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nanivinsmoke · 1 year

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Avdol angst, apart of the Seven Deadly Sins Series. Spoilers ahead

Also I tried my best to create a storyline based around envy.

Envy | Muhammad Avdol x AFAB! Reader

Envy: Jealousy Towards Another’s Happiness

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Chills.

They ran up your spine, as you stared at the decapitated limbs that sat on the tiled floors not too far away from you. ‘A-Avdol?’ The Frenchman that stood beside you began, wondering where the hell he went; also looking at the brown limbs in front of you both.

It can’t be.

Please.

‘AVDOL?!’

You jumped up from your mattress, covered in sweat; waking up from your repeated nightmare. The same nightmare you’ve been having for the past couple of months. Your boyfriend’s death completely effected you, it changed who you are. The journey to Egypt to defeat Dio Brando, was not for the weak. The crusaders were tested every step of the way, and this one tested your heart; causing you to fail. You couldn’t forget that day no matter what. His blood soiling your clothes as you held his fallen arms in yours; screaming until your vocal cords gave out. You will never forget that.

The loss of your other two comrades added on to your depression, you felt like the ‘god’ was torturing you for his own amusement. After Dio was defeated, the last of the crusaders parted ways, never seeing each other again. The only one that reached out to you from time to time was Polnareff. He understood your grief, and would console you the best he could. He reached out to you earlier this week; telling you he would be in town for a bit and wanted to meet up with you. Although you weren’t in the mood for any social interactions, you didn’t want to turn away the one person who cared about you.

As you walked down the busy streets of Egypt; random civilians began to cry out in fear as the unexpected began to happen to them.

‘Why are these swarm of bees coming after me?’

‘Where the fuck did these nails come from?!’

‘Mommy! Help me!’

‘Cut it out Y/N. Leave these innocent people alone’ Polnareff’s voice rang into you ears, nudging you to call your stand off. Your stand was based around luck and your emotions; and right now everyone but you and Jean were receiving tons of bad luck. You rolled your eyes and called off your stand, ‘Whatever’. Polnareff let out a loud groan and pulled you aside into a nearby alleyway; away from the pedestrians.

‘I don’t have time for a lecture, Pol’

‘I don’t give a damn, you’re going to listen to me!’ He shut you up with quickness; he needed to get everything off his chest. ‘Look, I know you’re upset that Avdol died. Hell I am too! I know you want to avenge his death, but the person who killed him is gone. Don’t get me wrong, You have the right to be angry, you have the right to be unhappy, you have the right to cry. But, you don’t have the right to harm innocent people that have nothing to do with him dying.’

You couldn’t look the French man in his eyes, you knew he was right. But, you were pissed. You weren’t just mad at Vanilla Ice, you were mad at the world. You were mad the being that ruled over heaven for taking away the man you loved more than yourself.

‘Polnareff…I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep living; I can’t living when he’s not here with me!’ His blue eyes widened, he couldn’t believe what you said. He’d never thought you would say that, let alone think that. He grabbed you by your shirt’s collar; making you look at him; this was the first time he’d been aggressive with you; let alone a woman.

‘Dammit Y/N! I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. I get it, you’re mad at the world, but imagine how he’d feel if he had ever heard you say you don’t want to live anymore? You can’t think like that Y/N, I’ve been there before and I felt soulless. I don’t want you feeling like that, so do you ever say that again. You got me?’ His voice was stern and his blue irises searched yours for emotion. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision of the man in front of you. ‘Mhm’ You agreed, unable to speak due to the huge lump in your throat; before you couldn’t take it anymore and began to sob into Polnareff’s chiseled chest.

He rubbed your back as you dampened his shirt with your tears, as you were finally able to let your emotions out. ‘W-why does everyone get to be happy but me Pol? Why do they get the happy ending, but we’re stuck with three dead friends; while those two are living their best lives?’

Jotaro and Joseph Joestar hadn’t reached out either of you. You wouldn’t thought Joseph would’ve, since he was just as close to Avdol as you were with him. But, It’s like after they saved Holly from Dio’s reign, they forgot all about their friends they made on their long journey to defeat them. She wasn’t as upset with them as she was with then being that ruled over life itself, she was jealous that they got the good end of the stick. Polnareff couldn’t answer, he had also felt the same way. He kept tabs on them both and found out that Jotaro finished highschool and was on his way to college. And Joseph began to see his daughter more and more.

‘I loved him Pol….’

‘I know.’

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tommysversion · 1 year

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I see you're asking for smutty Din requests. May I suggest you my favorite?

Breeding Kink Dom!Din?? 👀

[[ Anon!! I’m so sorry this took so long, it’s literally been in my drafts/WIPs for like?? Three?? Weeks??? But I finally managed to finish it and I hope you like it!!! ]]

CWs: smut / literally very little plot / established relationship / daddy kink if you squint / breeding kink / soft dom Din / praise kink / unsafe sex / oral sex (f!receiving) / spicy language / religious undertones (may be considered blasphemous?) /

——

Din has no idea what the hell has come over him. Normally he’s the epitome of a gentleman; kind, soft spoken, honourable, respectful. Everything a man should be, everything he was raised to be. Everything the Creed teaches. The way he’s currently thinking and feeling? Is the very opposite.

He’s been having these dark thoughts all day. Not dark as in cruel, or evil. Dark as in sinful. Dark as in something forbidden. And it’s all your goddamn fault. Not that you know it, of course. No, you have no idea what you’re doing to him, and that makes it all the worse.

It’s the way you play at swords with the foundlings. The way you are so quick to repair torn tunics or bandage scraped knees. The way you always make sure to bring back cakes and sweets for each child whenever adventure calls Din and yourself away from the covert. Much of what little money you have, you spend on the children, asking nothing in return. You don’t even get to see them smile; most of the children are old enough to have spoken the Creed. This doesn’t seem to bother you either; you smile enough for all of them, beam bright like the sun at the shrieks of joy that are passed through the foundlings whenever you open your backpack, hands full of treats, treasures spilling into eager smaller hands like a rainbow.

You are not Mandalorian, but the way you treat the children, the way you smile so easily, speak so respectfully - especially when asking a question about their culture - has endeared you to his people. Made you one of them, without being one of them.

The Creed teaches to be selfless. To be humble. To not want, not for selfish reasons. To want, to covet, is a sin, a transgression. And yet, he’s only human.

It’s not the first time the thought has crossed his mind. Only, before, he was able to push it away. To dismiss it as a fanciful, fleeting thought alone. It’s harder to ignore, seeing you like this. Why not admit it? The sight of you, surrounded by children, taking on that naturally maternal role, has made him want. Has made him wonder what you would be like if the child was his. His and yours. Made between you and stardust.

Once he’s let the thought in, it won’t go away. It begins curious, like that, but over the days becomes darker. Less curious, more lecherous. More sinful. Until it comes to where he currently stands, certain he’s going half mad with need and desire for you.

You’re completely oblivious to the battle raging in his head, folding some freshly laundered blankets, bent over to put them in the carved wooden chest at the foot of your shared bed, giving him a fantastic view of your ass in the soft leather leggings you’d picked up a dozen market trips ago. The view definitely doesn’t help things, at all, only suffices to make him even harder in his own snugly fitted pants.

He can’t go on like this, sinful and dishonourable or not.

He waits until you’ve set the blanket down, closed the chest, before he sneaks up on you; it’s easier to be stealthy without all his beskar on, each piece neatly set aside on velvet cloth on shelves hewn into the rock of the wall. He presses up against you, wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Is everything alright?” You ask; you’re used to him being quiet. Din is a man of few words, but there’s something off about his demeanour. You’re worried about him, he realises.

“Everything is fine. More than fine, really.” He reassures you, almost rushes to soothe you because he can’t stand the thought of you worrying about him when it’s unnecessary.

You lean back into him, comforted by the reassuring solidness of his touch, the feeling of his hands on your waist.

“Oh. I just thought… you’ve been quieter than usual and… I thought maybe I’d… done something you didn’t approve of?” You chewed your lip, waiting for the disappointment to appear. You were so certain you had done something wrong.

“What could you possibly have done wrong?” It concerns him, the level of worry you’re displaying. He knows rejoining the covert has been a change for you, but surely nobody’s making you feel unwelcome?

“I thought… maybe it’s not allowed… to spoil the foundlings like I do? Maybe it was some cultural thing you were too polite to tell me?”

He can’t help but laugh, relieved that that’s what your fear stems from.

“Not at all, love. Most of the children don’t have parents, and it’s not something many of our adults would consider. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I just thought… I felt you watching me, and I…”

His arms tighten around you, the ache in his chest matching the ache in his cock; his hands caress your waist, touching gently.

“I wasn’t watching you because I disapprove.” Din assured you, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. “I was watching you because I like seeing you happy.”

He pauses, considering for a moment, fighting those dark thoughts and losing.

“And because I wonder what you’d be like as a mother.” The words fall from his mouth before he can stop them. Not that he wants to stop them. For a moment though, he’s afraid he might have scared you, so he turns you round and leans down to kiss you before you can say anything.

You lean right into him, stand on your toes to reach him, and that’s enough to break any resolve he has, any concern or care. Never mind that it’s a sin, never mind that he shouldn’t be showing you his face, much less desiring you the way he does. If Bo can show the entire damn covert her face, then he can show you his. That’s his rationality at this point.

He’s too far gone to care, lifting you up into his arms to get you closer to him. He’s running on impulse now, and he knows it, but he’s no longer interested in holding back. Beneath his honourable demeanour, his gentlemanly behaviour, there’s a dark streak, and it wants out.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him, thighs locked loosely around his waist. It’s so rare that you get to see his face, so you can’t help staring at him, memorising every little detail. Din loves that about you, loves how respectful you are, how you never push his boundaries. You’d never ask him to show you his face, leaving it entirely up to him to decide; you’ve never once pushed the issue, loved him long before he finally showed you what he looks like.

He carries you the few steps to the bed, sets you down on it gently. You kick off your shoes, let him pull those sinfully tight leather pants down, before you lean up and tug his shirt off. You’re just about feeling smug when he catches your wrists, big hands wrapped around them, placing your hands at your sides.

Something in his gaze keeps them there. You’re used to seeing nothing but gentleness in his eyes, but there’s a burning desire there now that intrigues you. Makes you want to obey.

You let him pull your shirt up over your head, toss it aside, heated by the intensity of the way he looks at you, immediately returning your hands to where he placed them. The heavy boots and the pants he wears come off next, and then he’s laying you down, pressing the heat and muscle of his body against yours, kissing you like he’s starving.

Maybe he is. You know that before you, he didn’t particularly bother with intimacy when it comes to sex. His knowledge of sex was hard, fast, fully clothed, with no real attachment to it. Which is fine, there’s nothing wrong with that. You also know that he’s starving for affection. For touch. And you usually get to be on the receiving end.

He takes his time kissing you, knows it isn’t something he gets to do often, knows that even though you don’t say anything about it, you want it more often than he can give. He loves that about you; that you may not be Mandalorian, you may not understand the Creed, but you respect it. Respect what it means to him. That means more to him than he can ever articulate.

So yes. He takes his time. Kisses your mouth until your lips are bruised and swollen from his attention, but you love every second of it. He pulls away from you slowly, watches the way you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, lips still parted for him.

“What’s gotten into you?” You ask, but Din knows it isn’t a rebuke. He can tell by the way you’re looking at him, by the way your legs are spread for him, the way you’re fidgeting on the bed beneath him. It’s not a rebuke. It’s desire.

He doesn’t answer. Lets you run your fingers up and down his solid arms for a moment, before he pins your wrists above your head, one at a time, holds them there with one big hand.

You don’t question him again, but he can see approval and desire in your gaze, a flicker of understanding.

“No more questions.” It’s an order, albeit given in a soft tone. “Keep your hands right there for me, there’s a good girl.”

He releases your wrists, but you don’t move, won’t until he tells you to, remaining perfectly still as he kisses his way down your body, scarred hands settling on your thighs, keeping them spread for him as he looks up at you.

“So wet…” he’s talking more to himself than to you, but you still shiver slightly at the words, at the expression on his face as he stares at you, just for a moment longer, before he leans in, buries his face in your cunt.

You’re already wet, wet enough that he was able to see - and comment on - it. But it’s not enough for Din. He wants you soaked and begging for his cock by the time he’s through with you, wants his beard and the sheets absolutely drenched.

If you thought he was kissing you like he was starving, it was nothing in comparison to this. He keeps his hands firmly clamped on your shaking thighs, preventing you from moving, as his tongue laves at you, kissing and sucking at your clit, making you wriggle and moan beneath him.

You’re desperate to wind your fingers into his hair, but you know if you try, he’ll stop, and that’s the last thing you want.

It’s only when you start literally dripping onto his tongue that he relents, pulls away from you. He doesn’t even bother wiping his mouth, beard soaked with your slick as he moves back up, slaps the thick head of his cock against your cunt deliberately, teasing.

“You ready for me, baby?” He knows the answer already, likes the way you bite your lip and chew on it, nodding.

He leans down and kisses you, sucks your lower lip out from between your teeth.

“Answer me.”

There it is again, that faint hint of a demand, the tone so soft that you can’t help but comply.

“Yes, please…”

You know how to answer him, even though you’ve never seen him like this before, those dark eyes blazing like liquid obsidian as he surveys you, spread out for him, so needy and willing.

“There we go.” He lines himself up, slides into your soaked cunt; it’s not as smooth as he hoped, he’s too big and you’re too tight, and you can’t help but wince slightly at the feeling of him stretching you out, but he settles, pressed to the hilt inside you.

“There you go…” He almost moans it, keeps your thighs spread, hands moving your legs, bending your knees so your ankles are by his shoulders.

You know this position, realise why he’s doing it. It doesn’t scare you. The opposite, in fact. He realises it a moment later when he feels your cunt tighten around him.

“Oh, you like this, huh?” He drags himself out of you, slow, almost to the tip before he slams back into you, drawing a scream from your parted lips.

“Can I touch you now?” You gasp it out when you can breathe again.

He surveys you for a moment; the way you’re pressed beneath him, knees up by your tits, eyes heavy with need for him. How much better for him can he ask you to be?

“Yes,” he agrees, dragging himself out and pressing in deep again. It’s all the permission you need, hands immediately jumping to the solid muscle of his biceps, clinging to him as he slams into you.

He’s usually so gentle, so careful, but this is completely different. Wild, desperate. He’s not holding back, has no interest in being careful tonight, slamming into your tight little hole, moaning the entire time.

“Fuck, baby, so tight…” He nuzzles into your neck, keeps your legs firmly in the position he wants them in, pressing deep with each thrust, hard and fast.

“Feel so good, gonna fill you up, fuck my baby into this sweet little cunt…”

It’s filthy, you’ve never heard him say such things, but you love it, love how roughly he’s handling you, how wild and frantic he is, how your body responds to him. You can feel yourself tightening around him, milking his incredible cock as he drills into you.

“Please, please…” you can’t say much more than that word, repeated over and over as he fucks you, so hard the bed shakes.

“Keep begging me for it,” he moans it into your ear, one hand leaving your leg to fist into the bedsheets, holding himself up, bracing himself.

You drag your nails up his back, back arching up as best you can in the position he has you in.

“Please… need it… need you so bad…”

You’re overwhelmed, he’s so big inside you, so rough, not making any move to slow down even as he feels you getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Yeah? You gonna make me a daddy, baby?” He presses another kiss into your neck, shudders when he feels you tilt your hips to get him deeper, a gasp tearing from your throat when he hits your sweet spot.

“Please…”

You can’t form words, not when he’s pounding into your sweet spot with every thrust, saying such filthy, sinful things. You can’t hold on any longer, and he knows it, fucks you harder and faster until you’re writhing on the bed beneath him, tight, perfect little pussy tightening around him, keeping him in deep, massaging his cock as you climax.

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty when you cum for me…” Din loves seeing you like this, body arched in a perfect mating press as he drills into you.

Any other time and he’d put you on all fours, press your face down into the bed and fuck you til you screamed yourself hoarse for him.

Maybe later. This time, anyway, he wants to see the look on your face when he fills you, the glazed look in your eyes when his cum leaks out of you. Not that he plans on letting that happen. He’s going to fuck you so full of his seed that you’re overflowing with it, but this first time? He doesn’t want to spill a drop.

Your nails keep raking at his back, pulling him close against you, and it’s that that urges him on, the way you’re looking at him, so desperately needy for him.

He could get addicted to this, so far removed from the slow and gentle and passionate intimacy you usually share.

“This all I needed to do to get you drunk on my cock?” He presses you down harder into the mattress with just his hips, relying on his strength.

You whimper in answer, clench around him again.

“Dirty girl,” he mutters, “you want this just as much as I do, huh? Bet you’ve been desperate for me to fuck you like this, put a baby in you.”

You don’t answer; can’t answer, because his words and his pace drag another climax out of you, surprising both of you. He fucks you through it, pace increasingly more rough and erratic.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it, fuck, I’m so close…”

He has to brace himself on the bed, fist clenching in the sheets as the other holds you steady, in place as he presses deep, grinds his hips roughly against yours, ensuring that every single drop of hot, thick seed fills you, stays deep inside you.

“Fuck, like that…” he pants, watching the way your eyes blaze with arousal and love as he comes back to himself, slowly, second by second.

He’ll have to repent later, ask for forgiveness for his sins, but right now? Right now he couldn’t care less, the hand that isn’t curled into the sheets caressing your - for now - still flat abdomen.

It won’t stay that way for long. Not if he has anything to do with it.

#my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fic #answered

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