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[bizarrebaby]

@auty-ren @tintinwrites COME AND GET Y’ALLS RELIGION KINK

Sinner [Dark!Din Djarin x F!Reader] *SMUT*

Summary: The Mandalorian has been attending confession for weeks now, with the sole intensive purpose to see you. 

Rating: 18+ smut

Warnings: Dark!Din, implied age difference, religion kink (don’t come for me…), sex in a place of worship, smut: loss of virginity, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, degradation, unprotected p in v, cunningless, death mention, alcohol mention, brothel mention. 

Word Count: 4000+

Masterlist

REBLOGS APPRECIATED!<3

He’d been coming to confess for about a year now. He’d gone off the rails when he lost the kid. You’d heard rumours about the Mandalorian — strong, fierce, brave… a warrior. You certainly wouldn’t have pinned him for a man of faith. You’d seen him a few times when you were shadowing your father in church. He was tall, broad shouldered, and only came during the dead of night, when the abbey was completely isolated.

“Hello,” you greeted him, your soft voice echoing throughout the chambers. Your crimson red heels clicked against the marble floor beneath you as you approached the masked figure. Curtseying politely and removing your hood, you couldn’t help but bat your eyelashes in the direction the Mandalorian. “It’s quite late. I was just closing for the night.” you admitted, biting down on your lower lip in hope that he’d understand.

Keep reading

[bizarrebaby]

Preview!

Pairing: VampireHunter!Whiskey/Vampire!Reader

Warnings: reference to suicide

Summary: This is sort of a Castlevania/medieval kind of AU. Whiskey comes from a long long line of vampire slayers, and after the death of his pregnant wife at the hands of one of those monsters, he intends on keeping the tradition going. Then he meets you.

You were tense as you walked beside Whiskey towards the heart of the nearby forest. His face was illuminated by the moonlight that broke through the trees, serious and contemplative. You were waiting for him to change his mind and slay you where you stood. You endeavored to look away whenever his eyes drifted back to you. He saw your ears twitch when you turned your head.

Meanwhile, Jack is trying to reason with himself, and maybe find out what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. Was he really ignoring a lifetime, no, generations of belief for the sake of a pretty face? No, it was more than that. Whiskey had seen pretty vampires. Plenty of them, beautiful enough to drive mortals to madness. But that beauty has always been backed by intent, it existed for pride, and to be used against others. 

But there was something about you that seemed different. Maybe it was those sad eyes, that nervous pout, but you weren’t pretty like an angler’s lure or a thorned rose. You were pretty like pictures of angels on stained glass windows, like fresh garden strawberries in summer. The kind of pretty a man could grow to look forward to, and protect. 

Before he knew it, you’d reached the clearing in the forest’s center. You walked ahead before turning to face him.

“That village knows about you. It’d be safer if you moved on, sweetheart. I… I won’t follow you.”

“Thank you, but…” you trailed, looking to the moon as if it would understand better than him. “If not you, there will always be someone. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I wish you’d end it now. I’m too much of a coward to do it.”

It broke his fucking heart. You, a monster without soul or heartbeat, without love or virtue, called to his humanity more than most humans had. To leave you in such a state… He’d regret it.

“Then stay with me. Stay and… And I’ll protect you,” he swore, finding himself hoping desperately that you’d say yes. In the back of his mind he wondered if this was all a part of your spell, if he’d finally met his match, a power even he couldn’t resist.

A million questions rose up from the back of your throat, to the tip of your tongue. What would he do when he had to face other hunters? Would he face rejection from his own kind for a stranger? Would he wither before you, leaving you alone again, or be turned and reject his own humanity? But you held your mouth shut. The first rule to life eternal is that the present is the only real time. To ponder all futures and regret all pasts is to die a true death.

“Okay...okay.”

[bizarrebaby]

HAPPY 46TH BIRTHDAY JOSÉ PEDRO BALMACEDA PASCAL 2nd APRIL, 1975

[bizarrebaby]

Look at this picture of snails eating mushrooms with little forks and knives and maybe you’ll calm down

I and all the Pedro characters will be taking @bizarrebaby in a fight

[bizarrebaby]

I want to say “what did I do”....... but I think I know.

I and all the Pedro characters will be taking @bizarrebaby in a fight

[bizarrebaby]

I love this so much, and I am SO SO SO excited to see where this goes! I’m not a huge Marcus fan, but I love max, and this is making me feel... complicated..... I can’t wait for more!

a dangerous game | Marcus Pike x Reader x Max Phillips | Part One

A/N: This is gonna be a very naughty angsty fic gdsighskjf

Rating: 18+

Warning: Fem!Reader. This is based on Jekyll and Hyde with Max being Hyde so he’s an asshole. This shouldn’t be a warning but reader is a prostitute hello we support sex workers in this house (tho men are assholes about it and there is mention of that ugh). Some sexual references. Naughty words. Pining. Angst.

Word count: 3,260, apparently!!

Summary: Marcus likes you and you like him, but you’re both too cautious to admit it. When Marcus takes a pill to make himself more confident, it changes him completely.

GIF credit: ^ Please let me know if you don’t want me using your GIF!

Tags: @phoenixhalliwell​ @grandfanficstation​ @reader-s-cantina​ @an-author-of-stars @readsalot73​ @supernaturalgirl​ @star-wars-hell​ @vonschweetz​ @meshlamando​ @kindablackenedsuperhero @03stepedwa @popascal​ @alexisinorbit​ @zoovweemomma​ @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind​ @thefineandnobleartofavoidance​ @tiredbutwannaimagine​ @pure-ethereal​ @ghostwiththemostbitch​ @writingletterstothefire​ @pedro4ever​ @djjarins​ @morrison-mercury​ @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @you-and-i-deserve-the-world​ @freeshavocadoooo​ @ajeff855​ @codenamewife @heresathreebee​ @giselatropicana​

                                                  ——————

Marcus was never the type to be shy; he was sweet, but not shy.

When it came to what he wanted, he went for it and was maybe a little bit pushy. Maybe he moved a little too fast so he wouldn’t waste his time.

But with a divorce and a broken-off engagement under his belt, he wondered if that approach wasn’t really working for him.

If he wanted too much, if he pushed too hard even if he convinced himself he wasn’t putting pressure on people, if he moved uncomfortably fast, if he was so focused on falling in love that he was choosing people who didn’t want the same things as him.

Keep reading

[bizarrebaby]

Untouched

Pairing: Pero Tovar/Virgin!Reader

Work Count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Pero spend your first night together, which is your first night with anyone.

Warnings: you guys have penis in vagina sex. Some descriptions/mentions of violence, reference to painful loss of virginity, but we all know Pero’s too good to do that to you

You were a walking contradiction. Nothing was more confusing or intriguing to Pero Tovar than how you managed to exist in these times.

When he’d been introduced to you (it was generous to call it an introduction, seeing as Tovar more or less refused to acknowledge you at the time) he saw you the way he saw most everyone: an annoyance at best, a punishment from god at worst. When he glanced at you, he saw just a little thing, a girl who ought to be at home, out of her depths.

He first beheld your beauty through a veil of bloodshed. On the battlefield you had no equal. People throughout his travels often equated grace to beauty, but in observing you, Pero found that simply wasn’t so. You did not dance with the blade, like twirled silk. What you did was not akin to dancing. It was heavy and destructive, you took to you enemies with the crushing force of a mortar and pestle. You wielded the heavy and challenging kanabo, the force of which caved armor and shattered bones, man and beast alike. When you swung the heavy bat, you looked as a healer pounding medicine. The force itself was destructive, but it was delivered with the righteousness of someone who was preserving life.

You could not always use the kanabo, and you most certainly could not spar with it, for your opponents would be crippled by even a sporting blow. So Tovar sometimes saw your prowess with the sword, the staff, anything nearby. You made many an arrogant man eat their words.

Now, when he was to imagine a beautiful woman, he did not think of flowing locks and fair skin wrapped in silks. He saw sword-cut hair, an oversized tunic, the loosening laces on leather armor.

And beyond the fighting, you did not often make with revelry. Tense in the company of most others in your band of mercenaries, you kept away when they became excited. When you approached him, scowling as he wolfed down his food alone, he dreaded having to endure niceties, persuasions, and prattel from you, and had already decided to be as disagreeable as possible. To his utter surprise, you said nothing to him at all as you kept a couple of meters distance and ate your own meal. You did so day after day, and at first he had been paranoid that this was some plot at inching your way closer, that one day you would ruin this silence and reveal your true intentions. Until one night, Tovar found himself doing something unthinkable: initiating conversation. Or at least, speaking unprompted.

“You do not chatter like the others,” he stated almost mindlessly, not knowing what he was expecting by saying so.

“I try not to talk when I have nothing to say,” you admitted. You looked towards him, half illuminated by the distant, flickering fire.

He found himself studying every detail of your face from the corner of his eye. It was terrifying, for once wanting to observe and actually caring if he was noticed doing so.

“And,” you continued quietly, “they say you do not like to be disturbed.” That was a very kind way of rephrasing how he was often spoken of. In all likelihood, what you were actually told was probably more along the lines of ‘he’s a mean, miserable bastard who doesn’t like anyone’. Tovar didn’t know how he felt about your twisting such words into something that sounded… reasonable.

Understood.

“I don’t like being disturbed either.”

Now, when he was to imagine a beautiful woman, he did not think of lip rouge and silent, unnoticed steps, or curled, dark lashes, of coquettish smirks. He thought of a split lip, and the uneven pace of worn leather kicking at stray pebbles, of tired eyes rubbed with the back of the hand after looking into the fire too long, of the struggle to hold back a wide-mouthed yawn.

Through a few well placed miracles and the incessant meddling of others (William) the two of you had ended up together. And this was when Pero discovered what a contradiction you were. 

You knew death in every facet… except for la petite mort. 

While other girls snuck off with their paramours in experimental forays of intimacy, you were studying the blade, the staff, the bow, the kusarigama. Raised by a father and uncles who loved you, but did not know how to raise a young lady. Only how to raise a fighter. 

When you didn’t scare off any potential suitors, they certainly did. 

While younger than Pero, you were still fully grown, and had yet to even kiss a man until Pero had claimed your lips in a passionate fury on the night of his confession. 

Pero did not fancy himself a teacher, he saw himself as a taker, one with no patience for uncertainties and incompetence. But for you, he would be anything. And regardless of what he was, what you deserved was a gentle touch. Subtle, comforting, patient, and understanding. 

All words that had never been used to describe him. 

Over time, the kisses grew deeper, the touches flirted further beneath the clothes, until the night came where he held you against him in his bed, eyes begging for more as you looked to him for guidance. Never had he been so frightened at the thought of bedding a woman. He was a scoundrel with hands only fit for killing, and he was terrified of hurting you somehow.

But he’d be damned if anyone else took this honor.

With every piece of clothing he stripped your body of, you looked at him with such trust. He felt your heart beating in his rough palms, like the flutter of a bird’s wings. Never before had he been responsible for something so pure, so delicate. His relations before you were intimacies he had paid for in coin, encounters that didn’t require any gentleness on his part, where he cared little about any pleasure or pain besides his own. If he were to do one thing in his life with tact and delicacy, it would be this, he promised himself. 

“Tell me again, hermosa, how many before me have seen this beautiful body?”

“N-none. You’re the first, Pero.” 

He hums in satisfaction, running his hands up your stomach to cup your breasts. His thumbs stroke over the hardening peaks, causing a hitch in your breath as you shudder. 

“Oh, mi conejita, so sensitive,” he descends, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking almost harshly for just a moment before pulling away, admiring how your breast shines with his spit. You squeak out a shaking moan. “I wonder if you’re this sensitive everywhere else? Don’t tell me. I’ll find out myself.”

You feel your cheeks heat at his words, feeling the urge to curl in on yourself and hide. But Pero keeps you bare to him as he lavishes eager attention on your breasts, enjoying the whines half-caught in your throat. By the time your nipples are perked and wet from Pero’s hot mouth, your blush has spread down to your collar. He pulls away slightly, gently guiding you to lay down. He takes your thighs in his strong hands and spreads them further apart. His thumbs spread your lips so get a good look at your pink, silky hole twitching with a need you’ve never known before. 

Your breath hitches as one of his fingers traces along your sensitive lips, brushing against your clit briefly before beginning to sink into you slowly. He rocks it back and forth gently while admiring the rise and fall of your chest, the way your eyelids flutter as you go between wanting to watch and being too bashful to. His thumb gently strokes your clit as he works to ease in another finger, and you tense harshly at the new intrusion. He leans down to press a few reassuring kisses against your neck.

“Relax, querida. Let me in.” He whispers, moving his lips to your mouth in an effort to distract you as he coaxes you open. His cock was heavy and hard against the laces of his trousers. You would see it soon, but Pero doesn’t want to overwhelm you. Not yet, anyways.

You breathe deeply in an attempt to relax your muscles as Pero’s fingers reach farther than yours ever could, and it feels as if he holds all of your bodily feelings in the palm of his hand. He continues to coo endearments against your neck to comfort you. 

“Bueno, bueno… you’ve gotten nice and wet for me, cariño, so good for me,” a smirk spreads across his face as he feels you tighten with his words. “Oh, you like it when I talk, niña?” He teases, increasing the pace as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the tight circles he’s rubbing into your clit on the verge of driving you mad. 

He parts from your neck to take a look at your face in pleasure, and finds himself enraptured by the slight furrow of your brows and the way your eyelids flutter when he strokes the right part of your insides. Your quiet huffing and mewling, combined with the way your cunt is gripping at his fingers, has him more riled up than he’d like to admit. 

“Pero, I-I I think I’m gonna cum,” you whine, looking at him with pleading eyes. He bristles with pride as your hips move to meet the palm of his hand while chasing the pleasure he gives you. 

“Cum then, muñeca. Cum for me.”

The coil in your belly winds so tightly it snaps, and white hot pleasure floods your system. Pero groans as you cream on his fingers, feeling his cock throb harshly for the umpteenth time tonight. A tremor wracks your body as the mercenary continues rocking his fingers gently to help you ride out your climax. When they withdraw, he doesn’t hesitate to lick them clean, much to your embarrassment. The sight of his tongue against your slick on his hand gives you… ideas. Ideas that will have to wait until another night, maybe. 

He leans down to plant a chaste kiss to your lips before bringing you to sit up. He wants to see what else you’ve never done. Wants to know how curious you are. 

Pero places one of your hands (which feel so small in his) against the tent in his pants, encouraging you to explore his body the way you’ve so graciously allowed him to explore yours. His tunic is already off, but of course, you’ve seen men shirtless before. His cock feels hot and hard through his trousers, and the apprehension is probably clear on your flustered face, but Tovar finds this entire situation incredibly arousing. 

He’s no stranger to sex, but most of his previous sexual encounters had been paid for and, thusly, were with experienced (and sometimes jaded) partners. Though the size of his cock may have impressed a few, it had never been the first they’d seen, touched, or taken. This was different. 

His eyes never leave your face as you bite your lip, occasionally looking to him for approval as you move to undo the laces on his trousers. His eyes are lidded and dark with desire, and a smile crosses his face, a little more genuine than the usual smirks he throws in your direction. 

“Go on,” he urges, more gently than he knew himself capable. You finally slip down his waistband and smallclothes, and his cock lands heavy against his stomach as he reclines just slightly. You try to contain your startled gasp, attempting to seem less like the blushing virgin you clearly are. The way your lips part ever so slightly as you examine his red, leaking cock with nervous interest sends the mercenary reeling. 

Pero almost takes your hesitance as fear, which he’s determined to quell, before you finally reach your hands out to run them along the hard length, drawing a ragged groan from him.

For a moment, Pero feels the strongest compulsion to take charge of you. To guide your head down and order you to get his cock nice and wet before he takes you, to see tears prick at your eyes while you struggle to take his cock in your little mouth. 

But, somewhat regrettably, he remembers his first time with a woman well. He remembers the nerves burning against his skin like a thousand needles, the fear of performing well and doing things he’d never even imagined doing. He can only imagine that fear to be tenfold for a girl. You’ve spent years in the company of brash mercenaries, uncouth enough that they brag of their rough, bruising conquests. He knows the type. And what women you do meet often speak of intimacy with dread, or reflect on the pain of their first times.

You are one of the few things in Pero Tovar’s life that he has ever really cared for. And his greatest wish is to make you feel cared for. He has never known patience. But for you, he shall have it in spades. You’ll have plenty of time to play rough later. Or never, if that’s what you want.

Not to mention, he’s just about as hard as he’s ever been in his entire life, and he doubts he would last in your mouth, not with the passionate stare you’re giving him. You have, after all, always been a quick learner when it came to the sword. The way you start experimentally moving your hands along his cock confirm this, as he sighs in pleasure from the light pressure you’re giving him.

“This the first cock you’ve seen up close, hermosa?” you nod, and that teasing smile is once again set on his face. “What do you think of it?”

Your eyes widen just slightly at the question. He takes one of your hands and spits in it before letting you continue to stroke his cock, still patiently awaiting an answer.

“Are they all… like this?” Pero has a feeling he knows what you mean, but he wants you to say it.

“Like what, preciosa?” 

“Big.”

He chuckles quietly before cupping your chin in his hand and bringing you towards him for another bout of fervent kisses. In these moments, and most others, he looks at you and sees everything he’s ever wanted. He presses his forehead to yours when he finally parts from your lips.

“No, amor, not all,” he pauses in thought, somewhat uncharacteristically. “Are you worried?”

“...Yes.” The mercenary appreciates your honesty. For your entire life, you have had to be brave. He doesn’t want you to have to be brave with him. He’s never been trusted with something as precious as you. He calls your name with the same softness he feels for you.

“I will never hurt you,” he promises. “And…” his need causes him to struggle with the next part. He’s still not used to being sensitive, not used to caring so much. “We do not have to do this.”

Pero can see the fire ignite in your eyes, that same passion he sees when you get up right after being knocked down.

“I want to, Pero, I want to. Will you take care of me?” his eyes have their own fire now. He guides you down onto your back once again and leans over you. His cock leaks against the soft skin of your belly as he kisses up your neck, sucking in marks as he goes.

“Forever,” he swears.

Pero hoists himself up to look into your eyes as his cock catches at your entrance for the first time. He pushes himself in just barely, giving you a little more each time as he shallowly rocks into you. He watches, feeling lovestruck, as your breasts rise and fall with each short breath you take as he eases himself deeper into your heat. 

When Pero Tovar met you, he didn’t exactly respect you, but he wouldn’t have called you soft. You proved quickly that you were a better warrior than most men he’d met, and despite the roughness and inconveniences of mercenary life, you didn’t complain. In those early days, he’d have scarcely called you a woman at all. 

But here you were beneath him, soft and warm, and everything he’d never imagined he could be trusted with. Long ago you reached your hands into his hardened chest, with all of its armor, and gripped his heart with all of the hope and reverence of a devout finding comfort in a rosary. The vice of your wet cunt on his cock was an extension of that. An inescapable binding that he had no desire to leave. 

“You feel so good, querida, so tight and perfect against my cock.”

And so you pant, looking cherubic against the sheets with your splayed hair and flushed cheeks, lips plumped from Pero’s incessant kissing. The wet noises coming from between the two of you are obscene, and you love it. 

“So good for me, amor, taking everything I have to give you.”

He wouldn’t last long. Not waiting as long as he has, not with you looking, sounding, and feeling the way you do. His thrusts aren’t punishing, but they sure as hell aren’t gentle, as he can only restrain himself from wrecking you for so long. And from the way he’s hitting that place inside that makes you sing, you won’t last either.  

“Pero, I’m gonna— mmm I’m gonna cum again!” You keen, calling him back from his animalistic fervor. Pero stares into your eyes with a fire roaring behind his gaze. 

“I want you to soak my cock, hermosa. Cum. Give me your pleasure, let me make you mine!”

“God— oh, fuck, I love you—“ you pant as he feels you clench deliciously around him. Any hope he had of holding on has fled now. 

“Mi amor, let me cum in you, please, querida—“

“Please, do it Pero,”

You can feel the skin of his hips slap against yours as he pistons himself in and out of you, babbling about how beautiful you are and how good you feel until he can’t stand it anymore. 

“Te amo, te amo, te amo!” He growls, ceasing his hips as he fills you with everything he has. You jolt at the sensation before relaxing again, his hot cum painting your walls. His elbows stop him from collapsing right onto you, but he can feel your breasts brush against his chest with every breath the both of you take. 

He basks in this moment for a while longer before pulling himself out gently, resolving to clean the both of you properly later. Pero lets himself fall beside you in bed, still breathing a little heavily. 

“Come here, querida.”

Pero stares at the ceiling as your weight comes to rest against his chest, warm in ways he cannot describe. The arm around you tightens, as if he wishes to pull you further into him.

“Are you… do you feel alright, mi amor? I didn’t hurt you?”

“Never, Pero. I feel wonderful. Was it ok? For you, I mean. I know I’m… you’re probably not used to being with someone so inexperienced,” you trail off, feeling palpably insecure. He gently puts his hand beneath your chin to coax you into looking up at him from his chest.

“You don’t have to be anything more than what you are to be perfect for me, amor.”

Taglist:

Pedro Pascal: @auty-ren

From the preview post: @josepedropascal @tintinwrites @computeringturtle @kiwi-the-first​

[bizarrebaby]

((Hi! I'm one of the anons who used to ask you for AM headcanons. I wanted to thank you for inspiring me to make an ask blog for him. You certainly don't have to interact or return to the fandom if you don't want, but you're more than welcome to. Thanks for being an awesome writer!))

You’re so welcome! It always a very special feeling when you’re able to inspire other people with your work. I’m happy you’ve started your own creative endeavors!

Maybe one day if the inspiration hits me like a train, I’ll return!

[bizarrebaby]

this isn’t about the last reblog but i LOVE your writing for caustic, the way you wrote for him was so perfect. if you do continue writing for him, maybe you can do afab gender neutral pronouns? tysm for ur amazing work and keep it up

Thank you!! I’d love to write more for him. I tried to keep it gender neutral but I realized pretty late into the game that I used “she” once, so I thought I’d leave it as it was. My next thing for him will be gn! I also might just go in an edit the pronouns on the last one, idk yet

I’m currently working on the third part of Alraune, a Pero Tovar fic, and a fic for agent whiskey! But if anyone has some fun caustic ideas, I think we all know I’m not above starting another WIP.....

I’m also considering writing a lil something for fuse or maybe psycho goreman 👀 lots to think abt

[bizarrebaby]

For Writers:

Reblog if it’s okay for your followers to leave you an ask telling you what the one thing is they remember you for as a writer.  Is it a scene or a detail or a specific line? Is it something like style or characterization?  Is it that one weird kink they never thought they’d be into, but oh my god wow self-discovery time?

[bizarrebaby]

There’s a sequel to one of my favorite Pero fics of all time!!! Please check this out 💖👌✨ It’s so fuckin good

i’m hers and she is mine.

and it’s worth, it’s divine - part one.

summary: it’s been a month since our favorite grumpy spaniard let you into his heart, but he wants more. and he wants everyone to know you’re his. 

rating: E [warnings: SMUT; let’s see: PIV sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (m&f receiving), just a lil splash of dom!tovar, possessive!tovar, soft!tovar, he dooooes kinda call you a whore but like in a good way, spanking (several places, okay), squirting…let me know if i left anything out lmao]

pairing: pero tovar x fem reader

word count: ~3200 

note: shout out to @pedro-pastel for the beta! AND thank you to @221bshrlocked AND @thewayofthemandalorian for some needed encouragement and inspo. part one is by far my popular fic, sooooo i sure hope y’all like this one, too! also, if you DO like it, pls reblog, tumblr hates putting my fic in the tags. loves putting my shitposts in there, but the fic isn’t good enough apparently.

taglist | masterlist

~~~~

Tovar stood watch of the camp, shivering and cursing this weather. Wishing you were there to keep him warm. The evenings had grown colder over the last month since he’d admitted his feelings. The group would disband for winter, and he planned to bring you home with him. He just hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask you yet. He wanted to make you his. For good.

Keep reading

[bizarrebaby]

Without Question| Caustic/Reader

Pairing: Caustic/Reader (AFAB, female pronouns)

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: somnophilia, overstimulation, caustic’s unknown condition. dirty talk. slight obsessive behavior, self deprecation (from Caustic), Caustic calls reader ‘rabbit’, creampie

summary: Caustic doesn’t always focus all of his attention on you, but when he does, you’ll never forget it

Caustic is a fickle man. He wants things to be precisely as he intends them to be. He strives for nothing if not accuracy in his results. 

Caustic is not the most attentive lover. To this, he’ll freely admit. He sometimes wonders, deep in his work, why you waste your time with him. He adores you, of course. You make him feel things he’d not thought himself capable of for many years. But there are only so many hours in a day, and he’s unable, and sometimes unwilling, to devote many of them to you. When he does occasionally make his way to bed in odd hours of the night, he’s too exhausted to do much more than throw an arm over you and pass out. 

But when he’s decided he wants you, there’s little that can stand in his way. 

Make no mistake. One word from you, and it could all be over. But therein is another thing he adores about you— you never feel the need. There are times when he gets into these obsessive moods— where he’s as fascinated by your body as he is by his work.

And what a responsive body it is. So willing and pliant for him. And he doesn’t take it for granted. So rarely is he afforded the pleasure of working with willing subjects. Given the unpredictable and often untimely nature of these moods, the two of you reach an agreement— that he can take you as he pleases, when he pleases. 

Which is how you’ve woken up tonight, slowly, with a burning pleasure building in your gut after a few pleasant dreams. When you’re finally able to will your eyes to stay open, you glance down your body and are met with an acidic green gaze, the feel of Alexander’s facial hair rough against your thighs. He sucks at your clit with an obscene wet sound before parting, making you whine. 

“And so she wakes,” he murmurs, finger catching at your hole shallowly as he admires his own handiwork. Your cunt is glistening, a sizable wet spot decorating the sheets beneath your hips. “Even unconscious you manage to be so… wonderfully responsive to my touch. An ideal specimen.”

He pushes his finger in with no resistance, stroking at that little soft spot within you with practiced precision, the place that makes his rabbit tremble. You tense nicely around his finger in a way that makes his cock throb. 

“How many times do you think you’ve cum from my touch tonight, dear? Be honest,” he cautions, working his thumb against your clit in a way that makes you squirm against the firm hold he has on your hip.

“T-twice?” you huff, in a haze of sleepiness and pleasure clouding your thoughts.

“Close,” you hear him grin, “but not quite. This one will be your fourth, dearest. Seeing as you’re awake,” he rocks his fingers slowly through your slick, savoring the obscene, wet noises that are coming from your cunt under his ministrations. “I’ll let you decide how you want it. Would you like it from my tongue, my fingers? Or…”

You hear him hoisting himself up, followed by the light rustle of some fabric. A hot, heavy weight comes to rest on your stomach, and you yelp quietly at the sensation, much to Caustic’s amusement. You’re surprisingly reactive for someone who’s just woken up. A low laugh rumbles through his chest.

“Do you think you deserve to cum on my cock?” 

You know how this works. What he expects. Nothing less than explicit communication, he’d once said. He wants you to beg. And you’re too strung out and tired to think of resisting.

“On your cock, please,” you murmur, “I want to feel your cock stretch me a-and… I want you to cum too. Please?” 

When you feel his grip on your hip tighten, you know you’ve got him.

“Such a good little rabbit, begging for my cock. So sweet… Very well. As you wish.”

His large hands slide beneath your thighs to push them back against you, effectively bending you in half. You feel his hot, velvety tip prod against your opening a few times as Caustic plays with you, savoring the feel of your entrance clenching desperately for him, before he pushes in. With all of his preparation, he’s able to bottom out in a single, drawn-out thrust, which isn’t always easy given his size.

“Alexander,” you huff, chest heaving at the overwhelmingness of it all. He perks up a little at the use of his full, real name. You’re one of precious few who know it, and the only one he allows to use it. He has no regrets about it— doing what he did in the pursuit of his research— but he’ll admit that something in him longs for a certain sense of… recognition from time to time. His palm comes up to cup your cheek, stroking his thumb across the heated skin tenderly. 

“I’m here, dearest,” he all but whispers, his bright green gaze looking over you in what you might dare call reverence. “I’ve got you.”

Caustic doesn’t usually care for such vague and imprecise language, often regarding such cliché romanticisms as empty platitudes for the unrealistic. But in certain moments, such as this one, he finds such broad, sweeping expressions to be exactly what he needs. He wants, no, needs for you to feel held by him, in every way you could ever need. Even if in the morning he gets swept up in the fervor of furthering his work once again. He needs you to know that your being far more than he deserves is not something that escapes him. 

His thrusts are slow and deep to start, pushing you into the mattress in a steady rhythm. The smug grin pushes its way back up his face as he begins hitting that place that has you fluttering against him nicely. 

“My good little rabbit, letting me have my way with you whenever I please, without a single complaint… I’d say that’s worth a reward. What do you want?”

“Y-your cum. Ha, fuck-- w-want you to cum in me, Alexander!” you plead. You stare at him with eyes that, for all of his callousness and inhumanity, he can never bring himself to refuse. He fucks you harder, not overly fast but still deep, and with how sensitive your pussy is, it’s more than enough to bring you to the edge. You arch your back and cry out in sobbing gasps, not at all dignified, but exactly the result Caustic strives for when he fucks you raw.

You’re almost painfully sensitive now, and if Alexander didn’t have you pinned to completely, you’d be squirming away from his thrusts, which are starting to stutter. He leans further into you, moving one hand to your mound where his thumb finds your clit, the other to your throat where he squeezes just enough so that you can hear your pulse rush in your ears.

“Cum once more on my cock, and I’ll claim you like you deserve.”

Overstimulated, you don’t stand a chance against his ministrations. Tears gather and leak from the sides of your eyes. He presses his mouth against yours, devouring your cries as they leave you without hesitance. When you cum again, your insides fucking milk him, just the way he likes, and you feel him spill into you in hot spurts.

His breathing is more than heavy, it’s labored as he practically throws himself off of you to lay at your side. He coughs deeply, and painfully for a few moments, but the fit ends just before you start seriously worrying. He goes through some ragged deep breaths before extending his arm to rest behind your pillows at the headboard. You know him well enough now to recognize the invitation, scooting yourself to his side and pulling yourself up to lay your head on his chest, his arm curling hesitantly to encompass your waist as he considers your crucial place in his world. His voice rasps, a sudden soreness and exhaustion from his performance and his condition. It’s so quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been right next to him.

“You know that I love you, don’t you?” You have to know, for his own sake. He shows you in what meager ways his shattered sense of priorities allow him to. And he needs you to tell him that you know.

“Yes, I do. I do know,” you say. No ‘of course’, no ‘how could you ask that?’ No compensation for an insecurity that you don’t have. “And you know that I love you, don’t you?”

“Without question.”

[bizarrebaby]

Alraune P.2| Mandalorian/Reader

Pairing: Mandalorian/Mandrake!Reader

Word count: 1.3 k

Warning: Some described gore, implication of human consumption, monster biology

Summary: You and Mando meet some bounty poachers

You awoke with the setting of the afternoon sun, over someone’s shoulder, hands bound tightly with cords, runic letters burnt into them.

You looked back in the direction of the inner swamp, contemplating whether or not you would ask the hunter if you could say goodbye. You decided against it. You could not see his face, but you decided you didn’t want him to be more disgusted with you than he already was.

“Who are you?” you ask, voice still weak with sleep. The hunter says nothing.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Will I ever see this place again?”

He stops in his tracks for a few moments.

“Probably not,” he answers, less than sure, but probably more sure than you’ve ever been about anything.

_______

Three days later, and the hunter has still not spoken to you for more than a minute in total. You were allowed, once out of the swamp, to walk on your own two feet, though you remained bound at the wrists. You had tried chewing at the rope a few times, but it did nothing more than burn your tongue. It had turned out the canyon pass he had travelled through to get to your swamp collapsed, meaning the journey to deliver you would be much longer. And while you were bound, the Mandalorian more or less had to take care of you.

Initially, the smell of carrion followed you. After a couple of days of eating the cooked kills of the hunter, accompanied with some fruits on occasion, you smelled sweet and somewhat smokey. Sometimes, when you were asleep and he’d take his helmet off to eat, the scent would make his head spin. Where before it had been nausea inducing, now there was something enticing to it.

By the end of the week, he drew his enchanted blade, and you didn’t flinch away. He hadn’t intended to scare you, but he expected you to be… startled. He wondered if you’d accepted whatever fate you’d concluded to be yours, or if your species just had woefully bad survival instincts. He cut through the runic binds. Besides testing some of his things with your teeth, you hadn’t given him much trouble. Things would be faster this way.

The Mandalorian, of course, never initiated conversation. He seldom saw the use in talking to bounties, for obvious reasons. But you had a way of confounding him to the point of curiosity with what conversations you attempted.

“Why don’t you take off your helmet? Are you light-sensitive? Physically defective?” You weren’t the most sensitive speaker, but it didn’t seem to come from ill-will. 

“It’s a part of my religion,” he stated simply. Your eyes drifted as your head tilted.

“What’s religion?”

The helmet hid his stunned expression well. It was strange in a way he wasn’t able to articulate. Strange that you knew light sensitivity, physical defects, but not religion. He supposed it was possible that there were still places within the continent that faith had yet to reach, in any form, but still highly unusual.

“It’s…. Well, they’re systems of belief people have.”

“What does yours believe in?”

“Warrior strength. Honor. Family.” He pointed to a pendant on your neck, a symbol in tarnished brass on a simple chain. He’d wondered about it in the back of his mind for days, and figured now was as good as time as any to ask. “What does that mean?”

“Oh. I don’t know,” you chirped “I was thinking of asking you.”

Strange again. You wore a poncho of leaves, all of your other clothing was similarly produced, the necklace being the only thing man-made on you. His better judgement told him to stop the questioning here, but some damnably curious part of him had to know.

“Where did you get it?”

“My… my father. It was his.”

Every answer raised more questions. Vegetables don’t have parents, harsh as that may sound. Had you meant… a gardener? Had you been adopted?

You yawned, wide like a cat, showing your serrated teeth. 

“Sleep? Ok?” You asked. He noticed that it was difficult for you to stay awake more than a few hours after sunset. The helmet tilted just slightly, an affirming nod in your direction. You laid down, little tendrilous roots from your skin growing and pushing into the soft soil beneath you. 

Come sunrise, you’d haul yourself up, leaving the little roots behind, still squirming. Gross.

____

The Mandalorian was coming to realize why the price on an alraune had been so high. There had been other travelers, mostly mages and alchemists, who’d stopped him in your travels. Some offered him a price, some tried to convince him that he didn’t have the knowledge to have you-- that something like you belonged in the hands of a seasoned expert.

Others just tried to kill him for you.

Mandalorians didn’t use magic. They were about as far from magic-using as it got. They were followers of the forge, of physical combat, though this often necessitated ways of warding off magic from opponents. The Mandalorian hadn’t realized what a precious ingredient alraunes were to mages and medicine makers.

The most recent in a long line of poachers fell dead, a talented sorcerer who’d had more than a few tricks up his sleeve. In return for his victory, The Mandalorian received a bleeding gash on his side that had begun to blacken, having been caused by a necrotic spell.

The journey was shaping up to be a lot longer than he’d intended. With the added length came dwindling supplies, including healing salves. And while he had some left, it wasn’t high enough in quality or quantity for this. He laid on his uninjured side in the dirt, weighing his options, and wondering if you’d done the smart thing and run off.

“You are rotting? I can smell it.”

Apparently not.

“Yeah. You can eat me when I’m finished,” he grit out, the pain from the burning decay coming in flashes. When you kneel by his side, he wonders if you’re really going to do it. The Mandalorian muses about leaving you with instructions on how to get to his covert and return his beskar when he feels something warm and slimy drip onto his side. He focuses to find you biting your hand, using your serrated teeth to saw at the dense flesh of your palm. More of the fluid drips from your palm as you squeeze it over his wound like a lemon wedge, the opaque, rosy pink substance leaking into his gash.

Finally, you smear your hand over the gash, then rub your palm in the dirt to dry it. Something that would be terrible for him to do to a cut, but he supposes that for a vegetable, it’s probably fine. Suddenly, his side gets warmer.

No, it’s not just warm-- it fucking burns. 

He growls and clutches his side, curling in on himself in exquisite pain. If your intention was to end his misery, he’d have rather rot to death than this. 

In a few minutes, which are so excruciating they feel like hours, pain begins to subside into a dull, throbbing ache. The Mandalorian is able to pull himself together and sit up to inspect his side. The black has been replaced with an angry pink, severely irritated, but not lethal. The wound itself still weeps little beads of blood in some places when he moves, but for the most part, it’s been clotted with an off-white foam. It’s probably helping him, and he won’t die now, but it looks fucking disgusting.

When he’s able to come back to his senses, he sees you poking around the corpse of the mage. Picking up and dropping his lifeless wrists. You bring his hand to your mouth and--

“Hey!” he shouts, and you drop it, looking up at him with dilated pupils from beneath your mess of hair.

“Don’t eat that. You don’t know where it’s been.”

Taglist:

Pedro Characters: @auty-ren

Alraune: @lellowberry

[bizarrebaby]

I live to serve and simp, babe

Not @bizarrebaby breaking the many month long artist block I had been feeling with this medieval fantasy au we've created👀

[bizarrebaby]

I am once again out here reading masterpieces instead of writing lmao

Idk of I’ve said this. But dark!mando owns this hole. Regular mando might rent it from time to time, but dark mando OWNS it.

Figuring Out

Part 8 of Waiting Up

Pairings: The Mandalorian x Reader. Dark!Mando x Reader. Din Djarin x Reader. (Reader is female/AFAB)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Smut (Frottage, brat taming, cum play, masturbation, dirty talk, fully clothed Mando/naked reader, choking/muffling (gotta keep you quiet), Dry humping. Dom/sub elements). Fluff? Hurt/Comfort. Mando being vulnerable for once in his life. Mentions of death. Themes of panic/anger. Flashbacks to previous events in the series.

A/n: I’m so excited where this story is going, not as much steamy stuff in this one but the next is gonna make up for it! Enjoy babes. (gif by @bo-kryze)

Dark!Mando Masterlist | My Masterlist

Summary: Mando has a few things he’d like to talk through while you’re both taking a break on Nevarro. Talking has never been his strong suit, but he does make a few points.

Italicized= Flashback/Thoughts

Nevarro stinks.

Bad like a gnawing, disgusting, smell that burns in your nostrils and leaves your eyes watery.

Blinking hurts, your eyes completely raw and stinging from the dense, grey fog that seemed to encapsulate the planet’s surface. You rub the heel of your palm into tired eyes, trying for the hundredth time to dull the ache sitting behind your eyelids.

“I don’t care who it is, you pull that trigger.” Mando was dead serious, grabbing your arm to stop you from walking away from him. “You end it, then and there.”

You were getting really tired of the voice in your head, hours after the fact but everything was still crowding at the forefront of your mind.

Keep reading

[bizarrebaby]

YES. This is the good shit. Everyone get all up on this domesticity. In this house we love being a medieval peasant as long as Pero is there too

A Life Anew

Pairings: Pero Tovar x Reader. (Reader is female/AFAB)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Smut (Breeding kink, rough sex, hair pulling, biting, pet names, cum play, overstimulation, manhandling) Themes of pregnancy (non-explicit). Fluff. Pero is a-grade husband material. Sweet-talking. Domestic bliss. Pero being a total sweetheart after he retires.

A/n: Did I intend to write for Pero so soon? No, but I was graciously inspired by @bizarrebaby during one of our convos on Tovar. (Thank you bby). This is nothing but some self indulgent, domestic living with our boy Pero. Enjoy babes. (gif by @a7estrellas)

He sits on the wooden chair he had carved when you first wed, a special gift for you and the first piece of substantial furniture in your home.

The mysterious man who worked in the wood carver’s shop, Pero had always caught your eye from the first day he trudged through your village. He stood out, quiet and brooding in the corners of your vision every time you went into town. The few times you mustered enough courage to speak with him, he wouldn’t look you in the eye, dismissing you in a soft, deep voice that left your stomach in knots.

You would like to think you loved when he first looked at you, after time and patience he finally met your gaze with fierce eyes the most beautiful shade of brown.

You thought of nothing but him, especially late at night as you drifted to sleep. Images of him lying in your tiny bed, his arms strong and holding you to his chest lulled you to sleep.

Keep reading

[bizarrebaby]

Preview!

Here’s a little passage from a Pero Tovar/Virgin!Reader I’m working on!

CW: sexual content

Pero did not fancy himself a teacher, he saw himself as a taker, one with no patience for uncertainties and incompetence. But for you, he would be anything. And regardless of what he was, what you deserved was a gentle touch. Subtle, comforting, patient, and understanding. 

All words that had never been used to describe him.

Over time, the kisses grew deeper, the touches flirted further beneath the clothes, until the night came where he held you against him in his bed, eyes begging for more as you looked to him for guidance. Never had he been so frightened at the thought of bedding a woman. He was a scoundrel with hands only fit for killing, and he was terrified of hurting you somehow.

But he’d be damned if anyone else took this honor.

With every piece of clothing he stripped your body of, you looked at him with such trust. He felt your heart beating in his rough palms, like the flutter of a bird’s wings. Never before had he been responsible for something so pure, so delicate. His relations before you were intimacies he had paid for in coin, encounters that didn’t require any gentleness on his part, where he cared little about any pleasure or pain besides his own. If he were to do one thing in his life with tact and delicacy, it would be this, he promised himself. 

“Tell me again, hermosa, how many before me have seen this beautiful body?”

“N-none. You’re the first, Pero.” 

He hums in satisfaction, running his hands up your stomach to cup your breasts. His thumbs stroke over the hardening peaks, causing a hitch in your breath as you shudder. 

“Oh, mi estrellita, so sensitive,” he descends, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking almost harshly for just a moment before pulling away, admiring how your breast shines with his spit. You squeak out a shaking moan. “I wonder if you’re this sensitive everywhere else? Don’t tell me. I’ll find out myself.”