Chance

Chance

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Dieter Bravo has propositioned you before, asked if you wanted to sleep with him - offered himself up for your pleasure. Now, when he asks if you want to go back to his hotel room, you decide to take a chance.

Warnings: Recreational drug use, drinking, protected p in v, yearning, little bit of tummy worship, reader has pierced nipples, Dieter is a menace. (If there’s anything else, please let me know and I’ll tag it!)

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x fem!Reader (co-star!Reader)

Word Count: 10k (WHY! This was supposed to be a drabble!)

General Masterlist | General Taglist

The pounding bass of some godawful influencer’s DJ set, heavy and pounding and lacking any sort of rhythm, reverberates through your chest as you linger near a group of costars. The VIP section of the club, though normally less crowded, is packed, overwhelmingly full of people - executives, celebrities you’ve only met in passing who are here to be photographed, influences who circle you like flies, friends you’ve already shared too many drinks with - and you can feel the weight of it all settling heavy on your chest.

There is no space to breathe, no fresh air to be found - it all smells like this designer perfume or that one, sprayed on by the gallon in an effort to keep high end sponsorships - and despite the vodka loosening the knot in your chest, the tingling sensation remains in the tips of your fingers. Each breath is shallow, not quite enough to satisfy the ache in your lungs, but enough to keep you standing as the crowd continues to surge.

Though actors have earned a reputation for being narcissists who feed off crowds of adulating fans - a well-deserved reputation, in the case of many you’ve worked with over the course of your career - the idea of spending the rest of the night trapped in this club, hidden away in a VIP section for people to gawk at makes your stomach churn. There are too many people, none of whom you actually want to spend your night with, but this is the final cast event your rep convinced you to sign on for so you swallow the remainder of your drink - straight vodka, at this point; enough to make your body warm and ease a touch of the annoyance you feel - as the crowd surges.

Keep reading

I’m obsessed with my AO3 stats this year… why idk, lol 🤓

My top 5 Boba Fett longfics ranked by hits on AO3 (all links AO3 links)

1. Book of Boba Fett: Footnotes on Love; words 13,167, hits 1,264

2. Stars Above; words 15,259, hits 758

3. The Dune Witch; words 19,553, hits 435

4. The Devil Moving; words 21,675, hits 408

5. Bloodlines; words 14,743, hits 305

Runner up: Mamihlapinatapai, words 8,079, hits 608

💗

What About Now

Rating: M | This is smut, no one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Sex pollen with Whiskey | Agent Whiskey is a thorn in your side, a name you’d prefer be kept out of your ear. But he blows into town with a mission sent from HQ and you have no choice but to deal with your complicated past. 

Warnings: Technically dubcon (it’s sex pollen but they’re very willing), fuck or die kinda, unprotected p in v, some exhibitionism, feelings, one use of ‘daddy’ (blink and you’ll miss it). I think that’s it?

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x fem!Reader

Word Count: 34.1k (yes, that’s 34,143 words; no, I don’t have anything to say for myself)

MASTERLIST

“Well, now, sugar. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Though you’d heard the door to your office open and the tap of boots against the hardwood floor, you hadn’t paid it any mind. Statesman’s New Orleans Headquarters was always bustling with activity and people were always stepping into your space for one reason or another when your door was cracked. You’d assumed - wrongly - that it was your assistant bringing another file that needed your signature, or maybe your second-in-command arriving early for the daily briefing.

However, none of the scenarios you imagined could’ve prepared you for the reality you were faced with.

Keep reading

Boba Fett doesn’t realize that he’s down bad for you and then he sees someone flirting with you on Tribute Day.

Let’s discuss.

choices, 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐓

summary. just a quick shortie where ratchet gets tired of you not listening to him.

warnings.there’s a little bit of smut?, just some touching (f receiving), fem human reader, reader has vagina, bayverse or prime ratchet it’s not specified

authors note. not doing a part two, but maybe i’ll do a different plot with the same idea. sorry for any mistakes.

“R-Ratchet, please-” You try to say, but you’re only cut off by your own throat betraying you as it lets out a loud whimper.

“What have I told you about messing with things you’re not supposed to?” Ratchet grumbles, the tip of his digit hovering over the softness of your clit.

His eyes reach yours, waiting for an answer, but as he expected, he receives nothing but your stubbornness. Your hips roll all on their own, desperate to feel more of Ratchet’s touch; but your attempts are useless. No matter how much you raise your hips, or whine, or beg, Ratchet keeps his digit where he wants it. But, it was your own doing that resulted such actions.

“I’ve explicitly told you, time and time again, to stay away from most of the things in my lab; and yet you still disobey.” Ratchet explains leisurely, taking his time with his words, carrying them on just like he’s doing with his digit against your stiff nub. It made him sound condescending, which had you blooming with irritation and arousal.

“Now, I’m going to give you a chance to finally make a smart choice. Will you listen? Or continue to be a spoiled brat?” The medic asks, his finger coming to a complete stop to ensure you that he will not continue until you give him the answer he’s looking for.

You don’t know what set you off; him implying that your past decisions were stupid when they very much were not (to you, at least), or calling you a spoiled brat (which you wouldn’t admit had sent tingles up your spine), but before you could comprehend an actual rational decision, your sharp tongue slips on it’s own.

“Fuck you.” You spat.

Ratchet growls before flipping your body over, your tummy landing against the cold steel of one of his lab tables while he places his hands underneath your hips to raise your ass in the air. Though his body was mass displaced to fit against your own, he was still much larger than that of a human. His shadow casted over your arched body, making you writhe in excitement.

“You always have to make things harder than it needs to be.” He huffs, but a deep chuckle escapes not long after.

“But I would be lying if I said I didn’t like it.”

— 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

Fill

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Anon request, “Okay then, he ya go … This is for Din. I have a thing for brat taming, and every one knows that Din has that ✨Breeding Kink✨. So, I think after a day of teasing and trying to work him up so he will just wreck your shit, he decides that your punishment is not to fully get the Mando D, but he is still going to fill you up. Just barely pushing inside so that he can make sure that you will be stuff with nothing but his cum when he decides that your punishment is over. 💀”

Pairing: Din x fem!Reader

Warnings: Dom!Din, very light name calling (brat is the only one used), unprotected p in v, breeding kink, very light choking, teasing, general season 2 spoilers.

Word Count: 4.5k (look, at least it’s less than 5k; that was the goal)

You didn’t need to see his face to know that Din was angry.

You could feel the ire rolling off him in waves as you stood by his side near the speeder bike and watched Cobb Vanth place the Mandalorian armor on the back. Din was pointedly looking away from you, his visor trained on Cobb, as his hands flexed at his sides. His patience was running thin, you knew that, but you couldn’t help pressing your luck as you smiled at the marshal of Mos Pelgo.

“Good luck with everything, Cobb,” you hummed as you reached out and placed a hand on his bicep. “Hopefully, this will give you guys a fresh start and put Mos Pelgo back on the map.”

Keep reading