Y'all, I Swear, I Have So Many Fics Planned But I Started My First Job Last Week And I've Been So Busy

Y'all, I swear, I have so many fics planned but I started my first job last week and I've been so busy and all i wanna do is sleep on my days off😭

BABY EEEEEEE🥵🥵

for the sleepover, a bit of a throwback, but maybe movie night with best friend!alex kerner that accidentally becomes more 👀

GOD the way this gif launched me right back into my alex era, I would fully let him ruin my life and just say thanks... he's really The Boy

warnings: sexual tension, awkward alex being awkward and just a touch pervy, implied smut, slutty reader lmao

He wasn't sure what to do, or say— or think— when a sex scene came on. Tensely glancing at you sitting next to him on the couch— bare feet up on the cushions and your knees against your chest, eyes staring forward and reflecting the blue-ish glow of the erotic scene before you, hand mindlessly moving from the bowl of popcorn to your mouth and back— he wondered if he should just ignore it, or address the tension directly with a woah, this is a little awkward, or act super cool like hey look, they're having sex, I totally do that all the time.

Okay, acting super cool was not an option: if he knew how to do that, he would just do it all the time.

But he figured he was better off saying something, because it seemed like it was getting more awkward the longer the silence went on— at least, it was for him, as he wrung his clammy hands together and bounced his leg and nearly winced as the couple on screen grinded and writhed together on top of silk sheets. His mind couldn't help but supply images of how it might look if the two of you did that... and his dick couldn't help but react. He internally scolded it to mind its own goddamn business just as he turned to you to blurt out something casual to say about all this.

"I didn't know this movie had a—" he began sheepishly.

"Oh, that's hot," you commented, at the same time.

"What?" you both said to each other, then laughing at the way you'd spoken over each other twice in a row.

"Sorry," you said, "what'd you say?"

"I— I was just saying that I didn't know this movie had a sex scene," he replied, swallowing with a dry throat as he awkwardly pressed, "what, uh... what did you say?"

"Oh, I just said it was hot," you smirked, looking a bit embarrassed to have to repeat it. "I mean when he, you know, sucked on her nipple— that was hot."

Alex felt his face heat up and hoped the dark room meant that you couldn't see him turning beet red. "Uh... yeah, I guess it is..."

"Sorry if that's weird to say," you dismissed, "but I mean, that's why they put it in the movie, right? 'Cause it's hot."

"I... guess so." You mean they didn't put it in the movie specifically to torture me, right now?

"Now I feel dumb," you winced, "like, kinda outed myself for being into that— I mean, you're looking at me like I'm crazy..."

"S-sorry," he choked, "you're not crazy, I, uh— I guess I just never thought about that."

"You never thought about putting your mouth on a tit?" you chuckled. "Alex, it's all you knew how to do for the first, like, year of your life."

"I don't mean— I've thought about that! I've, you know, I've done that with girls before," he defended. "Although I'm usually trying not to think about breastfeeding when I do, so thanks for that."

You snorted, "welcome."

"I meant that I hadn't thought about, you know, like... what you're into," he said. "We don't really talk about it."

"Yeah we do!" you frowned.

"No, we talk about who you're into," Alex corrected, "but it doesn't go much further than 'he came over last night' or whatever."

"Yeah, sorry if that put, like, some awful image in your mind," you shook your head as if to shake off the thought. "Didn't mean to be weird."

"It's fine, it's not an awful image," he said— but he wished he could've said it differently even before you reacted with a mischievous grin.

"Oh, so you like thinking about it!" you accused, suddenly setting aside the popcorn and sitting up to lean closer to him and poke him in the side as he nervously defended himself.

"Wait— I didn't mean like— stop!"

"You're into it now, huh! Thinking about somebody sucking my tits? Perv," you teased.

"Shut up, I didn't mean that— I was just saying—" he stumbled nervously; his cock was just happy you were touching him at all, and he awkwardly flailed around as he tried to fight off your teasing touches and hide the tent in his jeans.

"Imagining other guys licking my perky, hard, sensitive nipples," you continued anyways, doing your best mockingly-sensual voice, like some kind of parody porno.

"Not— not other guys," he blurted out his correction.

He was kind of hoping you wouldn't hear it, but you stopped your teasing dead in your tracks. Everything stopped— except the movie, of course, which had since moved on to a normal scene but was going totally ignored. "What?" you asked softly.

Alex choked on his own throat. "I— that's— um—"

"Were you thinking about... doing it to me?" you continued.

"No," he lied.

"Is that why you're hard?"

He covered his groin with his hands, but it was a bit late for that; and it wasn't just the reflection of the TV that made that sparkle shine in your eye....

"Oh, Alex," you purred, "I thought you knew you could've just asked, I don't mind..."

"Yeah, but," he sighed shakily, "that's not what I wanted from you, okay? I know you let guys... I mean, I know you sometimes— uh—"

You raised your eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to finish the thought.

"I mean, you hook up with guys. And it doesn't mean anything— and some of them are your friends, some of them are my friends, actually..."

You bit your lip, and his cock jumped in his jeans.

"And I figured if I told you that I wanted to, um, try something, with you, you'd probably let me. But that's not what I want."

"So you... don't want to put your mouth on my tits?"

"I— I just don't want it to not mean anything," he finally admitted. "If we did, I mean. If you wanted to. Hypothetically."

You scooted closer, making him feel cornered on his own couch. "What would you want it to mean?"

"I would... I mean, I guess I'd, uh," he stalled, scratching the back of his neck. "I'd want it to mean you're my girlfriend?"

The longest second in the world passed, before you smiled, and he hoped that was a good sign. "You're so traditional," you said, sort of mocking but sort of sweet, too. "Don't wanna fool around with just any old girl, huh?"

"Well, you're not—" he began having to catch his breath and start over when you suddenly began to straddle his lap, looking down at him with that up to no good look in your eyes. "You're not any old girl."

"Definitely not," you smirked. "I haven't been somebody's girlfriend in a long time— and I've never been your girlfriend. What can I expect? Aside from getting my tits sucked on."

"Uh— well, I'd kiss you," he decided, gingerly resting his hands on your back and hearing his voice get quieter like he was sharing a secret. "And... take you on dates."

"Mm," you hummed approvingly, beginning to toy with his hair a bit; his cock throbbed at the affection, and he wondered if you could feel it sitting in his lap like this.

"I'd... I'd do whatever you wanted, really," he laughed thinly, rapid heartbeats rattling in his chest. "I'd do anything for you. I think I've already told you that."

"Yeah," you breathed, "you did. Nobody's ever been as nice to me as you are, Alex."

"I figure that's why you don't want to be my girlfriend," he offered with a sigh, but you lifted his chin to make him look at you— and he figured he looked just as pathetically desperate as he felt.

Thankfully, you didn't seem to mind; you gave him a kiss, gentle and sweet, and he felt his shoulders sink in relief as he kissed you back. He held you tighter, pulling you in for more, but you broke away and he chased after you for just a second before he caught himself. "Sounds nice, actually," you decided. "When can we start?"

"Um... right now, I think," he replied, and you smiled wider.

"Where's our first date gonna be?" you wondered.

"At this rate, I think it's gonna be the right across the hall in my bedroom."

Oh my...🫠

sleepover request perv!steddie x reader, reader catches them talking about them and jacking off together and so joins them

i made jd proof read this so if there are any typos, blame them lol

“Isn’t she so pretty? Fuck, look at her…” 

You knew that showing up unannounced to Eddie’s place was questionable, but usually it wasn’t a problem. He had told you that you were welcome over any time, but now it suddenly seemed like a bad decision. You could hear Steve (Steve? Why was he here?) in the back room, distantly talking, and, the more words you were able to make out, the more your stomach started to burn. 

“Those lips would look so good around a cock, don’t you think? Her smile is so pretty; you think she giggles when you slip it in?” 

And then, a second voice came, moaning and panting: “God, of course she does.” Eddie? Who were they talking about? You felt like you wanted to back out of the trailer and leave, but your curiosity got the better of you, and you moved closer to the door to Eddie’s bedroom, seeing it open just a crack, and you peeked in to see what was certainly a pretty sight: Eddie laid on his bed, on his back, Steve laying next to him, both of them jerking their hard and weeping cocks as they looked at a picture of… Someone. You couldn’t see who it was from the angle you were at, but, whoever they were talking about and looking at, she certainly had to be a bit of a looker. 

“I bet she’s tight as fuck, too,” Steve said, his cheeks red as he tightened his hand around the tip of his cock, and he moaned, his lips forming a pretty O. “Feels better than your hand ever could.” 

“Shit, yeah,” Eddie sighed. “You think she likes it in her ass?” 

“She will when I’m done with her,” Steve laughed. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum…” 

“Me too…” Eddie mumbled. His bangs stuck to his forehead with perspiration, and his other hand lowered down to grope at his balls. “O-Oh, fuck me.” 

You couldn’t watch anymore, and you carefully pushed the door open further to stand in the doorway. Steve saw you first, and his eyes went wide as he scrambled to tug up his pants, shoving the Polaroid picture between his and Eddie’s bodies. Eddie was only a second behind Steve, struggling to hide himself, and you laughed. “What the fuck, you guys?” you said incredulously. “Just casually jerking off together? Whose picture are you looking at?”

“Ever heard of knocking?” Steve grumbled, doing up the ties of his pants. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Why’re you here?” Eddie asked. He buttoned up his jeans and he pushed his hair behind his ear to try to act casual. 

“Thought I’d come over for a movie,” you said. “But obviously you’ve got something better going on.” 

“No, I—” Eddie started. “We can, it’s okay, let me, um, get cleaned up, and we can—”

“Did you finish?” you asked, and Eddie’s big eyes went even bigger in shock. 

“Did I what?” 

“Did you finish?” you asked again. “You too, Stevie, did you?” 

“Umm…” Steve started. “N-No. I was about to, but… Y-You came in.” 

“Whose picture were you looking at?” you asked. “What lucky girl were you drooling all over?” 

“Well…” Eddie started, and Steve shot Eddie a hard look. “I mean, we gotta—”

“No, we don’t,” Steve said. “It was nobody, it was—”

“It was you,” Eddie said quickly. Your heart fell down into your stomach, and you clenched your teeth as you stepped forward a few times to reach the bed. The boys didn’t stop you as you reached between them and picked at the Polaroid, and you tugged it out to see that Eddie was telling the truth. It was you in the picture, taken on field day, throwing a thumbs-up at Steve’s camera, a big cheesy grin on your face. Your shirt was plastered to your chest with sweat, your shorts riding up in the back, showing off your ass, and you wrinkled your eyebrows at the Polaroid. “Really?” you asked. “This picture?” 

“What do you mean?” Steve asked. 

“I mean, what about the picture Robin took of me at my birthday?” you asked. “You can see right down my shirt.”

“You…” Steve started. “You’re okay with this?” 

“I’m a little pissed,” you admitted. “But it’s easier to go along with it than to be mad. Boys will be boys, y’know?” 

Eddie and Steve were quiet for a moment before Eddie spoke up. “I like that picture more because I like your ass more,” he said softly, almost like he was afraid to say it. “Steve likes your tits.” 

“Do you wanna see them?” you asked. “Get you off quicker, and we can get to that movie quicker?” 

“I mean…” Steve started. “Do you want to?” 

You shrugged. “Why not?” 

Love is a Downfall MASTERLIST

Aemond Targaryen x Visenya Targaryen (daughter of Daemon and Rhaenyra)

Rating: Explicit Tags: arranged marriage, romance, romantic and sexual tension, slow burn, smut Summary: In a last, desperate attempt to unite his family and strengthen his bloodline, King Viserys decided that Visenya Targaryen, daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon, would be betrothed to Aemond Targaryen.

Faceclaim:

Freya Allan (Cirilla) as Visenya Targaryen

Chapter 1 - DESTINY

2,485 words

Chapter 2 - THE ROYAL WEDDING

3,795 words

Chapter 3 - THE DUEL

3,920 words

Chapter 4 - A GOLDEN CAGE

3,540 words

Chapter 5 - DRIFTMARK

4,470 words

Chapter 6 - A FAIR EXCHANGE

3,725 words

Chapter 7 - THE BETROTHAL

4,395 words

Chapter 8 - KING'S LANDING

4,895 words

Chapter 9 - THREATS AND CONFESSIONS

4,595 words

Chapter 10 - THE WEDDING

4,850 words

Chapter 11 - A CLAN OF TWO

4,805 words

Chapter 12 - THE PRYING EYES

3,845 words

Chapter 13 - LEGACY

4,220 words

Chapter 14 - THE PETITIONS

3,815 words

Chapter 15 - OMENS

4,590 words

Chapter 16 - THE WAYS OF OLD VALYRIA

3,520 words

Chapter 17 - THE DRAGON'S DAUGHTER

4,415 words

Chapter 18 - THE GREEN COUNCIL

4,925 words

Chapter 19 - DRAGONSTONE

4,830 words

Chapter 20 - THE PACT OF ICE AND FIRE

4,960 words

Chapter 21 - THE MEANING OF LOYALTY

4,350 words

Chapter 22 - THE WAY OF WAR

4,850 words

Chapter 23 - LOVE AND DUTY coming 5/18

4,780 words

Chapter 24 - THE HEIRS OF THE DRAGON coming 5/20

5,210 words

Work in progress: 21/24 chapters

Total word count: 83,985

Comment to be added to the taglist. Reblog to show love.

Taglist: @darkenchantress @bellameshipper @itscatlien-blog @yentroucnagol @castellomargot @cardi-bre91 @avengingangelfanfic @malfoytargaryen @mari0302 @iamfandomnerd @diosademuerte @adventuremood @misspendragonsworld @girlwith-thepearlearring @crazymusicgirl104 @thetrainwreckjournals

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Aemond, a true goth, wearing black even in the summer. He's just like me for real

Heated

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: You believe your intended to be indifferent toward you until an unbearably hot day proves otherwise.

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: fluff, fainting, nothing else I don't think

A/N: slay. idk what else to say. dividers by @firefly-graphics. yeehaw.

King's Landing in the summer is scorching. 

When your mother told you that you were to be given a position in court as one of Princess Helaena’s Ladies in Waiting and promised to one of the young princes, she’d swooned over feasts and balls and beautiful gowns, but never once had she mentioned that the warmer seasons in the capital felt like a visit to the Seven Hells themselves. 

What was more, you have seen very little of your betrothed, Prince Aemond, since your arrival so many months ago–he was present only when it was explicitly required, but nothing more. It was evident to others as well, his indifference toward you. A handful of other ladies–quite unsubtly–took to questioning whether your engagement was still to be honored, in fact.

At first, you feared you’d done something to offend him and spent many a sleepless night wracking your brain for what insult you could have caused him or how you might make such an offense right again. 

Try as you might, no answer came, and in time, you grew to feel hopeless about the prospects of your impending marriage, resigning yourself to the fact that it would be one devoid of love. There were far worse fates, to be sure, but the knowledge that others suffered more than you did little to assuage the sting of his continued avoidance. 

Still, you tried to find smaller joys in your life within the Red Keep, taking advantage of all of the splendor royal life had to offer you–the libraries, the gardens, the Godswood. As much as it pained you to have an indifferent betrothed, you quite liked your life here and all the trappings it entailed.

Another small mercy was the friend you’d gained in the princess–you spent every day by her side, enjoying her company and oddities. She was refreshing, you found; different from the other tightly-laced women of the court, and it brought you great relief to converse with her about everything and nothing. 

You’d become one of her most trusted ladies, or so her mother, Queen Alicent, told you with a hushed tone and a subdued smile, and you looked forward to your marriage to her brother so that, at the very least, you could call your dear friend your sister instead. 

Today is hot, unusually so, even for the Crownlands in the summer, and the heavy, humid air sticks to you like a second skin, weighing heavily upon your chest as though to suffocate you.

You knew not why Princess Helaena insisted upon spending so much time in the sun on such a day, but as her future sister, you were happy to indulge her–to a point.

“Your Grace?” you called, dabbing the sweat from your brow as you hurried to catch up with her. “If I may, perhaps we ought to turn indoors until the sun has passed from overhead?”

She turns to you with a dreamlike smile, extending a hand to you, beckoning you back to her side, “A few more moments, perhaps? I am searching for a few more blooms before the sun causes them to wilt.”

You nod in agreement, reasoning to yourself that a little while longer couldn’t hurt–you’d be inside, shaded from the heat in no time–and turn your attention to the ground, searching for the closed petals of moon blooms and dragon’s breath intently, hoping to hurry the process as much as possible.

Although you'd chosen one of the lightest dresses in your possession–a floaty thing made of pale orange cotton–the fabric feels too much to bear, your body prickling beneath it uncomfortably. You can feel sweat gathering in the small of your back, the crooks of your elbows, beneath your breasts, and you fight the irrational urge to claw yourself from your clothing if only to feel a faint whisper of air on your overheated skin.

As if by some miracle, you see it: a tiny white bloom, like the others in Helaena’s basket, tucked away beneath one of the many stone benches throughout the garden, shaded under it from the relentless rays of the sun that pummeled every other plant into submission.

You lean to pluck the flower to add to Helaena’s growing collection and feel a rush of blood to your head, your breath shortening in your chest. 

You weren't the fainting sort–it had happened to you few enough times that you could count them on one hand–but you knew what was sure to follow that swell of unsteadiness. 

“Your Grace,” you straighten hazily, flower in hand, depositing it haphazardly into her basket. “If you will excuse me, I must…must step out of the sun for a moment–I am so sorry–” you teeter away, unable to wait for Helaena to reply, rounding the corner of the path that leads back to the Keep, stumbling and gripping at the low stone wall beside you. 

Before you, your eyes settle on a pair of black boots and dark trouser-clad legs–what a foolish choice of attire on a day like this–and flick your gaze up, meeting the curious stare of Prince Aemond.

Fuck.

“My Prince,” you breathe, forcing yourself upright and ducking into a deep curtsey, your head spinning, vision growing spotty around the edges. “You…must accept my apology–for my appearance–” Your feeble attempt at manners is the last thing you can muster before you tumble to the ground, your fingers cold and the rest of your body far too warm. 

You come to just a few moments later, your body drenched in sweat and your head nestled into the crook of someone's elbow. The person has scraped your dampened hair from your neck, allowing it to be kissed by a faint breeze. 

“Forgive me,” your rescuer–a man, by the sound of it–murmurs, and with a rip, the bodice of your dress comes apart, leaving you in your shift. The burst of air against your body is wonderful, and you release a shaky exhale of relief, your eyelids fluttering, distantly aware of the clatter of metal on stone as he discards what you presume to be a knife.

“I have called for the Maesters, my Lady,” the man continues, his voice a comforting hum. “Until they arrive, it is best to try to cool you–I must apologize most fervently for ruining your dress and exposing you so.”

You manage, slowly, to open your eyes, peering through your lashes. You're shocked to find Prince Aemond gazing down at you, his pale brows drawn together in concern. If you were in a more solid state of mind, you might have been embarrassed to be so underdressed before your betrothed, but at the present moment, you couldn't give less of a shit if you tried.

“My Lady?” the tips of his calloused fingers brush against your cheek in an almost tender manner, so different from the cold indifference you'd become accustomed to from him. “Can you hear me?”

“A-apologies, Your Grace,” you croak, your voice temporarily failing you on the first syllable. “I can hear you–please, do not allow me to trouble you–” You move to sit up, though your head remains clouded. 

“You ought not to move just yet,” he presses his hand to your shoulder now, easing you back into the crook of his elbow. “I caught you before your head struck the ground, but it would certainly be more prudent for you to remain still until a Maester sees to you.”

You are puzzled by his warmth and concern, though not unpleasantly so, and settle back against him with a dazed nod, “I suppose you are right, Your Grace.”

An overwhelming wave of fatigue sweeps through you, and your body sags, cognizant only of the Prince’s arm beneath you, and his firm, cool palm brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead. 

You fade in and out of consciousness for the next few hours and are eventually transported to your rooms. It is uncertain to you precisely when you are finally taken back to your chambers, but you know that Prince Aemond is the one that carries you.

When you awaken, you've been changed into a nightdress, replacing your sweat-soaked garments, and damp rags rest on your forehead and your wrists to reduce your temperature. 

The interior of the palace manages to remain temperate, even on days as blistering as this, all thanks to the breeze that sweeps in from Blackwater Bay and the thick, cold stone walls that keep the heat from permeating too quickly. 

Mercifully, the servants have foregone the lighting of any candles or the hearth, allowing you to rest in the cool dark, relishing the faint tickle of afternoon air on your face from the open window. 

Slowly, you sit up, removing the dampened cloths from your head and arms, blinking as you gaze around the room, regaining your bearings. 

All appears as you expect–tapestries on the walls, books on the shelves–except for one thing.

A Targaryen Prince is sitting at your bedside. 

Prince Aemond, always so composed in public, dozes in the chair beside you, the dark fabric of his tunic rustling when he shifts in his seat. The blunted point of his chin rests on his chest, the pale lashes of his uncovered eye fluttering against his cheek. He looks lovely like this, you think. Undisturbed and almost peaceful. 

As if having sensed your wakefulness, his eye flicks open, settling on you almost immediately. 

He all but leaps to his feet, the wooden legs of his chair screeching loudly against the floor, making both of you wince at the sound. 

“My Lady,” he ducks his head, his ears burning scarlet in the half-light. “I do not mean to intrude. I simply wished to see how you fared after this afternoon.”

“I am much better, thank you,” you murmur, unable to prevent your lips from turning upward at how endearingly awkward he was. “And I have you to thank for it, do I not?”

“Not I,” his answer comes in a rush. “The Maesters are the ones responsible for your care after all–”

“And were you not there to break my fall, my injury would surely be far greater than it is, would it not?” you reason, shifting yourself to rest upon the headboard, smoothing a few errant strands of hair from your face. 

“I suppose so,” he relents softly, and you smile.

“Then you have my thanks,” you gesture hesitantly to the chair beside your bed, wordlessly bidding him to sit beside you once more, and after a brief moment of pause, he acquiesces, perching there stiffly. 

“You need not thank me,” he murmurs, glancing down at his hands, folded politely in his lap. “Tis only what any man of good breeding might have done.”

“You are too humble, Prince Aemond,” you reply, a quiet laugh rising in your thinly-covered chest. “Although, if it would please you, I can always recant my thanks.”

“I would not dare do my Lady the dishonor of refusing her good opinion,” he does not quite smile, but the corner of his mouth twitches, at long last giving an indication of good humor beneath his dark, brooding surface. 

“I am glad to hear it.”

The pair of you sit in silence for a beat before he speaks again, his voice a low hum.

“I fear I would be remiss if I did not also express my deepest apologies to you,” he speaks to his hands, fiddling with his fingers restlessly. “It has come to my attention that I have not been as…attentive to you as one ought to be with their intended. I only ever aimed to not make you feel forced into my company, but my sister and mother have…informed me that course of action has only served to make you feel neglected.”

You blink at him, stunned by his straightforwardness, opening and closing your mouth twice as though to speak, but no sound comes. 

“I am afraid that it took holding you in my arms today, in the gardens, for me to realize how little I know you,” he continues. “Although, if I may speak boldly, I already carry much affection for you in my heart.”

A slow smile creeps across your features, softening them, your cheeks warm, though this time, it has nothing to do with the heat. 

“I should like…to spend more time with you,” he manages, forcing himself to tear his gaze from his hands to rest upon your face. “If, that is to say, you would allow me such a pleasure.”

“I would be most happy to have the honor of your company more frequently, your Grace,” you respond softly, and on a whim, you shift closer to the edge of the bed, letting your legs dangle off the edge, the side of your foot brushing his upper calf. 

It is the first physical contact you have had with him outside of your duties–aside from your spell earlier this afternoon, at least–and it sends a delighted thrill through you to be so close to the man you hoped you would one day love. 

His body grows tense at the contact and then relaxes, his leg tilting slightly to return your innocent, nearly accidental touch. 

Neither of you says a word, but your heart beats wildly in your chest, fluttering against your ribs like a caged bird, and his cheeks have turned pale pink from his confession, though he holds your gaze steadily now. 

For the first time since your arrival, you feel that your childish dream of growing to love your betrothed was not, perhaps, so far-fetched as you'd let yourself believe.

Aemond Tag List:

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This is ridiculous, I haven't even gotten around to watching this show yet. Argggghhhh, I'm WHIPPED😭😭😭🥵🥵🥵

Making Ends Meet | dark!Mandalorian x reader

summary: you’re just a simple woman trying to make your way in the universe, with the universe’s oldest profession.  unfortunately for you, a new customer doesn’t plan on going easy on you.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: smut (dub con), kidnapping (?? kinda), prostitution, rough sex, pain kink, lots and lots of degradation, ooc mando being a meanie

please do not read if this content would be triggering or upsetting for you, dark fics aren’t for everyone and it is your responsibility to manage your own content consumption

If you were going to have any hope of making rent this month, you needed to book someone tonight— and not a cheapskate who’d try to stiff you after he’d already stiffed you, no, you needed a big spender, a high roller.  You needed somebody who had extra credits to throw around and wore it on his sleeve.

You needed a guy like the one who had just walked in— with beskar on his sleeve.  That’ll do quite nicely, you thought to yourself as you watched the Mandalorian cross the room to talk to the bartender.  

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