Masterlist of all fics ever written! - - - 18+ | Minors DNI - - - Why are we here? Fandoms: Marvel, Star Wars verse, Harry Potter, Bleach, Supernatural, The Witcher People: Pedro Pascal, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, Tom Hiddleston, Henry Cavill, Jensen Ackles, Taylor Swift Identity: INFJ, Slytherin - - - I write fanfiction on an irregular basis. (AO3: queensands) (FFN: queensands) - - - "Peace lies within. Do not seek it without." - - - Secondary Blogs: Poetry & Prose | by Sands (Original Work) Bleach Haven (Bleach Blog) Fight The Good Fight (Supernatural Blog)
You drop a small piece of food on the floor, and decide to kick it under the oven/couch/whatever because you can’t be bothered to pick it up. As you’re walking away, you hear a very quiet “Thank you!” from under it.
“No problem,” I say, the words passing out of my mouth on autopilot, before my brain engages and I freeze.
I turn, and look at the fridge. It seems to be the same fridge that was here when I moved in.
I mean, I’m also kind of embarrassed. I never do that, I know that’s how you get roaches, but my back hurts so bad that getting up and down is next to impossible, much less bending over. “Um, you holding up okay down there?” I ask.
There was silence.
“I know that we’re probably the only apartment in the building that doesn’t have a bug problem. That’s, well, that’s you, right?”
Again, silence. But I know I heard it.
“Listen, I can’t really bend over right now, but if you’re down there and hungry, like, there’s half a rotisserie chicken in there that’s about to go bad. I was going to throw it away, but if you could use it-”
07 | 19 | 2001
H A P P Y B I R T H D A Y F I N A L F A N T A S Y X
“Zanarkand never sleeps. So let’s go to the sea, before the sunrise. The city lights go out one by one. The stars fade… Then the horizon glows, almost like it’s on fire. It’s kinda rose-colored, right? First in the sea, then it spreads to the sky, then to the whole city. It gets brighter and brighter, till everything glows. It’s really…pretty. I know you’d like it.”
And it is still my favorite game of all time. Nothing beats the characters and the storyline…not to forget all those feels! Tell me who didn’t cry playing this game?
vader saying "he was an old man who thought he could help gifted children" in gillen's darth vader run vs obi-wan breaking down in the desert saying "i only wanted to help." vader knowing that obi-wan had wanted to help him, and killing him because he couldn't stand knowing he never let it happen. the short story where all yoda can sense from vader after obi-wan dies is unfathomable loneliness. obi-wan agonizing over the fact that all he wanted to do was help a lost and gifted kid he met by chance, and he doesn't know where the cracks showed up. in the ROTS novelization, obi-wan's first statement after watching the security tapes of anakin slaughtering jedi, and his first statement is wishing someone had shot him before he could see, and the next is wishing he never brought anakin to coruscant.
it's preteen anakin in rogue planet earnestly telling obi-wan he's the best jedi ever, and obi-wan stays silent. it's later in that same book where obi-wan looks at his sleeping charge and wonders if the affection he feels is how fathers feel about their sons. it's anakin saying obi-wan is the closest thing he has to a father, and then in the AOTC novelization obi-wan asks him, "then why don't you listen to me?" and the comic where obi-wan tells anakin he thinks anakin is part droid, and then tells him it wasn't a compliment. it's anakin feeling like obi-wan was holding him back because anakin just wants more and more. it's obi-wan in jedi quest letting his thirteen year old drive. it's anakin in the gambit duology watching obi-wan be emotionally loving to taria and getting wickedly, viciously angry because obi-wan's love is lying to him. it's obi-wan defining himself by how much he believes in anakin. it's obi-wan in labyrinth of evil joking that qui-gon should've left anakin in slavery. it's obi-wan offering to leave the jedi order just to be with anakin, if that's what anakin needed. it's anakin losing faith enough in obi-wan that by ROTS, palpatine is the father he chooses, when obi-wan still believed in him. it's the force showing vader that if he went back to obi-wan, obi-wan would still call him anakin. it's also me fucking crying in this bitch
warnings: smut (18+ only): piv sex (surprisingly, that’s it this time). also: slight angst, language, x fem!reader
a/n: i’m probably breaking some unwritten sw fanfic law with this chapter but it’s my fic and i’ll party how i want to 🔪 thank you as always to @pleasedin for being a fabulous beta and putting up with my perfectionism, but also @babydarkstar and @silksaddle for being extra extra eyes on a chapter that would not cooperate. 💛
(gif by @bestintheparsec)
DAY THIRTY-ONE—COURSE SET: UNDISCLOSED JEDI TRAINING CAMP
It is well into the morning when you finally slide from bed—
Bed. Gods, you’d almost forgotten: Mando gave you a bed.
What have you done? I mean I knew this chapter would wreak havoc with my emotions thanks to Din getting to see Grogu but…oh my god!! Their vulnerability, them starting to see more of each other… Din not wanting to do this alone… 🥺
Your writing is everything to me.
Nighthawks just keeps getting better and better with the way the story progresses! I love it so much!
word count: ~8k+ (there is no plot until the last 2k of this i am ashamed)
warnings: smut (18+): piv sex, hate!sex, fingering/squirting, oral (m!receiving), face fucking. also: canon typical violence and weaponry, use of the word “whore” to refer to sex workers, slight angst, developments maybe???, language, x fem!reader
a/n: surprise shawty! a day early for my lovelies! this chapter is a lil’ different but shit is gettin’ saucy—in more ways than one. 😉 as always, let me know what you think. xoxo!
(beta’d by @pleasedin // gif by @bestintheparsec)
The Mandalorian was not lying when he told you: I’m not finished with you yet.
The Mandalorian was not lying when he found his voice that evening in the cargo hold and said: Yes. It will be a regular thing.
Din Djarin is not a man who lies. He is a man who keeps his word. And for the last fortnight—fourteen days of steering his ship through the stars and his body into yours—he has made good on his promise.
Word Count/Rating: 5.7k / EXPLICIT (18+ only, minors leave)
Warnings: Monsterfucking, dirty talk, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), dash of size kink and praise kink
Summary: You're not sure what to think when someone overhears your conversation at the bar. You'll find out soon enough.
A/N: This is my first ever monsterfucking fic so pls be nice 😅. I have no true explanation for this fic or how fast I wrote it (2 days oops). It's funny (I think so) and fluffy honestly, and I hope those of you who are interested enjoy. Very much unbeta'd.
Also if you're tagged and this isn't your thing, no hard feelings in the slightest.
The bar is loud. It seems as though everyone needs to decompress from a long week, resulting in the current overflow at your regular place. Luckily, being regulars secured you and your friends a table in the corner, much to the ire of other groups in the bar.
Everyone, save for your D.D. Sami, is a few drinks in at this point and most inhibitions are well past lowered. The conversation got here after Linsey made a comment about tentacle porn and you try to not think about what it meant that all heads at the table immediately pointed towards you for confirmation.
You're not really ashamed of it, but it's odd to be unanimously known as the one who watches it. From there the conversation had broadened into a general discussion of monsterfucking and what actually qualifies.
"Of course the lady from The Shape of Water is a monsterfucker dude," Sami says, throwing a peanut at Curtis. "He's a fish man with an alien dick. That's like monsterfucking 101."
"What about Belle then?" Linsey throws in.
"Eh, arguable," you shrug. "She falls in love with him as the Beast but they never fuck so it's borderline I guess?"
Linsey looks almost relieved at your verdict. You might have sent her into a spiral by saying yes.
"Okay, okay, what about Eddie Brock?" Curtis asks. All of his suggestions have been either completely off base or so dead on you can't believe he's asking either way. It's obvious this one falls in the latter.
"You're insane if you think Venom isn't one tentacle up in his asshole at all times," you answer, taking a drink and making Sami splutter on his. He recovers quickly, pushing your shoulder good-naturedly for your brash comment.
“Fuck yeah man, get it!” Curtis cheers, his volume control leaving him as his blood alcohol level rises.
"Oh! Buffy!” Linsey says, “Doesn't she sleep with two vampires? That has to count right?"
"I mean I guess? On the list of monsterfucking vampires are like, low tier. They look like normal humans most of the time."
“Vampires are still monsters though, it counts,” Sami protests.
You get up from your seat, draining your glass and grabbing the empty pitcher in the middle of the table. “It does, it’s just not very exciting. If I’m gonna fuck a monster, I’d like for it to actually scare me a little.”
You spin on your heel and head towards the bar, listening to Curtis’ howling laughter behind you. If they already think of you as the resident monsterfucker of the group might as well lean into it right?
It’s easy to catch the bartender’s eye, pointing to the empty pitcher to signal for another round. He holds up a finger to let you know that he saw you, but it’ll be a moment. You don’t mind waiting. You’re not in a rush and with the buzz you have now it would probably do you well to slow down a bit. A repeat of last weekend’s hangover is something you would like to avoid, not actively encourage.
You’re not at the bar long before someone approaches you.
"Hey babe."
You're more than ready to rebuff this random guy, wait for your fresh pitcher, and return to your friends, but upon turning to see him you think twice about it. He's cute. No, fuck that, he's hot.
Clearly some sort of businessman, tie and jacket lost with his dress shirt sleeves rolled up and looking wonderfully tight on his thick forearms. If his smirk is anything to go off of he’s probably in sales. He’s clean shaved, a standard business professional haircut but for some reason it really works for him.
Your sharp reply dies on your tongue the moment your eyes meet his. A deep, rich brown that immediately pulls you in. If you didn’t know any better you might even say that it was something supernatural, how quickly and how large of an effect he was having on you.
You only manage a single word in response. “Hi.”
He leans against the bar next to you, crowding you with his broad form, and somehow you don’t mind. He’s close enough that you can smell him – some intoxicating cologne you imagine costs as much as your monthly rent.
“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation over there.” You should be wondering how. The bar is loud and conversation barely travels across the table, much less across the room. Instead, you can’t help but focus on the patch of skin exposed by the undone buttons towards his collar. It looks like the perfect place to press a kiss against, his chest looking warm and soft.
He doesn’t seem to mind that you don’t reply. “Thought I’d give you my number if you ever want to experience the real thing, little lamb.”
He slips you a napkin, walking off and disappearing into the crowd just as the bartender sets a new pitcher down in front of you. It takes a few seconds to return to yourself, distracted by your swirling thoughts. What the fuck was that?
You shake your head loose, pitcher and napkin firmly in hand, and return to the table. Conversation has changed in the time you’ve been gone and you're eager to jump back in, but you still feel a bit unbalanced as you take your seat.
“You good?” Sami asks, noticing your slight daze.
You nod. “Yeah, I’m- I’m fine. I think I just need to slow down a bit.”
Linsey leans across the table. “Who was that guy? He was gorgeous,” she asks.
You look down at the napkin reading the name Max P and his phone number, written in red ink. Your eyes scan the bar, looking for any sign of him, but just as suddenly as he appeared, he’s gone. “I have no clue."
“Are you going to call him?” Sami asks at work on Monday. You still have the napkin. It’s in the bottom of your purse and Sami is attentive enough to notice the way your eyes keep flickering to it.
“Call who?” you ask, feigning ignorance.
Sami rolls his eyes. “You know who I’m talking about, don’t pretend.”
Linsey rolls away from her cubicle to join the conversation. “I don’t think you should. He was hot, but you never know. He could be a creep.”
Curtis’ head pops over the cubicle wall a moment later, chiming in with, “I think you should. Dude was hot and you can always call me if you need someone to beat his ass.” Curtis flexes his arm at that, showing off his large and well-earned muscles.
“Thanks for the input guys, I’ll be sure to consider it.”
“What?” Curtis says, “Everyone can use a good lay.” You kindly ignore his very obvious wink and Linsey’s blooming tomato face. How either of them think you and Sami have no idea that they’ve been “secretly” banging for the last month you have no idea.
The click of heels warns you off your boss’s approach, Curtis ducking back down and Linsey rolling back towards her desk. “A call can’t hurt,” Sami whispers before turning back to his computer. And damn it, he’s right.
You ignore Sami’s pointed stare when you get up at lunch and head towards the bathroom. You’ve been working together long enough that he knows your bathroom schedule (it’s not your fault you’re so regular) and this is well out of the norm. It’s a small miracle that Curtis and Linsey take no notice.
The napkin is rumpled from it’s weekend ride in your purse. Thankfully it’s gone relatively unsmudged and all the numbers are still legible. You type them in carefully and do another sweep of the bathroom to make sure it’s empty before pressing the call button.
It rings twice before he answers.
“Max Phillips, what’s the buzz?” What’s the- who is this guy?
“Um, hi. I, uh-” For the love of god, pull it together! “You gave me your number at the bar on Friday?”
You swear you can hear his grin on the other end of the line. “Hi, lamb. I was wondering when you’d call.”
“Yeah well, my friend said a call couldn’t hurt and I guess they’re right so…” you trail off, unsure of where to take this conversation next. What kind of a phone call is this anyway? Hey, you overheard my conversation about monsterfucking, said some cryptic shit, gave me your number, and left? Where does this go?
“Want to meet up? You can come over to my place around seven thirty if you’re up for it.”
Okay, he’s not going to beat around the bush then. You run through a quick mental checklist of your plans for tonight. Dinner with Linsey, starting some laundry, and likely a glass of wine with a Netflix show. Yeah, you could pencil him in. If he was terrible you could still get home in time for that wine and show. Laundry could wait.
“Send me your address,” you tell him.
Your phone pings almost right away, alerting you to a new text. “I love a girl who knows what she wants. See you later, babe.”
The phone goes dead and you’re left staring at yourself in the mirror, wondering what exactly you just agreed to. You know the obvious answer to that, but somehow you get the feeling a casual hook-up is not the only thing you've signed up for.
“Oooh, that’s a super nice area,” Linsey coos over your shoulder. You turn off your phone quickly, as though she just caught you looking at porn or an embarrassing WebMD page.
You don’t answer her, simply glare, knowing that your message is coming across loud and clear. She sits down and shrugs. “That’s a little comforting at least. Maybe Max isn’t a psycho killer after all if he lives there.”
"Who said that's Max's place?" you question.
"That glare you just gave me for one," she laughs, "But also why else would you be going that far up town on a Monday night? I know you don't use tinder so don't pretend you have some other booty call."
You relent, stabbing a piece of lettuce with more force than necessary. "Okay, yeah. I'm meeting up with him tonight."
You’re not entirely sure why you’re embarrassed to tell her. Sure, you haven’t slept with anyone since you and your ex broke up a couple months ago, but you’ve never been shy talking about your sex life – hence the knowledge about your more eclectic porn habits. For some reason this is different though, and you can’t seem to put your finger on why.
“Well I’m happy for you,” Linsey says. You can tell she means it too, which is almost more embarrassing somehow. “You should send Curtis the address, he lives closest to there.”
Her obviousness pulls you back from total self-consciousness. They aren’t even trying to keep it hidden at this point.
You fidget before pressing the buzzer. Your dinner with Linsey had been right after work, giving you enough time to go home, freshen up, and change before seven thirty rolled around. Now, it’s a few minutes past – you didn’t want to seem overeager – and you’re debating turning right back around and heading home.
Max’s words from the bar keep playing over and over in your mind. If you ever want to experience the real thing. What the fuck does that mean? You hope it doesn’t mean him wanting to wear some goofy glorified Halloween costume throughout. You won’t be able to keep a straight face if that’s the case. Alternatively, you hope it doesn’t mean he wants to gut you like a fish and do freaky shit to your corpse. You watch enough Dateline to know it’s a possibility.
Your phone dings, a text from Sami reading ‘Get him, tiger’ that makes you finally press the button. Moments later a voice crackles through the speaker.
“Hello?”
You stand straighter, trying to give yourself a last minute confidence boost before replying. “Hi, it’s me.”
It’s me? Nice. Now you sound like a loon. Why didn’t you just say your name like a normal person?
“I was wondering where you were at, come on up babe.” He must not think you’re too crazy then.
The door lock buzzes, releasing and you quickly make your way inside. There’s no elevator in the older building, so you mount the stairs, trying to calm your quickening pulse. You feel ridiculous. There’s no reason you’re this nervous. Yeah, Max is hot but so are you and you put on a matching set of lingerie. You’re untouchable.
You knock, quick and firm against the white painted plane of the door. No going back now.
The door opens, revealing Max in a similar outfit to what he’d been wearing in the bar on Friday night. It makes you wonder if he only recently got home or if he noticed the effect his business-made-casual look had on you.
He’s wearing the same self-sure smirk on his face, like he always knew you’d call and end up here tonight. “Come in,” he greets, stepping out of the way for you to walk into his home.
Max's apartment is beautiful. It looks straight out of a pinterest photo, a perfect mix of vintage and modern items filling the space. There’s a good chance he hired an interior decorator, as no man you know has this good of an eye, but you suppose he could surprise you. Crazier things have happened.
“Do you want a drink?” Max asks, walking towards the kitchen.
You place your purse down on a table that runs along the back of the couch. “What do you have?” you ask.
“A variety, what do you want?” He answers, hands hovering over his cabinets.
“Some red wine, if you have it.” Wine will be perfect. Enough to take the edge off, get you relaxed without the risk of easily getting trashed.
Max makes a big show of removing the wrapping from the top of the wine bottle and pulling out the cork. You’re not sure if he did it for your benefit, effectively showing you the wine hadn’t been tampered with, but you appreciate it all the same.
Max pours two glasses, passing you over one. A single sip and you can tell this wine is more expensive than any other you’ve had in your life. No need to look at the label for that.
“Take a seat, babe." Max gestures to the living room, offering you to lead the way.
You’ll admit you’re surprised. Based on his cryptic behavior and short phone conversation you didn’t expect for things to move slow once you got here. Part of you almost anticipated him to be stripping you down the moment you stepped inside the door. This was welcome though.
Everything in the apartment looks well used but also well cared for. As though each item had been passed down and cherished for generations before landing in Max’s place. It’s astounding that he has so many items in such good condition from so many time periods. You shudder to think of the cost it must have required and wonder if Max knows the history of some of the items or if it's all for show.
You take a seat on the more modern couch, Max choosing to sit only half a cushion away. His proximity isn’t uncomfortable and you take it as a good sign given where this night is headed.
"Your apartment is gorgeous," you compliment, still looking around the space.
"Thank you, I'm quite proud of my collection from over the years." Max preens a little bit, clearly pleased that you noticed and appreciated his design choices.
"So you designed this yourself then?" you ask, eyes finally returning to Max himself.
"Yes. I had help here and there, but this," he says, gesturing around the room with a lazy hand, "is all my own."
You're genuinely impressed. Max gives off strong ex-frat boy vibes, not the kind of man you imagine antique hunting to complete the look of his apartment.
Relaxing a little more, you pull your legs up onto the couch and slip off your shoes. "Do you mind?" you ask, hesitating before letting them fall.
"Not at all. Make yourself comfortable, little lamb."
Your shoes make a soft thunk as they hit the floor, muffled by the plush Persian rug. Max doesn't force conversation and you're pleased to find that the small silences that stretch between you aren't awkward in the slightest.
A few more moments pass by before Max starts to delicately trace his fingers along the back of your hand. You had been resting it next to you on the cushion, granting him easy access. The expensive wine is already doing the trick, your skin already buzzing under his touch. You're surprised that his hands run cold, chalking it up to the result of his own better-hidden nerves.
His fingers start to trail up your arm and you finish your glass of wine, setting it on the side table. Emboldened, you ask the question that's picked at you since Friday.
"When you said if I wanted to experience the real thing that I should call... What did that mean?"
Max smiles and it strikes you as something predatory, not the flirtatious smiles he's been offering you otherwise. "I was hoping you would ask."
His mouth opens to reveal two sharp canine teeth and you can’t help but laugh. You know it’s in poor taste, but it's reactionary and you can't stop yourself. Of course you would find yourself one of those weirdos who thinks they are literally a vampire. Maybe a cheap costume would be better than this delusion he's trying to pull you into.
You expect Max to be upset by your laughter and it catches you off guard to find him looking amused instead. Your amusement subsides and you ask, “You expect me to believe those are real?”
Max cocks his head at you. "I don't know…"
There's no preparing for what comes next. You anticipated a cheesy line, maybe Max trying to convince you that they're real only for the glue on the fake tooth to come loose, but not this.
Max transforms in front of you. His face shifts – bottom canines elongating to match the top, brow bone becoming more pronounced while his ears become pointed at the tips. His skin turns mottled, the even tawny color interrupted by the deep blue, purple, and green of veins running beneath.
What makes you gasp though are the horns that sprout from his thick hairline, curving back along his head. They gradate in color, jet black at the base moving to deep burgundy, carmine to crimson, the very tips a bright cherry red.
"Do you believe me now, lamb?" Max asks, a fire in his eyes turning the warm brown to a simmering dark gold.
You backed away in surprise, pressed against the couch’s armrest. Hearing his voice again, that smooth honeyed timbre, now laced with something more ethereal, you relax. You barely know Max and yet hearing his voice again reminds you that he’s the same man who approached you in a crowded bar and invited you to his home. He sought you out.
Slowly, you sit up on your knees, carefully approaching him. Max’s eyes widen, clearly not expecting this response. He probably had expected a scream or maybe even for you to faint – not for you to see him and move closer.
Somewhere in your mind you register that Max has also grown in size. It’s not enough for him to be bursting out of his clothes, but the seams are certainly tighter and he’s certainly sitting higher on the couch. Alarm bells should be ringing in your mind as you reach out to touch him, but they’re suspiciously absent. Later you’ll wonder if that’s an effect Max is able to have or just something going on in your own strangely-wired mind.
His skin is still cold to the touch, his cheek chilling your sweaty palm. Your body is nearly flush with his, your hand slowly moving as you marvel at him. Max silently watches you observe him, his own hands staying fixed at his sides. When you ghost your finger along one of his horns he shudders, the information that they’re sensitive to touch being filed away in your mind.
There’s a hesitancy in Max’s eyes when you meet them. As though he’s afraid you’ll suddenly push him away and run out the door.
“You’re beautiful,” you breathe. With that, Max descends.
His lips are plush consuming yours, and you can feel the hard press of his fangs just behind them. You part your mouth first, inviting him in.
Max doesn't hesitate to deepen the kiss, pushing you back against the cushions. You slide your tongue into his mouth, feeling the sharp ends of his teeth. One wrong or careless move and one could easily puncture you.
He's keeping most of his weight off of you, but he's still heavy – as though he has more mass than you can even see. You tug on Max's shirt, demanding that he take it off without having to say anything. Max pulls away from you, leaving your lungs heaving and desperate for air. The realization that you're the only one in the room who needs to breathe crashes over you as you take in Max's unmoving chest.
Unwilling to wait, you pull your shirt off as well and let it join Max's on the floor. Max chuckles, leaning back down over you. "Eager?"
"Shut up and kiss me."
You dig your fingers into Max's hair, pulling him back down. He moans into your mouth, rolling his hips against you. He works his way down to your neck, sucking bruises into the skin and soothing them with his tongue. In what must be an incredible feat of self-control he makes no move to bite you.
He palms your breast through the thin lace of your bra. Your nipples pebbling from arousal and his low body temperature.
"I hope you're not attached to this," Max says, tearing away the lace before you can protest. You were attached to it, but you'll worry about demanding repayment for it later. Right now you're far more preoccupied with him trailing down your body with his mouth.
From this position, you have a perfect of his horns. They have a slight shine that you missed before. It barely catches the light, emphasizing the gentle ridges that circle around the length of each. You can't help but be entranced by them and run a finger along them again.
The curve is pleasant, the ends pointing back towards his ear. The gentle touch makes Max moan against your breast, his hips rolling against you again.
Max catches your wrist and looks up at you. "You have to stop that."
You're immediately worried, scared that you might have done something wrong. "Did I hurt you?" you ask.
He has the audacity to laugh. "No, babe. They're sensitive. I won't be able to last if you keep that up."
He should not have given me that information. You smile and give a small, "Oh," in reply.
Without warning, Max picks you up with ease and tosses you over his shoulder. "Max!" you shout, unsure of where he's taking you.
He swats at your ass, arm staying firmly in place around your legs. "I'm not eating you out on the couch when I have a bed."
You can feel the arousal pooling in your panties from his shameless statement.
Max's bed is large, and you quickly discover, memory foam. You sink into it, the silk sheets feeling like heaven on your exposed skin. Max wastes no time in letting you settle into the bed.
You've barely landed before he's tearing off your pants, taking your panties with them. Thankfully, those still seem to be wearable for later. Max hooks your legs with his arms, pulling you to the mattress’s edge.
He’s kneeling before you and with all of his enthusiasm up to this point, you expect him to dive right in but he prolongs it instead. Slowly, he spreads you open with his fingers, just looking at you. Trying to close your legs in embarrassment is fruitless. Max’s far superior strength keeps your thighs wide open, exactly where he wants them.
Just as you’re about to yell at him, he pushes one thick finger inside of you. You moan at the feeling, the single appendage feeling larger than two of yours. You’re powerless to do anything other than watch as he pulls it back out, shining in your slick, and cleans it off, wrapping his clearly longer than natural tongue around his finger.
“You taste divine, lamb,” Max compliments before finally lowering his mouth to your cunt as promised.
His tongue feels unlike anything else you’ve ever felt before. No man, woman, or toy comes close to comparing. You’re full but you can feel him moving, licking inside of you. It’s nearly too much for you to handle, writhing underneath him. Max loops his arms around the tops of your thighs, pinning you to the mattress and keeping you spread while he fucks you on his tongue.
You grab onto Max’s hair, hand framed by his horns. He moans into your pussy in response, speeding up his movements. You try to grind down onto Max’s face, chasing your looming orgasm. “M-more,” you whine.
Dutifully, Max’s finger finds your clit, rubbing in tight little circles until your legs are shaking. Your eyes slam closed as your orgasm crashes over you, fisting your hand tightly in Max’s hair. He doesn’t relent, continuing to eat you out and quickly pushing you from overstimulation to a second earth-shaking release.
You can feel Max’s tongue slide out from your cunt, giving a small kitten lick to your clit that makes you shudder before joining you on the bed. Nearly every thought in your head has been chased away except for, how am I supposed to enjoy regular oral after that?
Max is lying on his side, watching with rapt attention as you come down from your high. He's warmed from the physical activity and your own radiating body heat, making his hands running along your body less of a shock.
Once you're able to think again, you prop yourself up on your elbows and look down at Max's pants. With the size of the tent he's making, you're not sure how he hasn't torn through the zipper. "Why the fuck do you still have those on?"
Max grins and makes quick work of joining you in the nude. Looking at him now is the most nervous you've been all night. He's big. Bigger than anyone else you've ever seen. Thick and long and you're unsure if it's all natural or a direct result of his transformation.
You're not sure if Max sees your fear or if he just senses it. You’d imagine that’s something a supernatural creature could do.
“Don’t worry, babe. I won’t hurt you.” He sounds cocky about it. In the post-dual orgasm clarity you’ve regained enough presence of mind to be annoyed by it. You can play dirty too.
You reach over and gently stroke his horns, saying, “I know, pretty boy.”
You’re pretty sure he almost comes then and there. His eyes flash at you, a sliver of dangerous red, before he has both of your hands pinned above your head. Max’s other hand is at your waist and it feels like he’s engulfing it in his large palm.
His cock is heavy and leaking where it’s resting on your hip. He grinds against you, allowing himself friction and leaving you without. You whine, and try to shift your hips into him but it’s helpless. If he wanted to, he could get himself off here and leave you desperate and wanting.
Thankfully, he wants to feel you wrapped around him more than he wants to make you beg for it. Max leans down next to your ear as he lines himself up, the fat head of him teasing at your entrance. “I’m going to fuck you and I’m not going to stop until you can’t take anymore.”
He’s a stretch. Even with two orgasms under your belt and being opened up by his tongue, Max has to move slowly in order to avoid literally splitting you open. You’re thankful he’s holding you down because you’re not sure you’d be able to remain still enough for him otherwise.
“Fuck, Max!” you wail, another inch pushing into you.
Max isn’t faring much better above you. His eyes are squeezed shut, trying to focus on not immediately blowing his load. “F-fuck, so-so tight, little lamb.”
He rocks his hips slowly and eventually, he’s fully sheathed inside of you. You both have to pause, Max taking breaths he doesn’t even need to calm himself. He’s buried deep within you, deeper than you ever thought possible.
“Max,” you moan, “Move.”
Planting his knees, Max begins to fuck you slowly. He sets a pace so that you can feel every perfect inch of him dragging along your slick walls until you’re crying out for more. He doesn’t disappoint.
He gradually picks up speed, fucking you harder, deeper, to the point where you’re pretty sure there will be an indent in the memory foam. His hands remain tight around your wrists, pinning you in place for him to rut into. Max drags his fangs along your neck, and without warning you’re thrown headlong into another orgasm – the small threat of what he could easily do enough to push you over.
Feeling your walls fluttering around his cock, Max doesn’t stop, extending your pleasure and starting to lose himself to his. Your hands slip out from underneath his, moving to grab at his back for something to hold onto. You can feel his muscles shifting, more than a back should while you're railed into next week.
“Do- do you have wi-wings?” you stutter. Max is too far gone to reply and you can tell he’s close, so you do the one thing you know will send him over the edge. His face is tucked into the crook of your neck, making it easy to run your hand down the length of his horn.
Max comes with a roar, filling you with his spend while two large appendages sprout from his back. You were right. Wings.
He all but collapses on you. You’re too distracted to care or even notice the slight pinch as he pulls out. The wings are large, spanning just past either end of the king sized bed. You can only think to call them batlike in their structure, the low lighting of the room making the skin? glow, like when you hold a flashlight up to a hand. The memory foam mattress makes more sense if he has these to accommodate.
His wings ruffle slightly when you touch them, but Max stays put over you and allows you to run your hands along the top ridge. There’s a small, muffled moan against your skin and you imagine this must feel like an arm or leg massage would to you. You’re not sure how long it is before Max folds them against his back, not putting them away yet, and rolls off onto his side.
Some of Max’s features have returned to normal. Or maybe not technically normal for him, but rather returned to looking human. He’s left his horns out though and you can’t help but ask, “Is that more comfortable for you?”
Max seems surprised that you would ask. He sits up and you’re almost certain it’s just to avoid your eyes when he answers. “Yes, but you also seem to like them, so…”
It’s the most vulnerable you’ve seen him all night and his dick was just inside you. “I do,” you tell him honestly. You can still see enough of his face to see his smile.
Max cleans you up with a washcloth and gets you a glass of water before returning to bed. You let him get comfortable, situating his wings behind him before laying on his chest. You’ve never really stuck around with hook-ups to cuddle before, but even you can admit that this was something different. He seems content to let you stay too.
“You were wonderful, lamb,” Max says, running a hand over your hair.
You sit up slightly, meeting his eye. It’s been bothering you all night but you haven’t really had a chance to ask until now. "Why are you calling me lamb? I have a name."
Max doesn’t even have the decency to look remorseful as he explains. "You're like my little lamb to the slaughter, you know?"
You roll your eyes at him. That has to be one of the worst things you’ve ever heard and your ex liked to call you tootsie. "You have got to be kidding me."
"What? I thought it was funny,” Max says.
You settle back against him, shaking your head. Out of all the monsters you could meet and fuck, of course you find the one that makes horrendous puns. "Terrible. Just terrible."
You’re nearly asleep when Max speaks again. “Still think vampires are a low tier monsterfuck, babe?"
Of course he heard that in the bar. You can imagine that was the whole reason he even approached you, wanting to prove you wrong on your thoughts of vampires. Buffy still doesn’t have shit on you – her vamps weren’t nearly as beautifully monstrous as yours.
"Maybe,” you yawn, knowing it’ll get him riled up. “You didn’t exactly scare me.”
You’re not sure why that is. He should have scared you. The moment he transformed you should have been running out the front door and not looking back. Maybe it’s all the porn you’ve watched and read influencing your thoughts on monsters and their sex appeal or maybe it’s that soft look you caught in his eye, but he never truly scared you.
Max scoffs at your answer. Here you are, nearly catatonic after what he did to you and you’re still calling him low tier. You snuggle into him more, enjoying the cool feel of his skin against yours. You can’t hide your smile.
a/n: something a little silly that is not inspired by my daily life. why would you ever think that? 🙃 not sure where the angst came from but ayyyyyy! sorry for whatever the hell this is. also: prompts/requests for mr. domestic djarin always welcome!
The plaque outside your classroom door reads Ms. Djarin. Your automated email signature identifies you as Ms. Djarin. You correct your students day-in and day-out: It’s Ms—not Mrs, not Miss.
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