#must get hot under that helmet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chibsandchill · 3 months

Text

Oliver Quick indeed

Fandom: Saltburn

Pairing: Oliver Quick x AFAB!Catton!Reader

Summary: Oliver never suspected he'd get caught, and he's not exactly against his punishment.

Warnings: NSFW content, a slight amount of dub-con, swearing, Oliver Quick, bathwater drinking, grammatical and spelling errors, Oliver is perhaps a smidge jealous of a bathtub, inappropriate use of a hairbrush

If you know me in real life and you found this… No you didn’t.

Masterlist

Minors do not interact (seriously, don’t)

Next part

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

NSFW content under the cut

The bathroom is eerily silent – too silent – after Felix’s door slams shut.

Well,

not entirely silent.

Was it possible to be jealous of a bathtub? Four legs, a scooped out body to rest in, and water. It held him you, and warmed you. It took care of the mess and when it was done you abandoned it, but it always welcomed you back.

Did it long for your return?

Like him?

Was he jealous?

Over a bath? He couldn’t be.

But Felix would be warmer in his arms, and Oliver would make sure that not even a speck of dirt would muddy him.

Oliver rinsed his mouth and leant his forehead against the cold mirror. He stared at himself. Blue eyes. Very blue eyes. Elspeth praised his eyes, fawned over them even when they first met. Told him about Venetia and how she’d just die.

Did Felix like his eyes? Were they blue enough? Too blue? India didn’t have blue eyes, or Annabelle.

Felix fucked them.

Has he ever seen Felix with someone with blue eyes? No.

Suddenly the praise sat wrong inside of him. Were they making fun of him? Did they know? Oliver knocked his forehead against the mirror once, twice, thrice before grinding his teeth together with a glare directed at his image.

He forced a smile, but not too happy. Then he frowned, but not too unhappy. They liked a broken thing, Felix’s family. But not too broken. Just broken enough for them to be able to ignore it, like a barbie doll missing a few fingers, or a book with a cracked spine.

Oliver’s father died, his mother an addict. No siblings, no money. Poor, poor Oliver Quick.

Felix liked feeling needed, appreciated,

adored.

Poor Oliver with a dead dad. So, so incredibly sad. No one else in this wide world other than Felix Catton. No friends, no siblings. Just…Felix.

The bathtub caught his eye. A posh thing, really. Like something out of a painting or a museum. His feet brought him to it before he’d even realized he moved. Oliver stroked the edges, pressed his nails against the porcelain until shivers ran down his spine. There was still some water in it. Warm, hot, taunting him. Felix had been there. A piece of him still lingering around the edges of the drain.

They had hugged once. Felix was a generous person, free with his affection to everyone around him. He had kissed Oliver’s helmet when they first met. Told him he loved him.

Did he?

Leaning over the tub and watching the water slowly circle around the drain filled him with an unfamiliar sense of thrill. Like he was watching something forbidden. A piece of him; of Felix offered on a silver platter.

Oliver didn’t hesitate as he got in the tub and got down on all fours. Pearly white globs swirling around below him. This was a gift.

Did Felix leave it to him?

He must have.

The door hadn’t been properly closed, and he moaned like a wanton whore. It was on purpose. Did he mean to tease Oliver? He did. He didn’t. Oliver was no one. Felix was everything,

Oliver’s everything.

Yes, it was a gift, and Oliver would take anything Felix gave.

It was still warm when he pressed his face against it. It coated his lips, his nose, his cheeks, his eyes. When he breathed, it followed, and he hated how it left when he exhaled. It clung to his hair.

Felix. Felix. Felix.

He wanted it on him. On. On. On. On,

in.

The tip of his tongue wetting his lips, a taste of heaven.

Oliver pressed himself closer, and closer as if to fuse himself together with the porcelain, but even then,

it would not be close enough.

He needed to be closer.

What was wrong with him?

Felix was so far away still, even as Oliver had a mouth full of his cum. He dared not swallow for he would not be separated from even a single piece of him.

“You’re a fucking freak, y’know that, Oliver?”

Oliver jolts up, almost banging his head on the faucet.

“W-what? Oh. Oh! No! I- I wasn’t- I mean- It’s-”

He felt sticky. Cold. His blood froze. Would you send him away? Tell Felix? Anger blossoms under his skin. Felix wouldn’t understand. How could he? How could perfection look at ugliness and understand? Even the light could not see in the dark. How could he understand the longing? The envy? The chest crushing feeling of being so close to the sun, being burned alive and yet always left craving more and more. Loving every second of losing yourself to another.

“You weren’t what?” You narrow your eyes.

“I was just…making sure the tap was closed properly. It’s been dripping all day and night.”

You scoff.

“It has!” Oliver tried to defend himself, wiping at his mouth with his wet sleeve.

“You’re pathetic, Oliver. I saw you… licking. We’ve all seen you stare at him. I mean, I’d say you were his shadow if you didn’t moon over that one as well! But Felix doesn’t see it. He doesn’t believe us when we tell him what a little freak Oliver Quick is.”

Oliver can’t help but feel smug at that. Felix believing him over everyone else? It made him hard.

It must’ve shown on his face for next thing Oliver knew your fingers burrowed into his hair and you forced him down into the water again. He coughs and splutters but you don’t let him up.

“ Stop it!” He protests. The water’s gone up his nose, he’s choking on it.

“What’s wrong, Ollie?” You coo. “I thought you liked drinking bathwater. I’m simply… giving you what you want.”

In his mind he begged for Felix to come save him, like he had at the pub, at uni. Felix would hate him for it. Would cast him away, away from him, away from Saltburn. He’d rather drown in the tub than have Felix come save him. He’d become part of Saltburn then.

“Please don’t tell Felix,” he managed to get out.

You hummed but offered no response.

Cruel. You were all cruel.

The drain cuts into his face, but you don’t let up.

Your breath fans over his ear. Oliver shivers. “We’ll see.”

You smell like Felix. You even sound a bit like him too. If Oliver closed his eyes he could almost pretend it was Felix who was taking his shirt off in the bath, who urged him to clean all his spill away.

It’s filthy.

“Do you want this, Oliver?”

You placed your hand flat over his bulge, cupping the hard outline of his cock. Could you feel him pulse?

He shakes his head no. He doesn’t.

Does he?

His head’s all muddled. All he can see, all he can feel,

taste,

is Felix.

One thought circles around in his head; more.

You squeeze, and Oliver moans.

“Thought so.” You whisper.

And then you’re gone.

“Keep your head down.” You order him, though Oliver hadn’t moved a muscle.

Despite how humiliating it was, he still wanted more. All he felt was longing, envy and pure want. Felix could stand in front of him, his spend in Oliver’s mouth and he’d still want more. When would Oliver be satisfied? How close could he get to Felix? Not close enough.

Oliver jumps when he feels your hands back on him. You tug at his boxers and his face grows red when you touch him.

“Well, well, well,” you said to him. “Prepared, are we?”

He shakes his head again.

“Liar.” You say as you bring your hand down on his ass. Oliver groaned and closed his eyes.

When had you grown so confident, he wondered? He had barely seen you at the estate, always hiding away in the library with Duncan standing guard by the door. Oliver mistook you for Felix once, but you had only laughed and walked away. Didn’t even turn to look at him.

And now your finger was in his ass and he was resisting the urge to grind back. You don’t even need to push his head down anymore, he wouldn’t raise it even if you ripped all his hair out.

You smoothed down some of his hair. “There we go, you poor thing.”

He doesn’t feel poor. Certainly not when your free hand is gripping his cock and stroking it so slowly it feels like torture. Even then the coil in his stomach starts to tighten, a delicious burn in his spine from bending over as he was; face down, ass up.

Then you’re pulling out your finger. He feels empty. Hungry. He hears the water splash as you run your hand through it, and then you’re touching him again. Spreading the wetness around his hole, in him, everywhere.

You slip a finger back in. Oliver groaned at the feeling.

“Can you take another?” You asked.

His forehead smacked against the porcelain from how hard he nodded. He thinks he might die if you don’t, stuck in this limbo of barely-there pleasure and coldness.

Oliver shut his eyes when you started pushing in the second one. He’s never had anyone there before. It was uncomfortable and it even hurt a little, but that ember of pleasure in his stomach when you crooked your fingers and touched that spot inside him made him want to beg for you to never go.

But then, you leave him again. Almost as if you heard his thoughts.

He sobs against the tub, but then his eyes flashed open in cold surprise as he felt something prodding at his entrance. Something smoother and colder than your fingers. “W-what’s that?”

“It’s a surprise.” You told him.

He almost thought you kind when you made him spit in your palm so you could wet his cock with it. He hadn’t thought it could get better, but when you spread it around him, gradually building up to pace again, he wants to thank you. It almost made him forget about the mystery object you were pushing into him. Almost. It was still cold, but felt better than he thought it would. He shuts his eyes again, losing himself to the pleasure.

It wasn’t long until you had him moaning and whining and grinding against the tub, against you, against whatever it was you were using against him. There wasn’t enough left of Oliver to think it embarrassing how he acted like a wanton whore. All he could think of was the tidal wave of pleasure that was building. It grew. Grew. Grew.

You push into him harder and harder. Your hand smacked against his skin until he was sure Felix could hear it. If not, then his moans would still tell the story.

“If only Felix could see you now.” You whisper in his ear, cruel and cold against the warmth of his pleasure.

Oliver whined. He almost wanted Felix to see. Almost.

“Freak.”

Oliver came harder than he ever had in his life. Rope after rope of cum landing on his stomach, in the water, on the sides of the tub. It seemed endless. He shook and cried as the wave fell over him. He was drowning. Drowning in you. In pleasure. In Felix. But you kept your hand on him, tugging and tugging even as he moaned from the overstimulation.

“Oliver Quick indeed.” You mock him. “I’ve barely even touched you.”

You tugged out the thing from his ass and threw it next to him, but Oliver didn’t have enough strength to even open his eyes. Not with how you forced him into a second orgasm, one almost more painful than pleasurable.

“Do you want me to stop?”

No. Yes. Never.

He never wanted it to stop. Even as it grew painful and he cried from it, he wanted more. He wasn’t satisfied. Not even close. He wanted more. More. More. More. More, until there was nothing left to give. Until he had taken all you had, and he alone was left. Even then would he want more.

You scoff at his lack of answer and tear your hand from him, wiping it off on his hair.

“Go on, Dog, lick it up.” You spat at him.

And he did,

addlebrained as he was, so fucked out from the pleasure he couldn’t even tell you his own name.

He licked and licked, until there was no more left, water nor cum. No more of him, no more of Felix. He had swallowed it all. All gone.

Oliver looked at you from under hooded eyes. Pleading. “Please don’t tell Felix.”

“You’re pathetic.”

You stormed out of the room, and then his eyes fell on the object you had thrown on him. The surprise,

it was Felix’s brush.

Next part

#oliver quick #felix catton #saltburn #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick x you #saltburn imagine #saltburn x reader #saltburn x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick smut #saltburn smut

225 notes · View notes

beskarandblasters · 7 months

Text

I Know Places

Enemies to Lovers!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author’s note: Special thank you’s to @nostalxgic for making this beautiful graphic and @wannab-urs, @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, @mandoisapunk, and @theredviper for beta reading this for me! 🥹 Also I used this guide to help determine how long it takes to get from Tatooine to Coruscant… which isn’t that accurate at all lmao but roughly 22 standard days of travel is convenient for this story specifically so I'm going with that. All of my other Star Wars fics are much better with travel times/lore I promise but as the official writers of Star Wars say, “hyperspace travels as fast as the plot” 😉

Summary: You’re on Tatooine running from your life from some goons on Coruscant who you owe credits to; credits you definitely don’t have. Just when you think you’re alone, a Mandalorian captures you to bring you in. What started out as hatred for each other morphs into apathy into tolerance and finally, into feelings for each other.

Word count: 7k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, takes place when Grogu is with Luke, long live the Razor Crest, helmet stays on, descriptions of reader being dehydrated/sick, taking medication, restraints, Din is an asshole at first, eventual feelings, nipple play, fingering, oral sex (M receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, canon typical violence, use of Mando'a words (cyar'ika = sweetheart), no use of y/n

The hot suns of Tatooine burn the back of your neck as you trudge along the desert. Your feet feel like a million pounds, every step takes all of your energy that you can muster. Not only are you physically exhausted but you’re also beating yourself up mentally. It’s your own fault you’re here on this shithole of a planet running for your life. You got tied up with the wrong crowd, a crime lord named Garo and his goons on the lower levels of Coruscant. And now you owe them a hefty sum of credits; credits you definitely don’t have.

You get the sense you’re being watched; like someone is following you. You turn to look for another set of footprints in the sand but there’s only your own. You spun around too fast and now you’re feeling dizzy. When was the last time you had water? You can’t remember.

You spot a valley in the distance with some shaded patches from the rocks above; a break from the harsh suns. You make it there as fast as you can (which is still rather slow) and plop yourself down in the sand. You pat your sides to make sure you still have your dagger and blaster attached to your belt; the only methods of defense you have. You’re not even that good with a blaster and it’s not yours. You stole it before you left Coruscant, hitching a ride with a stranger who was also traveling to Tatooine, giving him pretty much all of the credits you had left. And as for the dagger… What good is that going to do? A dagger is only useful if the threat is close to you and by that point you’re probably dead anyway.

You close in on yourself, balling yourself up as tight as you can, as if you’ll fall apart at any given moment. It feels like the entire weight of the galaxy is on your shoulders and you’re going to let it swallow you whole.

You must’ve fallen asleep. You’re sprawled out on the sand, still under the small patch of shade, you think. You haven’t opened your eyes yet. Your mouth feels like sandpaper and you’re severely dehydrated. If this continues any longer it’ll prove to be fatal. You open your eyes slowly, expecting to see rocks or the unforgiving suns of Tatooine above you. But instead… you’re met with the sight of a silver helmet and the stone-cold stare of its visor glaring down at you.

You attempt to yell but it comes out as a weakened gasp. Scrambling backwards you try to inch away from the looming figure above you. You struggle to your feet and try to run away but due to your impaired state, it’s no use. A leather glove grabs your wrist and you feel what must be cuffs locking– you’ve been captured. Your worst fears are coming true; you’re gonna be sent back to Coruscant where you’ll most definitely be put to death.

“I have to say, that was easier than I thought,” the masked man says, keeping a hand wrapped around your arm as he leads you away from your resting spot.

“W-what?” you choke out, barely audible.

“I didn’t think you were going to be so frail.”

“I’ve been alone in the desert for many days… without any water.”

“Judging by your state I won’t be able to carbon freeze you.”

“Carbon freeze me?”

…Who did they send after you?

“Consider yourself lucky.”

You roll your eyes.

“Lucky? I don’t even know who you are. How threatening could you even possibly be?”

He stops walking and turns to face you, the helmet getting closer in your face. You can see your reflection in it, just how tired and sick you look.

“Do you want to test that?” he says sternly.

“N-no,” you stutter.

“Good. Now let’s go,” he says, dragging you along. If he wasn’t holding you upright you’d be face planted in the sand.

The mysterious man leads you to his ship, a Razor Crest, lowering the exit ramp and pulling you inside. And now you’re standing right by his carbonite freezer, feeling thankful for your desiccated state. He seals the ship and sits you down on a crate and pulls one across to sit in front of you. The T-shaped visor burning a hole into you as he sits, stoic and not saying a word. Now that you’re not blinded by the sun or being dragged you get a better look at him; full silver beskar, an imposing stance, and completely adorned in all sorts of weapons.

“So you’re taking me back to Coruscant?”

“Mhm.”

“You know he’s gonna kill me, right?”

“That’s not my problem. I get hired to do a job and I do it. I don’t ask questions. I don’t get involved.”

“Who are you?”

“A bounty hunter.”

“But who are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You’re a Mandalorian, aren’t you?”

You’ve heard rumors about them; legends even. You know they’re strong, skilled warriors; a relentless group of people. They sent one of the best bounty hunters in the galaxy after you… feels like overkill.

“And that’s all you need to know about me,” he says.

“I’m going to take any weapons you have, uncuff you so you can get to the cockpit, and then once you’re sitting the cuffs go back on, got it?” he continues.

“I’m not much of a threat to you,” you declare.

“I know you’re not,” he says, unclipping the blaster in your holster, “But who knows what sorts of ideas you’ll get if I leave you with these,” he continues, holding the blaster in front of your face.

“Who knows what you’ll try to do as I’m piloting the ship,” he finishes, holding the dagger in front of your face again.

He gets up and stores your weapons with his own, closing the compartment so you can’t get to them. He stands to the side of you and starts to undo your cuffs. And that’s when something stupid overtakes you. You’re going to try to run.

Once your wrists are free you make a run for the exit, trying desperately to lower the ramp. You feel him behind you immediately, spinning you around, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“That wasn’t wise,” he says by your ear, really coming out as a growl.

“Just kill me already,” you spit out.

“Can’t. They requested you be brought in alive.”

You groan just as he draws his blaster, which shifts your groan into a gasp.

“What are you-”

“They don’t care if you’re injured or not. Now get in the cockpit,” he says, grabbing your shoulder and placing you in front of him as he walks, the tip of the blaster against your back.

He coaxes you to climb up the ladder, keeping the blaster aimed at you the whole time. You sit in one of the passenger seats and strap in and that’s when the cuffs return, much to your dismay. He sits in the pilot seat and prepares the ship for takeoff while your stomach swirls with nerves. He takes off from Tatooine and enters space. Once he’s locked a coordinate and sets a path, he makes the jump to lightspeed.

He turns his seat around and looks at you, “We have roughly twenty two standard days until we get to Coruscant.”

You nod. You knew that when you escaped Coruscant, but it’s also annoying that you’re going to be stuck with this asshole cooped up in his ship for what’s gonna feel like forever. He gets up from the pilot seat and starts to head back down to the storage area, without bringing you with him.

“What about me?!” you call over your shoulder.

“What about you?” he deadpans.

“I can’t-” you start to say but he cuts you off.

“No you’re staying there.”

“Can I at least have water?”

He lets out a long modulated sigh, as if your dehydration is a burden to him. You hear him rustle around the storage area of the ship and climb back up the ladder. He hands you a small canteen, not saying a word.

“Thanks,” you grumble, taking it in your hands.

You place it in between your thighs and try to open it with your cuffed hands but it’s no use. He sighs again and takes it from you; like you’re a wounded animal he’s being forced to help. He opens it and hands it back to you. He watches you struggle to take a sip of water and you wonder if he’s looking at you with pity or disgust under that helmet. You finish the water and hand the canteen back to him as best as you can with these stupid cuffs on. You lean back in the seat and rest your eyes, wishing you were back in the desert instead of being stuck in this trap with Mando.

You wake up with a stiff neck and sore wrists. You groan as you lean forward, wishing for nothing more than to be free from these cuffs and out of this seat. Mando climbs up the ladder behind you, stopping next to your seat. With his visor glaring down at you he says, “You’re finally awake.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Pretty much a full standard day.”

“And you let me sleep that long.”

“One less thing for me to worry about.”

“Thanks,” you say, sarcastically.

“Are you ever gonna let me out of these cuffs?”

“Depends on-” he starts to say, but you cut him off, completely fed up at this point.

“I’m not going anywhere. We’re in the middle of space. I can’t take you in a fight and even if I could I don’t know how to fly this thing,” you snap.

He sighs again, a signature for him at this point, and moves to undo your cuffs. As soon as you’re free you immediately stand up to stretch out, feeling some of the tension leave your body.

“Do I have to stay up here?” you ask.

“I guess not,” he says reluctantly.

You’re still a little wobbly on your feet, from the sleep but also the extreme dehydration and fatigue from your time in the desert. You take a step towards the ladder and stumble, almost falling forward until Mando catches you by your wrist, pulling you back into him.

“Are you still not feeling well?”

“Not really,” you say, hyper-aware of the cool beskar against your back.

“Let me go down first. I’ll be there to catch you if you fall.”

“Uh, sure.”

“Would you rather I just let you fall?”

“No, no. That’s fine,” you say quickly.

He lets go of you and has you hold onto the seat while he heads down the ladder. Carefully, you walk towards the ladder and lower yourself down. As you climb down you feel Mando’s ghost of a touch around your waist, barely there but ready to grip you if you fall. You step down onto the floor and think you’re in the clear but your knees buckle underneath you and you lose your balance. But Mando catches you, steadying you and holding onto your waist tightly as you find your balance.

“I don’t feel good,” you say, a sudden wave of nausea washing over you.

“Do you need to lay down?”

“Y-yeah, and I need water.”

You feel him pull you over to what must be his sleeping quarters. He sets you down on his cot and leaves to grab another canteen of water, returning swiftly with it and opening it for you even though he already took off your cuffs. You take a few sips and set it on the shelf next to you. You get under the blanket and lay down while he turns off the light. You hear a faint sound, what you think is his glove coming off. All of a sudden his bare hand rests against your forehead, checking your temperature.

“You’re burning up.”

“Yup.”

“Hang on,” he says, slipping his glove back on leaving to grab something.

He returns and turns the light on. You blink a few times and get adjusted to the light again. He extends his hand to you, holding a pill in his gloved palm.

You look at it with a suspicious expression on your face. Why would you take a random pill from him? What if it’s just something to knock you out until you get back to Coruscant so you don’t have to be his problem anymore?

“It’s for your fever.”

Looking at it reluctantly you still contemplate whether or not you should take it.

“I’m not lying,” he says.

“Fine,” you say, grabbing the pill from his hand and the canteen off the shelf. You take the pill followed by a sip of water, and put the canteen away. Feeling tired again already, you lay back down on the cot and drift off to sleep, hoping to wake up well rested for once.

You didn’t sleep peacefully. You were tossing and turning, shivering and breaking a sweat. What you don’t know is that Mando was worried sick about you. He stayed up and by your side the whole time, keeping a watchful eye on you. Under the helmet, he wore a concerned expression on his face, taking note of every time you stirred in your sleep, every time you shivered, the furrow of your brow, and the beads of sweat on your forehead. It was from that moment he decided to drop the hardened bounty hunter act and shift into protective mode. But the next step is getting you to trust him.

You wake up the next morning feeling a bit better but still tired. You kicked off the blanket in your sleep and you can tell your fever has dissipated but the quality of the sleep you had was not great. Mando’s cot isn’t the most comfortable place to sleep but it sure beats sleeping on the sands of Tatooine any day. You roll over on the cot to see Mando sitting beside you, startling you.

“Have you been there the whole time?” you ask, once the small wave of shock wears off.

“Yes.”

“Why? Just to make sure I didn’t go anywhere or do anything?” you ask sourly.

“What? No, I-”

“I already told you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not doing anything. I’m stuck here with you,” you say through gritted teeth, feeling truly fed up with him at this point.

He sighs, not out of annoyance but out of defeat, and hangs his head. You sit up on the cot and declare, “I need to use your refresher.”

“Of course,” he says, standing up, “Do you need help getting there?”

“No,” you say, rising and brushing past him. He sighs behind you but you don’t care. The storage area of the ship is small so the refresher isn’t hard to find. You step inside and turn on the water. You take off your clothes and hang them on a hook before getting in. Letting the water run over your body, you wash away the dirt from the desert, your sickness, and your exhaustion. You’re taking your time, not caring about using all of his hot water until you hear a soft knock on the door.

“What?” you call out, already getting annoyed.

“Can I come in? I have some clean clothes for you. I promise I won’t look.”

“I guess,” you respond, feeling a little relieved however that he didn’t yell at you for using all his hot water.

You hear the door open and you watch him step inside, keeping to his word and not facing the refresher. He sets the clothes on the sink and leaves. You poke your head out of the refresher and look at the clothes, curious as to why he has a spare set of women’s clothes lying around. And they’re… strange to say the least. A silver, extremely formal top and black pants that are on the complete opposite of the spectrum; casual wear. He is trying to be nice, you suppose.

You get out of the refresher and dry off with the only towel you see, trying to ignore that it’s his, and the only one he uses most likely, before putting on your new clothes. You step back out into the storage area where he’s waiting, sitting on a crate.

“Thanks for the clothes, I guess. Where did you even get these?”

“Previous… entanglements.”

“Entanglements?”

“You know what I meant,” he says, standing up.

“So on top of being your ‘job’, do you think I’m gonna be another one of your ‘entanglements’, too??” you ask, placing a hand on your hip.

“No! No, I gave them to you because… I just feel bad for you.”

Oh, now you’re absolutely livid.

“I don’t need anyone’s pity!” you yell, getting in his face (well really helmet).

“I’m just trying to help you out,” he says, calmly.

“Help me out? By taking me in for a bounty? To people who are most definitely going to kill me?” you press further.

He’s silent, not looking at you and keeping his visor locked onto the floor.

“So what is it then? Am I just another job to you or am I someone you actually care about? Because I can’t be both,” you say, folding your arms.

“I can’t… I can’t answer that,” he says softly.

You scoff and turn on your heel, heading back to his sleep quarters.

“Don’t follow me,” you snap over your shoulder.

You hear him sigh in defeat again before climbing up the ladder to the cockpit. Serves him right.

You lay down on his cot and turn over so you’re facing the wall away from the door. You close your eyes and try to fall asleep but as you’re alone with your thoughts you realize that some part of you… feels bad for him? As backwards as that sounds, you can tell that he was being genuine with you and so what if he feels bad for you? Who wouldn’t feel bad for you right now? He must not usually develop feelings for his bounties, and he’s probably facing some internal conflict right now. You sigh and get out of the cot, heading over to the ladder. You climb up to the cockpit and in a small voice you say, “Hey… I’m sorry about all of that.”

“Don’t be sorry. You were right,” he says, turning around in the pilot seat.

You sit in the passenger seat and face him, taking a deep breath before asking, “Do you… Do you have feelings for me?”

He tenses up at your question and you can visibly see him sit up straighter after hearing that.

“I’m not… used to it. Everything I’ve ever had with anyone was just some meaningless fling.”

You nod, just letting him finish. This is like the most you’ve ever heard him speak in one sitting.

“And I feel stupid because you’re one of my bounties. I’m not supposed to do this. I’m not supposed to develop feelings or get attached,” he continues, sounding even more frustrated and confused.

“Yeah, it’s not ideal… But we still have a while to go… Why not make the best of it?”

“Really? You’re okay with that?”

“Might as well enjoy myself before I go,” you shrug.

“Okay,” he sighs, “What do you want to do now?”

“Are you tired?”

He tilts his helmet to the side and before he can answer you speak first.

“That was a stupid question. Of course, you’re tired. I’ve been hogging your cot.”

“I don’t mind,” he chuckles.

You nod and climb back down the ladder before heading back to his cot. It’s pretty small, like it’s probably barely big enough for him. He meets you in his sleeping quarters and leans against the door frame.

“How do you want to do this?” you ask.

“Hm, we’ll probably have to spoon.”

“O-Okay,” you say, trying to ignore the excitement brewing between your legs.

He gets on the cot first, laying on his side and facing you.

“You sleep with all that on?”

“Not all of it, but it’s just a nap, right?”

“Mhm, just a nap,” you say, getting on the cot with him and pressing your back up against his chest.

He pulls the blanket over you two and puts a protective arm around your waist. Soon enough you hear soft snores coming out as heavy breathing underneath the helmet. He really was tired.

You wake up to the feeling of something hard pressed up against your lower back and ass. The excitement brews between your legs again. You think about how strong Mando is and how he can manhandle you and how big his cock probably is and– yeah, you're definitely wet.

You feel Mando stir behind you so you shake your ass a bit. That seems to wake him up instantly because you feel a hand grip your hip tightly followed by some cursing under his breath. You lift your leg so it’s resting over his, spreading your legs apart. He takes the hand that’s on your hip and moves it to your inner thigh, slowly inching closer to the waistband of your pants. You press your ass into him more and finally, he’s had enough of your teasing. He pushes the blanket to the side and dives his hand down your pants, running his gloved fingers along your entrance. You rest your head against him and close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of his fingers stroking you and spreading around your wetness. He pulls his hand back for a second and you think he’s done but he’s really tugging off his glove and returning his hand to your entrance, wanting to feel your wetness himself without the glove in the way. He pushes a finger in slowly, listening to the soft gasps you let out at the feeling of his finger entering you. He curls it against your walls slowly, just to get you extra worked up before inserting another. You grind your ass against him as he fingers you, getting wetter but also wishing for something besides his fingers.

“Need your cock,” you whine.

“Not until you cum first,” he growls in your ear.

You whimper and let him continue to finger you, his fingers pushing up against your g-spot perfectly. He brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing small circles and with that you’re at the brink of orgasm. You cum around his fingers, your cunt fluttering and soaking his hand down to his wrist as he whispers words of praise in your ear.

“Good girl, cyar’ika,” he says. You make a mental note to ask him what that word means later when you’re not distracted.

As you ride out your high you ask him, “Can I please have your cock now?”

“I suppose,” he teases.

He moves so he’s laying on his back and you shift to straddle him. You position yourself so that his cock is in front of you so you can pull it out and stroke it. You run your hand over the bulge in his flight suit and hear him groan under the helmet. You pull his cock out and take a look at it twitching in your hand. Somehow it’s everything you pictured it would be; long, girthy, and uncut. You start by rubbing your thumb over the head; over the pre-cum leaking out of the tip before stroking the entire length. The precum leaking from the tip spreads onto his head and down the shaft, lubing it up for him as you continue to stroke it, getting him extra hard and extra frustrated before you sit on it. He folds his arms behind his head, visor fixed on your hand on his cock. You stop stroking him for a moment to pull off your shirt over your head, watching the visor move from his cock to your chest. You give him a few more strokes before you inch up to straddle him above his cock, sinking down onto it slowly and feeling it stretch your walls. He groans at the feeling of his cock being enveloped in your warmth. You take a moment to get adjusted to his size before leaning forward. You rest your hands on his breastplate, staring directly into his visor as you rock your hips back and forth. But as you move your breast bounce perfectly and his gaze trails down to them, watching them move as you fuck yourself on his cock. He tugs off his other glove, scrambling to bring them to your breasts already, caressing the outline of them before taking your nipples between his fingertips.

“You take it so well, cyar’ika,” he says, coming out as a low, modulated purr from under the helmet.

You moan in response just as you pull your hips back, feeling his cock hit all of the deepest angles inside you.

“M-Mando, I’m gonna cum,” you moan.

“Din,” he says sternly.

“W-What?” you say, blissed out and barely hanging on.

“My name is Din. Say my name when you cum,” he growls, pinching your nipples on the last word.

“Yes, Din,” you say, continuing to grind your hips until you feel the floodgates open.

“Din, I’m coming,” you moan, watching him nod as your eyes are locked onto his visor.

You cum with him buried deep inside you, your cunt convulsing around him. The movement of your hips slows down as you cum, closing your eyes and throwing your head back in pleasure as you take in the moment of feeling full. Your orgasm pulls his own from him, spilling ropes of his cum inside you. You’re silently grateful for your implant at this moment as you feel his warm release inside you. You lean forward and rest against his chest, still keeping him inside you until he goes soft and eventually slips out. You feel his bare hand stroke your back as you lay against him.

“You’re incredible,” he says absentmindedly, resting both of his hands flat against your back.

“Thanks, Din,” you giggle, emphasizing his name.

He chuckles nervously and you can tell he’s embarrassed.

“Do you normally not tell anyone your name?” you ask, sitting back up.

“Not unless I trust you.”

“You think you can trust me?” you ask.

“I think so,” he says softly.

You lean forward so you’re face to face with the helmet, looking deeply into the visor.

“I wish I could see you,” you say, not realizing what words are slipping out of your mouth.

“I know, cyar’ika.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s just… a Mando’a word.”

“For what?” you chuckle, pressing further.

“...Sweetheart.”

Oh.

Butterflies form in your stomach and in order to prevent him from seeing that stupid smile that’s about to form on your face, you lean forward and rest your head against his chest again.

“Is that… Is that okay?”

“Mhm. It’s more than okay, Din,” you say softly, trying to hide the giddiness in your voice.

Your stomach grumbles as you rest against him. You silently curse it for ruining the sweet moment, but Din asks, “When was the last time you’ve eaten, cyar’ika?”

“Uhh, it’s been a while.”

“Let me get you something,” he says gently.

You sigh and reluctantly roll over so he can slide off the cot. He returns with rations and says, “I know it’s not much but I don’t want you to go hungry.”

“This is fine, Din. Thank you,” you say, grabbing the rations from him and going to get out of the cot.

“No, no. You need to rest,” he says sternly.

“What? Why?”

“You haven’t eaten in a while and… you just did all the work.”

“Oh yeah, I guess I did,” you chuckle, lying down and pulling the blanket over you.

“I’m gonna go check the ship’s course. You eat and rest, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, getting comfortable.

He leaves and climbs the ladder to the cockpit. You already miss him next to you, but the truth is he needs a moment alone because he’s morally confused. The last time he developed some sort of emotional attachment to a bounty he was briefly kicked out of the guild, and the Mandalorian covert had to relocate. Who knows what kind of consequences he could face for this? But when he comes back down to the sleeping quarters and watches you peacefully rest he knows two things; he has undeniable feelings for you, and he needs to make a decision. There are still roughly eighteen cycles or so left of the journey. He has some time to make a decision, but he better start contemplating now.

You wake up after who knows how long. The days blend together on the ship, especially when you feel like you’re in an endless cycle of sleeping for unspecified chunks of time. You look over and see Din sitting beside you and sleeping, his leg up and foot resting on his knee. The visor is angled at the floor, and his snoring is coming out as heavy breathing again.

“Din,” you say quietly, lightly shaking his knee.

He wakes up, slightly startled for a moment before realizing it’s just you.

“What is it, cyar’ika? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I just wanted to know how long we have left.”

“Around eighteen standard days or so.”

You nod and lay back down, trying to ignore the pit forming in your stomach at the thought of your time ending together. In the back of your mind you hope that some part of him will change his mind and will choose to not bring you in. But he’s a professional and this is how he makes a living. Who are you to change that for him?

“Can I ask you something?” he says quietly.

“Sure.”

“What did you do to get a bounty on your head?”

“I used to live in the lower levels of Coruscant where there’s a lot of violence. Garo and his gang would extort people for protection, myself included. It’s dangerous to be a woman living there alone. But eventually I didn’t have enough credits anymore, and they started coming after me… So I ran.”

“...I see.”

“Not what you expected, huh?” you chuckle.

“No, I-”

“I’m not some big, bad criminal. I’m just a normal person who got mixed up with the wrong crowd.”

“I know. I’m not judging you,” he says gently.

You nod, and he tells you to get some more rest. You happily oblige.

And so over the next two weeks, you fall into a routine of sleeping, eating rations, having sex, using the refresher and repeating. Your feelings for him grow even deeper, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same. You try not to think about how leaving him when he drops you back off on Coruscant will be one of the most devastating things you have to go through.

You have roughly four standard days left of your journey, and you’re about to do something you haven’t done yet; give Din a blowjob. He’s sitting in the pilot seat, facing the control panel, and you’re kneeling on the floor. You watch his cock pitch a tent in his flight suit and lightly run your hands over the bulge. His breath hitches at your touch as you release his cock from the fabric but instead of taking it in your hand, you press kisses along his groin and to the base of his shaft. He groans, aching for his cock in your mouth already. You decide he’s been teased enough and trail your tongue from the base of his shaft up to the tip, swirling your tongue around the head before taking his full length (or as much as you can fit) in your mouth. You bob your head up and down, cupping his balls with one hand and wrapping the other around the base of his cock. You glance up at him as you suck him off, looking straight into the visor and imagining what he looks like right now underneath the helmet; what he looks like when he’s feeling immense pleasure.

He lets out a strained, “cyar’ika” and you notice his hands beside him clenching into fists as you suck harder. His sounds become incessant, and you feel him get restless; he’s about to cum. But before you can bury his cock deeper in your mouth, he grabs each side of your face, stopping you.

“Not so fast, cyar’ika. I’m coming inside you when I fuck you,” he growls.

You nod, a little bit of his pre-cum mixed with your saliva dripping down your chin. He swipes it away with his thumb and says, “Over the control panel. Now.”

You get up, kicking off your pants and pulling your shirt over your head. You turn around so you’re facing the view from the ship, in disbelief that you’re about to get fucked with the view of hyperspace in front of you. You bend over and rest your arms on the control panel, careful not to touch any buttons, and stick your ass up for him. He gives your ass a squeeze before taking off his gloves and bringing two fingers to your cunt, running them up and down your entrance. You whine at the feather-light touch while he takes the time to play with your wetness and get you riled up. He chuckles at your frustration before pushing a finger inside you. He works your walls, swiftly adding a second finger and making you ache for his cock more. He pulls his fingers from you once he thinks you’ve been teased enough and slicks his cock with your wetness. He grabs your hips and pulls you into him, thrusting his cock into you in one clean motion.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, cyar’ika,” he says.

You moan in response and you feel his cock stretch your walls. He reaches around you, bringing a hand to your clit. He rubs small circles around it as his cock gets buried deeper inside you. Tears spring in the corners of your eyes as he rails you over the control panel and stimulates your clit. With one last slam of his hips, you’re coming around his cock, stars sprinkling your vision as your orgasm overtakes you. A warm, tingling feeling originates at your core and spreads outwards, making your knees weak. He keeps you upright as you ride out your high, the convulsing feeling of your cunt drawing his own orgasm from him. You feel his cock spill his release inside you, filling you with the familiar feeling of his cum inside you. He pulls out once he’s finished and sits on the pilot seat, catching his breath. You stand upright and stretch before sitting on his lap and wrapping an arm around him, resting your head against his helmet.

You’re both silent for a moment, and you know why. You only have a few more standard days left of your journey, and it’s suddenly getting real for you both that this is all about to end.

“Can I say something?” he says quietly.

“Of course, Din.”

“I think… I think I love you,” he says with a shaky breath.

“You think?” you chuckle.

“I’m sorry that came out wrong. I mean, we haven't been together that long and I think I’m-”

“Relax! I think what you’re trying to say is that you’re falling for me. And I feel the same way.”

“You said it a lot better than I could’ve,” he grumbles.

You laugh and rest against him for a few moments before continuing.

“Well, don’t fall any harder because it’s all ending soon,” you sigh.

“Don’t remind me,” he says softly.

“I won’t,” you whisper, “We still have a few more cycles left. Let’s enjoy it while we can, shall we?”

He nods, and the two of you sit there silently, just enjoying each other’s company and trying to ignore the dread you’re both feeling.

Your journey with Din has come to an end. You’re strapped in the passenger seat as he begins his descent into Coruscant. Both of you are silent. You feel like if you open your mouth you’ll just start crying, and Din doesn’t even know what to say at all, for fear of making the whole situation worse.

He lands on a docking yard, and before you exit the Razor Crest, he stops at the weapon storage and hands you your blaster and dagger.

“Just in case you need them,” he says in a gloomy voice.

And with that, you start to head down to the lower levels of Coruscant. He places a hand on the small of your back as you walk through any crowded areas. It makes your heart flutter, but it also makes you heartbroken; heartbroken that this is the last physical contact you’ll get with him forever.

You head to Garo’s lair in the most obscure place of Coruscant and start to feel nauseous. This is it. Not only are you about to leave Din, but you’re pretty sure Garo and his goons are going to kill you since you can’t pay him back. Din knocks on the door, and one of his associates answers the door, giving you a nasty look. You head inside with Din and walk to the room where Garo is waiting. You wonder if Garo will wait until he’s gone to kill you. You hope he does. You don’t want Din to have to see that.

“Well, look who it is,” Garo says, sitting at a table counting credits.

Neither of you say anything as you step closer, stopping in front of his table.

“Good job, Mando. Hopefully she didn’t give you too much trouble. Bring her to me,” he continues.

One of his goons grabs you by the arm and drags you over to him. You look at Din one last time, fearing that this is it. They’re going to kill you in front of him.

Garo rises from his chair, looking you in the eye with a devious expression on his face.

“And let me guess, you don’t have the credits you owe me, do you?”

You say nothing, paralyzed with fear.

“Answer me!” he yells.

You quickly shake your head no, feeling your knees go weak.

“Just as I thought,” he sighs, grabbing the blaster from his belt and holding it against your forehead.

“You knew this was coming, though, didn’t you?”

Tears spring in your eyes, for your own sake but also for Din’s. You can’t grasp why they’re making him watch this. He did the job, they should just pay him and let him go. You close your eyes and hope for all this to be over soon.

You hear a blaster go off, and you wince. But you’re still standing; still breathing. You open your eyes and see Garo on the floor, a blaster hole in the side of his head. You turn and look where it came from and see Din, with his blaster still drawn. Garo’s goons start firing, and Din shouts, “Run, cyar’ika! Back to the Crest!”

You’ve escaped this place once before, and you can do it again. You bolt, heading for the exit and hearing all the commotion happening behind you. You place your hand on your blaster attached to your belt, prepared to start firing behind you. But they seem to be too preoccupied with taking down Din to worry about chasing after you for right now. A part of you is worried they’ll get Din but you know he’s strong and well protected. But it’s weird not having him by your side as you run for your life. You exit onto the crowded street and push past groups of people, not caring who you hit or run into. You sprint back to the docking yard, heading back up to the Crest. You don’t know how to open the exit ramp so you anxiously pace back and forth, waiting for him to suddenly appear.

And he does, running towards you and lowering the exit ramp hurriedly.

“I bought us some time,” he says quickly, “But we have to go. Now.”

You run inside and head up the ladder to the cockpit, wondering where in the galaxy Din is going to take you. Garo’s reach is powerful and if he could send someone to find you on Tatooine, surely one of his associates will also send someone else after you, the both of you now.

Din meets you in the cockpit and prepares the Crest for takeoff, lifting off quickly. But to no one’s surprise, there are ships following you. He speeds up, trying his hardest to get into space quickly so he can make the jump to lightspeed.

And just as the ships behind you start shooting, he makes the jump, sighing in relief that you’re safe… for now.

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place… somewhere they won’t find us.”

“I doubt that, Din. If they sent you to find me on Tatooine, they’ll send someone after us both. No matter where we go.”

He spins around in the pilot seat to face you and says, “Have you heard of Seelos?”

“...No?”

“Exactly. They won’t find us there.”

“Well, what kind of planet is it?”

He’s silent, like he’s nervous to reveal what Seelos is like. And then it dawns on you.

“Don't tell me it’s a-”

“It’s a desert. Because I know you love them so much,” he deadpans.

You sigh but before you can say anything else he says, “But there’s also mountains. We can live there.”

“I’d live anywhere as long as it's with you, Din.”

“Me, too, cyar’ika.”

You take a deep breath, feeling at peace for the first time in a while. Knowing you have Din by your side you know you’re safe, always.

End note: I hope you guys enjoyed this one! I feel the most in my element writing for my silly tin can man!! If you have any requests for Din, send them my way! 🖤🖤🖤

Follow @beskarandblastersfics and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post a new fic!

Tag list for anyone who interacted with the announcement post!: @undrthelights @pickledpedro @cool-iguana @jellybeanstacey0519 @whataenginerd @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @khindahra @readingfan @bbyanarchist @taeniola @dugiioh @angel-with-a-heart @enter-clever-and-witty-url-here @fifia-writes @split-spectrum @yulivzqz @rainbowcat164 @deathwife @jilililian @covetyou @its-just-me-chey @pedritosdarling @perennialdoll247 @pr0ximamidnight @dinwifey @gingaaaaa @party-hearses @planet-marz1 @pamasaur @worhols @cinnabunsprincess @kirsteng42

#din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin one shot #star wars fanfiction #starwarsficnetwork #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars #din djarin #pedrostories #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #mando x reader #mando smut

401 notes · View notes

angellayercake · 11 months

Text

face down in décolletage - chapter 1

Papa Emeritus IV x Fem Reader | NSFW | AO3

Disclaimer: Copia talking about being face down in tits has all the feminism leaving my body. I am sorry but he can leer at my boobs any day and I would thank him. So TW for Copia being a fucking perv and kind of degrading but if you are into that we are golden!

For @ghostchems for being feral with me 💜💜 love you!

With a dramatic puff you try to blow the hair sticking to your face away. It was so damn hot today you would rather be anywhere but at work but here you are. Another day, another show. You glance down at your clipboard, Ghost. You think you have heard of them, some kind of religious band from a church. When you had first started working at the venue you used to enjoy excitedly researching all the bands that passed through but now you just looked forward to getting through the night. As you scan down your clipboard you notice your top has ridden down again. You glance around quickly and yank it back up hoping that none of the guys noticed the blue frills of your bra peeking out the top.

Maybe if you had got up earlier you would have had time to pick a different outfit or even check the weather forecast but as you had rolled out of bed and straight into the only clean clothes you had left you were stuck wearing your most revealing vest top with your most ridiculous push up bra. You had to live with the consequences of your lack of organisation combined with the stifling heat wave that had you sweating in even the little you were wearing. You just had to deal with it.

The sounds of the buses pulling in draws your attention from your wardrobe woes and back to the job at hand, which for you is making sure the band stay happy for the duration of their stay at the venue. Their rider had been prepared and set up for them and you would be on hand to help them with anything else they needed. You hoped these guys weren’t dicks, there had been a run of assholes recently that had the stupidest demands but that was the job. You watch them pile out onto the forecourt all dressed in black and wearing helmets? Masks? You can’t quite see but they all huddle together just off to the side not approaching the manager who had stepped up to greet them.

A commotion from the bus draws everyone's eyes from the group of strangely dressed musicians and you see the frontman of this band for the first time. He was wearing a burgundy tracksuit, a fake designer shirt and leather brogues. And he had just dropped an armful of juice boxes as he tripped out the bus. He knelt down scrambling to pick them all up, fumbling with the broken packaging until one of the masked people must have taken pity on him, letting him pile them up in their arms. He looks up only now taking notice of all the eyes trained on him. As he straightens up he offers an awkward wave and a forced smile until the venue manager steps forward and introduces themselves.

After a brief conversation you notice them making their way down the line of staff, which although not unheard of was unusual. The band manager would usually meet with venue staff not the talent but he must have insisted on being introduced to everyone. He shakes people's hands and gestures to the musicians behind him. You glance down at your clipboard as you wait your turn. Papa Emeritus IV and the eight Nameless Ghouls. He was the frontman and leader of the band and the Nameless Ghouls were instrumentalists. Your attention snaps back up when they reach the person beside you and you get your first proper look at him.

He’s not much taller than you and it’s hard to see much of his body under the baggy tracksuit but his face. He was oddly handsome, perfectly proportioned with strong features and carefully slicked back salt and pepper hair. The face paint he wore only accentuated his unusual mismatched eyes. But as he approaches you notice his gaze doesn’t land anywhere near your face. No he is looking directly at your boobs, with his mouth hanging open no less. You know they are very visible today but this middle aged man is gawping at you like a teenager seeing a porn mag for the first time. You clear your throat offering him your hand and he looks up at your face at last. Realising he had been caught a fetching blush grows across his cheeks that you find slightly adorable in spite of his leering. He takes your hand but as you attempt to shake it he tries to bring it up to his face. The back of your hand ends up squashed against his nose and you can feel his lip paint smudging on you. He drops your hand so quickly the momentum swings it away from you and his face is almost as red as his tracksuit when he moves on. What an odd man.

You don’t see him much for the rest of the day, you are kept so busy keeping the ‘Nameless Ghouls’ in line. They are a fun bunch, quite mischievous but polite in spite of it all. The few times you do see him you can feel his eyes all over you and you find your annoyance building. What was with this guy? You had since discovered that he was the leader of not only this very satanic rock band but also the associated religious organisation, he was well into his fifties and while he was attractive you had to admit he was really quite odd. You shrug it off though. There was only an hour left until the show and although your manager would help you if you complained, something, you weren’t sure what, was stopping you.

By the time the supporting act had finished it was all hands on deck to get the transition completed smoothly. Your arms are full of the discarded outfits of the supporting band so you can get them to the laundry when you pass by his dressing room but you are so consumed with your thoughts you fail to notice when the door opens and he steps out in front of you. You collide into him with a bump dropping everything that was piled in your arms at his feet.

‘Papa Emeritus! I’m so sorry.’ It is not lost on you that you are now taking your turn to fumble around on the floor in front of him or that where he is standing above you gives him a perfect view down your top. Your arms full once again you kneel slowly, noticing all the differences about him as you go. The scuffed brogues are gone, replaced with perfectly shined expensive looking boots. His slim calves were covered in tight denim which clung all the way up his legs. His thighs were covered in ripped fabric that did nothing to hide the shape of them. It’s lucky your hands are full because just as he seemed unable to not look at your tits you might not be able to resist running your hands up his thighs and... Your mouth goes dry when you notice the lace up fly on his trousers but you stop that thought short.

His jacket, while interesting, as distressed as his trousers with dramatic gold detailing and epaulettes, it's his face that captures your attention. He reaches down helping you back to your feet and as you stand you just stare taking in all the details of his stark black and white face paint. He is transformed, not just in how he looks although his painted face and sharp clothes differ so much from earlier. No, his whole demeanour has shifted. His nervous smile is replaced by an easy confident smirk when you meet his eyes, clearly having noticed your appraisal of him.

‘You better be coming to watch the show cara mia.’ he says as he begins to walk away from you. Occasionally you do find time to catch the performances more often you are busy all evening but the way he says it feels like an order more than a request

‘I will try after I have finished my …’ he spins back round fixing you with a demanding look.

‘No you will. I am not asking.’ He steps towards you, close to boxing you in against the closed door of his dressing room. ‘Your job is to make me happy, no? And what will make me happy is you watching the show from the side where I tell you.’ His proximity and commanding tone broker no argument so you just nod in agreement but he doesn’t give you room, just raises his eyebrows as if to communicate he is still waiting.

‘Yes Papa.’ you breath hoping that was the answer he was waiting for.

‘Bene, I will look for you cara, do not disappoint me.’ Only then does he stalk off with only a few minutes to spare.

With the threat of his disappointment hanging over you you rush through the last of your tasks before making your way to the stage. He is waiting to the side as the last checks are completed. You don’t approach him as he seems to be deep in his preparations but he spots you as he paces, nodding and pointing to an out of the way area where you still have a good view. You can hear the crowd cheering in anticipation and in only a few minutes the lights go down and the music starts to swell. He has kept up his pacing back and forth, occasionally jogging on the spot as he waits for his cue. Your attention is drawn to the stage as the pyrotechnics soar and the guitars kick in and then running up to the centre of the stage in the midst of it all is him.

The show could only be described as mesmerising. Both Papa and the Ghouls had the crowd in the palm of their hand as they performed song after song. The costume changes and confetti, the smoke and the sparks, you couldn’t look away. You almost wished you were down in the audience so you could experience it properly. However there was one particular benefit to your position and that was having a clear view of Papa’s wardrobe. Everytime he hurried back for a new outfit or prop you received a smile or a wink and as time went on more and more heated looks. You weren’t entirely sure why he had wanted you there but you got the feeling you would enjoy whatever it was.

He had announced their last song to cries of despair from the crowd but that only seemed to spur them on giving a rousing performance and he left the stage to a roar of appreciation. The ghouls continued playing as he ducked into the wardrobe for the last time, shrugging off the black jacket he was currently wearing in exchange for a dazzling blue sequined one. It reflected the light even in the dark corner of the stage you were both in. Instead of running back on stage though, this time he approached you.

‘Now there is something I need your help with cara mia, please follow me.’ He takes your hand and pulls you with him towards the narrow backstage corridor. It is very rarely used now but it was originally for performers to get from one side of the stage to the other with no hindrance but what he could need your help with here you had no idea. About halfway down he stops suddenly manoeuvring you between him and the wall in the narrow corridor

‘You hear them all screaming for me cara mia?’ He asks with a smirk. He knows full well you can hear the screaming that's why you have your ear protectors slung around your neck. His arm rests on the wall above your head bringing him so close you can feel the heat radiating off of him, and smell the spicy scent of his cologne and his exertion. He’s taller than earlier, his fancy boots giving him a boost so although he is far from towering over you, this close you need to make an effort to look up at him as you speak.

‘You must be happy, knowing that all those thousands of people enjoyed your show.’ It is quite obvious where this conversation is headed but you are curious to see how exactly he plans to proposition you when the memory of him fumbling his juice boxes is so fresh in your memory.

‘Si that should make me happy but really there is only one person I want to hear screaming tonight.’ His piercing mismatched eyes burn into yours and you know he is talking about you. You almost can’t breathe from the intensity and you wonder how this could be the same man as earlier. The only real similarity is the way his eyes trail down from your face all the way to your cleavage. Forcing yourself to finally take a deep breath you watch his eyes follow the rise and fall of your chest and you feel an unexpected heat rising within you. You weren’t a stranger to men staring at your boobs, it kind of came with the territory and usually someone staring this blatantly would earn a slap, but you enjoyed his eyes on you and it only made you want more, as it had all day. He leans in until he is close enough to whisper directly in your ear.

‘Would you like this? A little after party just for us?’ His voice is low and seductive and you are only really able to hear him because he is so close you are almost touching. ‘For me to give you your own private performance, show you all my best moves then make you scream for me?’ Without saying much of anything at all he paints such a vivid picture and you want all of it. You could feel his painted lips brushing your ear ever so slightly as you leaned in and you knew what your answer was going to be.

‘I … yes. Please.’ You feel his mouth pull into a grin as he steps even closer, his body flush with yours. You expect him to move to do something but he just continues to look at you, eyes burning into your already flushed and overheated skin. The leer he is giving you as he looks down your top shouldn’t be making you feel this way and yet you find yourself somehow desperate for the touches that look threatens.

‘Thank you, cara,’ he pinches your chin tilting it up to just the right angle so that he can slot his mouth against yours, except he doesn’t. No he locks you in with his gaze, keeping you hypnotised and still as he ghosts his lips across your cheek and down your neck and as his lips finally make contact at the juncture of your neck and collar bone do you realise that he was just positioning you to get unhindered access to your chest. But as he settles his hands on your waist and begins to gently suck your sensitive skin you can’t even bring yourself to be annoyed.

You lean your head back against the wall behind you and let your eyes drop closed so you can just concentrate on the feeling of his mouth on you. He nibbles along your collarbone soothing the marks with his tongue as he goes before dipping lower. He moans as his lips meet the curve of your breast and he stops, sucking a deep mark right in the centre before sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. It’s not deep and he doesn’t seem intent on inflicting pain on you, just feeling your body give way to him. You find your fingers woven in his hair not sure whether your intention was to push him away or pull him further in but you do neither and just let him take what he wishes. As he finishes marking you he licks a trail following the curve down into your cleavage and back up to the other side, peppering kisses everywhere he can reach.

‘Mmmm,’ he moans as if he was eating his favourite meal. ‘So good cara mia, so perfect.’ He slides his hands up from your waist until they are cupping your breasts, spreading them apart so there is just enough room to bury his face between them. His moans are muffled in his new position but that doesn’t stop you noticing him getting louder. His hands start a slow massaging squeeze that has you moaning, turning into a whine when he stops, hooking his fingers into the top of your bra and pulling back to look at you. The heat and his touches have turned your brain to mush so it takes you a moment to realise he is asking you a question and a moment longer to register what it is.

‘May I?’ he asks, starting to pull at your already revealing neckline. You can feel his knuckles brushing your nipples and you can only imagine how much better it will feel if you allow him full access. He is watching you intently so he catches your slight nod and slowly reveals them to his hungry eyes letting your top and bra bunch up just underneath like he doesn’t have the patience to wait to remove them properly. You watch his eyes light up as he sees your pierced nipples, the small gems glinting as you move even in the harsh light of the corridor.

‘Così bella mia cara,’ he whispers as he ghosts his mouth over you, the tip of his tongue flicking at one nipple then the other. He grins up at you as you gasp, his teasing touch feeling almost too much already. You think back to a moment ago when you compared him to all the other men that you caught gawping at your cleavage. You had been so wrong. Never had you had such attention lavished on you, turning you to putty in his hands just from this. He sealed his lips around a nipple, sucking it into his mouth and toying with the piercing with his tongue and the other he rolled between his fingers twisting and pulling and pinching. Your fingers tighten in his hair, encouraging him closer. He pulls off your nipple with a pop, kissing and licking across until his whole face is between them finally relinquishing your other nipple so he can push them together while shaking his head back and forth.

‘Papa?,’ another voice intrudes into your consciousness and you all of a sudden remember where you are and who you are with and the thousands of people waiting for an encore. You try to jump away from him but you are so securely pinned between him and the wall. He pulls away just as the footsteps get closer tucking you back into your top. His face paints are surprisingly intact although there are grey smudges all over you there is no hiding what was being done to you. ‘Papa,’ the stage assistant says as they round the corner and find you. ‘They are all still here calling for more.’

‘Excuse my cara. I am needed,’ he winks at you, gesturing for the assistant to go on ahead. He steps towards you pining you back in place tilting your chin up to force you to look at him once again. ‘But if you want to continue this, be in my dressing room at the end of the show.’ He turns on his heel heading in the same direction only to pause before he rounds the corner. ‘And I want you undressed.’ You are surprised your knees hadn’t buckled yet you were so worked up, the possibilities of what would happen if you followed his instructions buzzing in your mind.

The crescendo of screams as he walks back on the stage breaks you from your reverie, and forces you into action. You don’t even need to think, the decision already made by your racing heart and your wet pussy. You push off the wall knowing you only have three songs to follow his instructions but you don’t need to rush just yet as you can still hear him addressing the crowd. Exiting the corridor on the other side of the stage you listen for a moment. He hushes their screams so he can banter with them for a moment.

‘I was already at the after show party,’ He says gesturing behind him to the fictional afterparty. You laugh to yourself starting to head towards the dressing room so you can get ready for what you are sure is going to be a memorable night. But the next words out of his mouth freeze you on the spot. ‘You know I had my face down in some decolletage and someone said that they are still all here.’ A laugh barks out of you in disbelief. That smug sexy bastard!

#papa emeritus iv x reader #copia x reader #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfiction #my writing

499 notes · View notes

rileysluvr · 11 months

Text

i need to take care of this giant guy so bad he is my everything (he doesn’t even exist) um anyways. könig nsfw!!

“Just relax, baby,” you purr, applying just the slightest amount of pressure to his chest. His legs give in despite his mind being as fuzzy as TV static, body drained of any fight it could possibly have left, and he sits on the end of the bed, looking up at you with tired eyes. “Let me take care of you, yeah? Can I make you feel good?” you ask. “I think you deserve it.”

He nods weakly, and you take a step closer between his legs, your hands coming up to knead at his slumped shoulders. Your fingers slip under the ends of his veil just a bit, “Can I take this off?”

He’s already shuddering under your touch; your skin hasn’t even made contact yet, besides your gentle hand taking his cold, large one and leading him to the bed prior to having him like this, the moment he arrived off the plane. He had already taken off his vest and armor, in a hurry to alleviate some tension from his overworked body, but his muscles were still stiff in a way no release of tactical gear could solve.

He needs you to help him. Fix, him.

He nods once more, and you give him a sweet smile. Your hands meet the rim of his helmet and you pull it up, worn fabric coming with it, your actions so tender and serene he thinks he may just fall to pieces right before you. He wonders if he was just imagining your smile becoming brighter once his face was fully uncovered—he, of course, wasn’t—and he closes his eyes, the warm air around him feeling as cold as an icebox as it makes contact with his hot head. Having gone multiple days straight wearing it, he rolls his neck, thankful to finally be free from the extra few pounds of weight.

You lean down to place the helmet on the floor next to your feet, out of his sight, and mind, like he would ever want to take his eyes off of you in the first place. Rising to standing up straight, still barely taller than his mountainous stature, you bring your hands back up to his neck, needing to feel him with you, and have him feel secure. You pull him into a soft kiss, and his lips are cold and shaky against yours. You hadn’t felt him like this for a while, and you missed it, missed him, dearly. A hand falls to tug at his shirt, rubbing the fabric between the tips of your fingers, and you’re leaning more into his space. “This, too?” you mutter into his mouth.

“Yes, please,” he manages to breathe, and your belly ignites with butterflies, regardless of how lucid his response was.

Your fingers maneuver to the bottom hem of his t-shirt and he lifts his arms; he knows he must look like a tall child right now, but he’s simply too exhausted to pay mind to it. You lift the soft material from his body, pale and seemingly flexing with the wave of coolness that hits his skin, apparent by the goosebumps that wash over his muscular form. The shirt joins his helmet on the floor and you allow your hands to scale his body, working up his forearms and then his biceps and chest before landing on his face. Your thumbs smooth over the apples of his cheeks as the rest of your palms encase his heavy head by the jaw and above. He’s still sat hunched over, though it’s hard to appear smaller when your shoulders are twice the size of the average man’s and built of nothing but pure strength.

“You’re beautiful, König,” you remind him, and he damn-near whines at the words alone. You pull away for only a second to take off your shirt, and his drunken eyes are transfixed on your body, and the way your breasts sit so prettily in your bra. He could never get used to any part of you, each time he sees and hears you feeling like a first again. “Every part of you, and I’ll never let you forget it.” You undo your pants and allow them to gently slide down your legs, revealing your panties that match your bra in lacing, and inch by inch of your skin until you’re fully available to his starved eyes. You step out of the fabric, closer to him, between his knees. “Go ahead and lay on your back for me, baby.”

He reluctantly follows your kind order, fearing he may succumb to his drowsiness the second his head hits the mattress, but he doesn’t, and instead feels a bit more conscious than before, the uncomfortable straining in his pants spreading far past ignorable. Needy, he’s becoming, fighting the urge to buck his hips forward into nothing, chasing some, any sort of friction, and losing poorly.

You want to make him feel better. That’s all you want to do.

He moves further up the bed until his legs are fully on the bed, and you simultaneously climb up onto his lap, and then his waist, leaning down to seize his lips in a sweet kiss. You pepper his face in kisses, across his cheekbone and down behind his ear, teasing him, knowing how ticklish he is in that particular spot, and you giggle against his skin as he jumps slightly beneath you. Down his neck and across his shoulder, your soft kisses don’t end. Your lips creep further down his sculpted chest and he tenses up when you graze over his hard nipple; bless him, he’s so sensitive to your touch, releasing a muffled moan at the contact. You trail down his body, and he can’t even think, or process how badly he needs you. You’re eventually between his thighs, lips dragging down the line of dark hair that disappears beneath his jeans. He’s losing more of himself by the second, gut feeling like it’ll burst any moment now with the amount of butterflies swarming around in it. Like his chest is going to cave in with the weight of love you give him, and he can't handle it.

You actually kiss the ever growing bulge in his pants, smiling up at him, and his brain short-circuits. Your palms massage at his thighs, mouth already salivating as you barely graze past the area that needs the most attention. Another buck of his hips, a particularly whiny hum from his throat, and your fingers are at his zipper, taking your time in undoing the confinement. You tap his thigh twice and he uses his last bit of strength to lift himself a bit, and you manage to pull his jeans and boxers off from under him.

He’s leaning back on his elbows to watch you take his hard cock in your hand, outright awing at the size you could never seem to familiarize yourself with, and you begin moving your hand up and down his length. His body jolts when you swipe your thumb over his swollen tip and lazily smear his pre as far as it will go, an unconcealed groan from the back of his throat shattering the air around you. He fails to keep his body at bay as he chases more friction, and you coax him to relax through countless shushes and coos of praise, which ultimately only make it all the harder for him to last. Slowly, almost excruciatingly, you’re moving. His breathing picks up, still shaky and shallow and showing heavily in his chest. You look up at him with big eyes.

He knows your next move when you adjust to better have your face at his crotch, arms resting on each of his big thighs, and you lick your lips, smiling when you notice his parted ones. How utterly fucked-out he looks, having done nothing, yet. You open your mouth and take the head of his cock between your wetted lips, encapsulating it in your hot mouth as it takes up all the space you could offer. He lays back with a desperate, almost animalistic groan shamelessly pouring from his lips. Your tongue tortures him, in the best way possible, as you suck on the tip of his cock like a lollipop that’s far too big for your mouth, your hand continuing to pay heed to what you couldn’t with your tongue. You know he’s getting close with the way his groaning turned to pathetic whimpers in the matter of seconds, his back arching slightly off the bed in an attempt to keep himself from bucking his hips too hard into you, head turning to the side and back as his eyes can’t decide on staying open or not.

He can’t form words, only deprived hums and whines. He can only grip onto the bedsheets under him, and he can only let you do what you want because you’re the only one who can make him feel this way. The only one who can pull these sorts of noises from him, take control of him so easily. Only, ever, you.

You watch his abs flex and back arch, the sweetest of whimpers spilling from his throat and refusing to die out as your tongue pushes him over the edge. Sucking the head of his cock so beautifully, and he can’t even watch, eyes screwed shut and occasionally hiding one half of his face in the sheets he laid on. Your tongue presses up against the slit of his cock and he bucks his hips up once again in response, entirely out of his control. A moan from deep in your throat coats his cock and the entire length of his spine, and his breathing borderlines heaving.

He spills his cum in your mouth with a suffocated moan, strings of whispers of unintelligible German and swears, and you hum with him, hand continuing to stroke him through his high. You smile widely at the hot, tangy liquid that soaks your gums, and you pull away, watching the string of saliva that connects your bottom lip to his cock break. You swallow his thick cum, and he’s now leaning up a bit to see you, your eyes looking up at his own that can’t seem to pull away from the dribble of cum that’s slipped from your lip and trickles down your chin.

He groans—pathetic to him but music to your ears—when you crawl back up to straddle his waist. He’s still hard, painfully, and you know why. His head falls back against the mattress, utterly dazed and heavy, and your hands are back trailing his body. They find purchase cupping his cheeks and chiseled jaw. “How was that, honey? You feelin alright?”

He nods almost frantically. “M-more,” he chokes through his panting.

A smile creeps its way onto your lips and you conceal it the best you can. You lean down and turn your head to better understand him. “What was that, baby?”

“I need more, please,” he whines, fully given up on keeping his composure. “I need to be inside you, please, meine Liebe…i-it’s been so long, and I miss you. So much,” he breathes, weary and unadulterated.

You’re dumbfounded by his words, tickling every nerve in your body just as his heavy palms do, running up your bare thighs and squeezing slightly, as much as his tired body will allow. You lean forward and capture his lips with yours once again. Your body heat partially relieves him from the shivers that fight to reach every inch of his naked body. Sweet and salty, remnants of his cum that still coats your mouth fighting with the lip gloss that stains your lips.

He’s more dominant, hungrier than before, as he searches for more of you in your mouth. His kisses falter to the corner of your mouth, wet and sloppy and a reflection of his exhaustion, how hard he worked to be with you. A hand moves to the back of your neck to keep you still and stable with how much he was pressing his face against yours, and he reaches your cheek. You bury your head in his shoulder due to the stimulation he brings unto you; merely his lips inching closer to your most sensitive area. He turns his head a bit to whisper in your ear–entirely unraveled and desperate–a straightforward, single line of begging, “…Please fuck me.”

It’s your final undoing. You sigh a shaky breath before returning a dumbified and delicate, “I can fuck you.”

He finally relaxes with a faint smile and you sit up, his hand falling to your hip. You refuse to make him wait any longer, laying under you so sweetly, asking for it so nicely. He closes his eyes as you scoot back on his lap and take his cock in your hand, watching as his jaw clenches with a groan. You move your palm and fingers up and down his cock as you lift your hips, slide your panties to the side and move over him. You moan unabashedly when you shove the head of his cock in your soaked pussy, inadvertently teasing the both of you with how you strive to get used to his size again. His whimpers are already drowning out your own, becoming more impatient and needy as you slowly sink down onto him.

He’s instantly drunk when he bottoms out inside you, if he wasn’t enough from when he first finished in your mouth, and he can barely make a noise with how tight you are around him. He’s fighting not to cum so early, and you’re not helping with the way you’re squeezing around him. He’s seeing stars, and you haven’t even started moving yet.

The stretch of his cock stings so pleasantly, and you sit there for a moment, in the moment, with him. No discomfort; only bliss. He’s just so pretty, lying under you. Toned chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he takes, muscles flexing in his neck and shoulders and arms and all. A body that reminds you of ceramic brought to life, dating back to ancient times you were somehow lucky enough to come into possession of. His cheeks are pink and his hair is disheveled, and he’s unable to keep still for the life of him; just how you like him to be.

He swallows thickly, and without the bounce of his Adam’s apple there to remind you of his state you would have forgotten how badly he needs his release. Wholly entranced in his being.

You raise your hips about half way off his cock, and slide back down again with a whine of your own. His whimpers are stronger, and you know he’s going to cum soon with how he’s twitching inside you. How he’s failing to keep his body on the bed, attempting to move his hips up into you just as he was earlier when you took him in your mouth, and you do nothing to stop him.

You want him to cum, so badly. You want to take him for all that he has, make him feel as good as possible before you even think about yourself. You need this, just as much as he does. He always came fast, but when you learned he could do it again and again for you? That’s when you truly had him wrapped around your little finger.

A snicker leaves your curled lips as you do it all again, watching him squirm under you. He wants to hold out for you, please you first. But he knows he won’t be able to, despite his struggles of tensing muscles and series of exasperated pleas and choked ngh’s and mph’s. He knows you don’t want him to hold himself back, either, and the idea soothes his guilt just a bit.

Again, your pussy squeezes around his cock as you lift your hips from his lap, and you sit back down. It’s just too much, and he spills his hot cum deep in your pussy with a strained, loud groan, as his back arches off the mattress beneath him. You hum happily as you feel him fill you to the brim, a great smile on your lips. You’re not going to stop.

“That’s my good boy, Köni.”

He mumbles incoherently at your words, feeling as if his mind would fully crumble at any moment. You begin riding his still-hard cock and he groans, having not enough time to recover from his orgasm. His cum in you makes the act all the more pleasurable, partially conciliating the ache of the stretch that his big cock brings you. You set a slow pace, agonizingly, as he catches his breath.

He’s putty under your grasp. He can’t think or speak, and you revel at the sight of his pleasure, wanting it engraved in your mind for the rest of time. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each drop of your hips, and he could just about die right this instant.

His hands reach for and knead at your hips, trailing up the sides of your waist as you continue to rock back and forth on his cock. They find your chest and he cups your breasts in his palms, massaging at the flesh through your lace bra; Christ, his hands are huge, and you feel so safe whenever he has them on you, anywhere. Strong, sculpted and veiny, just like the rest of him, earned through the hard work of which he credited each success to the simple existence of yourself. He’d be lost without you, taking care of him, and he’d be deserted without the motivation to make it back to you so he can return the favor in full.

The muscles of your thighs burn greatly as they straddle the sides of his waist, and you couldn’t care less. Your orgasm is building, just as his third one is, and you’re desperate to chase them both. His pelvis works against your clit with every grind of your hips, and you gasp when he suddenly raises his hips for a quick moment, turning into an unconcealed moan straight from your throat as he goes on to babble under you. Your leisurely pace remains intact despite your overwhelming need for more friction.

“Come on, honey, just a little bit more,” you coo, sweet and breathy. “Doin so good for me, you know that?”

He eagerly nods his head against the mattress as the side of his face is pressed against the sheets, the stimulation from both your body and your sweet voice being too much for him to handle. His stomach feels tight, just as yours does, and he can feel himself spiraling into yet another high. He’s moaning with every breath he takes, absolutely unraveling beneath you.

“I’m gonna, mph, scheiße…I’m gonna-,” he pants, fully lost from himself. “...Schätzchen, please, I-I can’t-”

“Shh, baby,” you attempt to calm him, barely able to hold it together yourself as your belly tenses and your thighs stiffen a bit. “Just cum one more time for me, yeah? That’s all I need from you.”

He’s nodding his head again, and straining his neck to do it, for you. He’s breathing fast and shallow, and with just a few more sways of your hips, he’s cumming in your pussy for the second time with a tired groan, more powerful than either of the previous two. His noises spur you on, fast thankyouthankyou’s straight from his heart as you ride him through his high. The coil in your belly finally snaps, and you finish on his cock with a dauntless moan. Your thighs are shaking when you finally come to a stop, hands finding his to squeeze tightly. You’re fighting not to lean forward and just collapse onto him, even though you know he loves you as his personal weighted blanket.

His spent cock and cum still stuffed in your pussy, you feel so full you could almost be sick; an ailment you wouldn’t mind being stuck with. Some of his seed escapes from your cunt, seeping onto his pelvis, and you shiver when the warm liquid grazes your clit. You lean down to kiss him once more. Lovingly, and passionately, easing back from sex and into comfort. You’re tired, and you can’t begin to imagine how exhausted he must be. You pull away with a hum, satisfied with your work and admiring his fucked-out features.

You start to turn to slide off his lap so you can find something to clean him up with, when his heavy palms land on your legs to keep you on top of him. You halt your movements instantly, and give him a curious look. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“Nothing is the matter,” he chuckles, only making you more confused. He reaches for your hands that are at his abdominals and he holds them in his bigger ones, bringing them to his face. He places kisses to each of your knuckles, gentle and warm, and you smile wildly at the gesture. “Can I ask you for one more thing, meine Liebe?”

“Of course, baby,” you say, even though you have no clue what more this man could need other than sleep. You squeeze his hands, “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer you, and instead drops your hands to wrap his own behind your knees. He pulls you forward and onto his stomach, humming when the significantly cooler air around you first makes contact with his used cock, and you as well when you’re struck with the absence of his size. You furrow your brows. “Köni, what are you doing?” you laugh, puzzled and almost nervous.

“I need to return the favor, don’t I?” he quips, sleepiness still apparent in his voice but partially masked with cockiness. He maneuvers his arms under your thighs and pulls you up to sit on his chest, and while you attempt to keep your weight off of him, he simply won’t allow it.

“What you need…is to rest,” you argue, though your actions entirely contradict what you claim. You allow him to adjust your body to his liking, as if you’re weightless and perfectly malleable.

“I cannot care about that when you’re here.” Despite your playful protests, his big arms wrapped around your thighs keep you secured to his chest. “Need to taste you,” he nearly whines, “Will you let me, Schatz?”

You’re reluctant, and your cheeks flare up. You really think he should rest, and you feel guilty for wanting more. But Goddamnit, he’s just so enticing when he begs.

“…Baby.”

“Please?”

Fuck. How could you say no to him?

You hold his eyes prisoner in your gaze for a few seconds, “thinking” before you nod dumbly, and he smiles. He turns his head to plaster lazy kisses all up the inside of your thigh, and then the other, and you’re already struggling to keep still. His soft lips that stay hidden for the majority of his life, on your body, dangerously close to where you needed them, him, the most. He knows he’s teasing you, and he’ll continue to act oblivious to it as long as he can get away with it.

You take his face in your hands, swiping over his eyebrow with your thumb, admiring his beauty and being. Just for existing, being as good as he is all around, and his every feature that came along to work so wonderfully together. How you managed to find each other, a miracle, and you’d never wish a single detail about it to be different, ever.

He soon has you hovering above his mouth, pulling your soaked panties to the side with two fingers and bringing you down with his other hand. His drowsy eyes stay on yours when he sticks his tongue out, hot and rough, and wastes no time in leaving a dragged out stripe along your cunt that had you moaning weakly and shakily. You jolt to try to escape the sudden stimulation, intrusion in your most reactive bits, and his heavy arms around your legs are quick to pull you back down, full weight and all. His eyes are sweet, purely innocent, like he’s not about to ravage you until you’re a shaking mess above him.

He needs this so bad, more than anyone will ever understand. He groans unashamedly as he tastes you for the first time in too long, savoring the flavor of your slick mixed with his cum that spreads so graciously across his palate. He sets a rhythm, pitifully hungry yet still tranquil as can be as he takes his time working through you. Hums and whines spilling from high in his throat, same as you as you watch from above.

His hand finds yours and your fingers interlock to rest on your thigh. He hits a particularly sensitive spot, neglected with his absence, and you squeeze his hand, head thrown backwards to look up at the ceiling. You’re squeezing his hand harder by the second, and it tells him everything he needs to know, how close you’re getting and what you need more and less of. He’s willing to go to any lengths to get you to cum in his mouth, use him to get off, God, please just do it, please.

Your mind is mush and you can’t think to do anything but let him have you, take care of you despite him being the one who should be taken care of because he just deserves it so much.

You’re soon cumming on his tongue as he holds you down onto him so lovingly, having you ride his face through your high. You’re so stimulated as all the breath from your lungs is ripped from your chest, core flexing and the muscles in your thighs hotter than the sloppy, open-mouth kisses he smothered your clit with. Your shoulders are slumped and then straight, and slumped again, and your eyes refuse to stay open with how heavy your head feels.

He moans as more of his cum is eased from your cunt with your own orgasm, licking it up clean like it’s his duty to do so. You taste of all things heaven, and he missed it so fucking bad while he was away, as did you. He’s drunk, and he can’t hold himself back from more and more consumption.

You try to pull away, you really do, but he’s far stronger and manages to keep you stuck to him. The change of pressure when you’re brought back down from when you somehow inch away is intense, sending a shock through your body that tells you, you must stay, no matter how hard it is. The overwhelming sensitivity quickly turns to your source of even more pleasure as his hot tongue works at your pussy, and you already feel the coil in your lower belly stretching to an unimaginable length and tension inside you once more.

He can’t stop. You just taste too good, and he’s full-on whimpering beneath you because helping you get you off is just as good as when you had his cock in your mouth, if not better. He wants to serve you until he drops, though he can’t help but feel like he’s only serving himself with the way he unconditionally wrecks and devours every bit of you with his lips and tongue and getting this much pleasure from it. He wants to die between your legs, and die a happy man he would.

Your grasp on his hand tightens as your third and final orgasm of the night strikes you without much warning, moans broken and muscles aching. You fight to hold yourself up even as you’re fully sat on his face, with his own arms to hold you still. Your legs are trembling around his head and shoulders, and he knows he did you justice, the idea enough to make his skull cave in on itself. Your mind is fully foggy as he guides you down to a calmer state, hands soothing over your thighs and calves.

You want nothing more than to curl up to his side and mess with his hair until you fall asleep, leave the mess for the next day you’ll be spending all with him, not a single other soul. You’re quick to move to sit back on his chest and you’re lucky he gives in, otherwise he’d have you like that above him for another hour. Your breathing is finally beginning to revert back to a somewhat normal rate, and you look down at him with a smile. His eyes are heavily-lidded and deep, and he’s got a great grin on his lips that is surrounded and garnished with the residual slick of yours and his ecstasy.

“God, I love you so much,” you pour out, and tears would be prickling at the corners of your eyes if you weren’t still so starstricken from sex.

He crumbles under your gaze and words, and he would blush if his cheeks weren’t already painted a bright pinkish shade. “I love you.”

You scoot down his body so that you’re laying on him, your head resting on his chest just underneath his chin. He wraps his big arms around your smaller body and embraces you in a hug, majorly one-sided as he squeezes you so unintentionally tight you can barely get your arms to his sides. You giggle against his chest, burying your face into the very man who’s pulling this reaction from you with his inadvertent tickling and teasing.

“You’re everything to me,” he says. He kisses the top of your head, and you finally manage to get your arms around him the best you can. “I don’t know what I would be without you, and I hope to never find out.”

He knows he’s going to wake up insanely sore with a stiff neck, but it’s all going to be alright because he’s finally with you.

#cod mw2 #könig #könig x reader #könig x fem reader #könig x female reader #könig smut #könig mw2 #könig cod

696 notes · View notes

weemssapphic · 6 months

Note

Good evening, my internet-lawfully wedded wife. I would like to request that Hanahaki Phasma story please? 🥺🥺🥺

Hello 💖 Thanks for the request, lovely 🥺 I finally had an idea for how to write this and I am very happy with how it turned out - and nervous as I've never written for Phasma before. I hope you like it, regardless of the angst 🥺 Thank you to @dianneking for beta-ing and helping me with the title, it means a lot 🫶🏼

Forget-me-not

Captain Phasma x f!reader

Summary: Of all the people you could’ve fallen in love with, it had to be Captain Phasma. Could your love for her be your death sentence?

Words: ~3.1k | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: Hanahaki disease trope, angst, no happy ending, mentions of blood + death, character death, briefly nsfw (light smut - minors DNI)

Icy blue eyes stare deeply into your own, pale pink lips are curled up into a devilish, seductive smirk. Phasma’s face is flushed and her pupils are dilated as she watches you come undone above her, bucking your hips against her and coating her abdomen in your arousal as you chase your high.

You’ve had sex with Phasma a handful of times now, which is strange in and of itself. You’ve heard plenty of stories about her since starting with the First Order – stories of one-night stands, lovers being used, abused, and discarded – threatened into silence, fired, even disappearing.

It would be dangerous to assume that you’re special – that you somehow mean more to Phasma than the other women she’s slept with. No one means anything to Phasma, that is one thing she has made abundantly clear. Phasma is the only person who means anything to Phasma. Everyone else is disposable, a means to an end – in this case, the end being her own sexual pleasure.

But then why has she let you into her bed time and time again? At first, she was demanding and dominating, relentless; taking, taking, taking. You cried during your first time with her – you were so overstimulated, yet she wouldn’t let up, and she punished you any time you tried to touch her. After that, you feared you’d be discarded like the rest – but then it happened again. And again. And then, one night, Phasma even allowed you to touch her. Watching the Captain Phasma reach the height of her pleasure on your fingers was something akin to a religious experience – you were ready to worship the woman, to give your soul over to her after hearing her moan and feeling her body shudder against your own. She’d taken her helmet off for the first time that night as well – you were immediately struck by her beauty. The planes of her face had a softness to them that had thrown you off-guard, her eyes – blue, oh so blue, oceans you could drown in – felt hypnotizing as they pierced your own. She’d been reluctant at first, but somehow – somehow – you’d managed to convince her – it must get quite hot and uncomfortable under that helmet after all. After the threat of torture methods that you hadn’t even heard of, ensuring you would never so much as think of telling a soul about seeing the great Captain without her helmet, she’d revealed her face to you.

And now, looking down at that charismatic, captivating smirk through the lustful haze of your fourth orgasm, you know you’ve gone and made the most fatal error you could possibly make.

You’ve fallen in love with Captain Phasma.

~~~

And what a fatal error, indeed.

After your latest rendezvous in Phasma’s quarters, you see her next at training the following morning. The bright fluorescent lights bounce off the chrome of her armor, flawlessly polished – though your mind is rather stuck on what lies underneath. Silken blonde locks, slicked back to emphasize her cheekbones, the curve of her jaw. Long, muscular arms and large, slender hands; rock-hard abs and legs that seem to go on for miles, with thick thighs that you can’t help but picture wrapping around your head. After seeing the fearsome Captain outside of her armor, you fear you can never unsee it – and you’ll always be left wanting, yearning for more.

Perhaps there would be a way to convince her that you’re worth more than a quick fuck – you can’t stop thinking about those strong arms wrapping around your waist in your post-coital haze, fingertips tenderly caressing your bare flesh as soft lips press chaste kisses all over your face. You would look into her eyes – which would fill with affection – and tell her you love her, and she would say it back with a smile on her face.

Cough.

You’re caught by surprise at the sound that bubbles forth from your chest, tickling your throat.

“FN-196, is something the matter?”

Phasma’s voice is cool and collected – dangerous. You shouldn’t have made a peep – but you can’t help it. Another cough tickles the back of your throat and forces its way out – you try to stifle it but that just makes the coughing fit worse.

“N-no-“ cough “I’m sorry-” cough “It w-wo-“ cough “It won’t happen again, Captain.”

You clear your throat awkwardly and straighten your back as Phasma stalks towards you, stopping right in front of you. She’s inches away from your face, though she’s tall enough that you’d have to crane your head back just a bit to look up at her. You don’t – you think she might kill you if you do, so you look straight ahead at your reflection in her armor.

She looks down at you for a moment, her head tilted ever so slightly – you wish you knew what she was thinking. Does she really hold any shred of affection for you, does she favor you at all? Or is she plotting the quickest way to dispose of you?

“One more sound and I’ll have you scrubbing TIE fighters all weekend.”

Merciful.

You nod curtly. “Yes, Captain.” You don’t dare say anything else.

~~~

After your little coughing fit, you briefly worry that you’ve caught a cold. You seem to be in the clear, however – you don’t cough again after that, not for a few days.

But then it happens again, as you’re walking past Phasma in the corridor. One moment you’re fine, the next you look up and see her walking towards you. You come to a halt and step aside to allow her to pass, a sign of respect. She affords you the smallest of nods – an acknowledgement that makes you swoon – and that’s when it happens. You cough, more violently this time, as though your lungs have run out of air and are shriveling up as a result.

Phasma stops in her tracks and turns towards you, staring. Waiting for the coughing to stop. It does, eventually, and you feel your cheeks burn. You know she can’t see it underneath your helmet, but you’re certain she can sense your embarrassment in the way your shoulders droop and your hands begin to fidget as you stutter out an apology.

“Are you ill?”

“N-no, Captain, I don’t think so.” You shuffle from foot to foot – you can feel another coughing fit coming on, and you really don’t want Phasma to be around for that. “Just a tickle, must’ve breathed in some dust.” Right. Through your helmet. As if Phasma would believe that.

She hums, giving you a once over. You squirm.

“Good.”

She turns and starts to walk away. “Come to my quarters tomorrow night.”

Your heart flutters as you watch her round the corner, disappearing from view.

Cough.

~~~

“Mmh, oh- f-fuck,” you mewl, as Phasma’s hips slam into yours at a brutal pace, her dildo disappearing inside of you as she thrusts the entire length into your cunt. A bead of sweat collects at her temple, rolling slowly down her flushed cheek. Her hair sticks to her forehead, falling into her eyes – hungry eyes that devour you as she ravishes you. Her lips are parted to let out quiet grunts, her abs ripple with exertion and her biceps flex as she holds herself above you.

Your eyes roll back in your head as the dildo reaches deep inside of you – your breath quickens and you feel a guttural moan tear from your throat as your orgasm hits you, your walls clenching around Phasma’s cock. She’s relentless – she doesn’t let up, fucking you through your orgasm and even after, as you sink into the mattress and try desperately to regulate your breathing.

Phasma reaches her own peak and tumbles over it, and it’s a glorious sight. Her jaw goes slack and her eyelids fall shut, a broken moan slips past her lips. Her entire body trembles a bit and her hips stutter in their movements. The fact that she can get off by watching you cum is incredibly arousing to you, and it makes you feel special.

She removes the harness and the dildo and tosses it on the floor beside the bed, before lying down next to you – not to cuddle, no, never to cuddle – just to rest for a moment and recover from her orgasm. You turn your head to glance over at her. Her eyes are shut, allowing you to admire her openly. She’s breathing heavily, her cheeks are red, her forehead is sweaty. She looks heavenly, divine even.

You wish she would let you wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close. You wish she would let you feel her lips against your own. You wish she would let you card your fingers through her hair and caress her jaw and tell her how much you love her, and you wish she would say it back. You wish-

Cough.

Oh no. Not again.

Phasma’s eyes shoot open and she looks over at you, raising an eyebrow. You avoid her gaze as your lungs constrict and you cough again, and again. Something tickles your throat – it’s as if something is stuck there. You cough harder – it has to come out. Covering your mouth, you cough again, and feel something soft hit your palm.

A small, blue flower petal. Your eyes widen in horror as you stare at the petal in your hand.

No. No, no, no, no. It can’t be. It can’t-

“What is that?” Phasma asks. Her brows are knit together and she cranes her neck to try and get a look.

“N-nothing” cough “it’s nothing.”

But Phasma isn’t one for playing games. Long, slender fingers curl around your wrist, vice-like in their strength – a snake devouring its prey, and she forces you to show her what you’ve coughed up.

Her upper lip twitches.

A billion micro-expressions cross her face, too quickly for you to place any one of them. When she looks you in the eyes a moment later, her face is devoid of any expression at all.

“It’s time you leave. Don’t be late for training tomorrow.”

You don’t need to be told twice – the hard edge to her voice scares you, so you clamber out of her bed and dress as quickly and as quietly as you can, your cheeks burning as you feel Phasma watching your every move. You hurry to leave, leaving the flower petal nestled among the sheets.

Phasma stares at it as you leave. She knows what it means. She’s no fool – she’s seen the way you look at her, how eager you are to please her – both in work and in sex.

An intense, burning rage fills Phasma - her insides suddenly feel like molten lava, her heart pounds viciously. If you die, Phasma will lose one of her best stormtroopers - and one of her best lovers. And you will die, if it's Phasma you’re in love with.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to love you back. There’s a reason she’s let you warm her bed for so long, after all. You’re skilled with your tongue, certainly, and you look so enticing when you’re being fucked into oblivion. But there’s something else – something Phasma doesn’t quite understand, something she’s never felt before. It’s not love, at least she doesn’t think it is – it’s nothing like how other people describe love, a feeling that Phasma doesn’t ever recall feeling.

But it’s something, and it’s been so long since Phasma has felt anything. Around you, in those brief moments after sex just before she kicks you out of her bed, she feels just a little lighter. Her usual anger is subdued, a dying ember where there’s usually a roaring flame.

It’s not enough, though. She knows this. She knows you know this – you must know this.

You’re a fool – a damned fool – Phasma thinks. Only an idiot would fall in love with her.

~~~

As is to be expected, your illness gets worse. You begin to disrupt training with your coughing – Phasma finds this annoying as is, but what she finds even more annoying is the unfamiliar sense of guilt that gnaws at her stomach, knowing she’s the cause of your… distress.

She dismisses you from training – the others will get suspicious, and your performance is lacking anyway. It’s best if you stay in your quarters.

She goes to check on you one day, in the middle of the night. Briefly, she wonders if she should have come at a more reasonable hour, but then she hears the coughing through your door and she knows you haven’t been able to fall asleep yet anyway.

You answer the door, your eyes bleary and your face pale. There’s blood trickling down your chin and a few small, crushed flower petals cling to the sweaty fabric of your nightgown. And yet, you smile at her. She tilts her head – why are you smiling? You’re a fool – a damned fool.

“It’s progressed then?” she asks. The modulator in her helmet keeps her voice level, and for that she is grateful.

Your eyes fill with sadness but your smile – soft, gentle – never wavers. You nod and open your mouth to speak, but you’re interrupted by another coughing fit, and bloody flower petals spill out of your mouth and onto Phasma’s boots.

Phasma looks down at the stained chrome, then back up at you.

“I-I’m” cough “sorry” wheeze “I-I’ll c-clean it-“

“Leave it.”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks redden, but you don’t dare argue.

Phasma turns her head to the right, then to the left. The corridor is empty. She takes a step towards you, into your quarters, until she’s nearly flush against you. Lifting her hands to her head, she removes her helmet, and cool blue eyes pierce your own. Your smile is back now, and she doesn’t understand – in fact, it makes her a little uncomfortable. A smile like that has rarely been directed at her (even if there is blood dribbling down your chin and your eyes are slightly unfocused) – it takes all her willpower to maintain eye contact.

“You shouldn’t have fallen in love with me.” Her tone is lacking noticeably in bite, though neither of you acknowledge this fact.

“I know.”

Cough.

“You’ll die.”

“I know.”

Wheeze.

Phasma’s lip twitches and her eyes dart between your own. Your smile is steady and true, even as your eyes fill with tears.

Phasma knows what she should say – what anyone else in her position would say. ‘I’m sorry’. Except she can’t say it, because she isn’t. Is she? She’s unsure – she’s never actually felt sorry for anything, not even for betraying her own family. Why should some random woman, a subordinate of hers at that, change that?

She remains silent. She nods curtly. You stifle another cough as you nod back, blinking slowly – it appears as though, somehow, you understand. As though you know that Phasma even bothering to show up in your quarters at all before your body leaves this galaxy is nothing short of a goddamn miracle.

“You d-don’t h-have” cough “to love me b-back. Just d-don’t” cough “for-forget me.”

You chuckle. Phasma doesn’t think it’s funny. She blinks, puts her helmet back on.

“Goodnight, FN-196.”

She doesn’t spare you another glance as she leaves.

~~~

Early one morning, Phasma is called to your quarters – as your superior, if something has happened, she needs to be informed.

And Phasma immediately knows what’s happened. Underneath her helmet, her eyes scan your body – limp, pale, covered in blood and flower petals. Even worse off than the last time she saw you. Usually, such a gory sight stirs up a sort of crazed bloodlust deep within Phasma’s soul, a gleeful sort of giddiness. Only now, when it’s you covered in blood and sweat, unmoving, she feels no such thing.

Her lips curl into a frown – wrong way, wrong way, she should be smiling! She shouldn’t be upset!

Sometimes, when one is confronted with death, they regret. They think of all the things they wished they’d said, they wish for one more moment with the person they care for.

Phasma doesn’t regret. She knows she couldn’t have told you how she feels about you anyway. How does she feel about you? Perhaps, she could have told you that when she’s with you, she feels for the first time. But would that have been enough to save you? No, probably not. And perhaps it’s better this way. It would have gotten messy – Phasma doesn’t mix work and relationships (only casual sex, only ever casual sex, only with people who are disposable). She’s not even sure she was built for a relationship – in fact, she’s certain she wasn’t.

So, no, Phasma doesn’t wish for one more moment with you in which she would profess her undying love (is she capable of such a thing?) and see the bright smile on your face when you realize your affection is returned. But her heart does ache a little – just a little twinge, really, in a very foreign sort of way – and, when she thinks of never feeling your silken skin under her fingertips again, her stomach twists.

The stormtrooper tilts his head. “What should I do with her, Captain?”

Phasma’s gaze never leaves your body, even as she’s addressed directly. What should one do with you? The thought of doing anything at all makes her heart clench.

But she can’t show weakness.

She can’t.

She swallows thickly. Discreetly.

Blinks twice.

Then her face hardens. The stormtrooper can’t see it underneath her helmet anyway, but it’s part of her mask. She has to play the part if she’s going to keep the respect of her troops. Self-preservation has always been vital to her, after all.

“Take her away.”

The stormtrooper shrugs and slings your body over his shoulder, before carrying you out of the room – carelessly, like a doll. Phasma grits her teeth – you should be treated like a precious thing, carried bridal style and showered with kiss- no. What is she thinking? You’re nothing but a corpse now, it hardly matters how your body is treated. Except, for some reason, it matters a lot to Phasma, though she cannot let on to that.

She waits.

She waits until the door closes and the footsteps of the stormtrooper’s boots against the cold metal floor fade.

Her gaze falls to the floor where, amongst a few droplets of blood, a single, tiny, blue forget-me-not petal rests.

A single tear drips down her cheek, catching on the inside of her helmet.

Taglist: @alexusonfire @brienneswife @rosieathena @pro-weems-places @bigolgay @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @katie-bennet @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @michi2504 @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @sequoirius @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69 @Ssappling2004 @fictionalized-lesbian @i-like-reading @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @The_Demon_of_your_Dream @agathaandgwenslesbian @http-sam @Cute-catx @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @zillahofviolets-bayolet @scarlettssub @catechristiestuff @niceminipotato @barbarasstar @women-are-so-ethereal @thevillagegay @willowshadenox @lilfartbox1 @larissaoftarthweems @thesamesweetie @rainbow-hedgehog @daydream-cement @im-a-carnivorous-plant @milfomaniac @gwens0girl

Join my taglist here!

#captain phasma x reader #phasma x reader #captain phasma #phasma #so nervous for this dhfhdjghfdjhgfdj

235 notes · View notes

softestqueeen · 5 months

Text

my little flower pt. 1

pairing: stalker!könig (cod) x reader

summary: You were just minding your business, planting some new flowers in your garden, when suddenly a (charming) man in a mask abducts you to use you for his pleasure. You are incredibly conflicted; the stranger seems to be kinda nice but also incredibly selfish at the same time.

warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! stalking, kidnapping, non-con, rape, soft!König (kinda), soft dom!könig (again kinda), p in v sex, oral (both receiving), pet names, overstimulation, breeding, heavy breeding, cum kink (does that even exist?), cock warming, creampie

wordcount: 2897 words

a/n: This was requested on my ao3, so I hope I’m doing it justice!! I’m also sorry it took me some time to get to it, but it was super fun to write!! I also apologize for all the puns in this fic, there were just too many good opportunities (even though some were kinda cheesy)! And now enjoy <3

Read it here on my ao3!!

It was a beautiful day out and you were enjoying the warm spring sun. You have been waiting for this day all winter long and could now finally enjoy gardening again.

You gathered all your tools again and grabbed the flower seeds you bought last year but couldn’t plant anymore due to the autumn that always came way too fast for your liking. You put on your gardening trousers and slipped on your gardening gloves; your excitement evident in your humming.

You went out into your garden, which was small but couldn’t be more perfect for your yearly projects. You started to dig a few holes into the loosened earth. You went back into the house to get the flower seeds before diving right back into your work.

You were just about to cover the next hole when you suddenly heard a ruffling behind you. You didn’t pay it too much mind though and tried to go back to work. It could have been a cat that mistook your garden for theirs.

But then you heard a voice that seemed a little bit too close for your liking, considering that you lived alone and didn’t expect any company today.

“Out early today, I see little flower.” A shiver ran down your spine. The voice was deep and there was a slight accent evident in it. Was that a German accent?

You were still kneeling on the floor, but still turned around anyways. The man who just talked to you was tall. But not just tall that man was a giant. You had to strain your neck to look at his face, if anybody had been watching the two of you like this, it had to look ridiculous. He must have been around 6”10 at least. He was wearing a tight uniform and a mask which he wore under a helmet. His eyes were a rich and deep green, fitting perfectly to the red stripes that adorned his mask, which was more a dark sheet than a mask.

What was this – admittingly kinda hot – guy doing in your garden? And what did he know about your gardening habits? That was definitely more than a tad scary. But you seemed to regain the control over you body and decided to ask the question that was burning on your tongue.

“Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my garden?” You were pointing your hand shovel at him while saying this. Your tone gave away that you were not amused at all by someone disturbing you during your cherished gardening time.

“Of course, I’m here to get you my little flower.” he answered you before adding “My name is König and I have been watching you since you moved in here. I am your shadow and even though you’ve never seen me, I’ve been here all the time, watching you in your garden, watching you when you’re out with friends or when you are going to work. But now you are going to come with me and from now on I’ll be the only one you’ll see.”

He said that with a certain confidence in his voice that made again a shiver run down your spine. Did he just threaten to abduct you? Why couldn’t this have happened AFTER the summer? You were now not just scared for your life but also annoyed with the stranger in front of you.

You were still quiet – or more speechless, because if you were able to speak you would have definitely said something to defend your honour at least a little bit – so König continued with his little speech.

“I will give you a choice: either you come with me willingly, or I will simply take you with me. Either way, this is going to have the same outcome, so I recommend just going with me.”

Well, that was not as much of a choice as you hoped. You were too stubborn to just submit to this random guy that appeared out of nowhere in your garden, so you just crossed your arms and looked at him like you could kill him with your hard gaze.

“You’re not going to just come with me, are you?”, he asked you rather annoyed, probably having hoped for a little less resistance.

“Who in their right mind would just go with a complete stranger, who just broke into their house and to make it even worse in their garden!”, you were getting louder and louder by the second, hoping this whole situation was just a dream that you would wake up from.

König let out a sigh before pulling out a white cloth and murmuring to himself, wieso muss alles immer so schwer sein?

It all happened in a flash: he knelt down on the floor in front of you and pressed the white cloth against your face, covering your mouth and nose. He put his other hand to the back of your head, keeping you in place while you struggled against him, but to no avail. You knew you had no chance against this almost 7 feet tall monster in front of you, still you tried to fight against him, when suddenly everything went dark.

You awoke on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. Where the fuck where you?! And why did your head hurt? You were just in your garde- Oh. Jep, this was unfortunately not a dream. Definitely not a dream.

You tried to get a good look at your surroundings. The room was quite large and looked actually kinda nice. There was of course the bed that you were still laying on, a bedside table, what seems to be some kind of make up vanity, a chair, a large bookshelf and most importantly two doors. You assumed one led to a bathroom and the other one to the hallway.

The good sign was, that there were windows. Curtains were currently covering them, but they were there, which meant that you were not locked up in some weird basement or an old attic.

You were still trying to gain all your senses back when you suddenly heard footsteps outside of the door. You didn’t have enough time to lay back down before you could hear a key turning and the door opening.

“I see, my little violet has blossomed. How are you feeling? You’ve been out longer than I expected.”, he seemed to almost regret drugging you, but his face was still covered, so you couldn’t really tell if he was sincere or if it was all a trick.

“Well, how would you feel if someone drugged and kidnapped you?”, you shot back, now irritated again. Even though you couldn’t see it, König’s brows furrowed at your snarky remark. He though you liked him back.

But it didn’t matter, he was going to make you his and you will want it. He would do anything for you.

He took a step towards you, and you slid higher up the bed. You were still feeling a little bit woozy from the drugs, so the sudden movement made you a bit dizzy.

“Please don’t hurt me.”, you managed to whimper out.

“Don’t worry, my little flower. I’m going to take good care of you from now on.”, he promised you, even though to you it sounded more like a threat. He took another step towards the bed, but you were already up against the headboard, so you could do nothing but squirm under his intense gaze that held so many promises.

“If you keep on squirming like that, I’ll have to tie you down, flower.”, he threatened you again. You were scared shitless. You couldn’t have defended yourself even if you weren’t drugged right now. You wondered for a brief moment if maybe he had hoped that he could drug you so he could do to you whatever he wanted. Your blood froze as you suddenly became aware of the fact that you were only wearing a pair of white panties.

But you didn’t even own any, so he did not just undress you, but put on clothes he had prepared for you. You were feeling sick to your stomach and only snapped out of it when you felt a gloved hand against your ankle. He was sitting on the foot of the bed and had apparently noticed that you zoned out, though he remained quiet.

You just realized that you were at this man’s complete mercy. In this moment he could do anything to you, and you could not protest.

He took off his helmet and pulled down the mask that was still keeping his face from you. You hated yourself for admitting this, but he was handsome. His face was all sharp angles and beautiful features. Plump lips, high cheekbones, prominent jaw and still the same piercing green eyes that mustered you.

He threw his discarded helmet and mask carelessly to the side before he started to kiss up your legs.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, my perfect violet.”, he said in between kisses and the first tear rolled down your face. He kissed up both of your legs before he also kissed over your torso and arms. He hasn’t been too close to your face yet thank God.

He locked eyes with you as he pulled down your panties, the hunger evident in his eyes. he broke eye contact to look at your now exposed cunt. He also threw away your panties, leaving you completely naked. Your limbs lay there limp, too heavy to move. You had resigned to your fate and would just let him do what he had to before he hopefully would mercifully let you go.

He was still staring at your exposed cunt like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He leaned down and planted kisses on the top of your thighs, your hips, and loins. You could do nothing but lay there and let him use you.

“I’m going to pump that pussy full until my seed takes root in your womb and a child will sprout within you. Then you will have to stay with me forever. I can’t wait, little flower.”, he almost said it to himself before he dived in and started planting open mouthed kisses on your pussy. He seemed to have all the time in the world, as he played with you. He let his tongue glide between your folds and circled your clit. He kept a steady rhythm and – even though you hated to admit it – you were coming closer to your release.

You didn’t have any control over you body anymore and came with a drawn-out moan. König didn’t let up his torture though and just kept on playing with your pussy long after your orgasm had subsided. He seemed to quite enjoy himself, as you could feel him smiling against you. Silent moans and whimpers were falling from your lips, and you involuntarily moved your hips against him when you felt him insert a finger into your tight cunt. The intrusion brought you embarrassingly close again, and it didn’t take long for the next orgasm to roll over you.

You don’t know how many more orgasm he gave you, because everything was kind of blurry and was so overwhelming. You did notice however when he pulled away, planting a last kiss on your sensitive and overstimulated clit. König stood up again and was now standing next to the bed, your gaze following his every move.

He unzipped his trousers and took out his flushed and rock-hard cock that was definitely to big to fit into any of your holes. The man gripped the base of his cock before slowly pumping it a few times. He let go of it to grab your hand and pull you to him with ease, your body still limp. He placed your head on the edge of the bed, so it was hanging off it, while your body stayed on the bed.

“Open up, little flower. Let me fuck that pretty mouth, huh? Don’t you think I deserve a little treat after treating you so well.”, he cooed before inserting his thumb between your lips, as to pry open your mouth. You were feeling like a puddle of slime and couldn’t have resisted anyways.

König inserted his leaking cock into your mouth and slowly entered you until you swallowed his cock completely. You could feel his pelvis against your nose and his cock down your throat. If you weren’t so numb, you would have definitely gagged. You head was still tilted, so König had a perfect view of the bulge that his dick was causing.

He pulled out almost completely before slamming back into you. He didn’t give you any time to adjust to his size or the feeling of him intruding in your mouth. He started to fuck your mouth in earnest, growling and groaning above you. You pressed your eyes closed, hoping the moment would just end.

Your chest and face were flushed, now not just from the uncomfortable situation but also from the shame that you were feeling, because it didn’t feel completely bad to know that you were the cause of his pleasure, even though you didn’t have do anything. He ate you out until your limbs turned to putty and now used your mouth and throat like they had seriously wronged him.

Suddenly there was a shift, and he didn’t just groan but also praise you. Telling you how good your mouth felt and how well you were doing, making something weird bloom in your chest. The situation wasn’t as bad as anticipated, even though you still wished you were never born.

König increased his speed before pulling out and painting your face, breasts, chest and stomach with his hot white cum. You were finally able to properly breath again, the heaviness on your chest now lightly lifting again.

You licked your lips, involuntarily tasting his surprisingly sweet cum. You were still upside down with your head, thus feeling a little nit light handed. He gripped your waist with one of his beefy hands and threw you back on the bed like you were a rag doll and weighed nothing.

He crawled on top of your sprawled out body before he whispered into your ear “It would be a shame to let all that cum go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

He leaned back and started to collect his cum with one of his thick fingers, before he pushed his cum into your sensitive pussy. He kept on doing it until you hit yet another high before he decided he played enough with you.

“I made a promise to you, my beautiful rose, and I’m a man who stays true to his word”, he unfortunately remined you. He was still fully dressed in his unform, only his helmet and mask were missing, and his cock was standing erect against his clothed stomach again.

He got on his knees between your spread legs, using one of his hands to keep your shaking legs open and the other one to guide his aching cock to your tight hole. He guided himself to your cunt and started to ease himself into you with slow thrusts, completely unlike his earlier assault on your throat.

Once he was settled inside of you it felt like he was splitting you open. He gave you a few seconds to adjust before he started to thrust in and out of you. He was unable to hold his rhythm though, and started to go faster again, a string of sorrysorrysorry leaving his lips.

“You just feel so good.”, he almost moaned out while he again increased his speed, now slamming into you like there’s no tomorrow. König could feel you squeezing him, your next orgasm already fast approaching.

“Cum on my cock, little flower, cum on daddy’s cock.”, he commanded, and your body obliged, a bone crushing orgasm washing over you. But König was not yet finished with you.

He pulled out of you, flipped you around with ease so your ass was sticking out while your face was pressed into one of the pillows. You would have collapsed if he didn’t have a bruising grip on your hips.

He slipped his fat cock inside of you again and started to chase his release. He fucked you like you were a doll, there just for his pleasure and you had a sneaky feeling that that was exactly what you were from now on. He fucked you like he hated you and when you felt his dick twitch inside of you, the both of you came simultaneously.

You clamped down on his cock, making it hard for him to move. He stilled inside of you while he filled you with ropes of his creamy cum, collapsing on top of you and covering you with his large body. You could feel his heavy breathing next to your ear becoming calmer, before you noticed that he had fallen asleep, his cock still nestled inside of you and his weight on top of you.

The last thought you had before passing out from exhaustion, was that this was your life from now on.

And you weren’t sure if that was the best or worst thing that had ever happened to you.

a/n: I hope you enjoyed this! If so, please leave some notes, likes, reblogs, comments and feedback is also very much appreciated! I am currently working on a part 2, so stay tunes! You can also request things here and on my ao3!

Here you can read part 2!

taglist: @silvermagnolias @milywatermelon @BigBananaa

#call of duty #cod #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #könig x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #konig x reader #könig mw2 #cod mw2 #ao3 #no y/n #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #female reader #afab reader #stalking #tw stalking

346 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 7 months

Note

Oh last one I swear. But nobody seems to write any Peter fics where the reader is an artist/art student and I just always saw the concept as rlly cute. Like science student and art student do you see where I’m going with this 😋 anyways. Just brainrot. Idk if this counts as a request lmao

-🍁/🍂 (iforgot what emoji I use)

Hi again, haha! I didn't set out to answer both your asks in one day, but I already had this one ready to go, so. I know you didn't necessarily request it, but I decided to write a little blurb anyway, hope you like it! (And it's the first emoji, but I'll know it's you either way :))

Peter Parker x artist!reader ♡ 598 words

Peter used to get an odd sort of pride from thinking he was always the last one on campus, messing around in the lab until the early hours of the morning. But then he’d met you, and you’d totally dethroned him.

There’s bright light coming from inside one of the art studios when Peter passes by, and he detours, heading for it. He’s a mutant that can run on an average four hours of sleep and his eyes are aching, so he can’t imagine how exhausted you must be. But if he didn’t interfere, he wonders if you’d go home at all.

When he enters the studio, he has to close his eyes against the sparks jumping off your project.

“Sweetheart?”

The light behind his eyelids fades, and he opens them to see you lifting your welder’s helmet, setting your torch down on the table beside you.

“Peter, hey.” You blink as though coming out of a fog. “Are you already done for the night?”

He smiles at you, moving closer to admire your sculpture. It doesn’t look quite halfway done, but to Peter’s crude eye, it seems like it’s coming along beautifully. You’d shown him your sketch before you’d started, it’s going to be massive and elaborate by the time you’re done. But you won’t be finishing tonight.

“It’s nearly four, baby. Time to pack up.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait, seriously?” He nods, and you purse your lips, displeased with the passage of time. “Okay, you go ahead. I’m going to get to a good stopping point, and I’ll meet you at home.”

It sounds reasonable, but Peter knows you better.

“You can get back to it tomorrow,” he says, slipping your helmet off for you and placing it carefully beside your torch. “Don’t you think it’ll come out even better if you’re well-rested while you work? I don’t want my girl getting in a blowtorch accident.”

“I’m not that tired,” you argue, but your blinks are slow, almost dazed, and Peter suspects that if he put a pillow under your head right now, you’d pass out in a hot second. “And I’m too good to burn myself.”

Peter grins. “That’s true,” he agrees, moving behind you to untie your apron. You let him slip it over your head. “It’s looking really great, by the way.” He undoes in the tight bun in the back of your head, knowing your scalp has to be sore. “Did you make any changes from your original idea?”

“A couple.” You lean into Peter’s fingers as he massages the back of your head lightly, shaking your hair out at the roots. “Sometimes it just goes where it wants to go, you know?”

“I don’t,” he says, taking your hand to lead you out of the room, “but I believe you.”

You chuckle. It turns into a yawn halfway through. “Right, sorry. What’d you do today, bug boy?”

Peter hangs your apron on the hook by the door, closing it behind you. You’re all but leaning into him, further proof that you’re more drowsy than you’re letting on. “You know, bug things.”

“Come on.” You bump your hip into his lightly, and your voice is by no means loud, but it creates a soft echo in the dark, empty building. “You got to see my project, tell me about yours.”

Peter shrugs. “I was just messing around with environmental nanotoxicology.”

Your laugh rings out, surprised and joyous, in the silent hallway. “I have no idea what that means,” you say, pulling him closer to you by his hand. “Tell me about it?”

#tasm peter parker #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x self insert #tasm!peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker fanfic #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter parker drabble #tasm!peter parker scenario #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker oneshot #tasm!peter oneshot #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!spiderman x reader

230 notes · View notes

diazsdimples · 15 hours

Note

bucktommy + "To be fair, that wasn't the stupidest thing I could've done"

"To be fair, that wasn't the stupidest thing I could've done," Buck pants as he leans against the cool, brick wall. He pulls off his helmet and runs his fingers through his hair, knowing he's likely smeared soot all over his face. The building is still smouldering behind them, but Eddie and Ravi both have the hoses directed towards the flames. It's under control. Tommy looks like he could explode. His boyfriend is usually very calm and level headed, perfect traits for a first responder, but right now he looks set to rip Buck's head off. "Wasn't the stupidest - you could have - Evan, are you fucking kidding me?" Eddie and Ravi's heads turn towards the outburst and Buck winces, not wanting their first proper fight as a couple to be on full display for all their coworkers to witness. He grabs Tommy's arm and pulls him around the side of the building, away from any flapping ears. "Tommy, it's okay, I'm fine. She's fine. We're fine," he reassures Tommy as he reaches into the pocket of his turnout and pulls out the reason behind his sudden expedition into a burning building without a second's thought. The kitten is tiny in his hands, her fur rumpled and soot smudges over the beautiful, white coat. When the little girl he and Tommy had pulled from the building had said her kitten was still stuck inside the inferno, Buck hadn't hesitated before sprinting back into the building, not even with Bobby, Tommy and Eddie all yelling at him. He just hadn't anticipated Tommy to follow him back in. "Yeah but you could have been not fine! I agreed to help this shift as a favour to Bobby, not so I could get a front row seat to my boyfriend burning alive!" Buck swallows thickly and transfers the kitten into one hand so he can reach out to cup Tommy's face with the other. Tommy doesn't meet his eye, instead looking resolutely behind Buck. His jaw ticks as Buck strokes along his cheekbone with his thumb. "Tommy, I-I'm not going to burn alive. I was just gonna get her and come right back," he explains. Tommy's got to understand, right? Buck's a professional, he'd never do anything to put himself in any real danger. If he thought he couldn't get to the kitten before the building collapsed or got too hot then he would never have set foot in it. Tommy finally meets Buck's eyes then, and Buck is alarmed to see that his eyes are swimming behind a film of tears. Fuck, he's really fucked up here hasn't he? "Tommy, I-" "I can't lose you, Evan," Tommy cuts in, circling a hand around Buck's wrist and lowering his hand from Tommy's jaw. "Not like that." Buck swallows again, and he must tighten his grip on the kitten because she lets out a pitiful meow, her tiny tongue rasping against his glove as she licks at him. "I'm sorry," he whispers, hanging his head as the gravity of the situation washes over him. Tommy thought he was going to lose Buck. Tommy thought Buck was going to die. "I didn't mean to scare you." Tommy curls his fingers under Buck's chin and lifts his head, forcing eye contact. "I know you didn't, I just - baby, you mean so much to me," Tommy says, his voice raw and choked with emotion as he searches Buck's face, his eyes drinking in every inch of Buck as if he's worried it's the last time he'll be able to see him again. "Please, please don't ever do that again." "I won't, Tommy, I swear I won't," Buck promises, and he leans forwards to kiss Tommy softly. Tommy responds instantly, wrapping his arm around Buck's waist and pulling him close. Their lips move in tandem with one another, Tommy running his tongue along the seam of Buck's lips until he opens, and Buck licking back in apology. "Hey," Buck says as they pull away, resting their foreheads together. "I love you." Tommy huffs out a small laugh and kisses Buck again, lighter this time but no less emotionally charged. "I love you too."

Send me a ship and a sentence and I'll finish it!

(once again tagging @theotherbuckley)

#james answers things #james writes #this could have gone many different ways #but I chose Feels #bucktommy #bucktommy ficlet #911 abc #evan buckley #tommy kinard #tevan #kinkley #tommybuck #buck x tommy #tuck #911 ficlet

101 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 7 months

Note

NOOOO NOT KONIG AS A SPARTAN/GREEK WARRIOR I CANNOT HAVE THAT IMAGE IN MY BRAIN I STILL NEED TO FUNCTION ON THE DAILY DAMNIT😭😭😭

I am a sucker for the warrior claims his spoils of war trope, the whole achilles/briseis from the troy movie vibes💕😫👌🏻 but with a twist 👀

König, the infamous Germanic warrior and beast of a man who has a unique station as commander in the troops of the romans (or something??? lmao don’t @me my brain rot is not historically accurate) because he possesses the perfect balanced mixture of inhuman strength and a cunning strategic mind. Hacking and slashing his way through battle after battle, some call him Ares, the God of War, because they’re convinced that whatever must be under that helmet and hood can’t be an actual human being. He seems to be living and breathing for war and the shedding of blood. That is until during one of his battles he finds himself in the raided temple of Artemis, face to face with a temple maiden who isn’t raped and pillaged by his men. Whether it’s a curse or a blessing from the Gods, he doesn’t know but he falls, and he falls hard for her. Blood is pumping to his heart, which is about to beat its way through his chest, and racing down to his dick which is even harder than after a successful battle. “An Engel” he mutters to himself, and that’s the first time the God of War takes a spoil of war, his very own temple maiden who from now on will only worship him and him alone.

König would be such a hot Spartan warrior/Greek demigod but PLEASE, you have to listen and listen carefully because… König could easily be a prominent figure in the Roman army! They had auxiliary units, Romans used “foreign” warriors all the time, Gauls and German/ic people and whatever, that’s the whole idea behind their expansion idea: to fatten their army with new recruits to push their campaigns and get more slaves to support their crazy economy etc etc

So König could be situated in say for example Germania Superior/Inferior, Raetia or Noricum auxiliary unit, I don’t know what Romans called Austria back then and if they had a separate aux. unit for them, I need to do some googling, if someone knows more about this please correct me! But *grabs you by your bra straps or shirt or whatever* you need to listen, Romans didn’t send their Auxilia to the troops’ native lands which means König would not be posted in Germania/whatever Austria was called BUT he could fight in basically any other area, and get his captive girl from some other bloody sexy violent awesome campaign!!! (Lol why am I so into this idea of him capturing some poor girl into his tent and having his way with her… I’m sorry I need to straighten my skirt and sit pretty with my knees pressed tightly together, nothing to see here, just sippin’ my tea)

No but srsly, NO, now I have to write this. Brb ->

#answered #gonna write the shit out of this au

186 notes · View notes

galacticgraffiti · 3 months

Text

☽⋆The Night Comes Down Like Heaven⋆☾

All credit for this beautiful artwork goes to @pinkiemme! If you don't already know and love her, go check out her stuff, and whether you do or don't already follow her, leave some love for her! She deserves all of it.

Summary: Sometimes, everything gets to be too much, even for Rex. On a planet of blood flowers, where else could he turn but to the night sky? Rating: General Wordcount: 2.2k Warnings: Angst, Self-Doubt, Rex has a panic attack, Rex doubts his self-worth and personhood, hurt that turns to comfort eventually, brotherhood between soldiers.

A/N: I know I've been pretty absent from the Star Wars fandom, and unlike most of my other fics this is not OC content nor a reader insert. This fic is a gift for and a collaboration with @pinkiemme, who is a wonderful friend and so beloved to me. Every day you inspire me, my love. Thank you for asking me to collab, I had the best time! ❣

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

The Night Comes Down Like Heaven

Rex’s heart is beating way too fast. He knows that, his hands shaking and his breath too hot inside his bucket. But nothing helps, nothing calms him. Nothing can take away this feeling of being outside of his own body, and simultaneously being trapped inside himself.

Rex tries to breathe, but the weight on his chest just won’t let him; he is being dragged under, voices fading into the background when he should be focusing on them and not the abnormally loud rush of his own blood in his head.

Campaigns like this are always hard, the ones where he has to be away from base for a long time. Not that he ever had any place to truly call home - not even Kamino, even though that might have been the closest he ever came.

But campaigns like this are still harder, being deployed for months at a time without a break, no time to truly rest, no time where he ever gets to feel safe.

Rex tells himself that he should be able to bear it, that he was designed for this, made for this.

It doesn't help: his heart still races and his hands still shake. The weight on his chest gets heavier, and the ringing in his ears unbearable.

Rex leans forward, clinging to the table where the Generals have set up a projection of the upcoming battle to talk it through. His knuckles must be white underneath his gloves from the force it takes him to stay upright, and General Skywalker’s concerned enquiry is just an indistinguishable mumble.

Rex feels like he might pass out just then, dark spots swimming in his vision as he desperately gasps for air beneath his bucket but his lungs just won’t fill.

“Excuse me,” he mumbles, abruptly leaving the war meeting. He knows General Skywalker is staring after him, he knows General Kenobi and Cody are looking at each other with furrowed brows. But if he stays here even one second longer, Rex knows he is going to scream and scream and never stop again until a blaster finally gets him.

It’s a miracle he is still alive, after all this. By all accounts, he should be dead a hundred times over. So many enemies, and they just keep coming. It never stops, never slows, not even when Rex feels like he could just… crumble to the ground if it only meant he got to rest.

So many vode have been lost. Too many, even though they were bred for this, made for this, engineered for this. They are not real - were never real - just like Rex is not real. Not a real man, not even a real soldier. Just a clone, one of millions, all of them with the purpose to die, and do it slowly, to keep the Republic on its last legs a little while longer.

Rex bites down on his lip until he tastes blood, feet carrying him away from the light, from the chatter, from company and everything else. Just… away. He walks fast until he reaches the edge of their encampment, and only then does he let his legs speed up, running and running, almost in full gear, helmet fogging up, but he can't get his feet to stop.

The Republic is dying, and Rex is dying either for it or with it. There is no other way. That is all there is for him, because that is all he was made for, and that thought tastes so bitter he gags.

Treasonous thoughts, these are. Thoughts he would be court-martialed for if he ever spoke them aloud, even if he has heard rumblings in the barracks that have never been reported. The vode are loyal, even more to each other than to the Republic they were made for. But all it takes is one weak link.

The threat of reprogramming looms over them eternally: a fate worse than death, where nothing is left of the old soldier as a new one is made from his flesh, no more than a blank slate.

They are all expendable, Rex has no illusions about that. No matter how soft General Skywalker's eyes go when he looks at him, no matter the way General Tano bumps-

Rex stumbles, nearly dropping to his knees. He has not been watching where he’s going, just walking, running, sprinting - escaping the endless rows of tents. Fleeing with no rhyme or reason, his heart too heavy in his chest as his feet thunder on the ground.

When he looks around, there is nothing as far as Rex’s eyes can see, not a soul, not a building. Just meadows and rolling hills, and the deep night sky.

This planet could almost be beautiful if the flowers did not only bloom after blood had soaked the ground.

Rex double checks his surroundings with a heartbeat so fast his chest wants to break apart, but there is nothing and no one. He is really and truly alone, for the first time in weeks. Probably months. Maybe years- maybe ever.

That realisation hits Rex like a speeder train. Everything is too much: his body is not his own and he wants to shed it in this moment. He wants to cease existing in this way, and that is treasonous when it should be natural.

Rex lets himself drop to his knees, lets himself rip off his gloves and bury his fingers in the deep grass that surrounds him. And he lets himself scream. Scream into the void and the vast emptiness of the universe. Scream until his lungs give out, silent tears running down his cheeks and soaking the cushions of his buy’ce.

In the vastness of this universe, Rex is nothing. Not just nobody, but truly and entirely nothing. He is lost and without purpose, because his whole life means nothing in the grand scheme of things.

An old Mandalorian saying pushes through the heavy fog of anxiety that has settled on his thoughts, so pragmatic it nearly makes him laugh.

Ca’tra darasuum rohaka verd’an.

The eternal night sky defeats all warriors.

Rex almost tips over with the laughter that bubbles up in his chest. It falls off his lips like bitter pearls, but he cannot seem to swallow it down, and he can't breathe like this but it doesn't matter.

He can tell he is becoming hysterical, hiccups shaking him between laughter and tears, but he just can’t stop. Rex lets himself fall, and he lets himself feel. All of the emotions he has been pushing away, everything that has happened, all the little cracks in his armour, slowly eating through the Republic-issued plastoid until Rex just… falls apart. His cuirass is laying in the war tent with his General, Rex’s brittle heart exposed in the middle of a war zone.

And still, it’s not a shot from an enemy that brings him to his knees, it is the vastness of space looming above him, it is the hundreds of lightyears that lay between him and his fallen vode and it is the memory of Ahsoka’s small hand on his arm when they first met.

His protection is already frail, and there is nothing to be done about it. He is all alone, and without cover, with no back up and no weapon. And for once, Rex allows himself not to think about it as he takes off his buy’ce to look at the sky with his own eyes. The eyes of the man that he was made from, that are somehow still Rex’s own, made so by the things he has witnessed, by the bloodshed he has caused and the battles he has fought. Made so by the love he has been part of, and by the family he has found, most of them sharing those same brown eyes.

Rex lays back in the grass and stares at ca’tra darasuum, and he lets himself remember. The stars swim before his eyes as this blood-soaked planet slowly turns and turns, making its way around the centre of its universe. Rex lays between flowers born from the blood and the sweat and the pain of his brothers, and he feels so much that he thinks he will burst. Time passes like honey, and the sky is still dark when he is finally found.

Cody is like the sunrise, advancing slowly and then all at once, bathing Rex in his golden light even in darkness.

“Thought you couldn’t be far,” he mumbles as he crouches down next to Rex. “Guess I was wrong. Took me fuckin’ ages to find you, vod’ika.”

“This world is big,” Rex simply replies, with a voice rough from tears. “This world is so big, Kote. If we survive this, it won’t even make a difference. I look at the stars and all I see is cold indifference in the face of suffering and death.”

Cody cocks his head, and even through his dark visor, Rex can feel his brother's eyes on him. The sound of Cody’s voice is filtered through his helmet.

“Ca’tra darasuum rohaka verd’an.”

Rex laughs at that, a dry, humourless laugh. Nobody else knows what he is thinking the way Cody always does. Two generations of brothers, sometimes closer even than those from the same batch ever are.

“You know me too well.”

Cody scoffs.

“No such thing. Not when it comes to family.” He offers his hand to Rex. “Come on, vod’ika. You have been out here by yourself for too long already.”

“Nayc.” Rex shakes his hand. “Shebe ti’ni. Please. Just for a moment.”

Cody sighs deeply.

“I forget how young you can be sometimes.”

But he stays. He sits with his brother, in spite of everything, In spite of the war, the death, the pain that surrounds them every day and every night. Rex lays back again, while Cody keeps watch.

“The galaxy is so vast,” Rex says again, but this time, his voice is coloured not by sadness nor fear, but instead by awe. “Kote, if we get out of here alive… maybe we can be someone. Become someone. You know… the end of the war-”

“We don’t speak of the end of the war,” Cody interrupts him. “Cuyi verde, vod. Don’t fuck with me, you know this. We all know this. It's the truth that guides our path.”

Rex exhales. His breath forms little clouds in the cool night air, and something almost akin to peace washes over him. This is it. This is tangible proof that he is here, and he is real. Just like the grass beneath him, flattened by his weight. Just like the earth below, warmed by his body heat. Proof for his existence. He inhabits this galaxy.

“I have never asked for anything,” he says, and that makes Cody shut his mouth with an audible click. Rex smiles, sadness and fragile joy mixing on his features that are so much like Cody’s, but no matter how hard the Kaminoans have tried, have never been exactly the same. “I have never asked for anything, Kote. I have never had anything of my own, and I have been alright with that. But I’m asking you now. Let me have this moment, just a moment of peace and quiet. I am falling apart. Let me glue my pieces back together so I can hold on a little longer. Nakar’tuur mhi oyacyi akaanir ashi’tuur, isn’t that how the song goes?”

Cody goes very quiet and very still next to him. He does not respond, but when he takes off his bucket and sets it down next to Rex’s, Rex knows he has won.

“Look at the constellations with me, Kote,” he says, and in this moment, he is seven years old, tugging at Cody’s shirt sleeve and dragging him to the big skylight at Kamino, the one that never sees daylight in the eternal rain, on the one night of his life he can remember where no rain fell on Kamino. “Ta’raysholan verda, vod. They came before us, but we will outlive them. Let me dream of the end of our war before we die. Please.”

Cody smiles his crooked little Cody smile, the one that looks exactly like it did when they were children.

“War?” he says, and settles down on his back with his hands tucked behind his head, mirroring his little brother. “What war?”

Rex’s cheeks hurt from the smile that splits his face, and he lets himself bask in this moment of happiness. They are alive. They are here. He raises his hand to point out the first constellation they learned, way back when. Even though it looks all wrong, he would recognise it anywhere. Kamino seems a million lightyears away, and maybe it is. But the night sky still seems the same to him.

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Mando’a

vode - brothers buy’ce - helmet Ca’tra darasuum rohaka verd’an. - The eternal night sky defeats all warriors. vod’ika - little brother Nayc. Shebe ti’ni. - No. Sit with me. Kote - Glory (my own personal headcanon where the name ‘Cody’ comes from) Cuyi verde, vod. - We are soldiers, brother. Nakar’tuur mhi oyacyi akaanir ashi’tuur - Tomorrow, we live to fight another day. (Taken from my Mando’a lullaby) Ta’raysholan verda - A thousand warriors (also taken from that same lullaby - fuelled by the belief that dead soldiers become stars to watch over their fighting siblings).

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Taggies for the beloveds and a huge shoutout for @baba-fett, my eternal wonderful beta-reader who messaged me back within 2 seconds when i dropped the words 'rex angst' on her doorstep.

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @daimyosprincess @deewithani @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ulchabhangorm @sleepingsun501 @queen--kenobi @kik51199 @samspenandsword @ficsbynight @writingbylee @thefact0rygirl @wild-karrde @hayley-the-comet @rescuethewretched @equalityforcats @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker @mandoloriancookie @felinaone @rosieofcorona @savagemickey03 @amyroswell @supercalifragilisticprincess @palpipeen @idkwhatsgoingonwithme @dudewhynotthis @kimiheartblade

#tcw #tcw fanfic #rex #captain rex #ct-7567 #neyo writes #neyo collabs #star wars #tw angst

79 notes · View notes

film-in-my-soul · 8 months

Note

Can we please get an IceMav fix it ficlet? Thank you ❤️

You've got it darling ❤️

.⋆｡°✩ Of course there would be someone to mourn Maverick if he burned in, and he's waiting on the carrier for him to come home. ✩°｡⋆.

It serves Maverick right, he thinks to himself, that the adrenaline would start to wear off immediately when Hangman drops out of the smoking, smoldering, falling wreckage of the fifth-gen he'd shot out of the sky. There's the telltale decline of buzzing energy under his skin, and almost ironically, it brings with it a hand tremor and swooping in his gut that he fights down, has to fight down, when they turn around for the carrier, and he and Rooster lose an engine. Knowing they could have lost a whole goddamn wing, Maverick doesn't voice his frustration, only shrugs, gets his grip as steady as he can on the stick trying to jerk wildly between his knees, and quips to quell Rooster's growing distress. They've come so far. To fail now is unthinkable, and if Maverick has to point the nose of his bird right into the tarmac just to make it happen, well, he's not the one who has to deal with the sparks that shoot up from their lack of landing gear.

He does have to deal with the whiplash and his helmet smacking against the screaming controls, though.

It's over quick, at least, and Maverick can fight through his swimming vision and pulsing skull easily when the canopy hisses open, and the sound of high-spirited cheering and thunderous applause greets him like a hero's welcome. He hops from the wing of the F-14 and lands with legs that threaten to fall out from under him. His knees are weak, and there's a painful lurch at the base of his spine. It's at least a slight nod to his age, but mostly, Maverick thinks it has to do with a forced eject at Mach 10 and taking a missile to his tail in the middle of a dogfight. That's the excuse he'll cling to when he's chewed out within an inch of his life by the medical staff if he even makes it there before he's ripped a new one.

Between Rooster rounding on him, hugging him tight like he did years ago, when Maverick felt he was at least half deserving of it, and the sweeping relief, he's not sure it'll happen. That, and there's an unmistakable presence making its way toward him, crewmen parting with hasty salutes to create a tunnel from the observation deck gangway right to where Maverick is stood, swaying like the ocean around them must be.

Either a silence is falling the closer Ice gets to him, or Maverick's losing his hearing. It could be both if he's being honest with himself; there's already an edge of black to his vision that he's soldiering through. If he passes out now, it's not just the man coming to a stop a foot away that'll have his balls but the whole damn Navy. And while there might be a debate on the ownership of them already, Maverick's not looking for a reminder, not while he's coming off a victory that, for all he'd fronted, shouldn't have happened, not without a casualty.

"Captain," Ice says, voice rough, something sharp in his red-rimmed eyes.

"Admiral Kazansky," Maverick nods, not bothering to salute. He'd won that bet in the late 2000s, and he honestly thinks if he tried being cute about it, Ice might punch him for the trouble.

There's a moment, a stalemate, and then Ice rolls his eyes and reaches forward, dragging Maverick in by a shoulder. For as firm as his grip is, he doesn't let Maverick slam into his chest or hold him too tightly. He's probably already looked at his pre-mission physical and found Maverick lacking the constitution for it. Maverick doesn't fight it, even going so far as to press into Ice's chest, throwing rank to the fucking wind for just this moment.

He feels hot air against his ear and tries not to slump fully into the other man's embrace like he might in a more private setting.

"When you see yourself to medical and are cleared, you are going to march yourself to my quarters, and I am going to remind you about those little things called vows, Pete."

Maverick hums, risks the quickest, lightest kiss to Ice's throat above the collar of his uniform, and whispers back, "Promise?"

It almost makes the incessant twinge in his back and definite concussion worth it.

Ficlet Bingo!

#icemav #top gun ficlet #ficlet #blog game

204 notes · View notes

octuscle · 27 days

Note

I know you 'produce' a lot of athletes in soccer, football and so on but I'd like to become an ice hockey star - maybe I can replace an actual player and you find another solution for him? I'm open for your suggestions but nice abs are a must 😉

Monday morning. 08:30. Start of duty at the call center. The phones are ringing off the hook. It's going to be another great week, you can feel it. There's still slush on the streets of Berlin outside. Somehow spring is not coming at all this year. After the third caller who berates you for things you can't do anything about, you're already fed up. You greet the fourth caller with a friendly "Grützi". Shit, where does your Swiss accent come from… You're actually from northern Germany… Nonsense! Bern is not in northern Germany. You are proudly Swiss. The other colleagues here have always made fun of your accent…

Thank God you survived this morning. During your lunch break, you go for a run through the park. Your body needs exercise, otherwise you'll get cranky. This morning it was still bloody cold outside in Nashville. But the temperature is rising rapidly. In the early afternoon, it should finally be well over 20 degrees Celsius again. Eh, you mean 68 degrees Fahrenheit, of course. You just can't get used to the strange units of measurement here in the USA. But you'll learn that too.

The afternoon shift at the gym is always relaxed. There are hardly any people working out. Plenty of free space to do a bit of training yourself. You love to confuse new customers. With your roots in the Balkans, most people here think you're an Arab. And when you speak English with your Swiss accent, nobody knows what to believe. After 4 p.m. you have more to do. That's when some of the ice hockey team come to train. They're professionals, they're fun to talk to. Better than overweight pensioners who want to get in shape. Hehehe, but they usually tip better…

The Predators have a public practice tonight. You saw they're looking for a new fitness trainer. Ice hockey was already your passion back home in Switzerland. Now to be under contract with one of the best clubs in the world... That would be a hot deal! And you know a few of the guys quite well by now, maybe someone will put in a good word for you. A few of the less experienced fans ask you if you're an injured professional. Because you're not on the ice. Yes, you really don't look like the typical fan in your jersey….

The alarm clock rings at 05:30. You're awake two seconds earlier. Even though your family's roots are in the Balkans, you were born and raised in Bern. You are a Swiss precision instrument. Always on time. And your shots almost always hit the mark. Training on the ice starts at 09:00. Before that, you want to do your eight-mile lap and spend an hour on the weights. Last season you weren't fit enough, you missed a lot of time due to injury. That shouldn't happen to you again this season. Hard and controlled training. That's the only way to stay at the top!

Dude, you're a machine! Captain of the team. The first Swiss player to be awarded the James Norris Memorial Trophy as the NHL's best defenseman. You're one of the players with the highest advertising revenue. Some attribute it to your eight-pack. Others attribute it to your discipline and reliability. But you still have a little quirk. You call your helmet Roman. You haven't told anyone why…

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #race change #ice hockey #ai image

56 notes · View notes

thewritetofreespeech · 8 months

Note

hello! could you do some scenarios for quicy boys? like jugram haschwalth, uyrru, ryuuken ishida, and bazz b with a reader with long hair? maybe finding out they have long hair because they always have it up?

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you felt the start of a class 1 headache budding behind your eyes. A symptom of being around the Bambie's for too long.

You loved all your Quincy ‘sisters’ equally. There were so few of you these days that they must be cherished and protected, even if you weren’t part of the group. But like most sisters they could get on your nerves and be almost impossible to deal with. Sometimes you needed a break.

Quickly making your way out of ear shot of the squabbling through the many secret corridors of the palace, you heave out a heavy sigh at the sound of peace & quiet and let your hair down. Relaxing for the first time in what felt like months now.

“What are you doing?”

You jump at being startled by another voice coming from another secret corridor, this part of the castle really just a maze, and feel your face heat up. “I was…just trying to be alone.”

Standing up straight and trying to right yourself in front of the Quincy Grand Master, you feel very uneasy being out of uniform like this. It was undignified, and unworthy of your station. “This portion of the castle is usually abandoned.”

“I know. That’s why I come here.” Jugram replied. Much to your surprise. “They’re quite loud aren’t they?”

“The Bambie's?”

“All of them.”

He then walked closer to you. Your breath catching in your throat as you thought he was going to scold you for being out of uniform. Instead, Jugram reached out and grabbed a lock of your hair. “I didn’t know your hair was this long.”

Your face felt incredibly hot as you looked up at him. Having to turn away from those green eyes before you faint. “I…I keep it up usually. It’s more presentable that way.”

Jugram smiled softly at you, and you thought your knees might buckle right then. “That’s what I admire about you. You always think of your actions in how they will affect the Sternritter and His Majesty.” You were surprised. You thought that Jugram never thought of you at all.

The blonde released your hair and took a step back. “Try not to wander off too far.” He then told you. “Can’t have you getting lost. Try to be back before last call.”

“I..I will!” He gave you a single nod and then went on his way. Leaving you a bit confused, as you stroked your hair.

“Oi! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” You turn around at the loud sound of Bazz-B barking. Able to hear him more than see him with the helmet on your head. “I’m the only hot head around here! You can’t just be running off like that!”

“But isn’t that supposed to be what an infantry member does?” You tell him as you pulled off your helmet. “Go in first and clear the way so the rest of you can come in and finish them off?”

Bazz-B seemed startled for a moment, but it certainly couldn’t have been by your logic. “What’s that?” He asked, pointing at you.

“What? What’s what?”

“That!” He repeated. Just pointing with more emphasis at your head like it he made it more obvious you’d get it. “What’s going on with your head?”

“My head?” You asked. Touching it and feeling for a wound. You don’t feel any and suddenly realize he was talking about your hair. He’d never seen it down before. “I couldn’t fit my helmet on with it up the usual way, so I had to just bunch it up under there. Why? Does it look bad?” You probably had the worst helmet hair.

The senior Quincy didn’t say anything. He just turned his head away. His face as pink as his mohawk. “No! I mean…it looks fine. I just didn’t know your hair was that long. It’s…nice.”

“Do you like people with long hair Bazz-B?”

“No!” He snapped at you, but seemed to immediately want to take it back as he turned away again. “It’s whatever. Hair is dumb anyway. It just gets in the way.”

“Do you think I should cut it then? So it fits under my helmet better?”

“No!!” That was the loudest one yet, and you smirk. “I mean…do whatever you want! What do I care what your hair looks like?!”

Bazz-B literally waved you off as he marched off. Seeming done with the conversation. You don’t cut it, but any time he annoyed you from then on you would comment on Liltotto, or some other short hair cut you saw, and how cute it would look on you.

“Hmmm….I’m never going to get this….” Something about math was just beyond your grasp. Words you were fine with. Pictures, descriptions. But math? You must have missed the line when you were supposed to queue up and get that skill that day.

“Don’t be so discouraged.” Uryuu told you, trying to be encouraging. “You’re getting better.”

“You’re just saying that because we’ve been at it for over an hour.” Time did not seem to be playing a factor in your skills at all.

It was that time of year when all the students buckled down and started cramming for their university finals. This would be the test that decided their future, and they had to be perfect. Funny how you’ve faced literal monsters and nearly the end of the world, but a stupid test was what kept you up at night worrying.

“Let’s just call it quits and help me pick an easier university. Or a job in retail.” You tell him as you pull your braid bun down.

“Don’t say that! You really are getting it. You just need too…..” Uryuu’s pep talk stopped as you started to take your braid apart. “What are you doing?”

“It’s too tight. I need to give it a minute to breathe.”

“I just…I’ve never seen you like that. With your hair down before.”

You thought about it for a moment and you supposed he was right. Since it was so long, you usually kept it up & braided for ease. You never really thought about wearing it another way. “I’d wear it down, but it just seems like a hassle.”

“You should….maybe try it some time….”

You turn to look at Uryuu, who was pushing up his glasses as he continued to write notes, “do you like long hair Uryuu?” He didn’t answer you, but his face turned pink as he started at his notes. His pen pressing into the paper harder.

You might not be good at math, but you could see what this was adding up to. “Maybe I’ll leave it down more.”

Surgery had been very loud. 6 hours working on your patient, but you were confident he was going to pull through. You were dead tired. You needed a shower to get the smell of blood and disinfectant off you, followed by a very long nap.

“Good work in there.” You look up to see Ryuuken following behind you. Pulling off his mask and surgical cap.

“Thanks. You too.” You told him, pulling off your own cap. “I was worried when they put the Director in for my surgery. All that time behind the desk, I thought you’d lost your touch.” You click on the water the wash up some and, when you don’t hear anything from behind you, you look back at Ryuuken. “What? I hurt your feelings?”

“Your hair is long.”

You blink a few times at the older man, then reach up to touch your hair. It was down. Like completely down. Your hair tie must have snapped when you were taking your cap off, but you were too tired to notice. “Damnit,” you curse quietly. Now what were you going to do? “I keep it up because it’s a little hard to practice medicine with it flying around. Why? You got a problem with it?”

“No,” he told you matter-of-factly. Also making his way over to the wash sink. “Actually, it suits you.”

You were a little taken a back by his compliment. Two in the last half hour no less. As far as you knew, that was more complimenting than Director Ishida did in a year. “Well, thanks.”

“Are you on call?” He then asked. To which you sort of shrug in response.

“I guess. I can’t leave until my patient wakes up.”

“Come by my office then.” Another surprise. “I want to go over the surgery notes when you’re done.”

You weren’t sure why, but it felt like surgery notes were the last thing he wanted to go over. Maybe you were just tired. In any case: shower, nap, check on patient, go see Ryuuken. Somewhere in there you had to find a new hair tie, but that could wait til later.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#jugram haschwalth #bleach jugram #jugram haschwalth x reader #jugram x reader #bazz b #bazz b x reader #uryu ishida #ishida uryuu #uryuu ishida #uryu x reader #uryu ishida x reader #ryuken ishida #ryuken ishida x reader #ryuken x reader #bleach scenarios #bleach imagines #bleach #bleach tybw

187 notes · View notes

sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year

Text

Taking care of my dragon | Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: After getting his pride hurt at the tourney, Daemon needs help to calm down and unwind

Word count:

Warning: pure softness and intimacy (no smut)

Request: You are amazing♥️ You bring me a sense of comfort that I haven’t felt in a really long time and Daemon please🙏🙏🙏

You winced as you watched Daemon's back slide along the tilt rail, his armor screeching and hurting your ears, and got knocked down and unhorsed as he reached its end. One of the squires came to help him up, but Daemon and his pride shoved him off.

This joust was off to a bad start…

On the opposite end, Criston Cole got down his horse, both men wishing to continue in a contest of arms.

The duel was difficult to watch, but you couldn’t look away, worried for your man. Cole was relentless on Daemon; they weren't jousting anymore, the fight had gotten personal. One wanted to win to bring honor to his house by defeating Daemon Targaryen, and the other was a sore loser and letting his anger out on Cole, swinging Dark Sister and kicking him until he was down.

The crowd cheeked for Daemon, who relished all the acclamations all while having his back turn on Cole. That turned out to be a huge mistake because Cole stood up and hit Daemon with his flail square in the back, sending him to the ground.

Your heart leaped and stopped for a fraction of a second, shocked at Cole's brutality. You turned to the princess, expecting to see her shocked face, but Rhaenyra seemed enamored by the young knight. He even came and asked for her favor, which could have been sweet had he not done all that spectacle to get her attention.

The tourney continued, other knights coming and jousting in the list. You tried concentrating on the duels, but Daemon remained on your mind. You thought to go see him, to bring him a little comfort after his defeat, but he had his pride hurt big time and assumed he wanted to be alone.

‘’My lady?’’ One of the handmaids appeared at your side, quietly speaking. ‘’It’s Prince Daemon, he…please come.’’

You followed the handmaid up to your and Daemon’s chambers as she informed you of Daemon's little outburst following his embarrassing defeat against Cole. According to her, he had been kicking and throwing things, behaving like a child and making a tantrum. One of the guards tried to control him, but Daemon pulled a dagger at him and that’s when someone suggested to get you.

If anyone could get the prince to calm down, it was his lady wife.

The bedchamber was in shambles and surprisingly quiet when you arrived. Daemon's dragon helmet was on the floor next to a broken vase – he must have chucked it in his fit of rage –, his breastplate, gauntlets and else were scattered around the room.

Your handmaiden, Alyse, emerged from behind the sheer curtain of the bathing area, seeming relieved to see you. ‘’Prince Daemon is currently soaking in the bath I have readied for him. I will bring in towels and wine for him.’’

You nodded. ‘’Very well. Thank you, Alyse.’’

‘’Does the lady require anything else?’’ she asked before leaving the room.

‘’No, that will be all. Leave the towels and wine on the table.’’ You smiled politely at the handmaiden who nodded and left. ‘’Leave us. Everyone.’’

The guards and other handmaids vacated the chambers, closing the door behind.

You crossed the room and pulled the curtain. In the middle of the bathing chamber, Daemon was immersed up to his armpits and steam was coming from the large steel wash basin, scalding hot just the way he liked it. The bottom of his hair was wet from dipping in the water, and the usual soft silver mane all tangled and dirty from the tourney. His under-clothes were left in a puddle by the bath and he was grumbling in High Valyrian.

‘’Husband,’’ you said, stepping in.

‘’This usurper cunt of a knight humiliated me in my city!’’

‘’A bruise to the ego won’t kill you, my love.’’

‘’Besides, I doubt you yielded. I’m sure you could have taken the man down with your dagger. It’s small, but you could have taken his eye out easily – but you didn’t.’’

Daemon cocked an eyebrow. ‘’His eye?’’ he repeated, not expecting that kind of brutality from his wife.

You hummed. ‘’Go for the throat if not harmed, and for the eyes if harmed. Your opponent’s chances are down if he is blinded.’’

‘’You’d be great at joust, my love.’’

‘’I’d rather be a spectator.’’

You walked over to the wash basin and sat on its edge. Automatically, Daemon let his head fall against your thigh, his defeat still heavy on his ego. You cradled the back of his head the way you would a small kitten and began undoing the braids from his hair.

‘’Would you like me to put some lavender oil? It’s has anti-inflammatory and analgesic properties, it should relieve your muscles after all that jousting.’’

Without waiting for his answer, you fetched it from the cabinet and poured a few drops of lavender oil in the scalding hot bath, then moved a hand through the water surrounding him to mix the oil to the water.

‘’It also had calming properties…for your temper,’’ you added with a glint of teasing.

Daemon chuckled, knowing how he can be. ‘’It’s Cole’s fault for waking the dragon.’’

You heard the chamber door open and close – Alysa bringing in the wine and towels – but paid it no mind. Her respect for privacy was the reason why you had personally requested her as your handmaiden.

You sat back on the edge of the wash basin and grabbed the sponge, plunging it in the water before running it over Daemon’s chest, watching the water dribble over his sculpted pecs. ‘’It doesn’t happen when I wake the dragon.’’

‘’That’s because you’ve tamed it and made it yours.’’ He flicked his violet eyes on you, a wash of desire in them.

A smile curled on your lips, running the sponge over his chest again. ‘’Would my dragon like to have his hair washed?’’

There's something so intimate about bathing with your lover. Washing each other, or just sitting in the warm water and relaxing. It's a bonding experiment, a moment of tenderness between a husband and his wife, an easy way to strengthen your relationship.

And it helps unwind after a long day.

The question was left pending, but you reached for the wooden comb and pitcher anyway. You combed out all of the knots and tangles with the comb, then filled the pitcher with warm water. You slid your hand up to Daemon’s forehead and made him tip his head back, pouring water at his hairline slowly, watching as it cascaded down his back and into the bath water.

‘’You’re so good to me,’’ Daemon purred, leaning into your delicate touch as you meticulously massaged his scalp through the sods of the soap. ‘’You bring me a sense of comfort that I haven’t felt in a really long time.’’

His words touched your heart, their softness showing a layer of Daemon only you knew of. This layer was hidden beneath layers and layers of arrogance, impulsiveness and…well, fire.

You filled the pitcher with water again, and rinsed and repeated until all the sods were out.

‘’All done.’’ You put down the pitcher and pressed a tender kiss to the back of his left shoulder.

Daemon let out a long, drawn out groan.

‘’Did I hurt you?’’

‘’No,’’ he immediately said, rolling his shoulders and furrowing his eyebrows. ‘’My shoulders are a little stiff. It’s all.’’

You took hold of one of Daemon’s tender shoulders and squeezed gently. He groaned again. ‘’You're all tense, my love.’’ You poured some lavender oil in your palms and slid your hands firmly across his shoulders and down his upper back, feeling the tension and knots under your palms. ‘’Does that feel good?’’

A soft moan escaped his lips.

The water must be getting lukewarm and unpleasant – he’s been bathing for a moment –, but Daemon didn’t seem to mind.

Ever so gently, you began making small circles with your thumbs, working your way from the middle of his neck down. You gradually made your way to his shoulders, your hands working their way across his back, fingers moving over the contours of his muscles until they were putty under your palms.

‘’Mmh, you've got the delicatest hands, my darling wife.’’ His eyes were closed and face smooth with contentment.

You paused your massage to loosely snake your arms around your husband’s shoulders and kissed his cheekbone. ‘’Only for you.’’

House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones taglist: @anastasiaxsworld @lollypopcrazylover @fin-never @dkathl @ayamenimthiriel @nerdy4itall @rraindrops @glors3 @beelanie @hc-geralt-23 @sweetybuzz25 @uniquenightsheep @kaywsworld @i-yam-awesome @caspianobsessed @kelssssxd @dilfsarebetterthanyou @missyviolet123 @leakycauldrns @brezzybfan @khaleesihavilliard @vexedvalerie @lollaa-puff @my-dark-prince @chevelledahuman @caspianobsessed @ayamenimthiriel @yor72 @mirandastuckinthe80s @newtsniffles @cleverzonkwombatsludge @justaproudslytherpuff @ren-ni @green-lxght @anginoguera @bubblebuttwade @comicsol1999 @rockerchick05 @baelavelaryonwp @tnu-ree @beccawinter @alexisabirdie @persage @hayleighloatx @kindaslightlyacidic @perdynerd @elsyyie @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @xannybabyxx @katiepie67 @kjones375 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @queenofshinigamis @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @Wehi02 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @cayleecook38 @yoyopolloobamadaddy @hayleighloatx @vane1999-blog @smptxx @fairyfolkloresposts @yassi-world @todaywasafairytale07 @ESobilal @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @Katelyn15m @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @beggarsnotchoosey @vainillasmil157 @kizzyxren @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @Harryshousewhore @kodzuvk @tnu-ree @omgsuperstarg @futuregws @blackravena @ashlatano7567 @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @uh-no-actually @secretsthathauntus @lemiqa @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @Hc-geralt-23 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @mouldyfrog @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @drusillaravenclaw @softtina @Jelly-fishy-babie @evesolstice @Thelilacmourning @dkathl @Thelilacmourning @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @xannybabyxx

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd #hotd imagine #daemon hotd

723 notes · View notes