my brittle heart' rather than "im breaking your brittle heart' HURTS DOESNT IT??????#i didnt included the original opening/middle verse. i def could make it fit but it wasnt a good opening for this post specifically #'Jimmy Brown made of stone' = kimi again. 'Charlie clown no way home' = charles of course!#anyways this is my magnum opus...but nah i really like it! ill only ever make web weaves w random 80s music i think hahah #ferrari #scuderia ferrari #felipe massa #kimi raikkonen #fernando alonso #sebastian vettel #charles leclerc #f1 #formula 1 #we do a little bit of f1 #normal posts that catie normally makes in a normal fashion

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profoundbondfanfic · 7 months

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crazy (guilty pleasure)

crazy (guilty pleasure) by Kitmistry (@kitmistry) Rating: Mature Word count: 27k

Castiel hums. His hand leaves Dean’s thigh to twist his fingers through the rosary, inspecting it under the passing streetlights. “I used to believe in God.” Dean watches his profile, lost to the darkness one second, illuminated the next, as the Impala rolls down the winding road. Castiel’s expression remains passive. “What happened?” Dean asks. Castiel’s lips thin. “Life,” he says simply and lets the rosary slip out of his hold. His hand finds its spot on Dean’s leg again except it slides higher this time. * Or while Sam is in Stanford and their father is god knows where, Dean gets a taste of freedom, but it might be more than he bargained for.

What is real is that Dean is lonely. What is real is that Sam left and Dean wants him back. What is real is that Dean has never felt loved by his father. What is real is that Castiel fills in every aching hole in Dean’s life.

But is Castiel real? Is he really the traveling photographer who has art exhibits and a sadness in his eyes rivaled only by the fierceness?

Dean thinks he knows because despite being a one-night stand, they never stop. They call and they meet up in nasty hotels and Dean falls. He knows Castiel’s face, knows when he’s lying, when he’s angry, when he’s teasing, even though his stoic features never seem to change.

But when secrets unfold and Dean’s understanding of who Cas is, he runs. Dean’s complete abandonment of Cas is hard to read. He doesn't answer calls or texts for months. It’s a complete cut-off, which considering what Dean has discovered, makes sense, but for Cas, who is capable of complete devotion and has aimed that love at Dean, a dramatic gesture is required.

When Cas is injured and Dean is called by the hospital, being his emergency contact, the circumstances of his injury cause Dean to question everything he thinks he knows about his life. He nurses Cas to health while dragging him along on hunts, his reservations and distrust slowly crumbling as Cas dedicates himself to being a hunter and shows Dean how the world looks through his eyes.

There’s no doubt here that Cas’ worldview is seriously fucked up, but it’s seductive and for Dean it’s especially appealing. His own emotional wounds and childhood abuse leave him with injuries that Cas’ way soothes. It’s a wonderful look into the psychology of a human monster and the decisions he makes.

Most important is the way Cas’ manipulation and gas lighting have fundamentally changed Dean. The end of the story is both on brand and as a result of the influence of psychopathy. It’s delicately and impactfully done. If you like dark but passionate and beautiful love stories, this is a great story.

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 8 months

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Okay, your Warlock Wally is just the cutest, the design is so well thought out omg!! All the roles you assigned to the neighbors is so fitting too. I love how you made Frank an absolute force to be reckoned with when it comes to fighting! (Looks can be deceiving, and the guy who looks like a twig can essentially snap your leg like one HAHA-)

thank you! i Try!

this made me picture a Scene where when Eddie joins the Neighborhood and it's his first battle with them, he tries to stop Frank bc yeah, he's a glorified stick w/ no weapons. but Julie and everyone is like no no, they're fine. and then Frank proceeds to absolutely wreck their enemies w/ his bare hands & Eddie is having certain Feelings

#a classic 'i can take care of myself' except yes he actually Can take care of themself #and everyone else!#yknow since frank favors hand-to-hand he probably gets a bunch of scrapes and stuff #the potential of battle husbands frank & eddie patching each other up.... ough #eddie bandaging frank's hands <3 #frank bandaging eddie's stab wound <3 #love language!!!!#honestly they must be unbearable in battle #they're both like 'ill make sure no one hurts you bbg' while Completely Disregarding their own safety #and then julie swoops in and saves both their asses bc she's a bamf like that #with her Giant Sword!#rambles from the bog #wh fantasy au #frank might be an entomologist but he's also well versed in the study of violence #he's the ultimate 'looks can be deceiving' poster child #wait no. Wally is the ultimate 'looks can be deceiving' but frank is a close second!

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radioves · 1 year

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its quite shrimple actually

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jtl-fics · 10 months

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You said you had something queued for the non-specific reality show AU?

WIP WEDNESDAY

"Welcome to Ugh." Andrew says while sitting in a perfectly white room on a simple black chair.

"We're your hosts, I can't believe I'm still alive to suffer through this, it's Jean Moreau." Jean says pouring half of a bottle of wine into a wine glass and handing the rest of the bottle to Andrew before taking a sip.

Andrew accepts the bottle, "And Contractually obligated by the Real House-spouses of Exy to say I'm happy to be here, Andrew Minyard." Andrew says.

"Today's segments include, 'No Kevin just because it has Exy in the title doesn't mean any of us want to hear about changes in player stats'" Jean says tiredly.

"And ,of course, 'Is it fashion or is Neil just hot enough to pull it off?' The answer may surprise you."

****

Thanks @ittyybittybaker for goofing around with me in messages about this yesterday lol

#Welcome to my spoof on UNHhhh by Trixie Mattel and Katya Zamolodchikova #Jean and Andrew retired from Exy #Jean got hurt #Andrew decided he was done standing in front of a net #Jean was only allowed to retired if he was still making some money to send to the Moriyamas for the next few years #Hence #The Real House Spouses of Exy #It's 90% gold diggers / trophy wife/husband #5% actually genuinely love their spouse #5% Jean and Andrew #Jean and Andrew get their own internet spinoff because fans love their asides #Thus Ugh. was born #Jean's married to Jeremy and Andrew is married to Neil #Most of the show is them talking shit about the new wives coming into the show #They do have some personal history stuff they talk about VERY VAGUELY #Andrew is doing this because Ichirou will let Neil off the hook for Exy in this verse as well #AFTG AU #AFTG #This one is by far the most goof ass but I am charmed by it immensely

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corazondebeskar-reads · 13 days

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this endless friction

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

[Okay, okay, this was written as a bonus one-shot for the "well it's love, make it hurt" series but it can be read as a standalone! there's zero plot! I just had those two in mind.]

Words: 1.4k

Summary: you and din find a way (or two) to pass time in space.

Warnings: bdsm, d/s dynamics, enthusiastic consent, preestablished safeword etc, established relationship, reader is collared, dom!din djarin x sub!reader, soft din djarin, anal, anal creampie, double penetration (using a toy), spanking, din takes the helmet off on a loophole, overstimulation, no y/n, afab reader with no description (but in the full series, she is described as having long hair)

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Cockdumb. That’s what he likes to call you when you get like this. Cockdumb.

He’s not wrong.

Especially right now. It’s… well, you can’t string a thought together. Not with the way he’s got you pinned under his heft, pressed into the bedroll with nowhere to go.

Not that you’d want to, but it’s all the more delicious as you writhe under him without being able to move an inch.

Mando’s chest is pressed to your shoulders and when you tip your head back, he cages it in with his own. His own head, chin resting on top of you. No helmet.

Because, of course, he has you so completely trapped and helpless here that you couldn’t look if you wanted to. No, but now you feel his lips against your hair and his grunts in your ear as he fucks mercilessly into your asshole.

He’d crawled into the bunk and stripped you of your trousers without a word, pulling you up so your ass was in the air and your face buried in your pillow. You wrapped your arms around it and settled in, knowing him enough to know you better get comfortable. He slid one arm under you to immediately assault your clit while the other came down in a series of slow spanks, a lazy assault as he luxuriated in the sensations, gripping the fat of your ass between hits to revel in the way you gasped and moaned.

It was your favorite kind of spanking, honestly. You both savor it, savor the way he brings his hand down at random, at ease, at a whim. The intensity and rhythm are entirely improvised, and his nails scrape across the skin as it grows raw, just to watch you shudder. There are no words, no pleas, no punishment. Just the heat of your bodies and soft cries as you enjoy each other. The soft smacks have you burrowing your face in the pillow and arching your back. You know, and you know he knows, that you’ll be dripping from it.

When he grew tired of that, or more likely, grew too eager to take you apart, that other hand slid around from behind to join its brother in pawing at your clit. It was more effective than any Bor in tearing your mind to pieces. Both of his precise, determined hands honed in, overwhelming and overriding any part of your brain that hadn’t already given in to him.

So cockdumb wasn’t entirely accurate, you thought, given that he’d made you go stupid with his hands and then just never let you come back up from it.

“Such a sensitive girl,” he crooned while he broke you down into tears from overstimulation. “I haven’t even gotten started.”

He hadn’t been fucking joking, either. Oh, no. He granted mercy to your clit after three orgasms left you collapsed on the bedroll, but that was the only mercy he granted. Urging you back up on your knees, torso still slumped against the silky pillow; he left you exposed and waiting while he rustled around in the hull.

It wasn’t long before he returned, and you heard the snick of a lubricant bottle cap and smiled, nestling into the bunk to get fucked.

But that wasn’t what he had planned. You should have known. It’s not that you never had simple sex, a quick in-and-out as duties dictated, but now? With 36 more hours in hyperspace? Yeah, you’re not going anywhere for a while.

Not that you’re complaining. It is your favorite way to pass the time, after all, being meticulously taken apart and wrung dry by this man.

One hand slides back to gently stroke at your clit while the other, freshly lubed hand, begins to work you open with two fingers in your cunt and his thick thumb wriggling into your ass. If you’d had the capacity to think, you might have gotten excited, but all you could do was feel. Feel everything he wanted you to feel, and maybe more, because between his neverending attentions and the snug, comfortable embrace of the Mandalorian’s leather collar around your neck, you’re gone.

His hand leaves your clit alone, and the other shifts its goals to stretching out your asshole, two fingers working more lube into the tight clench of you. He doesn’t let you focus on it for long, though. Not when his other hand slips back beneath you, and you feel the silky head of a fake cock pressing into your pussy. He works it in slowly, teasingly, twisting and thrusting until you’re stuffed full of it, right to the fake balls at the base.

Once it’s buried in you, he wastes no time now, pulling back and giving your already-warm cheeks another slap before lining himself up and plunging into your ass. He’d stretched you well, and slicked his cock with lube for good measure, so that the only sensation you’d be overwhelmed by was the sheer fullness.

And stars above, he’s going to kill you like this. “Kriff, Mando,” you whine in a hiss as he sinks into you.

He gives you a harsher slap before pulling out to push back in and hear you keen.

“Mmm, what was that?” Mando says. You almost forget to answer; it’s the first thing he’s said since taking his helmet off, and somehow, you always forget just how delicious it is to hear him unfiltered.

“Sorry, sir,” you gasp as he shoves roughly back in.

He doesn’t bother fucking you with the fake cock. He just leaves it deep inside—its only purpose to break your brain and make your ass even tighter for him. It’s about his size, and you’re drooling onto your pillow already.

He chuckles, low and dark the way he does when he’s got you like this, all dumb and sweet for him. “You like being filled up, don’t you, cyar’ika?”

“Uh-huh,” you squeak on a particularly rough thrust.

Another smack.

“Yes, sir,” you whimper. “I love it when you fill me up.”

“There’s my good girl,” he says, nuzzling your head with his own, and you have to beg to come just from that.

But he doesn’t let you. “Not yet,” he says. “You’ve had enough earlier. You’re just going to take it right now.”

Your eyes roll back, and he knows that if you weren’t his perfectly trained girl, you would have lost control. But you don’t. You grit your teeth and whine, but you don’t come.

He pins you down further with one hand on your shoulder blade and fucks into you with a feral grin. You can’t see it, sure, but you can feel it as his face is pressed against your head. He’s grunting with each thrust, and it only serves to bring you even closer, hearing the way he’s losing himself in you, how he’s simply seeking his own pleasure right now.

He doesn’t bother to rub your clit when he reaches his own climax. You don’t need it (and frankly, you’re a little sore already). He knows you don’t need it, he knows your body obeys him, and when he feels you choking his cock with your sweet, tight channel, he simply nudges his nose against your cheek and whispers the only word you need.

You know you come when he tells you to, but it’s a strange, floating thing; your attention is drawn elsewhere when he starts to twitch and pulse inside you. He floods you, each spurt of cum feeling like it’s going to overflow from you as he fucks it deeper into your ass.

When he pulls out, he rolls off you onto his side, and gathers you in his arms. You don’t quite surface from subspace, to his delight, and he gently strokes your cheek and runs his hand up and down your arm.

You whimper, and he laughs.

“Sorry, almost forgot,” he pants and reaches between your legs to extract the toy. He can’t help but tease you a little, and you moan when he finally pulls it out.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “I’ll fill you there next, pretty girl. We still have a long ride, you know.”

You try not to pout when the helmet goes back on. It’s not that you care if you see him, but you always miss the soft caress of his lips in between. Like he knows exactly why you’re sulking, he tugs it up just enough to press one last kiss to the back of your head, reveling in the soft, content sigh you grant as you snuggle up together.

*title from "It Doesn't Feel a Thing Like Falling" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #mando x f!reader #mando x you #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x you #dom din djarin #dom!din djarin x sub!reader #fic: well it’s love make it hurt #make it hurt verse

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iolypse · 1 year

Text

I need to write a fic where qmissa, chayanne, and qphil all celebrate día de los muertos (day of the dead) and spend the whole day cooking and decorating altars, sharing stories and such, and tallulah and qwilbur come by with an absolute shitload of marigolds to celebrate with them

#qsmp #they make an altar for techno of course #chayanne asks about it nd phil tells another story about him #honestly it'd all just be super soft and hurt/comfort vibes #sharing different aspects of their way of celebrating #I Imagine phil and missa are pretty well-versed because it's a popular headcanon that both their characters are super familiar with death #bc angel of death and missa's skin is literally skeletor #I've seen some people headcanon him as the reaper of death and honestly that's so awesome #god I hate writers block #qsmp philza #qsmp missa #qsmp chayanne #qsmp wilbur #qsmp tallulah

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sparklecryptid · 9 months

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Sel got an elaborate fruit arrangement from Ardyn as a gift after she live-blogged the whole Gilgamesh-and-Somnus incident.

She sends back a note saying ‘send money next time’

That is not to say she doesn’t enjoy the fruit arrangement. It’s EXCELLENT for blog photos.

(Slightly think that Sel is also a pretty decent photographer.

Which is a lead in to her becoming a Weird Aunt/Big Sister/Mom figure to Prompto.)

(“Hello boyfriends,” Sel says cheerily as she bursts down the door to her rather modest home despite the fact all her furniture is fancy as hell, “We are now parents. Tredd be a dear and take out an extra plate.”

“Miss Sel you really don’t have to-“ Prompto is timid and Sel just looks at him.

Tredd and Luche know that look. It’s the look that says she’s going to get her way no matter what.

“Your parents stopped sending you money two months ago,” her voice is bland and laden with anger, “I don’t have to, you’re right, but I like to think that I have a rather decent set of morals all things considered so you’re staying with us until we figure out your situation.”

“If you want to, that is. I can’t imagine being alone on a house that big is healthy but if you insist I’ll let you go back.”

Prompto’s eyes dart between Tredd and Luche and he pales because he recognizes them and they recognize him.

“Well,” Luche drawls, “Should I get the guest room ready then?” The question is directed at Prompto.

who nods

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Prompto says and Sel ruffles his hair.)

#salt of the sea lover of the land verse #Sel: I have no morals and look out for myself #also Sel: *sees someone in need* I don’t need to help them I don’t need to help them - fuck *helps them*#Sel: father teach me how to be selfish #Ardyn: you’re doing a splendid job already #Sel: not what I meant. teach me how to ignore people in need.#Ardyn’s face twitches. he remembers being unable to say no. he remembers what it led to #but his daughter doesn’t bear his curse or his blessing. she’ll be fine #right?#(he keeps a closer eye on her after that conversation)#(it can’t hurt to make sure nothing bad befalls his daughter right?)

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