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mizumiii · 2 years

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I will kill you - First Attempt

Table of contents

Desha x Fem!Reader

Credit : .

Hello ! Here is my second fanfic about Desha. I have almost finished it but I'm not very satisfied with it. It's really different from the previous one. I hope you'll like it anyway !

Warning: NSFW

“You can lift the veil”, the priest accommodatingly said.

Desha’s throat tightened and he frowned deeply. Everything that was happening right now was definitely not to his liking, yet even if he really did not want to keep going, he had no other choice than to comply with it. Of course, he was not going to back down from the bargain nor preserve himself from hardship. However, he would have preferred to spare himself from that useless comedy of a wedding. Every present person in attendance was only serving their own interest, like him, and despite all the search he had conducted about you, he knew just too little.

Ultimately, it was the curiosity that led him to obey the priest’s command. He reluctantly extended his hands to lift your veil from your face. All your body was covered by the rich white dress, so he was taken a bit aback at the sight of the slightly reddish tone of your skin. But he was not at the end of his surprises: your face looked quite normal, except for the two horns of around three inches that poked out of your forehead. A dreadful feeling alerted him, he already knew that this wedding was nothing less than a trap, but now he no longer had any doubt about it.

You did not stop glaring at him, there was something in your eyes that made him even more uneasy, it was a reflection he knew, but he could not exactly figure it out. You also had a little smile on your lips, but it looked a bit awkward. Maybe he was not the only one not enjoying the situation.

“Now, you can kiss the bride”, the priest finished his sermon.

A dark laugh shook Desha, and in a swift and rough way, he kissed you.

The feast after the ceremony was even worse, Desha was looking at all those people eating like pigs at his expense and it made him daydream to see them choke on the food. The Jagan clan was the biggest of the Underworld, but also the more threatening. They looked like they respected their new King, but each time they could go behind his back, they did not hesitate. Their leader, Lian was a scheming and far too cunning man. Maybe the worst part was that they were humans, but they could use powerful magic which made them really dangerous. Desha could certainly easily kill him, but it would just arise a new war. And yes, they had sided with his despicable father during the previous one. Which explained why he had such a hard time with them now. He had punished them with a lot of restrictions, but they were still living richly, and they own a lot of the trades.

The king looked gloomy, glaring at the party going on despite him. His new bride was sitting quietly beside him, the same little and transparent smile on her face. He would sometimes quickly watch her from the side, but she did not seem to change her expression. One time she caught him in his observation, and just smiled a bit wider while pouring him another drink. He grumbled, but it was not her fault that they were there, so he drank it anyway.

His wife’s father was no one else than the Jagan's clan head, Lian, and it was exactly the knot of the problem. They were human magicians, so why was his wife not? Worse, how was she what she was? Her kind had been wiped out before the last war, so how was she still alive and why that man would take the risk to befriend someone with such a unique and dangerous skill?

“What are you planning, taking me for a fool? Or did you think I would not recognise a demon’s seed when I saw one ?” Desha grunted to the man sitting to his side without a shred of sympathy for his new wife sitting just to his other side.

The one involved simply took the time to finish his wine with a satisfied smile, before finally responding to the king.

“Please, King Desha, do not talk of my adopted daughter like that. You and I know very well that the Tiefling are not really Demon’s seed.”

The demigod shrugged, not happy.

“It still would have been a good idea to inform me beforehand, or was it also a part of your plan?”

Lian did not answer that, simply looking at the king without any shame or fear in his eyes.

“You obviously know also that no children can be born from any mixed mating with them?” Desha kept going, frowning. “So what’s the point of all that fucking mascarade?”

“Our families are now united, I do not need anything else to be a happy man… I humbly wish that our relationship will only improve from now on.”

It was a lie. Everything was screaming that it was a lie, but Desha had nothing to prove it. Worse, his words were not totally empty, it was in fact a good way to ease the tensions between the Jagan clan and the new kingdom’s leadership. And in the same time, it would help the kingdom to be at least at peace. It would not be the first thing Desha’s had to sacrifice, and it certainly would not be the last. He drank away his anger, hoping that alcohol could wash off the despicable taste that the whole situation had put in his mouth.

He stayed as long as he could, not wanting to see what was coming next. He knew very well what had to follow the wedding, but he hoped to avoid the matter entirely. However, he was exhausted, and if he had to listen to another word of those shady nobles, he would have to kill them.

“The king is going to rest”, his main servant called out.

Instantly, all the attention was on him, people started to shout and say words of congratulations, or worse wished him a nice night with his new wife. He grunted but could not make them shut up, but he felt even more awkward when he saw you stand up too.

“You do not need to follow me”, he said to you.

“Where do you want your new wife to go other than with you?” Lian wondered with a polite smile but a bad look in his eyes.

“Do what you want”, he finally shrugged at you.

You simply bowed your head before silently following your new husband through the castle, leaving the vulgar acclamations behind. The corridors were loudly silent, making you feel a bit strange after all the sounds and commotions. You did not have a second to you since the morning, and now the next step was fairly close. Desha opened the bedroom door to you and then went in after you.

“Let’s be clear”, he started after closing, “there is no need to consume that wedding, especially since no children will be expected. So let’s just be cordial to each other. We will sleep in the same bed tonight for the sake of appearances, but starting tomorrow, you will have your own bedroom.”

His eyes were deadly serious, even if he was scratching his neck and looking slightly embarrassed by the situation. He watched you, listening to him, but once he was finished, he was surprised to see you come closer to him.

“I have no issue with being intimate with you, King Desha”, you said with an enticing smile on your lips while you started to go for his shirt’s buttons.

“You really do not need to do that”, Desha insisted, grabbing your hand in his.

It did not feel right for him. He did not like being forced to marry someone, and even more, he was sure that the other party would be scared or disgusted by him. However, it seemed that for you, being with the king was enough to compensate for his ugly features.

“But I want to”, you whispered languorously.

He knew that you reeked of danger, especially by being a Tiefling, and Lian’s daughter. He hesitated, he had been alone for so long, with Ouken being imprisoned, and Despa grieving in his corned, feeling desired was a nice change for once. And, he trusted himself to be able to deal with you if you tried anything funny. So he reluctantly released your hands. Taking it for his approval, you resumed undressing him. Still unwavering, he let you take the lead without saying a word, just looking at you while frowning. You looked totally at ease, maybe a little bit flustered but it was maybe only thanks to the alcohol you had drank before. Once you had freed him from his tight costume, you made him sit on the bed while you took off your own dress.

You really were a tiefling, your skin was slightly red, and you had two little horns and even a thin, long tail slowly moving behind your back (it had probably been hidden by the dress before). The rest of your body was nice enough, maybe too skinny for Desha’s taste. He began to feel excited before noticing it, especially since you were so compliant about it. That wedding did not have to be only straining, even if he would obviously still be warry of you.

You slowly climbed atop of your husband, rocking your hips just upon his already hardening cock. He let you play as if he could not dare to touch you. There was something strange about him, but you could not care less. Everything was going as expected, so you simply proceed. Once you found him ready enough, you impaled yourself on him, making him groan. He was still staring at you, making you feel a bit flustered. Then you skillfully moved your hips to pleasure him. It quickly worked since his sounds were louder while you were holding to his chest, scratching it with your nails. You followed his sighs to adapt your movement, slowly accelerating to make him come.

However, just when you felt him close to his climax, he suddenly grabbed your buttock with one hand, controlling you, while the other one was going to your sweet spot. It was unexpected and you let out a surprised moan when you felt his finger playing with and around your labia. He started to alternate swift movements with his hips, with his hand's play, until you were unable to hold on to your cry. The situation was escaping from your grasp and you hold on to the little control you still had. It was like the both of you were trying to make the other surrender by climaxing. It was insane and hot, absolutely not what you had in mind. But right now your mind was a giant mess, trying to focus on what you were doing while soaking in a new and overwhelming pleasure. Desha’s face was also showing signs of his own luxury state, and finally, he was the first to reach his release, filling you with a loud grunt and a rough movement in your vagina. However, he kept his own assignment, and without knowing what was happening to you, you suddenly felt a violent wave crash through your head to your toes, making you fall on the king’s chest without any strength left in your body.

You both stayed like that, breathing loudly and basking after that strange but still agreeable moment you had shared.

“Let’s wash”, Desha finally said while standing up.

You nodded, feeling still a bit weak on your feet, you almost dropped unused to such sensations and your husband caught you while looking away. The bathroom was accessible from the bedroom, and you both started to wash. You did a quick job, not wanting to stay more than necessary. Your mind was still a mess, and you had a hard time sorting things out.

Once back in the chamber, a discreet knock at the door made you reach for the first piece of clothing you could find (Desha’s shirt which made you a dress), and you opened it.

“The king’s tea”, a servant extended a tray to you before leaving without waiting.

You put the whole thing on the little table against the wall and looked at the still-hot beverage. It smelled really good. Your face darkened but you did not hesitate.

“I heard something”, Desha said once again in the room with you.

He stared at you, still wearing his own shirt and the sight made him freeze, without you understanding why.

“A servant brought tea, do you want some?” You asked him while holding out a cup.

He was not really fond of the hot beverage, but since you had gone through the trouble of pouring him one, he could not say no. He simply took it and drank it in one sip before giving it back to you. He then went to the bed and lay down, wearing only comfy pants. You joined him, keeping the clothes on you as a pyjama. The situation was really awkward, the both of you really stiff and finding the silence heavy. But Desha was exhausted, and before he knew it he was dozing off.

“I can’t stay with you” Despa decided.

“I am sorry I was late”, Desha said to a mass grave of red corpses.

“I will kill you” Someone swore while stabbing him with a dagger.

He hardly grabbed it before it pierced his chest, looking at the foe in front of him. He knew that face, but he could not see it clearly. Blood dripped from his hand, tainting the other’s face.

Desha woke up the next morning with a terrible headache. He did not notice that he was alone, since he had not totally remembered what had happened the day before. He stumbled to the bathroom, to get some cold water. The sink was the only place where he still had a mirror and he washed his face, before freezing while seeing blood on his hand.

Instantly, he remembered the strange dreams of the night before. That dagger?! He had really been attacked during the night?!

Next part

#desha x reader #king desha #ousama ranking #desha #ranking of kings #fanfiction #king desha x reader #deshaxreader #fanfic #osama ranking #I will kill you

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vault-heck · 1 year

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WIP Wednesday?

I don't remember when exactly, but I know a lot of my mutuals tagged me. Finally getting around to posting one and if you're reading this feel free to say I tagged you.

I'm experimenting with POV and tense for the upcoming chapters about my OC, Omen. I might re-write the first chapter of TBWFTB, but that's neither here nor there. WIP below the cut :)

Courser activity is obvious to Omen– they know what to look for. A single brush with one had been enough to burn the warning signs into their memory.

Impossible to forget, they can listen for the snapping electricity of the relay as one might for the first whispers of a radstorm. When they see swarms of gen-1 synths swarming buildings like a school of fish, where their bodies throw deceitful glints of light, Omen knows the movements are more akin to workers assisting their queen bee.

Omen’s coat had been a gift from their mentor so many years ago. She sewed extra pockets in the lining and took it to a skilled tailor for them. A courser’s silhouette is similar– while far more cold and sterile, it was not entirely separate from the realities that constructed Omen. They could recognize it from miles away.

It’s the closest thing to regalia that a synth can hope to have, she had said once.

Yes, it is possible to find a courser before he finds you. Anyone who wishes to survive such an encounter must become an alchemist versed in cleverness and haste. Once the relay fires, the countdown starts; there are mere seconds to assemble a plan.

Tonight, Omen eats a packed meal from their seat on the roof of the Old State House. With rumors circulating about the Brotherhood’s intentions, and findings in Goodneighbor, it behooves them to observe the town on their way back to headquarters.

It is never boring here and they prefer it to places like Diamond City where they would have a tougher go at entering as a maskless customer. Even the tired woman with the meat stand that neighbored the city gate exponentially upcharged Omen compared to the drifter in line in front of them, for the same cut of brahmin. She had muttered something about their scars and they pretended not to hear.

The words were not meant for them anyway, they were for the vendor’s own sensibilities. In places like Diamond City, only a select few are really permitted to appear a mercenary. The inhabitants make no secret of their preference for smooth skin, but Omen thinks it would be more accurate to call it a voracious disdain for roughness, darkness.

“Eat your bloatfly,” Omen tells Ed. He perches on the edge of the roof where the breeze disturbs his breast feathers and he looks their way only occasionally, disinterested in his food. They sprinkle three kernels of corn across the serving and he continues to ignore them. Something isn’t right.

They sighed. “I sense it too.”

Cool wind tugs at their hood and whistles through shop windows below. The streets are uncharacteristically quiet; even Hancock’s men have thinned in numbers. According to their pocket watch, it is more morning than night. An inherently liminal hour, and the quietest Goodneighbor could get.

“Scan below, then. Take your time.” It never hurts to check.

Ed doesn’t need to hear the request twice. He swoops beyond the lip of the roof with a silence that causes the corners of their mouth to hint at upward movement.

When he returns, the echo of a smile falls. The flurry of feathers is anything but subtle, and if he hadn’t found Omen he might have unleashed an emphatic caw. Instead, he soars around them in familiar formation to land on their extended arm.

“What did you see?”

A shudder of settling feathers. Ed’s movements are urgent. “Repo.”

Gloves on, mask down. Omen quickly tucks their food against the wall to retrieve later, then hangs from the lip of the roof with no more than fingertips and the side of their foot. Just as Edgar said, a courser haunts the streets of Goodneighbor.

In a stride towards the Old State House, he does not look up once. They are counting on it, for those at the top of the food chain rarely do.

#past tense third limited is my comfort zone and I am *sweating*#writing #wips #my fics #the birds work for the bourgeoisie #my ocs #omen #wip wednesday

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ricciardostoast · 2 years

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GR63;;Throw a fit [one]

you planned to get what you wanted, and make him work for it along the way

[a/n: mini series. been saying i was going to write for george for ages and here i am]

wc: 4k

warning: mild;; language

masterlist | next

“George Russell.” He smiled exposing his perfectly white teeth. The posh accent draws your eyes, unable resist the proper drawl amongst the cruder advances you’d received tonight. Noting glint of interest in your posture, he laughed lightly, extending his hand.

Offering your name, you couldn’t help but want him. Already wanting him.

The media view of him did his real image no justice. He was even better up close. His hair always looked so put together on screen, but tonight it looked a little unruly, like he’d taken a firm hand through it just before stepping out. And that smile, it was enough to kill any self control you’d had built up to this point. Mr. Put-Together obviously came here with a plan in mind and you decide you would be his first and only.

You’d have this man, preferably before day break.

“You’re already everything I want in a woman, and I’ve just learned your name.”

Names were just learned to be polite. You hated being on the end of a one night stand being called anything and everything but your own name.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” Now, it was your turn to smirk. George chuckled, raising his eyebrow slightly.

“Really now? Just not too bad? Cause the way you’re looking at me now makes me believe otherwise.”

You bit back a curse. His eyes were like a freaking whirlpool sucking you in. You couldn’t look at him without at some point meeting his gaze. This one would be a tricky one. But frankly that just made it more of a challenge.

You softened your stare, letting your eyes glance lazily over the club before returning back to him “That’s all.” you smiled innocently through your lies.

In honesty, George Russell was far from ‘not bad’. In fact, you were sure you had never been more attracted to someone in a long time, maybe ever. Whatever it was, he had it, and you wanted it.

“Well I think I can say with support from the majority of the female population that I am more than ‘not bad’ ” Again, he smiled. A subtle curl of the lips that wasn’t smug or challenging. As if he’d already paced the future and was just riding the script. It was effective and you couldn’t deny the fact your body tingled when he did that.

“Cocky.”

He shook his head and reached out a hand; you noticed his tanned skin and strong, veiny arms. “Confident.” He replied simply, his fingers pushing a loose lock of hair behind your ear. You swallowed, hard, noticing the definiteness of his abs through his shirt every time he made a slight movement.

This was definitely more than a challenge.

“Told you I was better than ‘not bad’.” His voice interrupted you as you turned your gaze back up to him. He was back to that bright smile, one that said ‘Me? I could never.’ “I can see you checking me out. Again.”

Running out of options, you knew you needed to hook him quick before he entanged you.

You shifted your eyes immediately, mirroring the smile he’d presented to you thus far.

“So, you might look good. That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re probably still a cocky little, self loving, obnoxious sports star.” You smirked, satisfied with your own response, while your eyes managed to remain serious.

He laughed lightly again, shaking his head. “Let me prove you wrong.” He said, edging slightly closer to you. “Let me take you out sometime.” He smiled.

Those were the words that would normally send you packing. A guy that asked for a date normally would request another and another and string a girl along into a sense of comfort until he could get in your pants.

Whether George was that guy or not didn’t matter. You didn’t need the frivolity of propriety in order to get what you both wanted.

You just didn’t date.

You shook your head immediately knowing that it was out of the question. “I don’t do dates.”

“You don’t?” He asked, an eyebrow rose. You reasserted with a shake of your head. He was silent for a moment, almost waiting for the ‘just kidding’. That ‘just kidding’ was never going to come, you was serious, and eventually – he realized that. “Why not?”

She turned to face him more, their bodies even closer than before. The height difference between you is even more evident now, despite your heels. “You and I both know dates are only used to get on a girl’s good side so a guy can take her to bed and fuck her senseless. Guys don’t really want to go to that restaurant, they really aren’t interested in the terrible day you had, and they really don’t want to be paying all that money for a dinner that their ‘fucking’ conquest probably didn’t even finish.” you stated diplomatically.

You watched George, unable to read his expression – his eyebrows were furrowed but there was still that smile playing on his lips. “I can’t change your mind, can I?” she shook her head.

He couldn’t. No one could.

“But, I think you’re wrong.” You felt your own eyebrows furrow then, you didn’t like being wrong.

George judged your reaction in an instant and continued to talk. “I love to eat and especially love a girl with an appetite, and my friends tell me I’m a good listener and I bet I could make you laugh so hard you’d forget about your bad day and, honestly? I couldn’t care if you finished your meal or not, ladies don’t pay.”

You were speechless.

You couldn’t help it; you didn’t even try to fight it.

The boy was good. No denying that.

You let a sarcastic laugh leave your lips. “Smooth George, I’ll give you that much.”

“So, you wouldn’t like to go on a date with me?” He asked moments later, his face the image of pure seriousness.

“I don’t do dates,” you repeated, “With anyone.”

You weren’t used to that reaction. Normally guys would kill to get one night with a girl without any drama or emotions. George on the other-hand was questioning it, defying it.

“You can’t really be serious’ There was a hint of humor speckled disbelief, though you didn’t seem to find it funny. “I mean, what do you do if you like a guy?”

“Cut out the chase.” you smiled, batting your eyelashes slightly more than before – hoping he’d get it. Hoping he’d be quiet shut-up and get with the program. Your program.

“What about boyfriends? You can’t date someone just because they’re a good lay.”

“I’ve dealt with boys,” you told him truthfully, “I don’t like their definition of relationships.” you shrugged. You could feel his critical eyes watching you suspiciously again, as if he still didn’t believe you, still didn’t get it, and still didn’t understand.

“So what now? You just don’t bother trying. I have to tell you, you’re missing out.” He was intrigued, but meant every word he said.

You could feel your facade falling. It was then that you realized that George Russell wasn’t just some guy. George wanted to ask questions. He wanted to know more. And, for the most part – from the way things looked right now, he really did want to date.

It was then that you normally would have given up, smiled and retreated back to the bar and waited for another one to come along. But, with George – there was something. There more you listened to his voice got mesmerized by his eyes, his body – even his damn mannerisms got you. Licking his lips before he began a sentence, you didn’t just want George then. She needed him. Her body almost craved him.

And you needed him to feel the same way. Preferably without the commitment.

“So, you’re telling me that if I asked you to come home with me right now you wouldn’t?” you smirked playfully, gauging his expression carefully. He was hard to read, you noticed that immediately. He would laugh warmly, not awkwardly, not because he thought the comment was hilarious –Just because. He would smile, then trace his tongue across his lips, his expression more serious.

“I can’t answer that.” He stated.

“Why?” you almost sighed, sick of him playing the game that seemed to go nowhere. Sick of him being a ‘good guy’. ’ nice guy’. No guy was like this in real life. They all had their secret motives.

“You haven’t asked me.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

You hated this. You were the smug one, mostly. You sighed audibly, visibly annoyed with him. He only smiled in response, happy with that reaction.

“You know, I’m unsure if you’re even going to be worth all of this shit.” you stated simply, cocking your head to one side as you glared at him. But you silently prayed he would come around and see things your way. God, it would be sinning if a man like that was to go to waste.

“Oh I definitely am, that I can promise.” He spoke seductively, biting his bottom lip as he finished his sentence. You knew it was put on, but, you didn’t care –it was working, he was making you want him more than you had anticipated.

“You know, I still think you’re a cocky self-loving, obnoxious sports star.” you told herself it was still true, yet in those brief few moments he already slightly swayed your judgment. Slightly. He was still a man, men still lie.

“And I’m pretty sure you still want me despite that. Plus, I’m starting to think you’re a stuck up, man hating sex maniac.” He almost choked on his words with laughter.

“But I’m pretty sure you still want me.” you stated, yet it came out like a question. Honestly, now you weren’t sure if he did.

“ Maybe. But-” He smiled playfully; he knew what he was doing. “But not in the way you apparently want me too.”

“Why are you so damn adamant?” you asked genuinely wondering.

He reached forward, closing the small gap between then his strong hand clasping at your side – pulling you closer to him. “Because a girl like you doesn’t come around everyday. And you’re worth more than I one night stand.” He whispered gruffly.

You watched his eyes reconnect with yours, before they fell to your lips.

They were softer than you imagined. They way they moved against your in such a passion it was unreal. It was different than those sloppy drunken kisses you shared in the past. It was unlike anything you ever experienced. You felt almost felt like there was something else. Something more meaningful.

You pulled away quickly suppressing a gasp. Your fingers brushed against your lips; your mind clouded. This boy was dangerous. Maybe you were a little too in over your head.

“Let’s make a deal” He said the second your lips parted. You looked up at him, he paused for a moment a thoughtful look on his face, before returning his attention back to you. “But first, let me point out that I’m not going home with you tonight.” He stated, and, you felt your stomach drop. The excitement, lust, anticipation disappearing in an instant.

You looked at him, now looking for the ‘I’m kidding’.

That ‘I’m kidding’, never came either.

Nothing should be a surprise at this point.

“But tomorrow night I will” he spoke up suddenly gaining your attention.“If you promise to go on a date with me the morning before.” He finished, watching you expectantly.

Now you were really looking for some guys to come out informing you that you just got pranked. Because this guy wasn’t serious, he couldn’t be. Did he not hear what you had been saying this whole conversation?

You. did.not.date. What was so hard about that to comprehend?

Yet here this guy was blatantly asking you out after you just explained to him.

“You know you’re dumber than you look,” you muttered disappointedly. Here you were thinking you were going to take an athlete home. What a waste.

George suddenly reached for your waist forcing you to meet his gaze. The same gaze that got you in this mess in the first place.

“Would you just hear me out, love?” There was a new edge to his voice, something that made spoke volumes about how adamant he was about swaying the night.

You instantly recoiled at the sound of the pet name. Jerking your head to the side, you avoided his gaze before it sucked you in.“No I won’t. What don’t you understand? I don’t date!”

There was a silence between you.

George looked up after a moment,“ Eleven o'clock sounds reasonable for a breakfast date. Meet me at Seaside for brunch.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. This man was ridiculous.

Wrenching out of your hold you didn’t bother to respond, hoping your abruptness would get you answer across. You didn’t date. That was your final answer and you was sticking with it.

Even though you didn’t look over your shoulder to confirm, you were hoping he would reconsider and look at things your way. You prayed that your little player would come pawing behind you like a lost puppy.

Finally noticing his loss before it got away.

But he didn’t. That night, you went home alone.

. . .

“Sara! Will you turn your damn keypad tones off? My head is throbbing!” You moaned, pulling back the door of the restaurant. That mixed with the sound of your friends fingers clicking audibly against her keys was enough to make you want to lie out, then and there.

“Are you still pissed off about that athlete dude? The car driver?” She asked as the male waiter led you to the table. You closed your eyes tight briefly, throwing your head to the ceiling in annoyance. You couldn’t care less about George.

You couldn’t care less about the fact that he turned you down. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

“I don’t care about him, in the slightest!” You spoke more defensively than anticipated as the waiter pulled out your seat. You smiled, sitting and taking the menu as he disappeared.

You turned your attention to the menu, hoping Sara would stop, give up, shut up.

“You’ve been a bitch all day,” Sara stated, causing you to look above your menu. You dropped your eyes towards her. Sara was like you in that sense. She said what she really meant, she didn’t hold back – and, even though you shared that trait you hated her for it.

“So don’t try tell me something, namely some athlete isn’t bothering you.”

“He isn’t.” You snapped, “Now just order some damn food and drop it, okay?” You could tell by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t going to drop it. The way she stared right back at you, trying to read you. Read you like you’d had tried to read George the previous night.

She cocked her head slightly as she stared at you across the table. “What ? Have you developed a girl crush or something?” you hissed.

“It’s because he rejected you, isn’t it? Because he didn’t actually come home with you?” You felt yourself swallow, hard.

“Sara if you don’t drop this, I’m leaving. Seriously, drop it!” You retorted defensively.

George did reject you, but that was nobody’s business. No one but yours and his. There was a long pause as her warm eyes continued to look at you, she stared before they widened slightly, almost in shock.

“Oh, my god.” She said slowly, a half smile appearing on her face. You wrinkled your face up in confusion waiting for her to continue. As much as you loved your best friend, occasionally this she could grate your nerves. “He’s the first person to reject you, isn’t he?”

She said almost triumphantly. You felt your breath hinge in my throat. You cleared it before turning back to the menu.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sara.” You scoffed, your eyes not even focusing on the list of choices offered.

“Oh come on, even the damn waiter is smitten on your ass!” She nodded to her right. You lifted my eyes from the menu, noticing the university aged waiter staring right back at you.

Smiling awkwardly, you returned your gaze to Sara. “You cannot tell me you’ve given any other guys the option of having fun, no strings attached sex with you and they’ve declined it?” You scoffed again, causing her to smile widely. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

She was right. You didn’t answer. You wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“I am.” She said smugly, leaning back into her chair.

“George’s the first person to ever say no to you.” You hated her smugness.

“And? So what?” You scoffed, turning your attention back to the menu, as if it didn’t matter. As if you didn’t care. But, the more Sara pushed it. The more you thought about it, the more you thought of him, of his rejection you did care. It did matter.

“And now you’re pissed.”

“No, I’m not.”

“So, you want him more because he rejected you.” She pushed, smirking from across the table.

Fuck.

“Why do you care so much Sara, really? What satisfaction are you getting from this?” you wondered genuinely, as she smiled.

“I just want to know if you’d try again.” She said almost slyly.

“Why?” You huffed louder than before, your frustrations growing. It was over, it was done. It was none of her business.

“Because, he’s right over there.” She almost laughed as she finished her sentence. You furrowed your eyebrows, following the direction of her eyes. You felt your stomach drop, she was right. You watched as he walked towards his seat, his loose jeans still cut fitting, exposing his tall posture. His hair was better kept today, matching the persona you’d known from newsfeeds.

You hadn’t even put two and two together when you’d taken Sara up on her offer for brunch. The idea of citrusy mimosa blinding you past anything other than the refreshing drink.

‘Eleven o'clock sounds reasonable for a breakfast date. Meet me at Seaside for brunch.’

Jesus Christ.

Before he could take his seat you snap your attention back to your friend. You propped an elbow on the table, covering your face slightly with your hand as you stared at the menu. “Are you trying to hide?” Sara snickered, almost choking on her words. You didn’t answer; you just narrowed your eyes towards her.

She was right. You didn’t know how to deal with rejection.

“Good morning’ ladies.” Your eyes widened as you looked at the menu. That rich, sexy voice.

He remained a gentleman, guestering to the empty seat politely to which Sara nodded exuberantly.

You swallowed, forgetting last night’s events as you smiled back towards him. Nobody won against you, no one. “Good morning, stalker ” He laughed lightly, leaning back comfortably in his chair.

“What are you doing?” He asked innocently. Because that’s what he was, innocent…

You looked at him, gesturing to the menus. “What does it look like?” You snapped without a thought. You realized then that you were more affected by his rejection than what you had previously thought.

Looking at his wide smile, his full lips, his blue eyes.

Jerk.

“Looks like someone is a bit eager, early bird,” He grinned playfully as the food was placed between yourself and Sara. You waited for him to get the hint, to politely leave you to eat. He didn’t. He joked with Sara as you stuck your fork loudly, annoyingly into your meal. “What’s wrong?”

He asked minutes later, turning his attention back to you. You ignored him, surprisingly getting good at that as focused on your food, continuing to eat.

You didn’t get it. You didn’t get him. He didn’t want you; 24 hours ago he rejected you. You knew from the moment you met George he was hard to read, but now? Now, he had you down right confused.

“You know,” George began, leaning forward towards you, his voice lower than before. “Is this what you consider a date? No wonder you gave up. .” Across the table, Sara muffled a squeak of glee.

“No, this was called ‘I’m trying to eat and you won’t go away’”. You replied snort, watching his smile never falter, like what you said didn’t matter –didn’t affect him.

That was new. He wasn’t offended easily. Sara sensed the tension, as she excused herself. You watched as George nodded, licking his lips slightly.

“Ok, fine. This wasn’t a date.” He said simply. You smiled, you had won. “Kind of a shame though.” He said simply, his lips turning into a smile just slightly.

Sneakily.

“Why?” You questioned confused.

“Date’s end with a kiss, right?” His gruff voice asked, you nodded. “Kissing can lead to anything.” He smirked, biting his lip as he finished his sentence, his eyes burning through you. You felt it again, that energy.

That tingle. Sexual chemistry. You swallowed, before shrugging.

“And here’s me thinking you were a good guy.”

“I am,” He grinned again, exposing his white teeth. “I’m just wondering whether this was a date or not.”

“Not.” You confirmed, wondering inwardly if you said ‘yes’ would you get what you wanted, him. George continued to look at you, waiting. Waiting for you to say it. You wouldn’t give in, not to him, not to anyone.

“Anyway,” you continued, pushing your chair back, brushing against his jeans purposely. You watched his reaction closely, the way he looked down as you did so, the way his lip disappeared between his teeth. You knew at that moment, he wanted it just as much.

“I better get going.” You lied; you had nowhere to be.

You felt his eyes burn into you as you stood up, reaching for my bag.

He sighed your name. As you turned to him, his smile faded. His tongue traced his lips again, sending shivers through your spine. You wouldn’t let him see.

George laughed lightly, running his hands through his hair almost in annoyance. “You’re so frustrating.” He said simply, honestly. You ignored him, knowing he was right. It was true.

You turned on your heel, hearing him follow behind. You reached inside your bag as he pushed slightly past. Looking up, you caught as he handed the waiter the payment, pointing to our table- your table. He paid, before pressing his hands against the glass, pushing it open and leaving.

You stood there for what felt like minutes, but in reality it was only seconds.

He had paid. He wasn’t lying when he said he always would. You sighed, shoving the money deep within your bag, simultaneously shoving your pride deep within your stomach. Your shoes smacking loudly against the floor as you followed him out the door.

“George,” you called his name quietly seeing him a few steps ahead, he turned around as your breath hinged in your throat. There was an awkward silence as he waited for you to speak, as you waited for you to speak.

“- Thanks.” you barely mumbled.

“No problem, darling.” He said again simply. How he said everything, he wasn’t fazed at all. He turned again; you felt my stomach drop in disappointment. You groaned quietly, staring at the sky.

If you were to get what you wanted, you had to swallow your pride.

You followed his steps, reaching him and tapping his shoulder. You didn’t take in his reaction, you didn’t care. In an instant, you pressed your lips against his.

Within seconds you could feel him smile against the kiss. His strong hands holding your waist, his strong assured grip that you longed to feel elsewhere.

“So, I can count this as the first of many?” He almost groaned against your lips. You opened your eyes, staring into the honey pools staring back.

You were most definitely ready to count as many as you could.

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #george russell x reader #george russell imagine #formula one x reader #x reader

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black-dhalias · 2 years

Text

The Two Towers

Francis Valois X Reader

You lay in the bed you share with Francis, body shielded by the heavy plush duvets. Smooth against your skin, brushing as you shift. He marries her tomorrow, Queen Mary of Scotland will be his wife, and it leaves you in a predicament. As the daughter of an unimportant lord, your place in court is secured only by your long term relationship with Francis. Mary wondered what would happen when he married, would he give you up or would he be like his father? So many questions, and you wondered how the answers would play out. Have a mistress throughout his marriage, and his reign. When you feel the bed shift, you look over at him, who is actually looking over at you. Maybe you won’t admit it to him, look in those blue eyes and say the truth; but even you wondered what would happen after the wedding.

“Do you-“ Your father always said marry for money, but you don’t any rich man would take you. “My dearest Y/N… Will you stay with me, even after tomorrow?” He pauses. “You mean so much to me, I can’t imagine a forever that doesn’t have you in it.” His soft brush against your cheek, the way his fingers are without imperfection.

“I don’t believe that’s a choice I can make.” You are a nothing compared to him… He is the future king of France, and you will always come second to him. If he chooses to keep you in his bed, in his arms—then he’d be keeping scandal close to court. Instead of staying far from the scandal.

The way his lips brush against your temple, your eyes close. “My love, it is a choice ONLY you can make.” Is it though? You really are not sure what it means to make that choice.

When he is at the end of the aisle, it is not Mary in here white he is looking at, but you in your emerald ensemble. Your eyes glittering as you smile at him. Your Francis. He has always been yours, and last night, when faced with the choice of walking away—you really couldn’t leave. Because you are as much his as he is yours. You nod. He can marry for the good of France, but you will stay until you are unable to stay. And even then. You would choose Francis in any lifetime and you cannot imagine a lifetime without him. He will marry for the good of country, for France—but you will love him for his sake, and your own. You love him. You have loved him since he met you in the music room.

When he saw you, your music tutor absolutely infuriated by your inability to pay them any mind, or any attention to the written notes. You sing what you want to sing, and do as you please—you laugh as the tutors cheeks turn red with anger. You smile as you sing another octave higher. To which the tutor responds by stomping off. Francis applauded, you remember that clearly… “Ive never seen him so upset.” “Oh he loathes me.” You laugh again, “I’m Y/N.”

Francis feverishly glances over at you as Mary, his wife, moves towards you rapidly. Not unkempt, just faster than a brisk walk. You were always respectful before the marriage, especially in public; never spoke to him out of turn, never even danced, and never overshadowed Mary. Because it is not your intention to make her feel like Francis prefers you, that’s not fair.

You swallow, but stand your ground and smile before you bow lowly in respect. “Queen Mary.” She smiles, a beautiful smile, one that makes you wonder. Beautiful.

“Lady Y/N! I wanted to ask you a favor…” A favor? You can hardly imagine what good asking you a favor could do, when she’s the Queen of Scotland. But you nod, and take her extended arm.

“Dance with Francis—he’s an absolute bore at these parties, all he does is stare at you and act like he wasn’t staring at you when someone notices.” Your eyes widen, as you truly begin to realize where she is leading you to—who. Francis is so close, you can see the shimmer of lights hitting his golden halo of curls.

“But Mary…”

“No buts… God will need to help us all if he spends another party pouting in the corner.”

“I never meant to…” She slows her walk, looking at you with a soft and kind smile.

“Y/N… You were here years before I was. And you’ll likely far exceed my time here. I always knew it was you.” Your nerves are seemingly melting away as you glance over at her. Hardly able to believe what she is saying, “I married him for country, but he loves you.” She doesn’t stop smiling, beginning to walk through the crowd of movement. “Y/N. I want us to be friends. To work together. A united front.”

The wife and the mistress… A united front of support for the future king, maybe it could be strong, but you worry about the differences. You don’t have a country, or any stake in this without Francis—you will always be able to put him first. Without any thoughts. “But for now—just dance with the lovesick puppy.” You nod, walking in the direction of Francis, beautiful blonde curls that frame his features so perfectly.

“What-?” His expression is one of shock, and a tad worried; he can’t remember the last time you broke your one rule. You always swore you would never overstep, despite his insistence that it is okay. So why now? Why the evening of his wedding did you decide you were okay with not playing pretend. You shush him, and take him by the arm—dragging him towards the center floor.

“Just dance with me, love.” It sounds so easy, and it is—he pulls you in close, the deep black tone of his overcoat clashing with the emerald shade of your dress. The gold adornments standing out against the deep colors. His hand at the small of your back, he holds on tight and takes your hand into his. This is more than just a dance for him, it means the world. It makes the whole world stop, and just like that—you are his bride. He didn’t marry Mary, but instead, it was the wedding of his dreams with you as the center of everyone’s attention.

“I think I can manage that.”

So you dance, and for every look you receive—Francis’ smile only grows. It heals the wounds those stares intend to leave you with, and makes them simply obsolete things in your peripheral. You smile, and he smiles—and you dance until your feet hurt. You love him, and that’s okay. He loves you—you glance at Mary, who is smiling at you both, talking with Lola. He loves you, and that’s okay.

Yet those smiles have almost completely faded over the last few years, as you try to force a smile while you finish your breakfast. Tension thick, and you just keep your gaze on your book… Francis and Mary have always made an effort to take breakfast together, with you sitting to Francis right and them both at the heads of the table. Usually, one or two of Mary’s ladies would join—or Catherine. But this time it is just you, and them.

You take your last bite of biscuit and the last sip of your juice, and close the book you have vainly kept in front of you. Your smile is tense, as you finally glance between the pair and begin to speak: “Well I believe I am going to take my leave now. As I am not qualified to be your marriage counselor.” You stand.

“No Y/N. Sit down.” You sit. Her words are harsh and fiery, and you don’t like it, but you listen because she is your Queen. Maybe they’ll stop, or maybe they will let you leave, but you are stuck for now. Between the feuding royals, and whatever happened between them over the last few weeks.

“Honestly, I really do think I should go…” But it is all in vain, as Francis tries to ignore it all by focusing on his breakfast.

“Tell them how you locked me in a tower.” She hmmms, and you groan—you told Francis that was an idiotic plan when he ran it by you one night. As a hypothetical, but now you know that it was never a hypothetical question. It was a reality for the Queen of Scots, but you just don’t understand why he would do such a rash thing. Francis is usually smarter than that. “How it was for my own good, when the truth is—you were just upset I was going to Scotland.”

It was always her intention to go back to Scotland, and Francis always seemed supportive of that intention. You try to read him, but his expression is even. Unmoving. “Francis-?” He hushes you, his eyes have grown darker than you expected them to be. He’s never like this.

“Mary, did you expect me to let you run off with your lover to Scotland? Wives don’t have the same graces as husbands. And Queens don’t get to runaway just because they’re lonely.”

“You’ve given me no choice, Francis!”

“Mary-?” You don’t even know who to address, and wish you were far away from this conflict.

“No. I am alone in this marriage. I have been from the beginning.” She is seething. “You have always had your Y/N… I needed that, and that was Conde!” That’s why you were here, because you were the center of this fight without ever intending to be. So much for a united front.

“You don’t understand what that means.”

“Oh Francis—I understand perfectly. Y/N-“

 “Don’t bring Y/N into this!” You should have just left, but instead you lean back into your chair, feeling smaller than before. Maybe you made the wrong choice that night.

“How can I not? When I don’t get to have what you have.”

“You just can’t-“

“Y/N deserves better. And so do I.”

She is gone, and you are left with Francis in silence. Your throat is tight and you just have to face the silence head on, without worry. But you don’t. You sit there in your chair, looking at the table with disdain.

“Y/N…” You shake your head, eyes misted over as you try to process everything that was said. He locked her in a tower. You have grown to respect Mary, she’s good to have at your side in moments of crisis—especially when your back is pressed against the wall. She’s a survivor.

Maybe you should speak, explain what’s happening in your head, but you can’t. You push up from the table and walk away without another word, you have to find Mary. Or an empty room. Whichever comes first.

Once both women have left the room, Francis leans his head into his palms—chest heaving. He had to do it. That’s what he tells himself, it’s the only thing that keeps him grounded at the moment as he swallows.   “Well well, your majesty. Quite a feat to piss off the wife and the mistress, all before breakfast.” Narcisse. He hates him, that bastard Lord who has tortured him these last weeks. He has forced him to make decisions that have put incredible distance between him, and the two closest people he has. His Y/N, and his wife. Created a rift that will never heal over the same as before.

“Go away Narcisse.” Francis can hear the smirk, the snide smile of the devil that occupies French Court. He is never far away, but always close and always up to something.

“Mmmmm, now why would I do that? When I need you to do something, for me. I mean, France.” More sneaky lies, that will cost him everything that is good. This has defined what kind of King he will be, and it is not the kind he ever intended to be.

#imagines #imagine #requests are open #fandom request #reign imagine #reign tv show #reign cw #francis valois imagine #Francis Valois #Francis Valois x reader

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miekasa · 3 years

Text

love talk

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: it’s not important that eren is a tattoo artist i just wanted to share bc i gave him tattoos here :’), fluff i think, smut/nsfw content, if you see a hint of eremin then no you don’t </2

+ word count: almost 2k, sickening innit luv

+ notes: yeah, still thinking about eren speaking german during sex bc he’s losing his mind hehe. i suppose this is the… softer version. might post another one later, who knows. and yes, i did almost name this pussy talk.

Unbeknownst to him, Eren Jaeger speaks three languages.

The first two are obvious, but English is his preferred language; the one you’ll find him speaking most often. It only makes sense, seeing as it’s what the overwhelming majority of people, media, and signs spew at him.

The second is more reserved; something you might assume given his name, but not know for sure unless you asked, or stuck around long enough to catch him rambling excitedly to Armin in German, with broken slang phrases of English interspersed. It’s fascinating—cute, moreover—the way he stumbles back and forth between both tongues; and the difference in tone between them. You’re not sure if your own bias is peeking through, but you’re certain Eren and Armin both sound a little… meaner in German; more sarcastic, at the very least—and you wouldn’t be surprised to find out they were talking shit the whole time.

Though, there is a special, reserved intonation to his mother tongue that shows itself when Eren’s around you. It doesn’t seem to be by choice—gone beyond comprehension that he’s forced to revert to grunted expressions and curses in a language foreign to his surroundings. You assume them to be curses; you never can confirm, and Eren seems to not even be aware of his switching in the heat of the moment, can never quite recall what he was saying to you.

There are times when he’s reduced to mere sounds, no comprehensible words between the hundreds of thousands he knows—only guttural moans, and breathy sighs, and he seems to not even be able to understand himself. You have to admit, it’s a bit of an ego boost to be able to fuck your boyfriend stupid in two languages.

And at first glance, Eren doesn’t seem like the type of guy to know about anything outside of himself. He doesn’t seem like the full-sleeve, three ear piercing, tattoo artist kinda kid; but Eren Jaeger speaks the language of pictures, of symbols, of images, that he is able to decipher and give meaning to upon creation. He’s got a penchant for art, and a vision bigger than himself, so it’s only right that he takes his knowledge and applies it in its most permanent form. The tattoos are more than a hobby for him—they’re an extension of himself, his art, his language; and his body is the only canvas fit enough to capture them.

So, here, with Eren laying on his back, chest exposed, arms bent for his hands to rest against your waist, you get to see the culmination of all the words and all the pictures, from all the languages he’s deemed important enough to find a place on his skin.

“Do all of your tattoos have a meaning?” you question, reaching your hand up to trace over the delicate waves that ride along his right collarbone.

“No,” Eren winces when you move—just enough of him to feel an ounce of friction inside of you, but not enough to give him what he wants. He wiggles himself a bit, desperate for something, “Not at all.”

It makes you chuckle, with a sort of disbelief, at both his words and his actions, “You get things tattooed on your body that don’t mean anything to you?”

Eren lets out a shaky breath, followed with a boyish smile. He blinks at you slowly, lids fluttering and hands gripping tightly at your body, “Learned that not everything has to have a deep meaning to want to keep it around,” he tells you, right palm moving to venture over your tummy, and up your sides, “Somethings you just love.”

You don’t miss the lilt in his voice on the word ‘love,’ but you play it off, rolling your eyes at his deliberately sweet affections, and then, gently, your hips, “Pretty poetic for something with no meaning.”

“Yeah, well, Armin taught me that,” Eren grits, hands fastening themselves at your hips again.

“You talk about Armin a lot when we’re in bed you know,” you taunt him, moving your fingers to trace over more of the tattoos that litter his right shoulder, “Something I should know about?”

Eren shivers at the feeling—of your fingertips on his skin, and what he swears was an intentional clench around him, “You don’t seem to mind.”

You smile at him, enjoying the contortions of his face when you run your hands down his chest, palms pressed lightly against his pelvic bone. Eren bends a knee, but does he best to remain still, and you can’t help but to chuckle. He looks pretty when he’s trying his best.

“I’m greedy,” you tell him, raising your hips, and pausing in your words as you slowly lower yourself back on to him.

“Trust me,” Eren scoffs, a façade to cover up his reddening cheeks and shaky thighs, “I know.”

He tries to move his hips up, desperate for something more; for you to fucking move, but, you keep your hips perfectly still. Instead, you reach your arms behind you, and onto Eren’s thighs, cementing them to the bed. He groans, his hands sliding down to your own thighs, fingertips digging into your flesh.

“And you called me greedy,” you huff, amused, as Eren rolls his eyes beneath you. When you’re sure he’s not going to move, you bring your arms back around, palms splayed on his stomach, “Relax. This is what you asked for, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, in an ideal world, this would be happening when I was playing COD, not when I was already impossibly hard with morning wood. And with a lot less teasing on your part.”

You have to laugh—genuinely giggle—at Eren’s blunt honesty. He’s unintentionally charming; another linguistic skill he seems unaware that he’s proficient in. You can tell he doesn’t understand the source of your amusement, but the look in his eyes, the twinkle in his irises lets you know he’s too far gone to even care.

“Call it a lesson in self-control,” you say, moving your hands to his sides in time with a shallow grind of your hips, “Besides, I’m admiring you.”

Eren keeps his hands anchored on your thighs, shivering at sensitivity of his dick coupled with your hands stroking over his pecs, “Lesson fucking learning—babe, fuck, please—”

“Shh—not yet,” you coo, and reach to pull his arms off of you, leaving you with room to admire his sleeve. You take pity on him, holding his right wrist with both of your hands, before slowly beginning to bounce on him.

Eren squirms, his free hand reaching to grab at the flesh of your ass, eyes blinking open to watch his cock be buried inside of you. The relief is instant—for the both of you—immediate groans and shallow profanities slipping past your lips as you build a steady pace to ride him.

“Tell—tell me what this one means,” you question slowly, keeping your right hand around his wrist, but using your left to point to the tattoo; a stylized line art of crossed wings.

“Some shit about freedom,” Eren grunts, fingers twitching, “Fuck, babe—more, please, I’ll—”

Eren cuts himself off with a whine, and you hiss yourself, lifting your body all the way to the tip, before lowering yourself again at an agonizingly slow pace. At this rate, you can feel everything; every vein on his shaft, every twitch of his cock. You feel Eren deep inside of you, even see where the bulge outlines your tummy.

You still yourself for just a second, catching your breath, anchoring yourself on Eren. You’re pretty far gone yourself, but you want more; for yourself, and for him. You do your best to stay coherent, slowly grinding atop of him, questioning him about another tattoo on his arm, ignoring the way his palm grips at your bicep. It’s a small one, with detailed Japanese characters that you can’t understand, but appreciate anyway; it’s one of your favorites, and you ask Eren about its meaning, clenching yourself around him as punctuation to your question.

Eren sucks air between his teeth, left hand pulling back to run his fingers through his hair, a grunted word in German falling from his lips. You smirk, but let him try to answer you.

“I don’t fucken’ know,” Eren grumbles, head thrashing from side to side, “It’s really fucken’ hard to remember anything—shit—like this. S’fucking torture.”

“Hm,” you hum, not satisfied; eager for more of Eren’s love language, “Tell me something in German, instead, then.”

But Eren can only babble beneath you; sounds incoherent in either language—reduced to desperate whines and grabby hands at your thighs, waist, boobs—anything. You lean forward, letting go of Eren’s tattooed wrist, and reaching to ghost your fingers over his lips.

“Come on, Eren, you’re usually so good at it when we do this,” you taunt him, words coated in sweetness that distract you from keeping up your pace, “Just want you to talk pretty to me. Tell me something, baby.”

Eren’s eyes travel from your fingertips, up your arm, neck, and to your face. When he meets your gaze something shifts; eyes heavy with want, and bitter with dissatisfaction.

So, he reaches for your extended hand, laces your fingers together, “Something like what?”

You wrap your fingers around his, then do the same with your left hand, “Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yeah,” you affirm with a smile, finally satisfied.

Eren grunts, bending his right knee for leverage before he flips you over, hands still intertwined, but now pinned over your head, harshly pressed into the pillows below. He buries his head into the crook of your neck; licking a stripe along your collarbone, where you’d teased him minutes before. Then up, up, up, your neck to the shell of your ear, retreating downwards to suck on the skin just beneath your ear, nipping with pointed teeth.

Eren keeps his weight on you, the length of his cock sliding over your slick folds while he bites angry, red blotches into your skin—a kind of impermanent tattoo of his own making on your body. The friction is good, but not enough, and you wonder if Eren intends on teasing you as long as you’d done to him; but, he breathes heavy breaths up your neck again, before mumbling a series of foreign syllables into your ear.

He hovers over your face, satisfied by the daze in your eyes; the slight openness of your mouth. It’s you who looks dumbstruck now, a foreigner to his ministrations; and for once, he’s in control with his second tongue.

“What—what does that mean?” you finally ask, squeezing your eyes briefly when Eren teases the tip just past your entrance.

Eren chuckles, airy, gritty, and cocky all at once. He pushes his cock inside of you, balls deep, only to pull out almost all the way, before leaning forward just slightly, so that his bottom lip grazes over yours.

“It means I love you,” he whispers, hips bucking forward, “Try to remember that, ‘cause I swear I’m gonna fuck you stupid, baby.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger x reader #levi x reader #aot smut #aot imagines #snk imagines #eren fluff

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noctumbra · 3 years

Text

𝒇𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒕

summary ─ you were a trouble. you were a walking sin. that was okay, though. james knew how to deal with problems like yourself.

pairing ─ dark!serialkiller!bucky barnes x reader

warnings ─ DARK FIC, smut, +18, slight dub con, explicit murder scene, major character death, rough sex, mean!bucky, degradition, name calling, alcohol consumption, pussy slapping, shitty smut lol, bucky is stuck up on morality (?) aka he doesn't like when women show some skin off because he thinks it's wrong, mentions of rape (didn't happen), biblical references??

a/n ─ hellooo! this is one of those rare times where i write dark fic lmao, this is my entry for @bitchassbucky 's 2K writing challenge. my prompt is "if you're reading this, i'm dead." with criminals au. i really hope you like it. please leave a comment if you do, thank you so much! <333

explicit murder scene starts after the * mark.

You were too close.

The guy’s hands were way too close you. His eyes were roaming all over your body like a hungry panther; he was waiting for the right moment to attack and feed on you, and the worst thing was you were letting him look.

It was not okay in James’ book. You shouldn’t have been doing that, shouldn’t have flaunted your body the way you did: A dress that was too short and showed your legs more than it should and its cleavage was too deep, even from his seat, which was at the far end of the bar, he could almost see your nipples, and then you had these high heels. They were thin heels, very high, that made your feet look elegant but at the same time sinful. They were putting the attention to your legs.

James tilted his head just a little bit to his side as he watched you.

You were laughing freely, loudly, and throwing your head back. You were revealing your neck like that, this time drawing the attention to your almost bare chest. Sometimes you touched the person who made you laugh; a gentle caress on their arm, or a light grab on their shoulder… You didn’t know what kind of effect you had on them; the men shivered every time you touched their arms or shoulders. They were getting hungrier, James could tell. Their eyes were roaming all over your body even more, they were black, almost, and they kept licking their lips as if to stop themselves from drooling.

He shook his head in disappointment. Some men were really weak, he thought as he watched one of the guys adjusting their pants because they became tight with the sight of you.

You were a trouble.

You were a walking sin.

That was okay, though. James knew how to deal with problems like yourself.

──

James approached you slowly. He did not want to frighten you or give you the wrong vibe. He handled with the other guys at the bathroom when they visited it to empty their bladders. He could talk to you without being interrupted, now. Although he probably had twenty or so minutes before the guys were discovered by some other patrons in the bar, so he had to charm you in a short amount of time and had to convince you to join him for the night.

He was in a cleansing mood.

So, he ordered a soda. He didn’t drink on nights when he was working, and he had plans for you and preferred to stay fully sober. The bartender put the drink in front of him silently and went back to drying the glasses. James took a sip, watching you with the corner of his eyes.

“Lovely dress,” he murmured gently, his eyes on the bartender. “You look like summer in the middle of a stormy night.” He turned his head to you; his blue eyes were intense as they took your shocked but pleased face in. You ducked your head.

“Thank you,” you whispered, but he heard you anyway. He was surprised that you were playing the innocent card. You were far from being innocent, he could tell. He only needed to take one look, and he knew right away. Maybe that was how your way. Maybe that was how you lured your preys in. James smiled despite his chain of thoughts.

“You’re very welcome,” he nodded, and then turned his body to you. “I’m James,” he extended his hand. He didn’t mind you knowing his name; you were going to be cleaned at the end of the night anyway. You smiled.

“Y/N,” you said, gently shaking his hand. James almost hummed loudly at the touch of your soft skin against his. His hands were rough, their texture wasn’t soft anymore, but yours were. They were soft. He liked that. It was nice to feel soft things against his own skin every once in a while. “You look tired,” you murmured after two beats of silence. James barely kept his smile soft and contained the twitch of his lips which threatened to form his smile into a smirk.

You were desperate.

The only thing he needed to do was to show you some affection, pour out some sweet words and now, you were desperate to talk to him more.

“I am,” James responded with a neutral voice, but he was mindful to add some sort of a sigh at the end. “Not so much, but I am.” He sent you an equally tired smile that matched up with his story. You gave him a soft look before inching your chair towards his. You were unaware of stepping into a very feral wolf’s den.

──

It wasn’t a hard work for him, to keep you talking and drinking while he was charming and maybe seducing you all along.

You were a little tipsy as he walked up to you anyway, James just made sure that you kept drinking. You were doing every single thing that was wrong in his book; the cleansing he’d be doing tonight with your help was going to be a good one.

“What brought you here?” You asked him. You weren’t slurring yet, and honestly, James didn’t want you that drunk, so after you were finished with the glass you had, he was going to stop you. As much as he liked seeing you indulge yourself into the sins like this, because it was going to make his cleansing better, he wanted you to enjoy yourself on your last moments.

James shrugged. “Just passing by, to be honest,” he murmured. It wasn’t a lie. He was passing by. He would be leaving this small town in the morning, most likely 6AM sharp. “How about you, sweetheart?” He asked. His head cocked to his side, eyes teasingly narrowed and lips stretched into a dangerous smirk. He was a handsome man, James knew that, and he liked to use it to his own advantage in these kinds of things.

“I’m going home,” you said. “It’s a long way, though, so I’m just spending the night here.” You sent him a small smile and finished the last drop of your drink. Just when you lifted your hand to ask for more, James placed his hand over the glass.

“I think it’s enough for the night, don’t you think?” He murmured, and then he stood up and moved closer to you. “Besides it would ruin the fun if you were to get too intoxicated.” James saw your eyes getting heavier with a hazy look, saw your chest stop moving and heard the hitch in your breath.

“What fun?” You asked. James let his lips form into a smirk, this time.

“If you join me for the night, I think you can find out,” he whispered, leaning in just a little. You whimpered softly. You were turned on; you were desperate for him, for what he could give you, what he could make you feel. It should have felt empowering, but it didn’t. It made him feel disgusted.

“Alright,” you agreed easily.

Wrong. This was wrong, what you were doing. Wrong. You shouldn’t have agreed to spend a night with a stranger this easily. You shouldn’t have been let that stranger seduce you like this, but you were naïve. You were desperate.

So, James smirked. He held out his arm and walked out of the bar with your arm looped into his.

──

James wasn’t a big fan of having sex. He knew he could go without having it, and he had, once. It wasn’t hard, abstaining himself from sex or any sort of psychical contact with anyone. It was very easy, actually, but it wasn’t worth it. He’d stop by one of the towns he was passing by, have a wild night and relieve himself and then he’d move on.

He called them cleansing.

He’d find a woman, watch them and try to decide if they were worthy of his cleansing nights. If they were, James would take them back to his motel room. He’d have his sex, give them pleasure, make them take whatever he gave them, and when he was free of his sins, he’d get rid of them.

Tonight was his cleansing day, and you were his vessel.

─

“Fuck!” You moaned as James slammed you back against his motel room door. His mouth was assaulting your neck, your bare chest, all the skin you showed to those men and made them lose their control, James left his mark.

His hands were under your dress. They were running along your soft skin, along length of your legs, and he grabbed your ass beneath the skirt to haul you up. With a soft moan you held tightly onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, you let him carry you to the bed. His lips were stroking yours so perfectly, you couldn’t keep your moans to yourself.

“You like this, don’t you?” He murmured against your lips as he laid you on the bed. He was on fours between your legs, your dress skirt bunched and ankles looped behind his thick thighs. “You like having some touching you like this.” He trailed a finger gentle from your ankle to your hips, digging his nails lightly. You sighed.

“Yes,” you moaned. “Yes, I love it.” James hummed. His fingers grabbed a hold of your flimsy panties, ripping them off with a flick of his fingers. You gasped, but it was so hot to watch, you couldn’t say anything. James discarded the ripped material. He hummed once again as he swiped his fingers through your core, causing you to buck your hips towards his touch.

“So wet…” He whispered. “You’re turned on, hm?” You nodded, desperately biting your lip to contain the sounds you wanted to let out. James pulled on your dress. “Take this off,” he ordered, a dangerous growl in his voice. You shuddered and scrambled to obey him. Quickly sliding the straps of the dress, you slid out of it in a blink. You threw the dress on one of the chairs in the room and settled under him again with a sigh.

James was right about almost being able to see your nipples because you weren’t wearing anything to cover them underneath that dress. He growled. You were so careless with your body, he realized. You never thought about what might happen to it before you threw it towards someone that could charm you with handful of words.

James wanted to laugh: You were so fucking easy.

Licking his lips, he ran his hands all over the now-available naked skin. It was very soft to touch, warm and smooth. It felt nice under his fingertips. James wanted to dig his nails and draw some blood just to ruin the perfect smoothness of your skin. He wanted to mark it, wanted to destroy its beauty so that no one would want to touch it ever again.

“Mm,” he heard you hum. Ignoring your writhing, James continued to stroke the warm skin beneath him. James sighed. “James…” You breathed, eyes closed and mouth open.

“What is it?” James asked. “What do you want, sweetheart?” You wiggled and writhed under him again. He could see that you were shying away from him for some reason, and he was intended to find out why. “Mm? Tell me. What is it?” You bit your lip, watched his eyes darken with the smallest action.

“I, um,” you whispered. “Can you be rough with me?” You asked gently. James narrowed his eyes. They were filled with amusement.

“You wan’ me to rough you up, love? Hm?” He leaned in and grabbed your face in his palm, squeezing your jaw, he pulled it towards his. He nudged your nose with his own softly. “You wan’ my bruises all over your body? Wan’ me to mark you up?” You were nodding excitedly; head bobbing up and down, eyes glimmering with anticipation, James thought you were adorable. He chuckled darkly. “Use your words,” he commanded with a low, rough voice.

“Yes,” you moaned loudly and whimpered. “Yes, I want your marks!” James hummed. It was a content, happy sound.

“Good, baby,” he whispered and flipped your over in a blink. He pulled your hips up as he placed a hand on your face and buried it into the bedding, almost constricting your breathing. You groaned throatily. “This what you wanted, yeah?” He leaned in until his lips were next to your ear. “You gonna get it.”

Briefly pulling away, James took off his clothes and laid them on the chair all folded. He climbed up on the bed, took his position between your thighs and pressed his groin against yours. Your dripping core felt warm and slick against his hard on. He closed his eyes and grunted lightly at the feeling, hips moving slightly. You wiggled your hips, pressed your ass back at him and coated his erection with your slick. James groaned. His hands were quick to find your hips and grabbing them tightly.

“You do not move unless I tell you so,” he snarled. His hand released your ass cheek and slapped it harshly, making the flesh jiggle. “You are to follow my orders,” he snarled again as he slapped the other cheek. You whimpered. “You disobey, and I’ll make sure you’re in pain.” He quickly gave you a slap right on your clit, making you shout into the bedding. “You hear?” You nodded.

“Yes, yes, I hear,” you whined. “’m sorry. I’ll follow your orders, sorry,” you mumbled, tears gathering in your eyes. James smiled.

“Good girl,” he whispered. The hand that was still resting on your ass sneaked its way up into your hair, and he yanked it harshly. You cried out. Your hands grabbed his thick thighs as something to hold on when he pulled your body flushed against his. “The sounds you make,” he snarled. He released his hold on your hair. “Grab the condom. It’s in the drawer.” James pointed the one on your left, and you leaned to get it.

After he put on the condom, he cornered and caged you on the bed, under him. You were breathing heavily, he could see how wet you were and how warm your body had become. “I’m gonna be rough,” he warned you. “I’m gonna degrade you, slap you, pull your fucking hair and I will not stop, y’hear me?” You nodded. That was exactly what you wanted from him. “Yell as loud as you want. Let’em know I’m making you feel so good.” He kissed you on the lips once and slid inside of you in one thrust.

You groaned loudly as your eyes rolled back. They way he filled you was so fucking perfect, you felt yourself tear up. Your hands were holding onto his biceps, nails digging softly as James started thrusting without missing a beat.

The pace he set up was hard and almost punishing. All the rage and tension in his body was loaded into his thrusts, making your body jolt up and down every single time his hips kissed yours. The sound of skin-slapping-skin was almost too loud, but James closed his eyes as he listened to it. His hands were grabbing your thighs tight enough to leave bruises in its wake, nails digging hard enough to draw some blood. James growled.

“So good,” he murmured to himself as he once again flipped you onto your stomach. He watched the jiggle of your ass with his each thrust, watched how perfect it was and warm it made him feel. It sent tingles all over his body. Pulling at your hips, he positioned you half-sitting on his lap, half-lying onto your stomach. He was hitting and reaching deeper with each movement of his cock, he knew it. Your screams of pleasure were letting him know. “Hmm, damn…” He groped your breasts. Pinching the soft, loose flesh, he pulled at your nipples.

“James!” You moaned, but you were slurring. James grinned devilishly. He sneaked his hand from your breast to your pussy and slapped it. Your hips twitched, and he slapped it again. Your walls were rippling around him like mad, James was loving it. “Oh, fuck!” You cried out as he pinched your clit. Tears were freely rolling down on your cheeks, but they were pleasant ones.

“Yeah?” James hissed. “You feelin’ good, slut? Hm? Tell me.” He listened to your litany of ‘yeses’ and moans and whimpers. He dug his nails on your breasts, digging them deep and dragging them down roughly. You shouted. James could feel the trickle of blood on his fingertips, and he chuckled darkly.

“We are just starting, dove,” he whispered into your ear and wrapped his arm around your throat.

****

James watched you as you dozed on and off. You were sprawled onto the bed, starfishing, and had a dopey smile on your face. You were so beautifully blessed out, James felt proud. His eyes roamed all the marks and bruises he left on your gorgeous body: Bite marks, handprints, nails… They looked incredible.

“Damn,” he heard you whisper. You giggled. You sounded drunk, but it wasn’t because of the booze you consumed earlier, it was all sex. “This was the best fuck I’ve ever had,” you said, grinning. James just hummed. Lifting himself on his strong legs, he walked over to his small bag. He opened it.

His clip point bowie knife was winking at him cheekily in his bag, and James smiled. He grabbed it gently. Fingertips running over the sharp and smooth edge of it, James sighed. This knife had served him so well over the years, it became his lucky charm and his go-to. Tonight, it was going to serve him once more.

“Are you still there?” You murmured, head lifting tiredly. “Or have I been talkin’ to myself all alon’?” You chuckled.

“’m here,” James whispered. You hummed, head falling onto the pillow. He walked over to your tired and used body. Your eyes were closed, but you had a happy smile on your face. James stroked your cheek as he mounted you.

“Mmm,” you protested lightly. “You wore me out. Can’t go again.”

“I don’t want you to,” James whispered, licking his lips hungrily. His pupils dilated with the anticipation. His hand moved to your hair from your cheek and he stroked it, too. You purred. James grinned. He looked like a mad man with a grin like that, he was aware, but this was his favorite moment.

He fisted his hand into your hair, yanking you half-upright. Without letting you understand what was happening, he ran the knife along your throat. A clean, deep cut. He heard your gurgled breath, watched the blood pouring out.

James smiled at your half shocked and half blessed face as he watched the blood pouring out of your body and pet your hair all the while. He could feel the relief filling his body already. He sighed deeply, relishing the feeling.

He loved his cleansing nights.

He loved watching them fading out.

It was why he was created.

──

Another body was found exactly a month later after the last one.

Despite the undisturbed look in general, he could see couple bruises peeking under the clothing that wrapped her body innocently. Rogers knew what he was going to find when he dug a little deeper. He knew how all the bruises the killer left behind was going to look like. He also knew that the forensics was going to say she was most likely got raped, but it wasn’t true.

Rogers had been working on this killer’s case for some time, now. He had seen cases of his killings enough to know that he cared about consent. The bruises, damage on genital parts on the bodies were all asked for. Rogers felt like he knew the killer like a best friend with how much personality to put into his… craft.

He would watch them first, seized his options. That was how he’d choose his next victim, most of the time. Then, he’d approach them, make small talk maybe, and charm them right away. It was a funny and humiliating fact that they had no visuals about the killer; no one seemed to saw his face, or remembered it. Rogers figured he must at least have a decent enough face to charm the women the way he did. Then, he’d take them to one of the rooms in the motel nearby. He’d get his pleasure, satisfy himself, and then. Then, he’d get to work.

This one, the body in front of him, was definitely his work.

The scene Rogers was facing was weirdly peaceful. It was by a lake with lots of willow trees surrounding it. It was almost 5AM in the morning; the cool breeze of the night was even sharper now. There was no noise, only owls making soft cooing sounds. The darkness of the sky was the darkest before the sun peeked through its black curtains.

However, Rogers was not there for the scenery. Not that kind, at least.

She was standing by one of the willow trees. Her body was positioned in such way that it looked like she was just leaning against the tree and watching the view in front of her. It might have looked normal, like nothing was wrong if she was wearing a coat or something, but she wasn’t. The white dress she had on was beautiful. It was simple, no designs or anything. The dress had long sleeves; the fabric was covering her chest up to her neck/shoulder joint and the skirt part of it was reaching to her ankles. She had matching flats on her feet. The skirt was only allowing Rogers to have very small peek of her skin.

Her hair looked clean when he came closer. It was up in a half-braid, thrown over her right shoulder. Her hands were clasped in front of her in a submissive way, her fingers were laced together. She had an also white, silk scarf covering her neck. Simple silver earrings were put, she looked really beautiful.

Her face, however, was the creepiest part.

It looked almost alive; she had a serene look on her face, a faint smile on her lips and the look in her eyes were soft. She really looked like she was watching the view, but she was dead. Her skin looked undisturbed, but Rogers knew that if he were to rip the dress off, he’d find her genital organs all mangled. He would also find all the bruises that this elegant dress was perfectly covering up.

“Same guy?” Wilson asked as he approached Rogers. He nodded. His blue eyes were inspecting the girl’s body carefully. “These poor girls,” Wilson sighed. “What is he trying to do, I don’t get it.”

Rogers knew what he was trying to do.

“He’s stopping them from sinning ever again,” he murmured as he eyed the note where the killer pinned the note. It was sitting right over her heart innocently, an elegant hand writing was smiling at him gently on the cream-colored paper. One sentence was striking, but he could see more things were written on the small paper. It was that one sentence that was haunting him in his nightmares. Rogers counted exactly seven drops of blood on the paper. One of the drops was darker than the other: It was the third one.

“Does that mean anything?” Wilson frowned. He was new to this case, so he didn’t know the meanings of the small details the killer loved to leave behind.

“Yeah. Seven drops. Seven deadly sins. Third drop is darker than the others which indicate which sin she had died from.”

“Which is?”

As he answered Wilson, Rogers sighed deeply.

“Lust.”

𝙸𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝚁𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂, 𝙸'𝙼 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳...

#bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes blurbs #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #serialkiller!bucky #welcome to highway 63 #dark fic #fade out

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darkdevasofdestruction · 3 years

Text

An Angel and A Demon ~ Pyramid Head x Reader

Update 2: My laptop restarted when I was in the middle of writing this, and trust me when I say it, I am positively pissed off, and I want to end my days, that's how bad of a day this was.

And I didn't leave the house.

That says a lot about today...

Update 1: But, without further ado, I was half-way writing this story, and I received this ask, and let me tell you...

helloooo, i absolutely adored the fanfics you wrote about kazan and danny🥺 could i request one where pyramid head is just really whipped for and in love with the survivor! reader but he doesnt know how to announce it to them so he brings her random ,,gifts" in and outside the trials and protecting her bc well, im pretty sure he cant speak so he doesnt really have any other options on how to express his feelings??

I live for it.

Bless you for sending me this, it's the reason I'm still sane right now.

I love you, baby-cakes.

Update 3: I want to kill myself so bad. Just smash my head on a wall until it explodes or sth. I was so happy with how this imagine turned out, only fuck fucking tumblr to just fucking delete EVERYTHING just as I was about to put the last gif and hit POST NOW.

--------

For the 5th time writing this :

FUCKMEDADDY - but this time - FUCKMYBRAINSOUTPLEASEIWANNADIE

Thanks.

-------

Hell - What was that place, anyway?

Some would describe it as an infinite ocean of flames and lava, where it's eternally melting-hot, and a bunch of hooved, horned, tailed red demons torture you with acid, with their red pitch forks, or boil you alive in their cauldron for soup. Or maybe you just get tortured by Stalin, who knows?

But never would have anyone thought that 'Hell' could look so...Normal. Well, normal in a very demolished, desolate, ravished way, but still...Normal, by human standards. Albeit, the never-ending loop of madness, anguish, agony and desperation of getting killed in different gruesome ways or fleeing for their lives and feeling a myriad of emotions pumping adrenaline through their veins so badly that their anxiety-meter skyrocketed to abnormal levels.

All this darkness, this hatred, this...Everything...It changed all the survivors. They became selfish, stubborn, rude, some even went as far as to sacrifice their fellow survivors in trials, just so they could survive. It was a complete mayhem that defied all kinds of reason, normality, morality or even ethics. Everyone became devoid of any laws that used to bind them to their humane sides, and now, you weren't sure if the killers were saner than the survivors or not.

But even in this abyss where you couldn't even see your hand in front of your very eyes, there was a little star - A beautiful angel radiating brightness and warmth, someone who was somehow able to guide everyone's straying souls with her benevolence.

In reality, she was merely a survivor, not the little lantern from an angler fish's head, but she treated everyone with such an untainted kindness...It was beautiful, and yet, unrequited for most parts. Everyone was still putting their own lives above all - And who could condemn them? - Perhaps their cowardice, for the girl preferred to save her fellow survivors as much as possible, even if that oftentimes assured her place on the hook, to be a sacrificial lamb for the Entity.

On the other hand, she rarely ended up on the hook - Most killers prefer to kill her themselves, instead of letting her become pray for the horrible Entity who tortured so many of them for refusing to cooperate - The Trapper, Evan MacMillan - He knew the best, with those hooks digging into his flesh, impossible to extract. He was the first to protect this girl. It wasn't much, but if he had to, he'd rather give her a swift, painless death, than seeing her without that serene, angelic smile on her face, as the Entity feeds on the last bits of her soul's beauty, the last parts of her humanity.

The other Killers were confused at the Trapper's actions, but little by little, they began to understand why this girl was so precious and special - And this domino effect hit Rin Yamaoka next, with Y/N stopping in the middle of a chase and taking off her jacket, just as Rin was about to butcher her with her katana, and she smiled, extending it to her. 'You must be cold' she said, realising that the Spirit was merely wearing a few bandages, not even her school uniform, or her kimono.

The ghost girl was shaken up by this, and told the others at the killer camp, but they just shrugged it off - Rin was a little girl who faced close to no kindness, they weren't surprised she was so taken aback by such a feat. That is, until Adiris, in a particularly terrible day, when everyone at the camp was staying away from her, as her profane censer wasn't able to cover the stench of rotting flesh - Y/N came over, taking out a small yet elegant glass bottle with pink liquid on it, spraying some on her - And now, The Plague smelled of roses and vanilla - 'You can come to me for perfume whenever you want, I always carry some with me!' she grinned at the Babylonian High Priestess, before leaving back to the survivor's camp site, leaving the ancient God symbol to stare with her mouth agape at the girl.

These words began to spread, and it was no surprise when the killers saw Susie clinging and begging her Legion friends to spare Y/N, for she was there to hug away her worries more than once, to tell her sweet words, to play with her hair and play the guitar whatever songs she wanted to hear, to get reminded of her home - She was so home sick that she freaked out, but now she was better, thanks to Y/N - 'I know you miss home, but sometimes, home is where your best friends are, and all three of them are here!' she tried to encourage the cute pink-haired girl who could only squeal and hug her new friend.

Even Ghostface wasn't exempt from falling to her charms, and they would often take silly selfies and mess around, making fun of the old horror movie tropes and doing lots of puns and pranks - So much that she even got his trust to be told about the Danny/Jed thing, and how he began his killer profession - 'You're a very talented photographer, Danny! You deserved all that recognition you got, both as a journalist, and as a killer!'

And very soon, Y/N found herself in the crushing arms of an overprotective Anna, humming her mother's lullaby together with walking through the forest, Y/N making flower crows for all the female killers at the camp site, and little by little, she somehow managed to worm her way under everyone's skins.

Y/N was the survivor with the highest survivability percentage, and maybe the Entity sometimes got pissed off, but at least she still got killed sometimes, so who cares? Well, that was soon to change as soon as a new Killer was added to this sick game - Pyramid Head, the terror of Silent Hill, as Cheryl, the new Survivor, called him - or The Executioner, as he was known now. He was ruthless, merciless, grotesque - He had his own criteria of killing, his own moral compass, ethics, conscience and understanding of the concept of life and death. Nothing that could compare to the visions of humans, clearly - Everything was gravitating around Divine Retribution and Justice, but the from the outside, he was nothing but a killing machine.

He would kill everyone and anyone that crosses his path, without fail.

Y/N felt like her fortune ended completely the second she found herself in the new, overly cramped map, with Pyramid Head as the killer - She couldn't help but run around like a spazzic meerkat, trying to find and fix as many generators as possible, without having to get face to face with the walking hazard...

Only to run past a stuck Pyramid Head.

Slowly backtracing her steps, she saw the mountain of a man with his metal pyramid stuck in the frames a low window which he tried to walk over. He was trashing like a raged bull trying to attack a matador, but it was clear he was getting nowhere with this.

"H-Hey, u-uhm...Need some help?" she asked in a soft, careful voice, almost like a meek cat trying to test the waters, but in return, he started groaning even louder from the wrath he wanted to unleash upon the whole world. "Okay, uhm...I think I saw a can of vaseline in one of the chests around. I'll go fetch it and I'll come back for you. Don't move." she said, only to then realise how horrible that sounded, considering the situation, and it only seemed to anger the killer. "...I'm sorry, ignore me, I'm an idiot." she slapped herself pretty harshly before bolting out of there trying to find the chest.

However, Y/N cursed herself for not having perfectly memorised the whole map by heart already, since she found the vaseline can after the 3rd chest, and then, it took quite a while to find the bloody window that got the killer stuck - And by the time she got there, she was dead tired. "Okay, I'm here, I found the vaseline! Let's try to get you out of here." Y/N muttered as she put her feet on the low window pane to get to his level. "If it's not too much trouble, could you please hold onto me? I can't balance myself with both hands occupied, and I'd rather not fall." she explained as she opened the vaseline can, only to shiver as she felt two big, strong hands getting a firm grip on her hips. It was almost...Endearing, were she not too busy trying to get the killer unstuck. She kept massaging the metal edge, trying to push and pull, also praying to whatever deity that existed in her human world that she had her tetanus shot done on time - Until finally, she was able to get hear a loud screech, like a pop, and the killer got unstuck, and in the process, he stumbled backwards, while Y/N fell down on her butt.

"Ouchie..." she muttered, rubbing her back and sides to take away the pain surging through her body. "Are you okay?" she asked, almost intuitively, without realising it at first, until she heart a low grunt that brought her back to reality. "O-Oh...! You have glass shards stuck in your side! And you're bleeding too! Hold up, let me help." she hurried to his side, while the killer merely stiffened, feeling her delicate, slender fingers tracing his body, while he heaved and slouched his shoulders from the repressed wrath. "It may sting a bit, and I'm really sorry, but I promise it will be better soon." her voice was so motherly and warm, which also resonated in her actions, as she gingerly took a water bottle and imbued some tissues with it, to wipe away the blood smearing down his skin as she extracted the glass shards, and then..."This is grandma's marigold ointment. It's really good, and it smells nice." she explained as she carefully smeared a thick layer of the yellow ointment on the biggest wounds, while the little ones were covered by smiley-flower patterned plasters. They were cute, and colourful, and they never failed to make her smile. "Okay, there we go, all better! I hope you'll feel better very soon!" her voice got a tiny bit more cheerful and upbeat.

It made the Killer think about a trillion things, as he stepped in front of her, towering over her like the Empire states building next to a smiling pomeranian. What was with this girl? Why did she help a killer? And why did he feel so...Warm inside? He could sense a foreign kind of luminosity, a naivite and innocence that he only witnessed in children and animals. This woman in front of him was untainted by the darkness and evil of the world.

It didn't matter how many hardships she's been through, or how much sadness she had to endure - Her soul remained as pure as any snowdrop, as the first snow of winter, as the fleece of a baby lamb who let out its first 'meeeeh' to its mamma sheep.

He couldn't allow this human to be maimed in any way - Not by the world, not by the Entity, and certainly not by him. - Screw the Entity, Pyramind Head kills by his own rules, and now, he was blessed to be faced with a human who bore no real hatred for her peers, or for the world, despite the horrible situation she was thrown into.

He didn't understand, obviously, especially as he remembered the myriad of abominations that lurked through Silent Hill, all of them created by the torment of humans - The very torment that distorted their own reality, which resulted in him needing to solve the purpose as The Executioner - Eradicating the world of all evil.

"Th-This sword is so heavy...H-How can you carry this around like that...?! Your muscles must be so strained and sore...Y-You really need a massage, I'm sure." she stuttered as she tried to lift the much taller and heavier sword from the ground, only for the brute to simply bend and pick it up with extreme ease, putting the girl to shame with her complete lack of strength. "Hehe...You're really strong. I'm embarrassed now." she chuckled softly, scratching the back of her neck.

Before she could leave or do anything else, Pyramid Head picked her up by the throat, careful not to hurt her or restrict her air intake - I mean, how else was he supposed to carry her so he wouldn't hurt her with his metal head or sword? - and it was pretty clear she didn't feel any malevolence from him, as she clinged on his forearm, trying to keep herself up, only to be dumped on top of the hatch, as the killer pointed towards it, so she would leave.

"O-Oh...! Thank you so much! You're really kind! I really appreciate this...I-I know it probably doesn't matter much to you, since you'll be doing this over and over again with all the survivors...But I really appreciate you for your kind gesture, and I appreciate you for being so nice with me. Thank you. Take care!" her dazzling smile lit the whole place up, but he couldn't talk, nor could he tell her how he should be the one thanking her for showing him that, despite the hundreds and thousands of years he had to roam the 'Earth' and execute the injust, miracles still existed.

As soon as she reached the survivor's camp, everyone cheered for her, asking how in the world could she have escaped the wrath of the butcher. "Oh, but he wasn't that bad. In fact, he's much more humane than I anticipated! I think he has a beautiful, blooming heart!" okay, she's lost it - the other survivors thought - but even so, she's always been a bit...Out of it, so who cares?

It took quite a while for the other three survivors to reach the camp, all bloody, in fact, like the new killer, who dragged himself with the same menace to the Killers' camp. "How the hell did you manage to survive?!" they yelled at her in utter shock, seeing that she got out of there unscratched. "Oh, you see...I found the hatch." she shrugged simply, not wanting to give away that the person who massacred those three was a soft one and he basically threw her down the hatch to her safety.

As she took a twig to roast a marshmallows, she noticed how Pyramid Head was standing much farther away from the rest of the killers - She knew that silent killers were bound to stay away from the more obnoxious one, remembering how Michael Myers almost killed Ghostface and The Legion at least a dozen times - But this time...He seemed kinda...Lonely? So Y/N took the matters into her own hands, roasted another marshmallow in another twig, and when it was done, she went to the killer's camp, calling out the lonely one's name - She has no idea why, but he actually followed her, pushing her further deep into the forest, until he was sure nobody was going to hear, see or interrupt them...

"Hey. You seemed pretty lonely out there...I thought you could use a friend. Thank you again for what you did at the trial...Here, this is a marshmallow. I don't think you've had many before...Cheryl told me of that horrible place you had to live in...So I hope this will make your day a bit better!" Y/N extended one of her hands towards him, so he could take the marshmallow - And a long, black tongue erupted from underneath the pyramid, snatching away the fluffy marshmallow and gulping it in one go.

What the hell was he turning into?

A towering man built of pure muscle, wrath and divine justice, with a pyramid representing the evil of humanity burdening his body, and a sword taller and heavier than the average human being constantly dragged in one of his hand...He now was a slave to a cute, innocent girl who was putting flower plasters on his minuscule wounds that would heal in a heartbeat regardless - He saved this girl who was now offering his these soft, squishy things that tasted overly sugarly, just like her upbeat and cheerful personality - If he could eat her, he was sure she would taste even sweeter than this - A sickish kind of sweet, that is.

She was indeed a beautiful angel in this tragic hell. But he didn't wait to snatch the second marshmallow either.

"Ah...! You liked it, didn't you? Well...Next time, I promise I'll give you more!" she grinned at him the same way a princess would to her chivalrous knight who saved her. The since he couldn't talk, silence took over them - It wasn't an uncomfortable one, per se, but it made it feel as if the conversation was over. "W-Well...I'll guess I'll see you around! Take care and I hope to see you again soon!" she waved cutely, trying to turn around back to her camp, only to feel a rough hand on her shoulder, turning her around and urging her to stop and wait for him and he went deep into the forest, leaving her alone and undefended by the potential malevolent forces of the forest.

When he returned, however, he stepped right in front of her, creating the perfect shade as he towered over her - Then he kneeled in front of her, so he would reach her eye sight, then he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and put a beautiful pink flower - As pink as the blush that started creeping on her face - He wanted to see her luminous face better, to highlight her dazzling smile and her glimmering eyes as the warm, silver light of the mother moon caressed her face.

Y/N felt her heart picking up the pace - It was beating so much faster than ever before - But this time, it wasn't out of fear or anything negative...It was something good. Something she never felt in her life, especially with her human acquaintances from back home. None was as chivalrous and gentle with her as this butcher of tormented souls - The bringer of justice, the merciless Executioner who was supposed to end the life of every living being that would cross his path.

It was insane how every Yin finds its Yang, even if that comes in the form of a little lamb of a small, frail girl, and a huge abomination of a brute man who knows nothing but death, bloodshed and carnage. It was truly crazy how opposites attract, and here she was, holding the killers large hands and gingerly putting them on her face, leaning into his touch - She felt safer now than ever in her life - Now, in the arms of an ancient killer.

An Angel and A Demon brought together in a perfect union.

As she leaned down, she touched the metal of the pyramid where she anticipated his forehead would be with her own forehead, and closing her eyes, she finally felt herself calming down. There was no need for words, actions spoke louder than anything, and she appreciated it...She appreciated him.

"Thank you." she whispered to him, knowing that yes, even though nobody else would hear it anyway, it was much more intimate than anything she ever experienced.

She was hooked.

Hope you liked my completely shameless pun, I couldn't stop it, especially after the pain I went through trying to write this...3 freaking times.

Yay.

#dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight imagine #dbd #dbd x reader #dbd imagine #silent hill #silent hill x reader #silent hill imagine #pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #pyramid head imagine #red pyramid #red pyramid x reader #red pyramid imagine

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outercrasis · 3 years

Text

Maybe It’s A Sign

Pairing: Modern!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 9.3k+

Warnings: alcohol, implied age difference, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming

Summary: You and Mando have been driving across America together for months. You're happy to be with him but part of you longs for something more.

A/N: I don’t really know the time period for this, probably like anything pre-2010s. There’s no use of y/n and let me know if I missed a warning :)

Read it on AO3

The breeze from the open truck window is cool against your heated skin. It's your only relief as the sun beats down on you through the windshield, the busted A/C offering no help. You're headed down some freeway in the middle of nowhere America, riding shotgun in an old beat-up truck that's seen better days.

You've been keeping your eyes on the flat landscape surrounding you, watching as field after field passes you by. They really weren't joking when they'd named them the Great Plains. Music filters through the air, some classic rock song you've heard a thousand times before. You still hum along mindlessly, enjoying the small amount of entertainment.

Bored of the vast sameness outside your window, your eyes drift over to your companion, driver, and owner of the truck. Mando. You study him, finding him far more interesting than the fields outside.

His worn baseball cap has been pushed up, presumably from scratching his scalp underneath and not bothering to fix it. Soft brown curls peek out around the edges of the hat. He has his sunglasses on and his eyes are firmly fixed on the road ahead, as they should be. The patchy scruff along his jawline has grown out a bit from your recent days on the road and you can see a few gray hairs mixed in with his darker natural color.

He shrugged off his jacket earlier in the day, leaving him in a worn gray t-shirt that hugged his lean muscles all just right. His faded blue jeans are on and you wonder how he can stand to wear them in the oppressive summer heat. You gave into shorts days ago.

All in all, he was a far better sight than anything outside the truck. As you look him over, you muse how everything he owns seems to be worn in. His rusty truck, his old hat, his distressed clothes. They all carry a sense of being lived in, nothing new and shiny on him. Well, except for his jewelry. His silver necklace and rings always shine brightly, a dramatic contrast to the rest of him.

"Stop staring," Mando suddenly says, breaking you from your observation of him. You're a little embarrassed to have been caught, but you aren't going to let him know that.

"Why? Nothin' else to look at around here."

That rewards you with a chuckle. At least he isn't irritated by your staring then.

"Don't you have a book or something?"

You look over at the book you had thrown on the dashboard. A used copy of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger that you picked up a couple states back. You aren't sure you like Holden, but it's a good read at least. "Yeah, but I can't read it for long before I start feeling sick. So I guess I'll just have to look at you instead."

"Sure that I won't make you sick?" Mando teases.

You smile. He's in a good mood today. There are days where conversation with him is like pulling teeth, but it makes days like today all the more worth it.

"Nah, you aren't so hard on the eyes." You say it cool and casual, genuine but not needy. As though you don't often think of his looks when you have the time and privacy to satisfy your needs.

Mando shakes his head slightly but you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Sure, sweetheart."

He never seems to believe you when you compliment his appearance. It breaks your heart a little. Sure, he has some years on you, but you aren't blind. You know a good-looking man when you see one and Mando? He was it. If the man wasn't oblivious, he'd notice the looks plenty of women and some men throw him when he strolls into town.

Not sure of what to say next, but not wanting the conversation to end, you take to a habit that's been slowly forming over your months with him. It had begun out of boredom one day, but continued due to a desperate urge to learn anything and everything your mysterious companion will tell you about himself.

"When's your birthday?"

Mando isn't surprised anymore by your random questions. "May eighteenth."

Your eyes go wide at his answer. It was July now, meaning he'd let the day come and go without telling you. You had just assumed his birthday hadn't come around with you yet. "Mando! Why didn't you tell me? I would have at least said something if I had known."

He shrugs. "Birthdays aren't a big deal where I grew up."

"Were you raised Jehovah's Witness or something?" you ask.

"No, nothing like that." His fingers drum slightly on the steering wheel. You noticed a while ago that he did that when you got close to something he didn't want to talk about. His childhood always seems to be a touchy subject.

You want to know more, want to learn all of his secrets, but you don't want to jeopardize his good mood. Mando had shared bits and pieces of those more intimate details with you over your shared months with him, but always on his own time. His own terms. You won't push it now. Instead, you pivot to something more innocuous.

"If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

You're surprised when he barely takes any time to consider the question before answering. "Tacos."

You raise an eyebrow. "Tacos? I took you for more of a burger and fries kind of guy."

"Nothing compares to a good authentic taco from down by the border." He says it with such confidence that you can do nothing other than believe him.

"I wouldn't know," you say.

Mando cocks an eyebrow at you now. "We'll have to fix that then."

A warm flush runs through your body at his words. You know he isn't looking to get rid of you, but hearing him make plans for the future with you, no matter how tentative, makes you happier than you care to admit. Small promises that you know he'll make good on eventually given the time and opportunity.

"What about you?" he asks.

"Easy. A full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast. Doesn't matter how they're cooked or the specific options, you can't go wrong."

You stretch yourself out in the cab as you answer, throwing your feet up on the dash. Your eyes close for a moment and you miss the way Mando's eyes rake over your extended frame.

"You're never awake for breakfast," Mando comments. He's right. You enjoy your sleep and when left to your own devices you easily dream through breakfast hours.

"That doesn't matter," you retort. "Breakfast food isn't only good in the morning."

You continue that way for a while, gathering small bits of information about him and sharing your own in return. You learn that he prefers hot weather over the cold, soft pillows over firm ones, showers over baths, and most surprisingly that he has a soft spot for musicals. That fact had made you giggle, imagining Mando singing along to The Music of the Night. With all of his mystery, he wouldn't make for a bad Phantom you think.

As the afternoon wears on, you can feel yourself growing tired. Between the warmth of the sun, the lulling rumble of the truck, and the comfortable environment of the cab, you're fighting to keep your eyes open. Mando notices your struggle and reaches a hand out towards you.

You aren't really sure when this began, but you aren't complaining about it. Mando would hold your hand whenever you fell asleep in the truck, thumb gently rubbing against your skin. His hands were rough, callused from years of work, but they felt nice. They felt strong, comforting. In those moments nothing else in the world mattered. And if you thought about his hands later, touching places other than your hands, then that was your business and no one else’s.

You wake up a couple hours later, Mando calling your name to pull you from your sleep. The sun has moved down in the sky and you guess it’s somewhere close to five o’clock. You’d check the time on the radio, but Mando never seemed to bother keeping it right due to regularly changing time zones with all the cross country traveling.

You’re sitting outside of some 24 hour diner on a random roadside. Mando seems to be fond of these little dives, preferring them to any of the big chain restaurants you always pass. Fast food is the only exception to that rule and even that’s rare, these food stops often being one of few chances to stretch your legs when you’re on the road.

“What do you think? Do they have the best pie in America?” you joke, pointing at the sun-worn sign hanging below the restaurant’s name. You can’t count how many ‘best blank in America’ signs you’ve seen at this point. While you can’t credit their authenticity, it usually did mean there was something good waiting for you on the menu.

“I suppose we’ll have to be the judges of that,” Mando replies.

You tug on your socks and shoes that you pulled off earlier in the day and hop out of the truck. The easy conversation and warm nap have you in a great mood, one that makes you a little bolder than you might otherwise be. Walking into the diner, you grab onto Mando’s arm, smiling at him when he looks down at you in surprise. He doesn’t pull away from you though and your heart beats a little bit faster.

The diner has plenty of open seats and you seat yourselves, grabbing one of the booths. The stiff vinyl isn’t the most comfortable, but you can’t say you’re surprised. The place looks like it hasn’t been renovated in a decade. If the smell from the kitchen is anything to go off of though, the food will be just fine.

A waitress comes over to take your orders. She’s exactly what you would imagine a waitress to look like in a diner like this one. Slightly heavyset, a kind face, and a big smile to offer you. “Hi there, what can I get the two of you?” she asks.

“I’ll take a coke, ma’am,” Mando says. He seems oblivious to the flush on the waitress’s cheeks at his baritone.

“I’ll take a coke too.”

“I’ll be right back, folks.”

You reach over to grab a sticky menu from the end of the table. The stickiness grosses you out a little, but it really does add to the ambiance of the place. Your conversation from earlier drifting back into mind, you immediately look for the breakfast section. Perfect. Their ‘two eggs and more’ option is exactly what you were looking for.

The waitress returns with your drinks and takes your orders, Mando getting himself a burger and fries. You smirk at him, taking the wrapper off of your straw. “I thought you said you weren’t a burger and fries kind of guy?”

Mando watches as you carefully make a wrapper worm, dropping the smallest amount of soda on the paper to make it move. “I just said tacos were my favorite, never said I’m a guy who doesn’t enjoy a good burger and fries, sweetheart.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug.

You fall into a comfortable silence together at the table. Silence isn’t an uncommon occurrence between the two of you. When you first joined Mando you talked all the time. Trying to fill up the empty space, feeling like if someone wasn’t talking then the situation was awkward. Slowly you learned though. The silence was never awkward until you made it that way and unless Mando had something to say, he’d stay quiet. He’s not incapable of conversation, he just doesn’t like to force it.

You softly hum a tune that’s been stuck in your head, looking out the diner window and enjoying the sunset. It’s a gorgeous one today, the sky looking like an oil painting with its gradient of colors. The flat plains allow for a good view of it too, only a small building in the distance blocking any part of the horizon. You kick yourself for not picking up that disposable camera at the gas station this morning. The photo would never do it justice, but at least that way you could have a small piece of the gorgeous sky to hold onto.

Plates being set down on the table brings you back down to earth. You happily dig into your meal, pleased to have been right about the quality of food here. Nothing could beat a good meal at a greasy diner. Mando seems to enjoy his burger as well, scarfing it down well before you finish your plate.

He always ate like that and you aren’t sure why. It’s as though he thinks if he doesn’t eat it fast enough then someone is going to come and steal it from him. Early on you’d tried to speed up your eating, feeling awkward every time he finished and was forced to wait on you. Now though, you don’t care. Mando rarely ever stops moving and a meal with you is a time you can be certain that he isn’t doing anything for once. You hope that eventually it might encourage him to actually enjoy his food as well, but that still seems a long way off.

Mando picks at his fries and sips at his coke while you finish up. The waitress comes by to refill the drinks, another flush on her cheeks when Mando thanks her. There must not be many attractive men who roll through here if a simple thanks has her blushing, you think. Poor lady, she seems quite nice.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask Mando between bites of egg and toast.

“Plan?”

“Yes, plan. We’ve been driving west for two days now and you seem to have some destination in mind. So, what’s the plan?” What plan, of course Mando has a plan. He always does. Was it always well thought out or complete? No, but there is never a time where he doesn’t have some sort of plan, some idea of where he’s off to next. You’re the one without plans, content with travelling alongside him.

Before Mando can reply, the waitress returns to the table and clears his now empty plate. “Can we get a slice of your pie?” Mando asks.

“Of course, what flavor would you like?” she replies.

“Whatever flavor you think is best, ma’am.” That garners yet another blush on the waitress’s cheeks. Wow. Things must be really bad around here then. One good-looking customer shouldn’t have that big of an impact on anyone, much less a woman who’s clearly made this job her life’s work.

She leaves and you prompt Mando again. “So? Plan?”

“I’m going to meet someone tonight, pick up a new job. Then we’ll go from there,” he finally tells you.

You aren’t pleased by his half-cryptic half-telling answer. He’s always doing this to you, giving you answers but never quite the whole thing. You bet he already knows what the next job is, he’s just being coy about it for some ridiculous reason.

You decide not to push it and slide your plate over to Mando. There are some hash browns left and he won’t just ask for them despite the fact that you’re clearly done. He doesn’t say thanks, just picks up the fork and shovels them in. This by now is routine too so it doesn’t bother you, but it’s still odd. Mando is just weird about food.

He finishes the last of your meal and the waitress returns with the pie. “Blueberry, winner of the county festival five years running,” she tells you.

You grab a fork and dig in, suddenly finding the room in your stomach for dessert. Best pie in America might be a stretch, but you believe their claim to the best pie in the county. It’s delicious, eliciting a small but satisfied groan from you on the first bite. You go to take a second bite when you realize Mando hasn’t moved yet, he’s just watching you with an expression on his face that you can’t quite make out.

“Earth to Mando?” you say, waving your hand. “Try the pie, it’s delicious.”

He breaks from his stare and takes a piece of the pie. “‘S good,” he says around the mouthful.

You laugh at his terrible manners. “Gross, finish chewing before you talk.”

He doesn’t have a witty retort, but he gives you a grin that makes you feel like you’ve won a million dollars. It’s one of the ones that reaches his eyes, making them just shy of sparkling. Now you really wish you had bought that disposable camera.

Finishing the award-winning dessert, you and Mando go up to the counter to pay. He’s left a tip on the table, a sizable one in your opinion, but you aren’t going to say anything about it. Mando is always leaving big tips at places like these.

You take in the diner for one last moment, not paying attention to Mando’s conversation with the waitress until she says something that catches your ear.

“-shift ends in a half hour.” Did you hear that right? Was she really propositioning Mando right now? Christ, things must be downright desolate around here.

Your heart stops as you wait to hear Mando’s reply. He could easily accept. She’s an attractive woman with that classic middle America charm about her. Any other man would probably take her up on the offer. Would it shatter your heart into a million pieces if Mando did? Most likely. But do you have any right to feel that way? Most likely not.

Mando isn’t tied to you, at least not in that way, and he’s certainly still a man. You haven’t known him to chase after any women the whole time you’ve been with him, but surely he has needs and the waitress is beautiful and willing. You wouldn’t be able to fault him for it.

“I’m flattered, but the lady here and I need to be getting back on the road,” Mando says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. You do your best to keep your face neutral, not wanting to come off as rude while also trying not to make it obvious the way your heart swoops at Mando’s reply. You know he doesn’t mean anything serious by it, but the implication is still very much there.

Embarrassment washes over the poor woman’s face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I just assumed…” she trails off, not finishing her thought. You want to feel bad for her, but you can’t help but feel sorry for yourself.

You have a good idea of what she assumed. You’ve heard a multitude of mistaken relationships by now between you and Mando. Everything from some kind of family relation, to something more perverted that’s assumed by greasy motel attendants who cast odd glances when you ask for a double instead of a single. It’s never any less uncomfortable.

Mando brushes it off. “It’s fine ma’am, no harm, no foul.” The waitress doesn’t blush at his words anymore.

Bill paid, you and Mando leave the diner. His arm leaves you and you climb back into the truck. The radio flickers back to life and neither of you speak. You wish you could know what’s going on inside of his head. Probably just thinking about the next job. That seems like him, always focused on what’s coming next.

You can’t help but be consumed with thoughts of him. Situations like the one with the waitress always left you distracted. There’s no real way to describe your relationship with Mando. You had helped him with a deal and he had helped you with a way out of your one-horse town. Originally neither of you planned on staying together for this long, but at some point Mando stopped asking you where you wanted to go and you stopped asking if he was going to leave.

You’re comfortable around each other, content to drive across America while Mando picks up job after job. At some point your feelings deepened for him, you aren’t exactly sure when, but now you can’t imagine leaving Mando. It’s no longer just about the adventure of it for you. It’s something more, a deeper tie than you’ve ever had to anyone. However, you have no idea if he feels the same way and you don’t intend to find out. Better to love your mystery man from afar then reveal yourself and get left in the dust.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Mando reaches over and turns down the radio. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You’re a bit surprised to hear an apology. After all, he had nothing to really apologize for. The waitress had come onto him, not the other way around. You know Mando isn’t the type to flat out refuse and insult someone like that. What he had done was… fine. You had hardly even considered it.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Mando,” you tell him. “If anything she did, propositioning you like that.”

A small, relieved smile works its way across his face. “It was quite bold.”

That makes you laugh. “I’m not surprised, she was sizing you up since we walked in.”

“She was not,” Mando argues.

You shift in your seat to face him. “Are you kidding? You really didn’t notice her blushing every time you spoke to her?” If Mando was this oblivious maybe you didn’t need to worry about him catching onto you.

“Now you’re just lying, sweetheart.”

“Am not. You just don’t pay attention.”

Mando rolls his eyes and turns the radio back up. He mumbles something but you can’t make it out. You let it slide and allow yourself to relax. Your hand falls to the center of the bench seat as you look out the window. The stars are coming out now, another gorgeous sight in the vast expanse of the sky. So far away from the city, it feels like you can see every pinprick of light the universe has to offer. It’s a bit disorienting honestly. Nothing makes you feel smaller by comparison and yet, you don’t really mind.

You startle as something wraps around your hand. Looking down, you realize that it’s just Mando, holding your hand as he does when you’re close to falling asleep in the truck. You look up at him, confused. You aren’t anywhere close to nodding off. He should know that, so why…?

Mando doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. His thumb softly rubs against the back of your hand. You relax into his touch, turning your eyes back to the stars. Confusion about Mando’s actions doesn’t compare to the way your stomach flips at his gentle touch. It feels nice, domestic almost, if one can consider a life lived out of the front seat of a rusted out pickup domestic. His hand doesn’t leave yours until he pulls into the pothole filled parking lot of some dive bar.

Mando parks and turns the truck off. You move to get out of the truck with him when he squeezes your hand to stop you.

“Stay in the truck,” Mando says. His hand leaves you and he opens his own door, jumping out onto the cracked asphalt.

You look over at him, incredulous. “Excuse me? You know I am old enough to go in there, right?”

“I know. Stay in the truck.” Mando closes the truck door, giving you no more room to argue with him. It pisses you off.

What is this? Soften you up by holding your hand only to leave you behind? You hate when he does this, treating you like a child that’s just tagging along with him. You suppose you are tagging along, which stings a bit more, but you could be helpful, useful even if he would just let you in. Instead he keeps you at arm’s length at times, treating you like you can’t take care of yourself. He has no right to boss you around like that, telling you where you can and can’t go.

You watch his figure enter the bar, temper rising. If this place was good enough for him, it was certainly good enough for you. A bar like this had been where you met Mando months ago, working as a bartender and server. It didn’t bring back the best of memories, but you can handle yourself. At worst a fight might break out or patrons might get a little handsy. You can avoid the first and as for the second, it’s not as though Mando would need to put someone in the hospital for getting a little too flirty with you.

After fuming in the truck for a couple minutes, you make up your mind. You look yourself over in the mirror, trying to fix your appearance to look like you hadn't just spent the last two days in a truck. Pleased with yourself, you pull your shirt down slightly to reveal a bit more cleavage. The discovery of the power a pair of tits held in dive bars was one you made a long time ago. You flip the mirror back up and get out of the truck.

You practice your walk as you approach the bar door, trying to keep it calm and confident. Mando is going to be pissed at you for this, you already know, but you refuse to be treated like a child. If coming in here without his permission is what it takes for him to view you differently, then so be it. Younger you might be, but incapable you are not.

The moment you walk in the door, you spot Mando. He’s in the corner, talking to someone with his back to the door. He doesn’t even notice as you walk in and stroll up to the bar.

The man behind the counter is old, his white shirt spotted with stains and a towel thrown over his shoulder. It’s almost too stereotypical a look and you want to laugh. The stiff look he gives you though stifles your amusement.

“What can I get you?” he asks gruffly as you take a seat at the bartop.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.”

Whiskey is not your favorite drink. Not by a long shot. Really, you would have loved to order something fruity that you can’t taste the alcohol in, but whiskey is something you’ve learned to tolerate. You know that appearances matter in a place like this and a fruity drink would mark you as someone lost, not as someone who belongs here. You aren’t looking to get trashed anyway, just something to calm your nerves.

It doesn’t take long before someone is sidling up next to you at the bar. You don’t acknowledge him right away, instead staring up at the small CRT TV that’s playing the local news above the bar. Some murder case from a couple towns over is currently being highlighted. Lovely.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” he asks you.

You glance over at him, enough to get a look, but you don’t let your eyes linger. Lingering eyes would mean an invitation that you certainly don’t want to give. You have to admit, as far as seedy dive bar men went, he isn’t hard to look at. Not much older than you, clean shaven, bright blue eyes. Another time you might have gone for someone like him. Not now. These days your thoughts are only occupied by scruff, dark hair, and warm brown eyes.

“Came in for a drink,” you reply simply.

He leans in a bit closer. “Can I buy you another?”

You take a sip of your drink. “I think I’m alright, thanks.”

He pushes in even further, placing a hand on your thigh. This guy didn’t take no for an answer apparently. “Aw, come on now, don’t be that way sweetheart.”

Hearing him call you sweetheart makes you want to punch him more than him touching you does. It sounds wrong coming out of his mouth, harsh and manipulative, not the smooth and warm way Mando says it. For a moment, you do seriously consider punching this guy square in the jaw before deciding against it. You came in here to prove a point and not being able to handle a pushy guy would just prove the exact opposite of that.

You turn in your chair to move your thigh away from him. He has the decency to let his hand fall at least. “Don’t call me that,” you tell him.

“Alright then, what do I call you?”

You turn your attention back to the TV. Now they were highlighting a feel good story about an animal adoption from the nearby shelter. Odd shift in tone. You don’t reply to Blue-eyes and hope he gets the message.

“Playing hard to get, that’s fine,” he says. You take another sip of your whiskey. The news shifts to the weather. There’s more warm weather on the way for the next week, no storms in sight. That’ll be nice to drive in you think.

Blue-eyes’ hand returns to your thigh, creeping up higher than it was before. “I don’t mind hard to get, sweetheart.”

That one garners a slap. You do it before you even give it a real thought. It’s a good one at least, making a very solid sound as his head spins. It’s a testament to the bar that no one even spares it a second glance. Blue-eyes turns back to you, furious.

“You’re going to regret that, bitch,” he hisses at you, roughly grabbing your arm.

“You’re going to regret it if you don’t take your hand off of her.”

You’ve never been so happy to hear Mando’s voice in your life. Could you handle this guy? Probably. Do you want to? Absolutely not. You know on your own there's a near certain chance you'll end up with bruises before this guy gives up.

Somewhere in your mind you register the very real possibility that Mando is pissed at you right now. You shove it down, choosing to focus on the fact that he did just come to your defense.

Blue-eyes is more stupid then he looks and doesn’t read the very obvious threat Mando poses. Instead he doubles down and tightens his grip on you. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it, old man?”

You can't say you're surprised when Mando punches him in the face instead of answering the question. You also can’t say that you feel bad about it either. The surprise and hurt of the sudden punch makes Blue-eyes release his grip on you, giving you enough time to move out of the way as Mando moves in. Mando grabs a fistful of Blue-eyes' shirt and pulls the guy in towards his face.

“Do you regret it?” Mando grits out. Blue-eyes sputters something that sounds like an apology and pushes himself away.

Satisfied, Mando now turns on you. You were right, he's pissed. His typically soft, warm eyes are hard on you now as he pulls you away.

You flounder to tell him you haven't paid for your drink but he just ignores you, dragging you out of the bar. If you were smarter, you would think to be a little scared about making a man like Mando mad at you. Instead, your thoughts are occupied with how he's barely even trying to overpower you and yet you couldn't break free of his grip if you tried. You wonder if there's something wrong with you for how much it's turning you on.

Arriving back at the truck, Mando releases his grip. "Get in," he demands.

You do as you're told and climb into the passenger seat as Mando goes around. Nerves finally settle in. Mando would never hurt you, you know that, but he could decide to ditch you somewhere. Whatever this situation is with him, it's far from formal. He has no obligation to you and could easily choose to end it. With the trouble you’ve just caused, you wouldn’t be surprised if this all comes to a swift and sudden end.

As Mando climbs into the cab, you stare down at the floorboards, terrified that he's going to tell you he's dropping you off somewhere and leaving you behind for good. You can't imagine your life without him now. There's nowhere for you to go, nothing for you to do without him. Right back to square one.

He doesn't speak right away, which only makes you more nervous. He peels the truck out of the parking lot, headed back in the direction you came from. You still don't look at him. It's obvious you fucked up and there's nothing you can really say to fix that. Your only hope is that he forgives you.

You're headed back through the small nearby town when he finally speaks. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

You don’t say anything in response. Anything you can come up with sounds childish in your head. The exact opposite of what you'd been trying to prove. Thankfully, Mando takes your silence as an answer.

“Why would you even do something like that? Do you know how stupid that was?” His hands are tight on the wheel, glancing between you and the road as he yells.

You mumble back to him.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“He called me sweetheart,” you say a little louder.

“What?” He isn't going to let you off the hook with this and it gets under your skin. Some part of you thought he might be proud of you for smacking that creep and here he is berating you for it.

“He called me sweetheart, alright?” you half-shout.

Mando gives you a confused look, clearly not the answer he was expecting. “Do you- do you have a problem with that?” The heat is still present in his voice, but you can hear a little worry in it now. Shit. This is not what you wanted out of this whole ordeal.

You've never wanted the ground to come up and swallow you more. Why didn’t you just say that you smacked him for touching you? That would have been simple. How do you answer this without making everything weird? No, Mando, I don’t have a problem with that. I smacked him because I only like it when you call me that. Sure. That won’t be weird or awkward at all.

After cursing yourself for a few seconds, you manage a response. “No, I- I just didn’t like it when he said it.”

"Oh." That's Mando's only reply.

You know he's still angry about you coming into the bar, but apparently your answer has sidelined him. If it wasn't so embarrassing, you might even be rejoicing at his reaction. Instead you just feel like a fool.

The silence remains as you pull into a little local motel with the vacancy sign lit up. Mando hands you forty dollars, way more than you need, and tells you to get a room.

Okay. So he isn't getting rid of you… yet.

You barely even listen to the attendant as they tell you they only have one single available for the night. Now is not the time to be arguing about sleeping arrangements. You take the key, room 104, and make your way back to the truck.

You grab your bag from the flatbed and let Mando know the room number. He nods and goes to pull the truck around. You kick yourself as you walk over to the room. Why didn’t you just stay in the truck? Why didn’t you just lie to Mando about your reasons? He’s smart and it won’t take long now for him to put two and two together. Especially if he asks anymore questions.

You have no idea how Mando might react. If learning about your feelings towards him combined with what happened in the bar might be enough to leave you. He’s certainly not cold with you, but you’re not sure you’d call any of his actions romantic either. Holding your hand after the diner today is the closest he’s ever come. You wish you knew what that meant to him. You know what it meant to you.

Mando parks the truck outside of the room as you unlock the door. It’s not a fancy room, just one big square with a bathroom attached. There’s a full bed, a dresser with a TV on it, and a small table with a couple chairs. You toss your bag on the table and sit down on the edge of the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t upset, Mando can always see through your lies. Might as well just get this over with.

Nervous, you hide your face in your hands, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. You’re ready to deal with it, but not while actually looking at him. You can’t handle seeing his face as he figures things out; the way he might look at you while he rejects you. Suddenly you feel a wave of sympathy for the waitress earlier today. You hope Mando will let you down easy like he did for her.

You don’t look up when Mando comes into the room. His boots enter your line of vision and you close your eyes. You can’t look at any part of him right now. It’s too painful.

Mando says your name softly and you can sense as he kneels down in front of you. You don’t reply. Gently, he moves your hands away from your face. You still refuse to look at him and he cups your chin, lifting your head up to his.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You wish you could resist, but you can’t. Not when he speaks to you in that soft tone. Not when he calls you that.

You meet his eye and see all the concern and worry he holds there. “I’m sorry, Mando. I should have listened to you.”

His hand slides up to hold your cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I could have at least told you why I didn’t want you coming in with me.”

You’re surprised at his apology. Two apologies he didn’t need to make in one day. This isn’t something you ever expected. You assumed he would still be full of heat and anger, not this careful kindness.

“Why didn’t you want me to come in?” you ask. You need to know the reason, need to know why it is he told you to stay behind. No matter how much the reason might hurt.

Mando sighs. “I didn’t want you to come in because I didn’t want anyone else looking at you.”

You pull back out of shock. “What?” Did you hear that correctly? Could that mean what you thought it might?

He takes off his baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “What can I say, sweetheart? I’m a jealous man.”

A thousand thoughts run through your mind. There are so many things you want to say, so many questions you want to ask, and yet none of them can find their way out. As a result, you do the only thing you can.

You lean in towards him, slowly, giving him enough time to stop you if he so chooses. He doesn’t though, instead following your lead and moving in closer. You carefully search his eyes for any answers they may hold. Your noses bump and you both pause. “Mando, I-”

He cuts you off. “Din. My name is Din.”

You close the gap and kiss him. The kiss is careful at first, as though you’re both still looking to confirm that yes, this is what you both want. Mand- Din’s lips are soft and sweet against yours and you melt as it’s everything you could have imagined and more. A small moan escapes you, one that you’re embarrassed about until it causes Din to deepen the kiss. Caution evaporates, quickly turning into passion as your tongues meet.

Din moves, getting up from the floor and pushing you back against the bed. His lips never leave yours, devouring you as though you might slip away at any moment. He gives your bottom lip a small nip, quickly soothing it with his tongue. You pull away, needing a moment to catch your breath.

“Is this okay?” Din asks, his voice low with desire. You respond by pulling him back down into another bruising kiss. Your positions shift as the kiss continues, Din’s knee finding its way between your legs as his arms wrap around you. Both of your hands have worked their way into his hair, something you’ve been fantasizing about for months now.

Din begins to kiss his way down your neck, leaving little love bites along the way. You gently tug on his hair, pulling a heavenly sound from him that only intensifies your pool of desire. Desperate for more, you move a hand down, seeking the hem of his shirt and slipping your hand underneath. His skin feels remarkable under your fingertips.

Din pulls away from your neck and quickly divests himself of his shirt. He allows you a moment to take him in, his lean physique flexing as he holds himself above you. Scars litter his body in various shapes and sizes, but you think they look beautiful against the glow of his honeyed skin.

Taking the opportunity, you remove your top as well, leaving you in your basic everyday bra. You wish you had worn your other bra, the sexier one, but with the way Din is looking at you, you’re not sure it matters. His lips return to your body, working his way across any and all of your newly exposed skin. One hand splays on your waist, holding you, grounding Din against you.

“You’re so soft, sweetheart,” Din murmurs against you. His lips find their way up to your chest, placing careful kisses against the globes of your breasts. He pauses and looks up at you, seeking your permission. You arch your back, allowing Din access to slip a hand beneath you and undo the clasp.

He pulls the bra away from you and you flush under the intensity of his gaze. “Perfect, you’re perfect,” Din says before reoccupying his mouth with your breasts. It seems that he has a real oral fixation, not that you mind in the slightest. His warm mouth feels heavenly against you, licking and sucking wherever he can.

Din takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his fingers playing with the other. It’s the best thing you’ve felt in months, better than any of your late night fantasies when you would try to satisfy your growing want for the man currently giving you so much pleasure. As though your attempts could ever come close to the real thing.

Din releases your nipple with a pop and returns to your mouth, licking his way inside. His kiss alone is enough to make you see stars. It makes you forget any other kiss you’ve ever shared, enveloping you in him and him alone.

You pull back slightly from the kiss, unable to take more without further relief. “Din, please, I want you,” you pant into his mouth. Din growls, actually growls, at your words. It's a far hotter response than it should be.

“Yeah, sweetheart? What do you want me to do to you? Tell me.” His knee comes up and presses his thigh against you where you want him most, causing you to moan out his name. “Use your words, sweet girl.”

He’s trying to kill you, you think. Calling you a name like that. Sweet girl. It loops in your mind until Din’s fingers ghost over your nipples again. “I want you to touch me,” you tell him.

“I’m already touching you,” Din says. He’s a tease, you think, growing slightly frustrated with him. His thigh moves against you again though and he’s immediately forgiven.

“Please, Din,” you whine, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Thankfully he does, moving his leg away and quickly removing your pants. You already know you’re soaking, your panties feeling cold against you with the loss of the other cloth barrier.

Din pauses for another moment to take you in before moving. You’re nearly bare before him, almost entirely on display.

“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments, his hands parting your thighs. “So perfect, so beautiful, and all mine.” You can feel yourself clench at his words. No one has ever made you feel this way before. His stare only relaxes you more, his words feeling like a warm blanket wrapping around your fears and quieting them.

Din’s fingers brush against you through the thin cotton. “Is this all for me, sweetheart? I can already feel how wet you are.”

He continues to tease you, only leaving you capable of nodding your head back at him. His eyes catch yours, watching your reaction as he pushes the near useless fabric off to the side and pushes one finger between your folds. Just the small touch sets you aflame, pushing yourself down onto his hand, wanting more.

His finger leaves you and you frown until you watch as he brings it to his mouth and licks your slick off of it. Din moans at the taste. “You taste better than you do in my dreams.”

He leans down to kiss you, sharing the taste of yourself while he pulls your panties off completely. They’re thrown haphazardly into the room, lost to be found for later.

Din then moves himself between your legs, slowly working kisses down your body as he slides back onto his knees on the floor. He grabs your waist and pulls you to the edge of the bed with ease and starts nipping and kissing your inner thighs. Your hands wind back into his hair, while you lie in disbelief that this is really happening right now.

Gentle kisses are placed along your folds, Din moving back as you try to grind your hips down onto him. His eyes catch yours again, mouth hovering over your clit as he speaks. “I’m going to taste you until you cum on my face and then I’m going to fuck you, okay?”

This time you manage a response, frantic to let him know that’s exactly what you want. “Yes, please, I want you so badly, Din.”

It’s all he needs to hear. His mouth comes down on your clit, carefully playing with the bundle of nerves, making you cry out and clench around nothing. He pulls away slightly and then licks a long stripe from bottom to top, pausing again at your clit to give it a teasing suck. Your hands pull at his hair from the attention.

He moves back down, teasing your entrance with his mouth. He moans, lapping up your pussy, acting every part a man dying of thirst who’s found oasis at your core. You buck into him and his hands quickly wrap around your legs, holding your hips in place. Din wants to pleasure you, but on his own terms, at his own speed.

You can’t make a coherent thought as he continues to eat you out. Small snippets of words make their way out of you, none of them making any real sense in conjunction with one another. It’s not until his thumb finds your clit as he continues to lick, suck, and nip at you that you find complete words to shout. “Din, oh god, yes, right there, I’m so close...”

Moments later you feel the tension within you snap, crying out as your body shakes from the overwhelming pleasure. Din continues to work you through your orgasm, only stopping when you physically push his head away from you. He trails hot kisses along your inner thighs again, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you taste, how perfect your pussy is.

As you come down from your high, Din removes the last of his clothes, finally freeing his stiff erection. Your breath catches as you take him in, your Adonis in the flesh. He’s gorgeous, you think, wondering what you did to get so lucky.

Then he’s back over top of you, kissing and sucking at your skin. Some of those are bound to leave marks for tomorrow but you don’t mind. You want everyone to see, for everyone to know that you’re his. No more mistaken assumptions about your relationship, you want it on display for the world.

You look down to catch a better glimpse of his cock, satiating the curiosity that’s plagued you for so long. He’s big. More than enough to fill you, possibly even more than you can handle. As wet as you are, you know you’ll need him to go slow, to slowly stretch you out before he can truly fuck you.

You tilt your hips, bumping against him, letting him know that you want him. “Do you want my fingers first?” Din asks. You know you should say yes, but you can’t imagine another moment without knowing what he feels like inside of you.

“No,” you tell him. “Just go slow.”

Din places a quick searing kiss against your lips and positions himself. The head of his cock presses against your slick entrance and you feel like you’re already seeing stars. Din is muttering in your ear, holding you tightly against him as he pushes into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good sweetheart. So tight and wet for me. I can’t wait to fill you up, to feel every inch of your sweet pussy.”

You nearly forget to breath as he slowly pushes in further. You can feel every inch of him and you only want more. Din’s stream of compliments are interrupted when he finally bottoms out in you, holding himself still as your walls clench and stretch around him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

You turn your head and pull him into a blazing kiss, loving the way he feels filling you up. You wonder how you were ever satisfied with your fingers before when this had been next to you for so long. Din is apparently thinking along the same lines, whispering to you, “I’d have done this long ago if I knew you felt this good.”

You don’t even have time to consider the words as he slowly begins to move in you. The pleasure borders on agonizing as you begin to move your hips, encouraging him to move faster. Din responds quickly to your urging, setting a furious pace as he begins to lose all control. You know you’ll still be feeling him tomorrow and the thought makes you smile. You never want to go another day without a reminder of how he feels.

His thumb returns to your clit and you don’t have time to warn him before you’re thrown into another orgasm. Your walls clench around him and you lose yourself in the feeling of cumming on his cock. Din quickly follows, pulling out of you just in time to paint your stomach with ropes of his spend. You mourn the loss of him, but once Din finishes he buries himself back inside of you, causing another shock of pleasure to zing through your body.

Din rolls the both of you over, keeping himself sheathed in you, and allowing you to collapse on top of him. You’re both sweaty and panting, trying to come up with words. Din’s fingers lightly trace along your back, causing goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. You lift your head up from his chest in order to look at his face.

He’s completely debauched, sweat causing hair to cling to his forehead, the rest completely wild from your hands. His eyes are still blown wide, happily looking back at you. His lips are pink and swollen from all the kisses and licks he’s pressed into your skin. You know you can’t look much better than him.

You give a small clench around him and smile at the expression that runs across Din’s face. “I love the way you fill me,” you tell him. Din presses a loving kiss against your sweaty forehead.

“I never want to leave this perfect pussy of yours.” You can tell he means it too. If he could, he would stay buried in you forever. You love the way that sounds. His eyes flutter closed, reveling in the feeling of having you surround him.

“Din,” you say.

His eyes pop back open and refocus on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

A smile blooms across your face. “Nothing, I just wanted to say it. Din. It suits you.”

His name suits him in a different way than Mando does. Mando is the rough exterior, the front he puts up to the world. The one who punches men in bars for touching you and calling you pet names. The one that strikes fear into others, knowing that if he’s hot on their trail that they’re screwed. Din is the soft inside, the place where all of his ‘sweethearts’ originate, the cause for the hand holding and sparkling smiles. The man behind the armor that he presents to the world, the one who kisses and fills you up just right.

Din’s arms wrap around you tightly, clearly intent on never letting you go. You’re fine with that, letting it sink in that you’re finally laying in bed with the man who’s consumed your thoughts for months. A small, joyous giggle escapes you.

“What’s so funny?” Din asks.

“I thought you were going to leave me earlier. Now here I am, laying on top of you with your cock still inside of me.”

Din chuckles and you can feel it rumble in his chest. “I’m never letting you go sweetheart, no matter how much you piss me off.”

You fold your arms across his chest, letting your chin rest on your hands. “I am sorry. I just wanted you to notice me. I felt like you were treating me like a child,” you confess.

Din’s eyes widen a bit at your admission. “I always notice you, mesh’la. I never meant to treat you that way. I only want to keep you safe.”

“I know that now. Honestly, I feel so silly about it all.” He reaches up and pushes a strand of hair back from your face.

“Next time, I’ll take you in with me. I’ll show everyone that you’re mine.” He grinds his hips up into you to prove his point. It makes you squeal, causing a smirk to settle on Din’s lips. You give his cheek a small flick in retaliation but make no attempt to move.

You lay there for a little while longer, laying your head back down against Din’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath you. His hands trace anywhere he can touch on you, intoxicated by having you so close against him. Eventually though, you feel the call to use the bathroom and can no longer ignore it.

Din is almost painful sliding out of you, but you’re more upset about the loss of having him buried in you. Your legs are shaky as you stand, managing to make it to the bathroom on wobbly knees. You take a moment to clean yourself up, running a damp cloth across your body. Exhaustion hits as you return to bed, crawling under the covers and into Din’s arms.

You begin to drift off when Din asks, “Why’d you get a single? Not that I’m complaining.”

“All they had left. Maybe it was a sign,” you mumble back.

Din chuckles and presses a kiss against your head. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #modern!au #modern!din #din djarin fic #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandocrasis fic

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morsartis · 3 years

Text

The Bets Are On

You didn't always get dragged along on tours with Marvus, preferring to stay away from the sheer chaos of the limelight. It wasn't that you hated it but you certainly weren't a big fan of having Marvus within reach and yet still not being able to see him. The packed schedule that came with his tours were a drag and you weren't even bound by them. But Ourani and Revell had both asked you to be there, it was important that Marvus and his band were seen in a positive light while on an Earth bound tour. A surprising side effect of the current alliance between the two was the fact bands were allowed to perform on both planets for the first time. It was an opportunity that no one in the entertainment industry could pass up on- not even Marvus. Which was why you were there- they were trying to involve as many humans as possible as a show of good faith. Revell had been the most excited about it as the band's human sensitivity trainer. The fact he wasn't even human in the first place was both amusing and a glaring sign of Alternia's many problems. It'd be insulting if Revell wasn't so serious about his job, often consulting as many humans as he possibly could over the most minute detail and advocating for an actual human to do the training instead of himself. Unfortunately his hands were tied on that front.

Lost in your own thoughts you nearly fell off the chair you were sitting in when Ourani slammed the door to the break room open looking frazzled. His usually slightly wrinkled but tidy clothes were a wreck- tie askew and shirt buttoned wrong with his hair sticking up at odd angles. He looked like he'd survived a mob. "Thaaaat's it! I caaaan't do this aaaanymore! Maaaarvus is driving me to drink!" He shrieked the second the door swung closed behind him. You winced slightly and gave him a sympathetic smile.

"How I've laaaasted this long is aaaa daaaamn mystery!" He continued tossing his clipboard onto the table. You could only imagine what he'd been having to deal with.

"What did he do this time?"

"Whaaaat did he do this time? This time? Its less whaaaat he’s done aaaand more whaaaat he’s going to do! He purposely faaaailed every single humaaaan sensitivity course he waaaas instructed to taaaake! Do you haaaave aaaany ideaaaa how haaaard it waaaas to even get him to those courses? Its like trying to herd feraaaal purr-beaaaasts!” He all but wailed sinking down into the chair opposite from you. It creaked under his weight- built more for humans than adult trolls- and you feared it might collapse under the poor rust blood. The last thing he needed to happen when he was already this close to a break down.

“I know I talk a lot of shit about Marvus but he can’t be that bad.”

Those were clearly the wrong words to say to Marvus’ top personal assistant as Ourani looked at you with an expression bordering on murderous and manic.

“Oh, you think so huh? You think you caaaan haaaandle being Maaaarvus’ Personaaaal Aaaasistaaaant? You think you can do better thaaaan I caaaan? Fine! Why don’t you do my job todaaaay then? He’s got aaaa full schedule aaaand haaaas aaaalreaaaady shown signs of trying to blow it aaaall off!”

“Uh-,”

“Even better ideaaaa! We’ll maaaake aaaa bet out of it. If you caaaan get Maaaarvus to staaaay on traaaack I’ll paaaay some of thaaaat debt you owe to Gorjek.”

“Wh-,”

“Aaaand if you lose? I’ll finaaaally quit!” He was grinning wildly now, eyes bright with glee at the thought of quitting.

“How about if I win you just schedule Marvus a little down time?” You offered instead. Trying to hopefully keep him from losing it further.

“Fine.” He replied looking slightly less like he might jump over the table and throttle you or the next person to walk into the break room. With a more steadying breath Ourani extended his hand to shake on the bet and you gladly took it. Anything to keep him from going full American Psycho on everyone there. You both nearly lept out of your skins when his phone went off to let him know his short break was over. "How about that bet starts now and you go home to get some actual sleep?" You offered, Ourani nodded vigorously to that already shoving his clipboard into your hands. He couldn't seem to get out of there fast enough it seemed. You hoped he'd get some actual rest, the poor guy was one of the most overworked people on the job. Glancing down at the clipboard you winced. Ourani really wasn’t kidding when he said Marvus had a full schedule, looks like you could kiss any other plans you had today goodbye. Straightening out your clothes you went to go find Marvus- wherever he could have gotten. Most likely he wouldn’t be trying to hide from you. He’d be expecting Ourani to be the one trying to hunt him down.

You’d been wandering for five minutes when you finally found him. He was actually where he was supposed to be- chatting with his bandmates who immediately perked up to see you.

“Oh shit! Look who it is.”

“Hey guys, mind if I steal Marvus away for a second?” You asked cheerfully. His bandmates had a soft spot for you and it was easy to get them to agree. Their soft spot would make this bet a little easier to win, hopefully.

“Whatchu need babes?” Marvus asked once the two of you had gotten far enough away. You smiled up at him warmly. "Well, first off-," You grabbed the sides of his purple jacket to pull him down closer to your height, "I'd like a kiss." "Shit babe, all you had ta do was ask." He grinned leaning into you. His arm carefully wrapped around your waist as he tilted your chin up to get better access. You huffed a small laugh as he gave your lip a small nip before kissing you. Letting your eyes close for a brief moment to fully enjoy the kiss you cupped his jaw with your hands before regretfully having to pull back- Marvus attempting to follow you. "Secondly," You murmured interrupted by another brief kiss, "You have a meeting in two minutes." "What." You grinned at his flat off guard tone. Not being able to help yourself as you giggled. "I have your entire schedule for the day." "No."

"Mm, yes."

"Babe-,"

"You also have a meeting with Revell to talk about those courses you flunked out of."

"How-,"

"Ourani went home for the day, I'm gonna be your PA so he can actually get some sleep."

"Oh?"

"Don't get any ideas." You interrupted already knowing where his mind was going, "I'm going to make sure you get through your entire schedule whether you like it or not."

"C'mon, just give me an hour." "I might consider it-," He grinned, "After we get through your schedule."

Marvus pouted.

“Work Marvus. Focus on work.”

“Aww, but you be lookin’ so cute when you take charge.”

“And you’ll be a lot more appealing when you actually do your job.”

“Damn.” He muttered under his breath already standing back up to his full height. “Alright baby, guess we cans go to this meeting.”

It looked, at least for the moment, you might actually win this bet.

Then again, you had yet to get him to go to his meeting with Revell. For some reason those two couldn’t stand each other- you’d zoned out briefly during one of his rants only catching something vague about their ancestors that only confused you more. Revell was actually a kind troll though his threshold for what he dubbed ‘highblood nonsense’ was practically nonexistent. He seemed rather fascinated by human culture, often asking you questions on things he didn’t quite understand- some of his questions not even you could answer with any degree of accuracy. But, Marvus and him were known for their fights. Not even in the pitch leaning way either. You had yet to witness their fights but Ourani had talked about them looking pale and shaky- considering the fact that he’d been witness to the usual Alternian concert slaughter fests that happened with Marvus you had to admit you were afraid to see what could shake him like that. If Marvus' PR team was surprised to see him actually at the meeting they didn't say, though they seemed happy to see you with him. Taking your seat next to Marvus you glanced down at the schedule again. He had this meeting, his meeting with Revel, an autograph signing, and then a meeting with a lesser known human band you hadn't even heard of. Knowing Marvus all of these would be a few hours each.

“You bein’ awfully quiet over there.” Marvus murmured to you while his PR team bickered. You glanced up from the clipboard you’d been staring a hole through to give him a flat look. Better to not put him on edge.

“Just trying to figure out how to get you from point A to point B.”

“C’mon baby I ain’t that bad.”

“Ourani would beg to differ.”

“Then he can fuckin’ beg.”

You smacked his arm earning a small chuckle as he turned back to the meeting.

This was going to be a very long day.

#Marvus Xoloto x Reader #Marvus Xoloto #Hiveswap #Friendsim #Homestuck #introducing two new fantrolls for the sake of plot #who knows #i might make a list of who we have so far #diamond anon #hopefully this fits what you requested!#So sorry it took me so long but real life waits for no one #unfortunately #still taking requests #though they take a while to be answered #mspa reader #gonna answer as many asks and requests as I can tonight #lets see if I can do it!#tried to make this one longer to make up for the fact its late

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ladylilithprime · 3 years

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1. You get a craving for whatever your soulmate is eating at the time. - The Winter Soldier freaks the heck out when he starts craving human milk. (Because his soulmate is a newborn baby.)

HIS ENTIRE LIFE that he could remember, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes had never had a craving that wasn't originally his. His mother had always looked wistful at the scent of coffee, explaining the only time he'd ever asked that she had craved it relentlessly whenever his father drank it while she was pregnant with Bucky and his sisters. Rebecca complained about wanting to eat ham and spicy peppers even though she hated spicy foods, and Rosalie would drag him off to the butcher to pick up sausages whenever they could afford the expense. Even Steve confessed to having a weird urge to eat steak and kidney pie for breakfast, and years later when a much bigger and stronger Steve shyly introduced his best friend to Peggy Carter he could only laugh that it finally made perfect sense.

But Bucky never got a single craving that wasn't his, and so his likes and dislikes were formed all on his own without any input from a phantom soul connection. Becca, staring down a bowl of chicken soup that "didn't taste quite right, even without the peppers", told him he was lucky. Falling from a train over Germany, Bucky couldn't help thinking that his soulmate - if he even had one - was the lucky one.

And then he was dragged from the ravine, alive and missing an arm, and thrown into hell, and he eventually forgot why it mattered that he never craved anything new.

Eventually, he forgot everything else.

THE ASSET FROWNED in confusion, distracted from the instructions being relayed by the Handler. The sensation was strange, similar to hunger, but seemed to come from outside the designated physical parameters. If the Asset had to guess, it was as if there was a second mouth and stomach sending feedback, an impression of liquid that had a taste and texture that was wholly unfamiliar, but might be classed as... sweet... and smooth... and thicker than the familiar water.

"Asset!"

The Asset snapped back to attention. "Sir."

"Your attention drifted from the briefing," the Handler said, tone displeased. "Explain."

The Asset hesitated in confusion, struggling to parse how to obey when the explanation was so nonsensical. "There was a... sensation. Hunger."

"Your nutritional requirements have already been met," the Handler snapped, frowning more severely.

"Yes, sir." The Asset knew that, and the knowledge only enhanced the confusion. There should be no sense of hunger to distract from the mission briefing, and yet there had been the sense of hunger, the... desire... for-- "Milk."

"Milk?" the Handler repeated, bafflement suffusing the displeased frown. "The approved nutrient sources don't include--" The Handler broke off, bafflement shifting into horror. "Asset. The fox dances in grandmother's new shoes."

The Asset froze, every muscle rigid and locked, all focus directed to the Handler.

"Ignore any and all sensory input related to unapproved nutrient sources. Acknowledge."

"Acknowledged. The Asset will comply."

THE ASSET TRIED to comply, but sometimes the foreign desires were so strong that the distraction presented by those sudden bursts if extraneous sensory input had the Handlers sending the Asset to the Chair for recalibration. The pain of the Chair and the blankness that followed blocked out the sensations for a time, but always by the end of the mission the distraction would have renewed. Once, only once, the Asset gave in and stole a small dark blue fruit that smelled like the extraneous sensory input being received and ate it, only to spit it back out at the immediacy of the flavor, sharp and sweet and tart and heavy and not at all pleasant. It became easier to ignore that particular extraneous desire despite how often the input presented itself.

It was more difficult to ignore other extraneous sensations, such as the taste of grain and burning and smoke and wood that felt both strange and familiar, similar to the vodka that the Handlers sometimes drank in the burn, but more smooth and earthy. The musty, tart and sour taste that accompanied a thick texture and the impression of skin was even more confusingly familiar, but as the Asset had been Commanded to ignore the extraneous sensory input and none of the Handlers ever requested a report on whether or not the sensations persisted beyond the Command, the Asset was given no information as to what these tastes and textures might actually be. Coffee, at least, was an extraneous sensory input that was on the approved nutrient sources list, although the Asset had no recollection of when it had been added or why it had been allowed when it seemed to be of little actual nutritional value and seemed to be more about allowing the Asset to blend into the general population on missions than maintaining physical status at mission-ready levels.

The problem, at least according to the Handler who reported on the Asset to the Director, was that the extraneous sensory input was interrupting the priority compliance command, requiring more frequent recalibrations the longer the Asset was active. The time between revival periods began to lengthen, as marked by the signs of age in the Director and the rotation of Handlers.

And then the Asset was given an assassination mission that was interrupted during the retreat by a blonde man with angry blue eyes who looked so strangely familiar and said the word "Bucky" when the muzzle fell away.

Who the hell is Bucky?

"Wipe him. Start over."

...Him?

The pain and the blankness was a relief, a blanket to smother the confusion of sensory input and sharpen the Asset's focus, but it could not make the Asset forget... the Director had said "him". Like the Asset was a person.

The Asset had been a person.

The Mission Target had known the Asset... had known the person who had been before he became the Asset.

There was a Before.

"'Til the end of the line."

The Target-- the Captain was pulled from the water by the Asset who might once have been called "Bucky", left on the bank to be discovered, and the Asset disappeared.

He had a strong desire for a drink of earthy vodka-- whiskey, and for once he saw no reason to ignore it.

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES no longer felt like "Bucky", but since he had decided to reject identifying as the Asset ever again - violently, if what he had ended up doing to Vasily Karpov when the man had tried to activate the failsafe compliance trigger was any indication - he was willing to allow the address (nickname) from the Captain whom he had once called "Stevie". He told the man with the wings - Wilson - to call him "James", and even though it made the Captain frown both he and Wilson accepted that the name James was less conspicuous to be called in public than a nickname listed in museums and history books.

"Besides," he told the Cap-- Steve when it looked like the blonde would start again with some bit of past knowledge that James was more and more convinced was subjective recollection rather than actual knowledge, "ain't hardly anyone left alive 'cept you who knew me as 'Bucky' anymore. So you get to keep callin' me that, but hell if anyone else is gonna get the privilege!"

Unsurprisingly, that made Steve stop trying to get other people to call him Bucky, which was really all James had wanted in the first place. Also unsurprisingly, it didn't stop Steve and Wilson from dragging him up to New York and Stark Tower in Manhattan when he admitted that the metal arm was operating below acceptable levels of function.

"You could just say it isn't working," Wilson grumbled.

"It's working fine," James disagreed, and proved it by extending a metal middle finger in Wilson's direction. "It's just slower than it should be, and I think I damaged something when I was digging out the trackers."

"You had trackers in your arm?!"

"Had. Don't have 'em now."

So to Stark Tower they went, because "if anyone can fix your arm, it's Tony", and to James's surprise they were let in through security almost before they'd finished saying who they were and sent to an elevator at the far end of the lobby.

"Welcome back, Captain Rogers," a voice intoned from the speaker near the ceiling as the elevator began moving without any of them pushing a button. "And welcome to Stark Tower, Mr Wilson, Sergeant Barnes."

"That's JARVIS," Steve explained as Wilson looked up, clearly impressed. "He's an AI - a really smart computer program - that runs the tower."

"...Just James, please, JARVIS," James said after a moment, deciding not to touch on the fact that he knew what an AI was and that JARVIS was one; his memories were coming back all the time, and mission details as the Winter Soldier were coming back most easily. Pushing aside those thoughts, he added, "Dunno what my status with the Army is these days, but I can't imagine I still have my old rank from the War."

"As you prefer, James," JARVIS said, and James marvelled at the warmth he could hear in the voice, much more human than even Zola's personality algorithm had been. "Sir is expecting you all in the main living room of the common floor."

James tuned out Wilson starting to ask questions and Steve or JARVIS answering them. The sensation of craving that awful little blue fruit was back again, and he had to fight the urge to scowl so as not to alarm the two men or the AI watching them. Seriously, if he ever managed to find his soulmate now that he knew he had one, they were going to have words about it at some point. He thought he could remember something about someone he had known - a family member? - who had craved spicy food while hating spices, and he hoped they had gotten that resolved because craving something he hated tasting was really annoying.

The elevator doors slid open, allowing James and Wilson to follow Steve into a huge, open plan living room with four black leather couches spaced around a square coffee table. The man waiting for them, dressed in a charcoal gray bespoke suit with a royal purple button down shirt and lavender silk tie and pocket square, was sitting perched on the coffee table rather than on any of the couches and appeared to have his attention focused on the tablet in his hand until he spoke, addressing James directly despite not looking up.

"That arm's a complete mess, Barnes," he said, not bothering with pleasantries or even really acknowledging Steve or Wilson. "JARVIS took scans in the elevator since you were coming to see me about it, and I gotta tell you I am thoroughly offended by it on so many levels."

"Not like HYDRA could recruit you at all, so they had to make do with third-best," James said easily as he shrugged his flesh shoulder, metal elbow jabbing into Steve's ribs when the frowning blonde opened his mouth. "A'course, since they upped your threat level to 'do not engage', I think they stopped trying."

"Nobody ever calls me, even when they really, really should," Stark agreed, and oh, that was a sharp little smile directed at Steve. James mentally ran through the file HYDRA had on Tony Stark coupled with his own private observations that had somehow not always made it into his reports, and gave Steve's weirdly guilty yet mulish expression a sideways look. Suddenly, the fight over the Potomac that had led to James breaking conditioning completely was being thrown in a new light, and he wasn't sure he liked the implications.

"There wasn't time to call you," Steve was saying, and it was clear that Wilson was hearing the words as an apology but Stark's eyes were sharp and narrow and James would bet the contents of his pockets and all seven of his secret weapons caches that the man knew as well as James that Steve was lying.

"Sure, whatever," Stark said dismissively, letting it go at least for the moment and turning his attention back primarily to James. "Point is, I've got a meeting I need to be at in twenty minutes and even a basic maintenance session's gonna take at least an hour, maybe two, so you can either hang out here in a guest room or something until... J?"

"You will be finished with the shareholders in time for dinner and have no pressing appointments afterwards until tomorrow morning, Sir," JARVIS answered.

"So, yeah, hang out here and I can squeeze you in after we eat," Stark said, making James blink at the implication that an invitation to have dinner with Stark was being extended, "or you can ask J to block out a few hours in my schedule that'll be all yours and come back then. Or both, if you wanna go ahead and get me out of a few more meetings this week."

"What's for dinner?" Wilson asked. James shot him an incredulous look, which Wilson returned with an even stare. "You're still working your way back towards eating real food, man, don't think we didn't notice. Last thing you need right now is to make yourself sick eating something your body's not ready to handle even if it'll probably taste a hell of a lot better than those ration packs of yours."

"Bruce is cooking tonight," Stark said after a moment, an odd expression on his face as he looked at the group. "He usually makes curry, but I think he said he was making some kind of beef and vegetable stew that Natasha likes."

"Stew is fine," James said, keeping his tone even despite the sudden twist of nerves at the mention of the Black Widow. She had been with Steve and Wilson in DC, but had been absent when they crossed paths in Indiana. "If you're sure Dr Banner won't mind making extra."

"Yeah, it's fine, stew's easy to expand the number of servings," Stark assured him with a wave of his hand that might have seemed flippant and dismissive if James hadn't been so aware of the heavy focus that was still being aimed his direction. "Might end up a little broth-heavy, but there should be enough that even a super soldier won't go hungry."

"Well, thank you for inviting us," Steve said, proving to James once again that the man really didn't know how to read Stark at all. Wilson at least was looking at Steve askance, having picked up that the invitation wasn't directed at all of them even if he didn't seem to realize how pissed off Stark was at Steve, but Steve was looking at Stark, all but daring the man to say they weren't welcome.

"Saves the trouble of tracking you down later, I'm sure," Stark said, neatly bypassing the entire question. He stood up and tucked the tablet away inside his suit jacket, pulling a white plastic bag out in its place and reaching inside of it. "So, I'll be off to deal with the shareholders while you hang out here. JARVIS can handle any requests you might have for entertainment or whatever else you need."

JARVIS will be watching you, James heard loud and clear, and nodded his acceptance of the AI's monitoring. They were reluctant guests at best, after all, and Stark was clearly not interested in rocking the boat or starting a fight if he didn't have to--

The sudden burst of that blue fruit craving drove all thought of Steve and Stark's battle of wills out of his head and James found himself staring at Stark in shock as he watched the man lower his fingers from his mouth and chew. Stark noticed - of course he did, the man had to be at least as observant as James was - and raised an eyebrow, the hand holding the white plastic bag tilting to angle the bag's opening in James's direction.

"Blueberry?" his soulmate asked.

#soulmate au #winteriron #not age of ultron compliant #not civil war compliant #mcu fic #steve rogers critical

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