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stubbychaos · 4 years

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To Be Alone With You

Chapter 4 of Saviin’ika

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: While your Mandalorian continues to work hard to gain your trust as well as your heart, he decides to take you somewhere else just as beautiful as the cave. In return for his act of kindness, you think it’s your turn to give him a present of his own.

Rating: T for the usual stuff! Nothing smutty, just some unresolved sexual tension.

Word Count: 9,000 (I’m so sorry omg, this is literally 99% fluff and then one line at the end that indicates an actual plot coming on, lord help me, I have a problem.)

Warnings: Again, there really aren’t any in this chapter. There are little hints of abuse and growing up in a toxic environment, but nothing too descriptive. Also there’s a tiny bit of sexual tension every now and then (if you squint), but mostly fluff and hurt/comfort.

A/N: It only took until the end of the fourth chapter to finally get to the plot jfc lol. Thank you all for reading and the continuous support and kind words! I hope you enjoy this chapter <3

“What’s going through that pretty head of yours? You’re always thinking and never talking, little nurse.”

You jump a little at the sound of your blue Mandalorian’s deep baritone, blinking owlishly when you realize that your companion has been talking for quite some time now, though you’d been too consumed by your frantic thoughts to register what he was saying. You find it happening more often lately, especially when you’re sitting so close to the heavy-infantry warrior; your thoughts move at a pace that you simply cannot handle and you loathe that you’re suddenly overthinking everything in regards to the strange, intimate relationship you’ve formed with him.

Per usual, he seems as calm and collected as ever, making you even more flustered when his bold nature shines through and overpowers his bashful tone. The little touches and flirty comments seem to come so naturally to him, while you struggle to return the playful sentiments, usually answering him in the form of a shy smile or flushed cheeks that you’re certain he must see through his black visor. It seems to only spur him on more and you think he must realize what he does to you--how he makes you feel.

“I’m just thinking about...” You cringe a little, because what are you going to say to him?

Sorry, I’m just thinking about you and how much I long for your touch? That I would let you play with my hair every night for the rest of my days if you wished for it? Sorry that I’ve never felt more at home than when you hold me?

It all sounds so foolish and ridiculous and you know you can’t say any of it out loud.

“I-It’s nothing,” You answer lamely, nervously tightening the cape he had let you borrow around your torso; the material was heavier than you’d expected and the comforting weight of it had surprised you when he draped it around your shoulders after a particularly cold gust of wind had left you shivering earlier. Even though the thick material had easily warmed you up from the inside out--along with the sweet gesture--the Mandalorian hadn’t hesitated to wrap a massive arm around your shoulders and pull you closer into his side.

“I’m just daydreaming, I suppose.”

Your blue Mandalorian sighs a little, easily catching your bluff and not seeming all too thrilled that you’re struggling with your emotions, “Saviin’ika...”

You reluctantly look up at your companion, though you focus on the chin of his helmet, rather than where you think his eyes are, “I’m just thinking about the last few days; I’m not... I’m not used to this. I’m not used to people actually...” You quickly look away from him when you feel your eyes burn and your chest heave a little, “I’m just surprised you keep coming back for me--thought you would have left by now.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, realizing how pathetic the words sound as you speak them in a breathy, shaky whisper and a trembling bottom lip.

A hooked index finger tenderly taps just underneath your chin to bring your gaze further up his visor and the softness in his usually gruff voice definitely doesn’t fall on deaf ears, “Your companionship isn’t tiresome or a burden to me. I... I enjoy spending time with you more than you could imagine. I hope one day you can truly believe that.”

You smile feebly and force a tiny, meek nod, reminding yourself that nobody has stuck around this long and that your Mandalorian must not be jesting or patronizing you in any way shape or form.

Another week has passed since he first brought you to the cave and much to your utter astonishment and delight, the Mandalorian had made it a mission to visit you every day since, whether it be to simply walk you to your abode or to take you to the cave so you can relax your feet in the hot springs. After the second time when he takes you to the cave and asks if he can take out your braids again, you think he must genuinely look forward to your company, rather simply resigning to tolerate it.

The thought of him enjoying something so simple as taking out your braids leaves you breathless and you can’t help but to despise him because nobody should have this kind of impact on your heart by simply stroking your hair.

It still doesn’t completely rid the self-deprecating thoughts from clawing at the back of your mind, tearing open deep wounds that leave you feeling raw and vulnerable. You feel far too exposed to the fearless warrior and oftentimes find yourself closing in on yourself to prevent him from getting inside your mind.

Today, however, your thoughts are relatively calm and you chalk it up to a surprisingly short and uneventful shift at the infirmary, a rare occurrence that leaves you feeling unusually content and energized. Deciding to make the most of the extra energy, you had made your way to the marketplace to get more ration bars and look at the prices on fresh fruit, though you had been slightly disappointed to find the usual vendor had been sold out of their stock.

Feeling only slightly dejected, you had made your way back to the infirmary where you thought the Mandalorian might be waiting for you in his usual spot and you hadn’t even realized your disappointment from earlier had immediately disappeared upon spotting the familiar glimmer of moonlight beaming down on a dark blue helmet.

You don’t even realize he has that effect on you.

He had been waiting for you and you wondered if there were nights where he arrived at the infirmary hours before the end of your shift and he simply doesn’t mind the long wait.

Though he had been a little confused and surprised that you had gotten out of work earlier than usual, you think it must have put him in a better mood as well, noting that your smile actually met your eyes for once. After greeting you with a gentle headbutt of his Beskar-clad forehead against your bare one--something you assumed was a typical Mandalorian greeting they did with everyone--your companion had seemed content to guide you away from the village and far away from your broken home.

Noting that the night sky was incredibly clear and the full moon seemed brighter and larger than usual, he had chosen to take you to a region of the barren lands where flora grew and ponds had somehow naturally formed over time. It’s located in a rocky crater on a steep cliff side, but tame waterfalls of all shapes and sizes surround the two of you and you don’t think you’ve ever seen so much water in all of your years of living on the bleak planet.

You wonder how the Mandalorian seems to know of all these beautiful spots on a planet like Nevarro, though you’re certain previous years experience of traveling so much and providing for his tribe would give him a pretty decent mental map of the area surrounding his home.

Instead of asking, you had simply resigned to letting the Mandalorian guide you to a cozy spot, gathering a decent-sized log that you two could sit up against and you had watched with curious eyes as he easily set a small fire within the span of a few seconds.

You’re utterly content to curl against his side and watch the stars and moon that make for a lovely setting, along with the sound of the Mandalorian’s sweet baritone that speaks of his time spent traveling through the cosmos and different planets he’s visited in the past. You stare up at him with awe shimmering fiercely in your eyes when he describes the white ball of ice that’s Hoth, or how unbearably hot and deadly the Tatooine deserts had taken a toll on even him.

Then he speaks of mountain-sized trees and flowers even more massive than him and...

Maker, you hang onto every single word he uses to describe the planet of Felucia and how even he had been surprised by how vibrant and flourishing every living organism had been.

"Saviin'ika."

You don’t know what the syrupy-sweet word means in his sacred language, but you know it’s some sort of nickname he’s deemed you worthy of and your cheeks feel unbearably flushed every single time he utters it. You sometimes find yourself repeating it quietly when you’re alone, thinking the foreign word sounds prettier rolling off the tip of his tongue and through his crackly modulator.

But tonight...

"Mesh'la... Mesh’la... Mesh’la"

He seems to only utter the pretty word during intimate moments when he's comforting you or when you reluctantly confess your fears and secrets to him, but tonight… well, he says the word four times within the span of an hour and it certainly has you feeling curious as to what he could possibly be calling you. He mostly breathes out the word in the form of a sigh when he chances a cursory glance down at your wide-eyed features as he describes different flowers and plants, as though he’s just as infatuated with you as you are by his whimsical stories.

“Maybe one day I will have the chance to take you there, mesh’la.”

The way he says it so naturally, as though he’s replacing your other nickname with a new one has you feeling achingly curious, like a moth to a flame, though you trust the Mandalorian not to burn you. You think your more affected by the way he breathes out the foreign word in such an adoring tone than the thought of seeing such a wondrous sight of flowers towering over the massive warrior.

Normally you don’t care much of what others think of you, but something about the fondness and devotion that he somehow manages to convey through a modulated voice and a two-syllable word has your mind racing at what he could possibly be implying.

A large fingertip suddenly grazes the purple and blue flowers you had strategically placed in the thick braid wrapped around your crown the previous morning and you find it hard to focus on the constellations that shimmer and flicker vividly in the night sky, your attention fixed solely on the Mandalorian that sits impossibly close at your side. You can smell his clean, spicy scent that subtly seeps through the cracks of his thick blue armor and you think that Mandalorians in general must have good hygiene, what with how much they must sweat underneath all of that armor. It’s an attractive trait that not many men seem to be capable of--or rather, are simply too lazy to take care of themselves--and you wonder if the comforting scent will linger on your own clothes after being wrapped up in his cape for so long.

“You’re quiet tonight,” He observes with a hum, still seeming entranced by your elegant braids that are a little frizzy from the short flight earlier, “Is something wrong, mesh’la?”

You hesitate a little, but you trust him enough to know he will not make fun of you, “I want to know more about Mandalorian culture, but I do not want to offend you or your people.”

He cocks his head as he continues to smooth unruly baby hairs from your forehead, “What is it you want to know? You already know about our helmets, so I’m certain nothing you ask could offend me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and shiver when you feel the blunt tips of his nails lightly scratch around where your braid tugs at your scalp, "Is your language sacred? Are outsiders not allowed to learn it?"

His hand hesitates against your tender scalp and you wonder what’s running through his mind as you force yourself to avoid his intense gaze, though you find yourself drawn to it at the same time. You wonder if he’s regarding your beloved flowers with admiration or curiosity, though something tells you that it’s both as he idly plucks a pretty violet from its unlikely home in your thick braid. You find it impressive that such a fearless warrior can possess such tenderness towards something as delicate as a little flower and you suddenly wish it was your cheek or your neck he was caressing, rather than one of your beloved violets.

"Others are allowed to learn it," He finally answers as he observes the vibrant flower closely, "There are even books written in the language. Why do you ask?"

You let out a little huff as he gently twirls the stem of the flower between the rough pads of his thumb and index finger; you can tell he’s purposely ignoring your pointed gaze, "You call me all these names in your language, but I have no idea what they mean. You are not insulting me, are you, Mandalorian?"

"I would never dream of insulting you, little nurse," He grunts, sounding a little bashful as he most likely tries to think of all the ways he can dance around this topic, "Saviin'ika means violet. I only call you that because of the flowers you always put in your hair."

Something about the terseness of his voice makes you think there's more to it, but you shyly drop your tone and your head when you speak up again, barely peering up at him through your lashes, "And mesh'la? You’ve been calling me that since the night you first brought me to the cave."

He freezes, still staring down at the flower he stole from your braid and you can't stop yourself from grinning like a sly loth cat when you realize you've caught the Mandalorian red-handed. When he stubbornly refuses to give you an answer, you decide to take matters into your own hands and force yourself to stop smiling at this new discovery, not wanting him to feel embarrassed over something you think to be sweet.

"Please, look at me," You murmur and he is quick to obey, his visor landing either on your flushed face or the slight shift in your throat as you swallow thickly, "I-Is it a compliment?"

"It…" He clears his throat a little and you remain impossibly patient as the Mandalorian collects his thoughts, "It is what I think of when I see you, or what you must think when you look up at the stars."

You think of all the words you would typically use to describe the sky on a clear night like this one and can't possibly fathom someone seeing you the same way. You can’t imagine him looking at you and seeing supernovas and the vibrant swirls of galaxies in your own eyes; you find it hard to believe that anyone could perceive you as ethereal or fascinating. The Mandalorian must be jesting with you, trying to make you feel better about how hard you are on yourself, though you’ve never known him to be a liar.

Could someone truly believe you to be celestial like the stars that beckon you and cause an achy, longing feeling in your chest at night?

You shake your head a little, "Please do not make fun of me, Mandalorian. I could take it from anyone else, but not from you."

"I would never," He repeats, his voice dropping lower and more gruff, though you hear something more desperate in his tone, "I would never lie when I tell you how pretty I think you are and I would break the bones of anyone who would think it funny to insult you."

“You cannot solve everything with violence, silly man.”

He scoffs, forgetting entirely about the flower he’d robbed you of, “For you? sure I can.”

You move your hand to tuck a stray curl behind the curve of your ear, cheeks burning something fierce as he dutifully envelopes your hand in his much larger one, using the other to assume the task of taming your long hair and finishing it off by placing the flower he’d borrowed behind your ear. A soft exhale deflates your chest when you feel the rough pad of his index finger grazing the shell of your cartilage and you find yourself focusing on the geometric shape in the center of his cuirass instead. Your hand falls out of his and you tuck it next to your other between your thighs in a feeble attempt to keep the warm and from wringing together in a nervous fashion.

"You said that word means what I think when I look up at the stars, but what if I find the stars or these waterfalls to be more than pretty or beautiful? What if I could not think of a word to properly describe what I feel when I see the sky on a night like this one? Or how the moonlight looks when it reflects off your visor and armor?"

His fingers swiftly move to the bottom of your earlobe and you think he must be amused by how hot the flesh is there, no doubt burning his own rough skin. You may have caused him to grow slightly flustered, but he certainly has you beat in this lovely competition where you think there would not be any losers, only two blushing souls that don’t know how to properly display their feelings. If your last comment about the moonlight affected him at all, he certainly doesn’t let it show in his strong, steady hands or his deep baritone.

“Then I guess Mandalorians need a better word to describe someone or something that is more than beautiful--for what you see when you look at the stars and when I look at you. Perhaps someone should make revisions to the language and use you as inspiration to come up with something more fitting, mesh’la.”

You’re not sure why the emotionless gaze of his shiny visor makes you feel intoxicated and lightheaded, but you find yourself growing flushed whenever the Mandalorian lowers his helmet and cocks it to the side to get a better look at your face. He huffs out a small chuckle when you press your palms to your burning cheeks and you’re sure that your heart is about to leap right out of your chest and straight into your Mandalorian’s warm palm. You’re certain you would trust him not to crush it in a tight fist, especially after witnessing the utter caution he had displayed to not accidentally rip the petals or bruise the stem of something that he was well aware of that was so precious to you.

You think that perhaps the Mandalorian already holds your heart in his hand and while the startling thought should absolutely terrify you, it fills you with a tender warmth.

As if it’s not enough that you feel like you’re about to combust, the Mandalorian seals the deal as he gently pries your hands from your cheeks and replaces them with his own; the stark contrast in size and warmth makes you feel as though you’ve stolen his jetpack and are floating high in the night sky. He urges you to tilt your head to the side and upwards to peer up at his emotionless visor and you shiver when one of his hands slowly slides down the side of your exposed neck. Something about the way the moonlight and glittering stars that hang high above you and how it emphasizes the dull color of his blue-gray armor has you squirming around a little bit.

"Is your skin always this warm, or is it because of what I said?"

If you weren't so flustered, you would have laughed at the question; you are certain he is being sly and cocky with you and you pray that you won’t spontaneously combust into flames, "Don't tease me, Mandalorian, you know what you're doing to me. I think you’ve known since that night you carried me home and played with my hair."

You hate that your voice comes out as a shaky sigh--a dreamy little noise that has the blue warrior grunting and bringing your face closer to him. It seems to be something he absolutely adores, having you this close to him and you think it must be something he takes advantage of because he hasn’t experienced it before. You wonder how often he has the chance to take off his thick leather gloves to feel the warmth of another and selfishly, you hope that you are the only one he’s touched like this in a while.

"Do I? I don't think I know what I do to you, would you care to explain, mesh'la?" Judging by his light tone, you think he must be grinning underneath that blue bucket and when you anxiously bring your lower lip between your teeth, he’s swift to untuck it with the rough pad of his thumb, "Or should I keep teasing you? I can play with your hair again, if that’s what you really want?”

Your cheeks puff out against his palms and you squirm a little, though he keeps you firmly in place, still stroking the valley just underneath your lip, "You can do whatever you wish, Mandalorian, I would prefer to not see the weight of your ego crush you though."

A loud laugh drifts past his crackly modulator and you think the sound is lovelier than the loud waterfalls that surround the two of you, "I am pretty strong, I think I could handle the weight."

You shake your head at the confidence he exudes, though your cheeks still burn as you banter playfully with him and let him continue to tenderly hold you head however he pleases, “Men like you are all bark and no bite.”

“I can assure you that my bite is just as strong as my bark, mesh’la--or would you prefer to feel it firsthand?”

“Kriff,” You roll your eyes at him and though you try your hardest to appear exasperated with him, you can’t stop the smile that stretches your lips, “You’re insufferable when you get this cocky.”

“Something makes me think you like it,” His voice drops into a cool, deep rasp and you’re extremely aware of the way his thumb dips to the hollow of your throat before skimming along your collarbone, lightly pushing his cape out of the way, “You would tell me to stop if you were ever uncomfortable, wouldn’t you?”

You quickly steel your nerves as he continues to explore your shoulders the skin exposed just above the collar of your dress, “I mean, I haven’t stabbed you yet with the vibroblade you gave me, so I would say you’re good so far, Mandalorian.”

Risking a curious glance up at your aloof companion, your cheeks and earlobes instantly feel like burning coals when you realize his visor is pointed directly at your face and though you would never wish to intentionally disrespect his creed, you yearn to know how his eyes look whenever he decides to gaze upon you. Are his eyes just as expressive as he insists yours are? Do the corners crinkle whenever he laughs or smiles at your silly antics or when you sass him? Do they shimmer with sadness or shame whenever he discovers a new bruise, cut, or scar on your abused skin?

You think of dark eyes, glimmering ferociously with wrath and pain, rather than pity, because you refuse to believe the Mandalorian pities you.

You ponder all these questions deeply as you stare into the abyss of his visor, though you think the way the moonlight reflects off of it is just as lovely of a sight that you’re certain his eyes are. Though you long to see him all hours of the day, you think that the subtle glow of the moonlight bathing his dull blue armor in a soft, pearlescent shimmer makes for a better, more comfortable setting, rather than bleak gray skies that make the world around you so dreary.

A soft sigh leaves you and your chest deflates when his thumb grazes your brow; he almost seems fixated on a certain spot as he continues to stroke the soft little hairs at the end of the tail.

"You have a little scar here,” He observes with a small hum and he sounds thoughtful as his thumb ventures downwards to your cheekbone; you’re afraid that if you move in the slightest, he’ll pull his hand away, so you stay perfectly still as he traces the map of your face like he’s the best explorer in the galaxy.

“I got it as a child,” You inform him, lips twitching into a tiny smile when his thumb skims past the bridge of your nose, tickling the tip a little, “We used to have a tree in our backyard that I would always climb even though my mother told me not to. She was always so worried about me getting hurt, but you know how children are--they never listen and always go against their parents’ wishes. I loved climbing that tree though. It always made me feel like I was on top of the world and could do anything.”

You must have a fond or wistful expression etched on your face, because the Mandalorian breathes out a funny noise when you continue with your story, “I don’t remember how old I was, maybe seven or eight? But I had climbed as high as I could in that tree--higher than ever before--and I was so proud of myself. I remember how pretty the sunset looked from that high up and how the stars seemed a little closer, just like right now on top of this cliff. It was so peaceful and then--” Your cheeks nearly hurt from how much you’re smiling, because even though you had gotten hurt at the time, looking back on it now, it’s more amusing than anything, “A bird landed right next to me and scared me half to death.”

You’re not sure how it’s possible to feel judgment from an emotionless mask, but the Mandalorian manages to exude such energy as he shakes his helmet a little, “You… You fell out of a tree?”

“Yup,” You giggle a little when he continues to shake his head, “Face first into a rock. My parents were so upset with me and I remember forcing myself not to cry when my mother stitched up the wound because I didn’t want her to point out that I had been hurt because I disobeyed them.”

“Did you climb the tree after that?”

The nostalgia suddenly leaves you feeling a little melancholic and you shift your attention down to your hands that are tucked politely between your thighs. You hope he doesn’t sense your sadness, though you think he must, what with the way the pressure against your jaw line lightens and how he tenderly grazes a thumb to the corner of your lips.

“My father cut it down the next day.”

His fingers twitch against your flushed skin and though you know it upsets him whenever you mention anything having to do with your father and how you are nothing more than a prisoner in a world so bleak and unforgiving, you find solace and comfort in confessing your fears and sad thoughts to the Mandalorian. You’ve never owned the luxury of being able to openly display your vulnerability in front of another, but with him, you feel as though you can bare your soul and perhaps one day, the rest of your scars etched in your skin and your heart.

“Then maybe one day, I will cut him down as well.”

His terse words sound like a promise and you feel a little sick at how the thought of your father’s demise fills you with hope.

“He is my father,” You remind both the Mandalorian and yourself, still refusing to meet his Beskar gaze, “He is family.”

“No, mesh’la,” He drops his helmet and you shiver from the cold press of metal against your forehead; his hand drops to your waist and lightly squeezes it, “He is a monster that deserves to feel shame for what he’s done to his own blood. I would make him suffer, just as you have your entire life because of him. I would make him feel your pain.”

You close your eyes as the metal warms underneath your skin and you hesitantly bring a hand up to touch his blue cheek, “I would not ask you of that, Mandalorian--to do such a thing.”

He grunts and pulls you in a little closer, “Why’s that?”

“Because I do not want to believe you are capable of doing what he has done to me.”

His hand instantly freezes on your cheek upon hearing your quiet sentiment and you fear that you've said something bad or offensive, though you think it's not that. Perhaps having such a notorious reputation of his people being brutes or savages has him believing it to be true, though you don't think being ruthless or fearless should automatically equate to being recognized as a cruel human being.

You’ve seen his kindness firsthand and you’re certain that his anger and need for vengeance comes from a good place in his soft heart.

With a sad smile, you carefully sling your legs over one of his padded thighs and fold yourself closer against his side, shivering a little when a cold breeze wafts past the two of you; he’s dutiful to tug his cape tighter around you and you think you could stay like that for however long the Maker will let you live.

His fingers are splayed wide against your side, his thumb rubbing haphazard shapes against your bruised ribs, though the pressure is deliberately light and more of a tickle than anything else. You turn your head until it's situated comfortably between the inside of his bicep and his cuirass, just above where you hope his heart is beating just as frantically as yours.

"I would feel ashamed for you to see me that way," You swear you hear his natural voice underneath the lip of his helmet and you shudder when his hand lazily slides to the base of your spine, "But if I ever saw him and he… if he ever hurt you to the point where you could not be healed, I would not hesitate to act so cruelly and I would not let anyone stop me," Goosebumps rise on your covered arms and you're not sure if it's from his promise or the way his fingers drag tortuously slow up your back, "I understand you do not wish for more violence and I respect that, but I do not know how much longer I could let this go on."

You let out a deep exhale when his hand promptly lands on your hip and gives it a firm squeeze, "You worry far too much for me, Mandalorian."

"I do not worry nearly enough for you, saviin'ika," He sighs when you move your head to peer up at him through the thick abundance of your lashes, "If I did, he would have been a dead man that day you stitched me up and he talked to you that way. I would burn that whole fucking village to the ground if… if you were taken away from me. I would do anything for you.”

“I--” You feel speechless at how raw he’s being with you, confessing what you think is a fear that he’s veiled with a threatening promise, “You haven’t known me that long and you…?”

His free hand moves to the hollow at the base of your throat and your breath hitches when he feels your erratic pulse thrumming underneath his rough fingertips, “I know your heart, mesh’la--I knew what kind of person you were from the moment you offered me that salve and didn’t expect anything in return. I know that…” He makes a funny noise upon noticing the way you shiver when he slowly drags his hand up the column of your neck, “I know that I think about you more than I think about anyone else and that every time I try to sleep, all I can think of is your smile and those flowers you always put in your braids. Sometimes I swear I can smell them in your hair, but I must be imagining it for my own selfish purposes--it’s too sweet of a scent.”

When you speak, it’s a breathy whisper that barely reaches the bottom of his shiny visor, fogging it up a little, “Mandalorian…”

“You were scared of me that night--after you stitched me up and I followed you out of the infirmary,” He remembers and even though it was only over a month ago, you feel as though you’ve know him for far longer; that night feels like it took place lifetimes ago, “Before I told you that I wanted to walk you home, you thought I was going to hurt you and I never cared about scaring others before, but you--”

You struggle to blink away the tears in your eyes as he spills his heart out to you, something that you’re certain can’t be an easy feat when he’s spent so much of his life covered in metal that disguises what he’s truly feeling, but you remain silent as he continues.

“I made you cry and I didn’t like it, that I made you feel that way when I could tell it was something you were used to feeling so much--that kind of fear and dread,” He sighs, a grave sounding noise, and shakes his helmet at the memory, as if it’s something that constantly haunts him, “I don’t want you to feel sad when you’re with me; I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I want you to feel safe and... and cared for.”

“The only reason I feared you at first is because I was a naive fool that chose to listen to the rumors about your people,” You remind him, not happy with how distraught he sounds as he recalls your unfortunate first meeting and how badly you he had caused you such fear with his mere presence, “I knew what kind of man you were the moment you gave me your vibroblade to protect myself with.”

He steadily holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head backwards so you’re forced to look directly into his visor where you think his eyes fondly peer down at you, “And what kind of man is that, little nurse?”

You are very much aware of the close proximity between you two, your legs still draped over his thigh and his heavy arm wrapped firmly around your waist to prevent you from escaping, though you think you would never attempt such a feat.

Not when he’s warming you from the inside out.

“An honorable man who’s deathly loyal to the ones he cares for and deems worthy of his affections.”

He thoughtfully gazes at you for a few moments, thumb steadily swiping and exploring the soft angles and valleys of your jaw line, “Do you think I deem you worthy of my affections?”

“I am not sure if I would deserve something so precious,” You admit in a breathy whisper, “But maybe someday I will allow myself to believe myself worthy of such a thing.”

He grunts and shakes his helm, “You are worth so much more, mesh’la, so much more.”

He sounds like he’s being genuine and utterly serious, so you give him a shy smile and nod a little, not trusting your voice at the moment.

You think he must not experience skin contact often, what with the way his rough fingers always trace your cheeks or jaw line when you two are alone, but you find that you don't mind his curious hands one bit and you think him to be endearing. Any time his bare fingers graze your skin, you think it to be similar to a child’s curiosity, as though he’s experiencing something astounding for the first time ever and you pray that he never tires of the sensation, especially when you crave it so badly.

Maker, do you crave the rough warmth of his fingers against any part of you.

“For a big grouchy Mandalorian, you’re not too terrible with words.”

You're sitting so close to him that you hear an amused snort from underneath his helmet and your smirk instantly turns into a grin when he retorts with a tug of your earlobe, though it's not enough to cause any discomfort. After getting to know him a little better in the last week, you find it endearing that the Mandalorian seems more confident when it comes to touching you, no longer treating you like some sort of fragile ornament. When he occasionally touches your neck, his fingers are no longer a ghost of a touch, and as though it’s instinct to constantly comfort you, he uses a firmer pressure to melt the knots and aches away, rather than hesitant, light touches he had been giving you during your first few initial meetings.

Now, he seems to constantly seek close contact, whether he’s wearing gloves or not, and you certainly won’t deny him such a small request.

It’s not like you absolutely crave it--a comforting squeeze of your nape or the way he holds you close when he's using his jetpack and carrying you to the cave. You think of the way he barely nudges you with his shoulder or when he playfully tugs your earlobe whenever you jest around with him, or how determined his hands are when they map out the slopes and valleys of your face and neck.

Then there's the way he always touches your hair so fondly--always with a bare hand and you think that perhaps he's afraid that his gloves are too dirty and he's afraid of somehow soiling your usually unruly mane. Perhaps he just prefers to feel the soft locks against his skin and it's because of that presumption alone that you find yourself carefully combing out the knots in your hair more often, though you think it wouldn't matter to the warrior if your hair was a tangled mess all the time.

It's definitely not something you constantly daydream about when you find yourself miserable at work, or when you're unable to give into exhaustion at the end of the day. At first, you attempt to not think about the heavy-infantry warrior and the effect his mere presence has on you, but at some point about halfway through the week, you decided to simply give up and allow yourself a small semblance of hope and warmth.

"You have to be at the infirmary soon," He eventually sighs when the sun begins to barely rise over the horizon and you swear you hear guilt laced within his deep baritone; you hadn’t even realized how much time had passed, "I didn't mean to keep you up all night, saviin’ika. You could have been sleeping instead."

You smile fondly at the Mandalorian and tightly squeeze his hand, "I haven't been sleeping all that well lately, so I would much prefer to spend my time with you, rather than tossing and turning in my bed all night. Besides, it's been a while since I've seen the sunrise."

“Nevarro’s sunrises and sunsets aren’t that exciting or something to look forward to.”

You huff, "All sunrises are exciting, Mandalorian."

He hums and pulls you closer into an affectionate embrace; you think that without all the armor, it would be far easier to melt against him and stay trapped within the safety of his arms forever. You find that the times he chooses to hold you close is the only time you forget about your broken home and the two souls that haunt it--one full of despair and longing and the other filled with violence and rage.

You think of the Mandalorian, someone who comes from a tribe of fearless warriors that are astonishingly loyal to one another, and you understand why the nature of your situation upsets him so much. The little ones, foundling or blood, are the key to the Mandalorian existence and are all cherished and respected amongst all the adults, so of course any of his people would be horrified at the thought of intentionally hurting a child.

It’s for that reason that you constantly remind your Mandalorian that you are not a child, but an adult that has no control over their situation.

That being said, you selfishly allow yourself to think of a better life whenever he holds you or caresses your cheeks and hair--a life where you are far away from Nevarro and all of the cruel people that cause it to fester so terribly. You greedily think of a life with your blue Mandalorian on one of the many beautiful planets that he had previously described to you in great detail and it nearly forces tears into your eyes.

Only when your chest aches is when you remind yourself that it’s a foolish dream--a childish one that most likely won’t ever come to fruition.

You’re not sure how long the Mandalorian will choose to brighten up your bleak days, though having him here with you in this moment is enough to give you hope. He's already shown you that not everything on this planet is terrible and perhaps your future isn't as set in stone as you initially thought.

"I should take you back," He sounds disgruntled as the sun starts to turn the dark blue sky into shades of dull pinks and oranges, though there's a thin layer of fog that distorts what would have been a lovely view, "That way you can at least get a little sleep before work."

"You're one to talk," You petulantly argue, though he seems to know you well enough to understand you're being lighthearted with him, "I'm starting to think you don't ever sleep."

He scoffs a little and playfully squeezes your hip, "I nap sometimes.”

You frown as you reluctantly pull yourself away from the warmth of his embrace, already feeling colder as you slowly stand and try to shake the pins and needles from your feet. Holding out a hand for the Mandalorian to take, you grunt a little as you struggle to help him up, though he ends up doing most of the work, no doubt amused by your dramatic noises. You think the armor must add at least over twenty pounds and that’s not even including his heavy weapons and equipment, which must weigh twice as much.

You take one last look at the sunrise and the beautiful waterfalls as the Mandalorian straps his jetpack to his back; even though the waterfalls aren't nearly as massive about the ones you've read about in books, you think them to be no less breathtaking.

It's far more beautiful than anything your own mind could hope to conjure and as you observe the way the lengthy streams of water that cascades wildly off the edge of the slightly larger cliff twenty or so feet behind you and your companion, you wish you could burn the image into your mind for the rest of your days.

"Mesh'la," The Mandalorian's soft baritone pulls you from your wistful thoughts and you turn to him with a small smile, tucking his cape around your head in a protective manner so your flowers won’t get lost mid-flight, "You ready?"

"Yes, thank you for taking me here," Your smile grows when he offers you a hand that is now unfortunately clad in leather once again, his weapons and equipment all in place as well, “Perhaps we can come back someday.”

He easily tugs you into an embrace that is only slightly awkward because of the Beskar shell that protects him from a world that seems to despise his kind. Without the armor, you think that he’d give the most comforting hugs, what with his massive stature and big arms, though you’re willing to take what you can get from him.

“I would bring you back here or to the cave any night you wish.”

You huff and firmly wrap your arms around his neck as he takes off without giving you any warning, a small squeak leaving you and you’re certain he’s amused by the way his shoulders shake a little. His other hand comes up to the back of your head to keep his cape in place and you think he must be as protective of your flowers--if not more--than you are.

“Any night? Those are dangerous words, Mandalorian.”

He chuckles a little and rolls his helmet to the side when your fingers unconsciously dig into his nape, just underneath the lip of his helmet where fabric is bunched up, “You could ask me to take you to the cave every single night and I would happily do it if it meant I got to hold you like this all the time.”

You’re grateful that you can hide your flushed face against the crook of his neck, though you decide to muster up enough courage in an attempt to cause a reaction from him, “You don’t need the jetpack in order to hold me like this.”

His metal cheek bumps a little against your bare one as he struggles to get a good look at the bashful expression etched on your face and you shyly shift in his arms so you can lift your head and peer at him. You imagine a man flustered underneath all that armor, smiling so large that his cheeks hurt or perhaps his skin burning just as hotly as yours had earlier when he had been hellbent on making you accept your beauty and worth.

You wonder if the Mandalorian would be as open and flirty with you if his heart was buried so deep underneath layers or padding and Beskar, where he was easily able to conceal his fears or insecurities and you think it must be easy for him.

“Yeah?” The Mandalorian interrupts your thoughts when he lightly nudges the hollow of his blue cheek against yours again, though it somehow seems much more tender this time, as if he’s calmed himself, “And what if I want more? I can be a selfish man sometimes, saviin’ika.”

You conceal your smile against the lighter blue patch in the hollowed metal, trying your hardest not to giggle like a child with a crush on someone that you know you can’t have. The gritty nature of his low baritone makes something warm expand in the pit of your stomach and you know it’s no longer because of the weightless feeling of flying high in the sky with your Mandalorian, but rather the promise of his words.

You think he sounds just as longing as you feel for something you convinced yourself long ago that you were undeserving of and you wonder if he’s dreamed about this as long as you have.

“Then perhaps that makes two of us,” You whisper, continuing when you hear him grunt a little, “I know you think me to selfless and pure, but I have wants and dreams as well, Mandalorian.”

He doesn’t say anything at the small drop in your tone, but the way he squeezes your hip tells you everything you need to know as he expertly makes his way back to the village that is barely starting to come alive in the early hours. He lands on the outskirts of the village, taking great care to make sure you don’t collapse, as your legs always feel so numb and wobbly after he carries you, and dread courses through your veins when you eventually see the infirmary in the distance.

“Saviin’ika,” The blue warrior gently grabs your wrists, keeping you from taking another step forward, though his grip is light and tender, leather thumbs grazing the insides of your wrists, “I cannot go any further, but I had a really nice night. I... I want to keep seeing you.”

You cock your head at how he suddenly sounds a little tense and shy, but you give him a small smile and nod a little; the moment feels a tiny bit awkward, like two souls that don’t know how to properly say goodbye after such a lovely date, “I had a nice night as well. I expect you to keep that promise of taking me to the cave or the waterfalls whenever I wish, Mandalorian.”

He chuckles at your playful, yet demanding tone, reluctantly accepting the cape that you briefly thought about stealing from him just so you wouldn’t forget his scent, “Of course, mesh’la. I would not be able to deny you anything at this point, I think, nor would I want to.”

“You spoil me,” You blush, sheepishly turning your gaze away from him, “Yet I do nothing for you.”

He scoffs, shaking his helm at you and he sounds exasperated when he speaks, “You give me far more than you know. I... I’ll see you later?”

The cockiness in his deep baritone is gone and suddenly replaced with something more bashful and endearing, almost as though he’s intimidated by you.

“I’ll be here, as usual.”

“Is that a promise?”

“I would never lie to you,” You answer with a fond grin, watching as the warrior turns to take his leave; in your usual fashion, you’re quick to stop him, a playful expression etched along your features, “Mandalorian, wait!”

He faces you once more and his body seems to straighten up a little when he sees you plucking sapphire and violet wildflowers from your braids with the same grace he’d display upon fighting an enemy.

The blue Mandalorian cocks his head to the side, no doubt confused as you bundle the pretty flowers together before making your way over to him with a nervous energy surrounding you. You pray to the Maker that he doesn’t perceive you as ridiculous or childish as you grab his hand and pull it towards you with purpose and excitement. He gives absolutely no struggle when you flip the appendage over and unfurl his fingers from the loose fist he seems to constantly have them hooked into when he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“What are you--?”

His voice almost sounds panicked as you place the tiny bouquet in his palm and push it back towards him with a huge grin stretched across your lips, cheeks burning as he shifts his attention multiple times from the flowers to you. It’s such a simple gesture, but you can tell it’s thrown the normally unbothered Mandalorian completely off his axis and you find him utterly endearing as he shakes his head and attempts to give them back to you.

“These are your flowers, saviin’ika. I would not take something so precious from you.”

“I have so many in my office and at home, Mandalorian,” You gently push his hand away once more and step a little closer to him, never removing your hand from his, “Besides, it is the least I can do for all you have done for me--always taking me away from the village and being so kind to me. The blue flowers are Lobelias and they have healing properties for respiratory ailments, should anything happen to anyone in your tribe and you are not able to bring them to me. The violets are good for soothing salves and are very anti-inflammatory; I’m sure they would be helpful for bruising or swelling.

He stares intensely at you and shakes his helmet a little, “You don’t have to... are you sure?”

“I know you said it is your duty to provide for your tribe and it seems as though you are lacking nurses and medical supplies; it would be an honor if you accepted my flowers, though I fear it is not as effective as bacta,” You grow a little shy when he remains deathly silent and you fear that you’ve offended him somehow, “Besides, you said earlier that sometimes you think you can sometimes smell them from under your helmet, so now you can find out for yourself when you are alone and able to take your helmet off.”

His tone is one you’ve never heard and it has you reaching up to touch his blue cheek as he speaks in a strained tone, foregoing all nicknames he’s bestowed upon you to utter your real name, though you think you much prefer how fond he sounds when he calls you ‘saviin’ika’.

“I think I would much prefer to smell them while they’re still in your hair.”

You think he’s just trying to cover up the shift in his attitude with a flirty comment and his personality must be rubbing off on you, because you are quick and coy to reply.

“Then perhaps one day you will.”

“Th-Thank you,” His baritone is a coarse rasp and you beam at him a little brighter because you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone so grateful for something so simple; he lowers his helm and firmly presses his forehead to yours, though he keeps it there for several longing moments, a leather palm cupping your nape to keep you in place, “I will tell the others what you did--that you wished to help us. I think they would appreciate knowing that there are others that care.”

“I am glad. I cannot imagine being hated just for the armor you wear or your reputation,” You murmur, dropping your hand and watching as he gingerly tucks the bundle of flowers into the large pouch attached to his hip, taking great caution so he doesn’t crush the petals; your cheeks hurt from smiling so much as he pulls out tiny daggers and other belongings from the pouch so they won’t bring any harm to his newest, most fragile possessions, “The nodes are attached to flowers as well, so if you wish to plant them, they will be easy to re-grow.”

He huffs out a small chuckle, “Our kind are forced to live in sewers. We don’t get any sunlight underground, little nurse. Besides, I am not nearly as talented of a gardener as you.”

“They would grow just as well with artificial light, Mandalorian, and they are extremely easy to take care of,” You say, matter-of-factly, with a sly smile and quirked brows as he cocks his helmet to closely regard you, “Though I would not mind giving you more, regardless of what you do with the ones I have given you.”

“That would… it would be nice,” He admits quietly and you grin at your companion, earning you an exasperated shake of the helmet from him, “You are far too kind."

“After everything you have done for me--the hope and happiness you have filled me with--it is the least I can do. I would give you every flower I’ve ever grown if you asked.”

He hesitates as he reaches back into the pouch to retrieve one of your many beloved violets, stepping closer to tuck it securely behind the cartilage of your ear with great care, “It would be unfair and cruel to leave you with not a single flower in your hair, mesh’la. I would not allow anyone to rob you of your only possessions, especially not myself.”

You’re beaming up at him like a love-struck fool and he must be distracted as much as you are, because neither one of you sense the furious gaze that’s fixated on the two of you from down the street.

He leaves you with his usual parting words, “Take care of yourself, little nurse.”

“You as well, Mandalorian.”

Despite your promise, the Mandalorian does not see you later that night.

Saviin’ika= Little violet

Mesh’la= Beautiful

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aeryntheofficial @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat

For the love of God, if I missed anyone, please send me an angry message and I will quickly add you :( I have a notebook where I keep track of everything, but I’m still terrified I’m going to forget someone and I absolutely do not want that bc I love you all so much <3

Anyways, I know this chapter was literally 99% fluff/hurt/comfort with a freaking cliffhanger (I am so sorry) But I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! The support and love you all have given me so far has been so encouraging and I’ve been having so much fun writing this soft ass story!!

#paz vizla x reader #paz vizla x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian fanfic #Mandalorian #my writing #y'all know this big blue bitch went straight back to the enclave #and ripped his helmet off to smell the flowers #every night is date night with these 2 idiots #oml

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danidrabbles · 3 years

Text

OCTOBER 21: BREEDING KINK

Notes: Got something new in store for you today: Ezra Prospect hate sex 🤗 I dedicate this piece to @javier-pena and mine’s very different views on Ezra. I really enjoyed writing this one, I hope you enjoy reading it just as much!

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+!)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: hate sex, mentions of oral (m receiving), unprotected PIV sex, orgasm denial, dub con, dirty talk, degradation, creampie (as the title might give away). I think that’s all. If I forgot anything, let me know!

Ezra is pretty sure he hates you.

At first he thinks it’s a coincidence that, somehow, you’re there before he is for every job. But the fourth time he runs into you, as he sees you at the prospecting site, doubled over in concentration in your tight little space suit with your Laser Scalpel in hand, he begins to think you’re doing it on purpose. It’s in the way you notice his presence that does it, the way you look over your shoulder and flash him a smug little smile.

He fucks you against the Drop Pod before you’ve even packed your Aurelac.

In true Baader-Meinhof fashion, he sees you everywhere after that—while prospecting on The Pug and Bakhroma, on The Ephrate, in a bar on Central.

He can’t take his eyes off of you, simply watches as you raise your beer bottle at him with a nod and a grin, before wrapping your lips around it.

It makes him so fucking angry, how you can rile him up with such a simple action. But it’s nothing compared to how much it pisses him off when you take his cock down your throat without so much as blinking an eye, and manage to smile while you do it, once he gets you alone in the dark alley behind the bar. Or how heated he feels by the sound of your voice moaning his name when he pushes you against the bricks and takes you from behind.

Or how furious it makes him when he doesn’t see you for weeks, after.

When does he finally sees you again, it’s on the Green Moon.

The air has changed there ever since a subdivision of Kaslo Porting started installing the filters. With a dust and spore count that’s almost negligible, the air has become safe to breathe, which makes prospecting much easier without the helmet on top of the suit obstructing your view.

It’s how he recognizes you immediately: by your hair. The soft strands he’s had in his hands countless times, to pull you closer, to push you away, harder, faster, deeper… Before he knows it, he’s striding towards you, watching as your back flexes under your space suit while you prospect.

“I’m afraid today’s endeavours end here,” he says, grabbing you by the arm that’s holding the scalpel and pulling you up.

The metal tool lands on your prospecting gear with a clang, and you whip your head around, scowling when you see him. “What the fuck, Ezra,” you spit out as a burning smell fills the air. “I was just working on the blister, asshole. Do you want me to get covered in acid?!”

He can’t help but smile at your angry tone, pleased that he has caught you off guard for once. Your flush flowers all the way down your neck, to where your chest heaves under your space suit, the movement making the zipper glint in the sunlight.

“Certainly not,” he answers you, holding you still as you try to shake free from his grasp. He watches you as you struggle, eyes large and round as they look up at him, and despite the fact you’re full of rage now, it reminds him of how you look when you’re on your knees for him. “I’ve seen you covered in much better liquids.”

The comment makes you scoff, and he uses your moment of distraction to let go of your arm. You stumble backwards, a heel catching on the grass before falling back into it. Ignoring the offended huff of breath you let out, he dives down to straddle you. His hands encase both your wrists, pinning you down, pushing harder when you struggle against him.

“What are you gonna do, Ezra?” you ask, voice strained with effort, eyes glimmering with excitement. Practiced hands nearly rip the zipper from your suit. You help him pull it down to your ankles, until he can fit himself between your legs. “Are you gonna fuck me, like you always do? That’s why you keep following me around, isn’t it?”

His hands hold you at the waist, pinning you down against the green at your back. “And who is following who, exactly, little explorer? With so much space on these moons in the sky, it’s hardly believable that you continuously showing up at my dig sites is coincidental, wouldn’t you say?”

Amused, you roll your tongue around in your mouth before replying, “Well, since I’m always the first one on site, I think I should be asking you that question, wouldn’t you say?”

Ezra’s face falls, and the smug look on your face that appears after, the blatant provocation, makes his blood boil. His breathing becomes hard, huffing out through his nose, and his lack of response makes you let out an entertained chuckle,

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

His hands rip themselves from you as if burned, shooting up to fumble with his own suit until he can shove it down far enough to get his cock out. “It’s in your best interest if you stop talking,” he tells you.

“No, I—” you counter immediately, but it’s cut off by a sweet little gasp as he pulls your shirt up to expose your tits. One hand cups your left breast, squeezing the flesh in his hand until it spills between his fingers before twisting your nipple, making your gasp carry into a moan. He lets go in favour of hooking your underwear to the side and giving himself space, and you try again, “I don’t think you want me to—”

“Shut…,” he positions himself at your glistening entrance, and slides into you in one, sharp thrust, thighs slapping against the back of your own, “...up.”

He feels almost proud as he watches your mouth drop open, brows knitting together as your body adjusts to his size. He doesn’t give you any time to process, he simply draws his hips back and fucks back into you, dragging himself through the slick channel of your cunt again, and again, and again.

“There you go, from singing like a bird to quiet as a mouse.” His eyes trail down your body, fixating on the way your tits bob with every thrust of his hips before shifting his focus to where your bodies are joined. “I’d say it’s on account of how you're struggling to take it all.”

You grit your teeth before looking him in the eye and giving him a mischievous little smirk. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ezra.”

He snarls at your condescending tone, infuriated by how the tight squeeze of your cunt contradicts your words, and it only fans the flames, makes him fuck you harder. Both hands hook under your knees, drawing them up so he can slide in deeper. The change in angle has you crying out, and it makes Ezra’s scowl dissolve into a wide grin. Pushing your legs towards your chest, he leans into you, knees slipping in the dirt, your body sliding up each time he buries himself to the hilt.

“Tell me—” he begins, swallowing thickly before continuing, “Tell me how you do it and I’ll consider letting you come.”

You bite your lip, doing a poor job of fighting back a smile, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A frustrated sound rumbles from his throat at your reply, he tries to ignore the way your teasing makes him impossibly harder, and he compensates by making his fingers squeeze you meaner and his hips meet you harder. “Fine,” he says, voice gravelly. “Your choice.”

He uses you for his pleasure. Looking down between your bodies, revelling in the sight of himself sliding in and out of you, in the tight squeeze of your pussy around his cock, the tremble of your thighs against his ribs. Then he makes the mistake of looking up at your face. You’re looking right at him, those sparkling eyes letting him know something is brewing, that trouble is coming, that—

“I’m gonna come—oh, fuck—,” he breathes out. “I’m gonna come all over that stupid, pretty face,” he promises, continuing to pound in to you while he holds you down against the grass, waiting for the exact moment to pull himself from your soaking cunt...

...And as if you can sense it, you lock your legs around his waist, using the grip you have on him to pull him tight against your pelvis.

Ezra’s eyes widen, and his hands try to pry your legs from around him to no avail. “Let me out,” he growls out between clenched teeth, fingers digging into your thighs in a way that’s no doubt painful.

It’s accompanied by a grin when you shake your head, tightening your legs as you do. He’s still pumping himself into you, and on each thrust, you push your pelvis further up to meet his.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, you fucking—” he cuts himself with a groan, almost doubling over as he fists the grass and grinds himself into you in desperate little circles, “bitch,” he spits out eventually. He throws his head back, the muscles in his throat straining as he groans. “M'gonna come. Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Then fucking do it, Ezra,” you encourage, flexing the muscles in your thighs as you do. “It’s what you need, don’t you? A warm pussy to come in? Do it.”

His cock twitches, his balls draw up and then he starts to empty himself inside of you with a shuddering moan. “F-Fucking take it,” he stutters out with each thrust. “Little fucking brat, so fucking greedy for my come, hmm? Take all of it.”

Suddenly, his vision flips, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s because you rolled the two of you over. You sit up in his lap, and when he comes up, you give him a forceful push back against the ground, keeping him down with your hands against his chest.

“I hacked into your account,” you sigh, bringing a hand down between your legs to touch your clit. “Every time you plan a prospecting job, I can see exactly where you plan on go—ooh—” The end of your sentence doesn’t get past your lips, making room for a moan instead as your orgasm washes over you.

Ezra should be occupied with your admission, beaming with pride that he was right, but all he can think about is the steady clench of your pussy around him that continues to keep him warm, and how your orgasm is making his softening cock twitch with interest.

“Fuck, you’ve got to s-stop… stop milking me, or…” His fingers dig into your waist so hard he thinks he might be drawing blood, his voice thin when he says, “You’re gonna get me hard again, fuck, you can’t—”

That smirk is back on your face, and it only serves to make him harder, swelling and throbbing and unexplainably, stupidly close. When he makes another attempt to sit up, you let him. You allow him to clamp a hand down at the back of your neck so he can pull you in for a kiss that’s all tongue, and teeth, and desperate pants. He bites at your bottom lip, then pulls on your hair to draw it back.

“You’re gonna be full and satiated by the time we’re done,” he growls, forehead pressed to yours as he pulls you down onto his cock and grinds into you at the same time. “And if anything should bloom, know it's because of your greed…”

Thanks for reading! Truly don't know what I have for you tomorrow, but maybe I'll go with something that is my brand 😏

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#kinktober 2021 #kinktober #dani writing #prospect #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect x you #fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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thefanbasewhore · 4 years

Note

I feel like Din would be so protective over his pregnant girl 🥰🥰

Clan leader Din coming at you 😁😁🥰

Content/Warning: Clan Leader Din is just a little protective over his pregnant riduur. Mentions of sex, and all that. I got carried away lol, it went a little off topic. Not edited.

Din/female reader.

It wasn't necessary planned, the pregnancy. After Din had finally convinced you to marry him after months of asking. While you weren't against the idea from the beginning it was the reasoning behind it, the elders of the clan pushed for it and even offered Din an alternative spouse to further to clan.

They would prefer it actually, combining the clan with another mandalorian. That was the problem, you weren't mandalorian. The moment you arrived with Din you could tell you were unwelcomed.

The elderly would only address Din, the men of the claim wouldn't even look in your direction, and the females all wanted to be you.

It wasn't always like this, you and Din first met when he was just a bounty hunter, but after the destruction of the Razor Crest and getting rid of Moff Gideon the mandalorian race had finally resurfaced and the the leader of those people was chosen by the armour; the backbone of the people.

That marriage was a celebration, the clan was whole and the elders were happy. The night was filled with dancing, gifts, layers and layers of beads laid against their chests.

Din was happy, the silver beskar was painted with while lines, smudged from the elders, swirls of symbol that connected their souls forever. Eyes drift to his riduur, laughing and smiling as the children gather around you.

Grogu was happy as well, and safe, that's all the mattered. That night he made love to you only in the beads, a giant bed filled with pellets and pellets of furs, finally able to take his helmet off. It was a surreal moment, never had you pressured him, tried to rip the creed away but instead watched nervously as shaky fingers slowly lift the helmet.

You barely have a minute to register those brown eyes, soft curve of his nose, the square jaw as lips meet yours with a rough, wanting speed.

It was only a few weeks later when he started to notice a small difference, you were tired more, felt sick throughout the day, certain foods made you nauseous.

"Are you okay baby?" Din's voice was just above a whisper, cool basker against your ear. The head of the table was only occupied by you and him but that chattering of the dinning hall was loud, at least a hundred voices.

He couldn't help but notice you haven't touched your food, while he could not eat in front of the others he still ate with his clan, so did the other mandalorians who took the same creed as him. Your fork just moved the food around the plate, you haven't had an appetite in weeks and when you did eat, minutes later it was coming back up.

"Mmm," you agree, "Just not hungry."

Din's fingers firmly press against your eblow, concerned. "You haven't eaten dinner in a week."

"I-I don't know, I just feel sick."

Din takes the fork from your hand, stabbing the hunk of meat that hasn't been touched. "I don't like you not eating."

The fork is brought to her lips, a way of making sure his riduur is fed. Din doesn't like the look on your face, side eyeing with a hint of disgust. The smell brought an instant phase of nausea, being so close to your lips doesn't help.

Din nudges it further. "Eat."

"I can't."

"Eat now." His tone was not one to argue with, sharp and without a second thought your lips wrap around the fork. The moment the chunk of meat hits your tongue, bile starts to rise.

Trying not to make a scene you raise from the table, stumbling away from the dinning hall, no longer in site as the contents of your stomach empty into the grass.

"Cyar'ika." Soft hands find your lower back, his other leather gloves gathering the loose strands of hair. "What's wrong?"

He rubs soft circles against your back, "Tell me, you're scaring me."

Your hand rest against his chest for stability, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Eyes meet his visor with a sigh. "I'm pregnant Din."

Ever since that day Din had been stuck at your side, the promise of a child was all it took. Family was important, it was held above all on the creed.

It had started early, at meetings, at dinner times he would have you close, sometimes even sitting on his lap, hands playing with the ends of your hair.

Any kind of physical activity was out of the question, small walks were allowed but only if himself or a clan member was present. Which of course none of them minded, protecting the future of the clan.

A child born into the clan was everything, a gift, foundlings were the future but born children a gift especially of a clan leader.

The moment you started showing he couldn't keep his hands to himself, always had to have his hand pressed against it, kiss the round bump when alone.

"Go sit down." His soft hands nudge you towards the direction of the table, "I'll get your plate for you sweet girl."

"I can get it, you don't-"

Din shakes his head, "Go, I'll be right there."

"Don't forget the -"

"Strawberries." He answers for you, "I know sweetheart, I'll get extra."

"Oh and -"

"Cake, I know Cyar'ika. Go sit down, be careful of the children." By children he meant the small children who would run circles around you, press small hands against your belly with happiness. All their parents telling them about the baby, a special baby that helped saved the future of the clan.

Towards the middle of your pregnancy, you started the nursery. With that came lots of bickering, he didn't want you high to paint the walls on the chair, he didn't want you too low roll out the area rug, he didn't want you breathing in the paint, getting into the tub alone, or just being alone.

It was suffocating, but you understood why. After Grogu was taken, Din thought he'd never see his son again. He couldn't take the heart break, the pain, and promised he would never let either of his children out of his sight again.

"What are you doing?" Din's voice was low and hoarse, tiredly wrapping his arms around you from the back, resting against your belly.

Towards the end of your pregnancy Din was more laid back, that exact reason being you being on bed rest for the next few weeks. "I hear Grogu."

"I'll get him, go back to sleep."

You decide to ignore him despite his protest. The small groan followed by, "Sweetheart."

Din followed behind, watching you waddle across the hall to the dark room. "What's wrong my love?"

It was for Grogu, concerned why he isn't sleeping already. When the light flickers on Grogu's arms reaching for his mother. The small child presses his small hands against your cheeks with a small wail.

His eyes meet his father's behind him, smiling sweetly. Din presses a kiss against your shoulder, hand rubbing the petal ears. "Why aren't you sleeping buddy?"

The child's hand run lower until he's whining, trying to reach for the swell of your belly. It was something he often did. It was no secret the child was special, he knew things, felt things. He would often bring you flowers when he played outside, placing them right on your belly. From that you gathered he was trying to tell you something, he would have a sister.

Din's head rest against your neck as you rock the small child against your chest. Din's heart has never been so full. All of you safe, together and happy. As he rest his hands against the swell, his future daughter he lets a sigh out. "Thank you."

"for what?"

"Giving me everything I wanted, being everything I ever wanted."

#din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #the mandolorian x reader #the mandolorian imagine

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acourtofsnakes · 3 years

Text

Haalur - Rogue, Chapter 17| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: Din begins the frantic race for your life, desperate not to lose you.

Warnings: Swearing, injury, drowning, talks of death, brief mention of suicide, angst, fluff

AN: The good times start from here, folks. I’ve put you all through enough ♥︎

AN: I highly recommend listening to Bruises by Lewis Capaldi for this chapter for the vibes 🖤

Credit to whoever owns the gif 🖤

Word count: 5.5k +

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @jackgrzs @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004 @seninjakitey @what-iwish-you-knew @queenofthefaceless @rosiefridayrogersunday @greeneyedblondie44 @itsnottilly @welcometothepedroverse

Mando’a Translation: Haalur - Breathe

As soon as you were sucked into the water, Din felt a terror so potent that he was sure he had just died. It gripped his heart, pulverising it in his chest and making it hard to think, breathe or even see.

He was rigid, unable to comprehend what was happening, before Grogu’s repeated warning cry jolted him awake.

Din hesitated no longer.

He sprinted across the surface of the lake, going too fast to worry about the huge cracks forming under his feet.

The stretch to where you had fallen seemed like miles, like you were getting further and further away despite the closing distance.

By the time he made it, the hole had already begun to freeze back over, and Din frantically smashed at it with the heel of his boot. He couldn’t risk shooting at it, in case he caught you in the firing line.

With a suitable hole made, he turned on the flashlight on his helmet, sucked in a deep breath, and then dived straight in.

Immediately, the sub-zero temperature of the water gripped his ribs like a vice, a cold so intense it felt like his bones would snap under the force of it.

Glacial water immediately gushed in under his helmet, choking him with the bitter taste, burning his eyes and rendering him blind for a moment.

He choked, thrashing around for a moment as he struggled to breathe.

“Calm down.” He snapped at himself, “Stop panicking. Breathe. This isn’t about you.”

Saving you, that’s all that mattered.

Din allowed his body to relax, to will his heart to slow down.

He moved his head around, searching the cloudy, pitch-black depths for any trace of you.

The weight of your clothes and the force of your drop would have sucked you down quickly, and Din felt the clock begin to tick down, the timer of your life being thrust into his hands.

He shifted his body around, using the ice above his head to push himself down and begin to swim for you.

It was just so dark down here, like he’d gone through the ice and emerged up into space, blindly navigating the cloudy abyss whilst searching for the one person he wanted to give everything to.

Panic and terror fuelled his strokes, the weight of his armour aided him in sinking deeper.

It might have been hours; it may only have been seconds.

Din’s lungs burned, and his head throbbed with the pressure of the arctic water.

Every pound of his heart reminded him that your own may have stopped -

There!

Sinking slowly to the bottom of the water, looking like you were plucked straight from the stories the elders used to tell him, there you were.

Eyes closed and lashes brushing your cheekbones… like this, in the dim light from his helmet, you could simply be asleep.

He nearly sobbed in relief, scrabbling in the water and he tugged you gently to his body, holding you against him and he started to kick toward the surface.

But it was harder, more of an effort this time.

He was graceful on land, able to move with the ease of a shadow even with the armour but underwater, his beloved protective shell made him cumbersome, the weight combining with your limp body threatening to drag him down.

He kicked his legs harder, keeping his head focused on the ice above. He was desperate to open his mouth, to suck in air, even though it would only be a mouthful of bitter, icy water.

Din didn’t have the time to worry about his own rapidly clouding vision.

Your clock was nearing its end, the thread of your life fraying and unwinding from his own.

Just when he thought he might simply pass out, that the pair of you would sink back down, maybe be devoured by the creatures that he had luckily avoided so far, he saw it. The opening.

Though it had begun to freeze, it was just visible with the strange light filtering through. He fumbled for his blaster, shielding your head and he shot at the ice, quickly rushing up to the gap it opened.

He hauled himself up, depositing you gently onto the side of the ice and then he dragged himself over the edge, sodden fingers scrabbling on the ice as he collapsed next to you.

Din sucked in a few deep breaths for a moment, coughing and spluttering but then he turned his attention back to you.

He rolled you gently on your back, and his heart constricted at what he saw.

Your lips were already a purple-blue colour, like a bruise. The water on your skin had already frosted over, giving you the appearance of being encased. Your hair crackled as it froze together in matted knots and you just looked… well, dead.

He fumbled with his gloves, willing his numb fingers to cooperate and he eventually yanked them off, pressing them against the soft, cold skin of your neck.

Nothing.

Din blinked a few times.

That’s not possible… You’re just unconscious, you’re just… you’re not-

He shook his hands out, trying to get the blood flowing in them again, that’s all it was. His hands were too cold.

He pressed them to your neck again, but… your pulse that usually beat so strongly, so familiarly… it wasn’t there.

You were dead.

“No, no, no, no, no-“ He burst into a frenzy, ripping your cloak out of the way and he begun to do compressions on your chest, remembering the movement from battles far and wide. When all the tech failed, when the sprays and med-kits didn’t work, this was the last resort. Manually encouraging a heart to begin to beat again.

But what if it didn’t want to?

No.

He couldn’t think like that.

He kept the compressions in time with the counting in his head, pausing every now and then to pinch your nose shut and blow air into your lungs.

Except the more he did, the more he heard the bubbly sound of the air hitting water.

Your lungs…you must have somehow swallowed the icy water, which was stopping you from being able to breathe.

“Okay, okay... lift her up. Get rid of the water.” He whispered the instructions to himself, and then followed them.

He braced your chest against his arm, leaning you forward so your head was tilted and then he delivered a harsh smack between your shoulder blades.

The movement jolted your body but did nothing to remove the water.

So, he tried again, and then again harder.

He heard it shift, and a small trickle of water just slightly dripped form your lips, so he began a frantic routine of compressions, mouth-to-mouth and then smacking the water from your lungs.

It might have been hours, or only minutes, but his instinct was telling him what his heart couldn’t bear to acknowledge.

It wasn’t working.

He couldn’t lose you.

He just couldn’t.

You were everything he needed, every single possible thing. You both slotted together, the cracks and dents in your souls fitting and securing each other.

This couldn’t be it.

The relentless hand of the clock was slowing, each tick becoming heavy and tolling, taunting him.

Din sobbed, gripping you against his chest, rocking from side to side, “You can’t leave me. You can’t do this.” The tears that slid down his cheeks were hot, almost stinging against is frigid skin, “You promised me you wouldn’t leave me. It was supposed to be me, you and the kids remember? A clan of three. Clans don’t just leave each other.” He rested the forehead of his helmet on the top of your head, his chest aching, everything in him just hurting as he held the dead weight of you against his body.

Grogu’s sniffling sobs, and Duru’s broken yowling provided the only other noise in this barren, frozen land of death. A heartbreaking symphony to the scene unfolding.

Over and over, Din mumbled to you, “You promised, you promised, you promised-“

How could you do this to him? How could he have let you be ripped out from under him?

He was going to do it. He was going to tell you how he felt when you’d left this planet.

It was all planned in his head, exactly what he wanted to say.

He’d even splashed out some extra credits and bought the sweet treats you loved, storing them safely away so they’d stay fresh.

He didn’t even get to show you his true face…

A frustrated, desperate growl slipped from his clenched jaw, and he braced you over his arm again, delivering one final blow to the middle of your back that he knew would leave a bruise, that even stung his hand.

Silence.

Din closed his eyes, feeling his entire being split in two, everything he had built and hoped for shatter in front of him like the ice that had stolen you.

What was he supposed to do now?

The clock had stopped ticking.

~~~

You were floating.

It was quiet here, peaceful.

There wasn’t a darkness, so much as an absence of light and… things. It wasn’t warm and it wasn’t cold… and there was noise yet… silence, all at the same time.

You don’t know how long you floated for, just being at peace, but you felt a warm breeze wash over your face, smelling of flowers and something sweet.

It was a smell from your childhood, one you hadn’t been near in… too long.

Your mother.

“Hello, my sweet darling.”

“Hello, mama… I’ve missed you so much...”

“I know, my dear. We’ve missed you too. We’ve always been watching… So, so proud of you.”

“Proud of me? Mama, how can you be proud of me? The things I’ve done… the people I’ve hurt... you didn’t raise me to hurt people, mama. You shouldn’t be proud.”

A new scent suddenly appeared, rich, earthy and a little spicy almost, “We raised you to take care of yourself, starlight. However, you need to. You’ve grown, sweetheart. You’re a warrior.”

“But papa… I don’t want to keep hurting people. I… I hurt people every day by lying to them. By putting them in danger-” You felt your throat close, tears springing to your eyes even though you were both everything and also nothing in this floating world.

You felt a phantom caress over the top of your head, the same feeling you used to have when your father brushed back your hair, “My sweet starlight, you do not bring danger to people. You are a joy to them; you help them see the world through a different set of eyes. Through eyes that see wonder and beauty even in the darkest of places.”

You felt the brush of your mother, stroking her fingers on the back of your cheek, “You have always been such a wonder, darling. You feel everything so intensely. Such happiness that shines from you like sunlight, sadness that drowns you like a wave, anger that burns as fierce as the brightest flame in the darkest night… I know it’s hard sometimes, sweetheart, I know that sometimes you want to give up… But there are people that need you.”

Your heart ached in your chest, feeling both heavy and light, “But… I can’t help but feel…”

You might have seen your mother smile in the darkness, her head resting on your father’s shoulder, “You feel that you are a burden… Darling, you’re not. I assure you. People need you in their life… The Mandalorian needs you...”

That surprised you. “Din… needs me?”

A gentle, rough chuckle that belonged to your father, “Of course, starlight. He needs you far more than you know. Do not let go of him… The threads of your life are so tightly entwined... you have belonged to each other since the Maker and the stars decided it.”

“Okay…”

“It’s time to wake up now, sweetheart…” Your mother’s voice was sweet, fading a little.

“Can’t I stay here with you and papa? It’s been so long…”

Your father’s voice faded as well, “I know, starlight… But we’ll see you again. There are other people that need you more now… We love you, starlight..”

“I love you too, mama, and you too, papa..”

“Goodbye, my love...”

~~~

Awareness came rushing back to you with complete and utter sheer intensity.

The biting cold wind, the ice beneath your limp body.

You could hear frantic sobs, mumbling in a familiar deep baritone, “Haalur, haalur, haalur, haalur. Come on, princess, please… Please. You promised me.” The voice was tight, leashed emotion barely restrained.

There was a sharp thud on your back, and then another, right between your shoulder blades.

Something inside your lungs shifted, and then exploded as you erupted into deep coughing, choking up the bitter water.

That power inside you seemed to me forcing the water up as well, pushing it up out of your chest, aiding in helping you breathe.

It came pouring out of you, coming out of your mouth and your nose in a vast torrent, choking you and burning like fire despite how cold it was.

Dimly, you heard a strangled noise of relief, “Oh.” And arm leaning you even further forward, supporting your body and rubbing your back, over the bruise already forming, “Easy, princess…”

Everything hurt.

But it wasn’t “I’ve just been punched whilst fighting for my life” sort of hurt.

This was… so much deeper than that.

This kind of pain lived in every weak thud of your heart.

The frantic shivering of your body only jolted each broken part, but you couldn’t stop shaking. You were just so cold.

It ravaged your lungs raw with each gasping breath, but you were unable to slow it down, because you needed the oxygen now that you had emptied half of the lake from your body.

You needed more.

There simply wasn’t enough, you were drowning again, sucked under into that deep abyss and trapped beneath the surface, your lungs filling up and freezing –

“Easy, easy, darling.” A hand rubbed your back, coaxing your airways to open up, “I’ve got you. You’re safe now… Haalur…”

Of course, it was Din… who else would dive headfirst into a frozen lake to save you.

You became aware of his arms, one supporting your chest to lean your limp body forward, and the other across your back. His hand continued to rub soothing circles on your back, mumbling, “Haalur…” softly, over and over. You had a feeling he wasn’t just doing it for you, but for himself as well, like he was using the rhythmic motions to hold back some kind of flood of emotion.

You forced your sluggish brain to focus on the parts of him you could feel, your eyes still a little too blurry and just… so heavy. You were so tired. And so damn cold.

You tried to speak, to ask him if he was okay, but your aching throat cracked and gave out on the first syllable of his name. A soft whimper escaped your lips, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks and you tapped at his hand.

Din understood, because he gently eased his arm under your legs, scooping you up into his arms and keeping both sodden capes around you. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.” His voice sounded all funny, all bubbly and full of static, presumably from the water.

Guilt wracked through your body, and you tilted your head up to look at his helmet. You wanted to touch it, but your arms felt too heavy to move. You swallowed, managing to barely croak, “Y-your helmet…”

Din shook his head slightly, whistling for Duru and Grogu and he began to carefully and quickly make his way across the lake toward the bank, “Don’t worry about it.”

Ice sparkled on your lashes as you blinked, dancing across your vision like little sprites lulling you to sleep, “But...”

Din shook his head harder, helmet focused forward, not looking at you, “Helmets can be fixed. You cannot.” Below the static, his voice was hoarse, from the crying you’d heard before you fully came back to yourself.

But… there was something else. An underlying note of… anger?

You decided to keep silent.

The gentle sway of Din’s body didn’t help the internal struggle you were having not to fall asleep.

With his footsteps as a steady ambience, you allowed yourself to succumb to the darkness, where there was no pain. Only peace and the scent of leather, metal and something woodsy that was distinctly him.

“Cyar'ika?”

That familiar voice was reaching through the darkness again, pulling you back toward the surface.

“Hey, open your eyes…”

A gentle tap against your face tugged you upward, and you struggled through the veil for a moment before it all came rushing back in at once.

The fuzziness cleared and you saw that Din was looking down at you, the planet too dark to allow you to see your refection in his visor.

His shoulders seemed to slump in relief when he saw you awake, and he looked away quickly. He fiddled with something and then you heard the ramp open, “Keep your eyes open.” There was a trace of command in his voice, enough that it riled you just a little.

You had just died after all.

“Why? I’m freezing and I’m tired.” Your voice was still hoarse, but the rest he had dragged you out of seemed to have helped.

Din walked up the ramp, closing it behind him, “Because I don’t want you dying on me again. That’s why.” His voice was thick, a little ragged. He propped you up on a low crate, leaning your back against the wall of the Crest. He reached into a box, and then removed the two sodden cloaks, and replaced it with a thick, dry blanket.

Duru jumped up opposite, with Grogu in her mouth and pair watched you with large, worried eyes.

The warmth surrounded you, making you audibly sigh in relief and it perked you up just a little, despite the shivers that still wracked your body – and the strange atmosphere coming off of Din. You tugged the blanket a little higher, leaning into the wall.

Little did you know, now that you were… somewhat okay, his fear had turned into absolute seething frustration. Not directly at you, more the situation.

You watched silently as he rummaged in the med-kit for something, the line of his shoulders taut beneath the frosty armour that was slowly beginning to thaw.

Din turned to face you, holding a bacta-injection in his hands, “Show me.” He motioned to your side, where Haran had driven his lightsaber through you.

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled out of your chest, “You’re kidding, right? There is no way you’re coming near me with that.” You would have crossed your arms, if you’d had the energy. But you didn’t, so you settled for raising your eyebrows at him in a disbelieving manner.

He walked over to you, stopping in front of you. “I need to make sure it isn’t infected. I know it’s already cauterised but who knows what you picked up in that lake. Show me.” His voice was firm, no room for argument.

You swallowed, watching the frost on his armour melt and roll down the armour in rivulets. “We might need it some other time. It’s expensive… I don’t need it. I’m fine. Truly.” You shivered again, a wave of cold washing over your body as water ran off of your hair and down your back.

Din sighed, “You’ll face off against a creature four times the size of you, but you won’t face one tiny injection?” That strange, clipped tone was back in his voice and you started to realise he might be mad at you.

Still avoiding his stare, you nodded once, still watching those water droplets.

Din muttered something you didn’t hear from the static in the modulator and made as if to turn around.

You relaxed, closing your eyes but then suddenly, you felt a sharp stinging just under your ribs and then a push of liquid being forced into your body.

That bastard!

A snarl worked its way up from your chest and your eyes snapped open. “Hey!” You glared at him, eyes spitting fire and a little hurt, “What the hell did you do that for! I said no!”

Din growled himself, pointing a finger in your direction, “You don’t get to make the decisions tonight. I do.” He threw the empty syringe to the side, and then scooped you back into his arms.

Struggling slightly, you made a noise of dissent, “So, you’re going to lock me up somewhere now, are you?”

He practically stomped through the levels of the ship, making his way to the living area, “No.” He walked down the hall and opened the door to the ‘fresher, “I’m warming you up considering you’re still shivering so hard I can hear your teeth grinding.” He swiped the small collection of cleaning supplies off of the ledge, and then set you down inside, leaning you against the wall and the small ledge.

Okay, so he had a point there.

But that didn’t mean he had to be so… Din about it.

“I can get myself in here you know.”

Din turned his attention to the taps, “Mmhm. I’ll believe you when you can take off your tunic.”

Your cheeks coloured just slightly at that, but ever the stubborn one, you reached down and fumbled with the ties that held the outer tunic together.

It was just a simple knot holding the lacing together, but your hands were still numb and uncooperative, and you couldn’t gather the strength to grip the string.

You clenched your jaw, knowing Din was watching you and you absolutely hated it when he was right.

Almost as much as you hated being this weak and helpless.

Gloved hands gently pushed yours out of the way, and within seconds, he had freed the laces and tugged the tunic off of your body, leaving you in the long-sleeved undershirt. He threw it out of the shower with a wet thump, “You were saying?” He fiddled with the taps again, and then warm water cascaded down over your body.

Despite Din’s frustration with you, you sighed in delight. The water probably wasn’t even that warm in reality, but compared to your icy body, it felt like absolute heaven.

After a few moments, you couldn’t bear the tense silence.

Peering at Din, you saw that he was leaning against the wall watching you, overly tense and you realised he was trying to hide the fact he was shivering himself. The armour would have been like cubes of ice on his body, trapping the cold in the damp underclothes that clung to his skin.

You cocked your head, feeling coming back into your body now, “You should be in here too… You must be as cold as I am.”

He shook his head, “I’ll wait.”

Stubborn.

“Din, you and I know both know the hot water won’t last. Stop being a stubborn ass and get in here.” You pointedly closed your eyes, to show you wouldn’t look.

You heard him hesitate, but a few seconds later, you heard the sounds of metal on the floor as he shed his armour, and then felt his presence as he stepped in with you.

A soft sigh escaped his lips, and you couldn’t help the smile that just tugged at your lips, “See, I told you.”

Din snarled again, very quietly, “Shut up.”

Surprise filtered across your expression, making you raise your eyebrows, “Excuse m-“

“I said, shut up. You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to make jokes after what just happened. Not this time.” There was something behind his words, the sense of that breakdown that he had been holding back on the ice.

But still, how was this your fault? “Why am I getting the blame? What could I possibly have done wrong? I didn’t ask to be stabbed with a lightsaber, or fucking drown! If you have a problem, go and sort it out with Rena, Haran – whatever the fuck his name is. Not me!”

Din laughed, but it was cold, almost somewhat hysterical, “Oh don’t worry, princess. I plan to.” He moved closer to you, creating a darker shadow across your darkened eyelids. “But I am mad at you. I am… furious with you.” He stopped just in front of you, the slight raggedness of his breathing audible, “I warned you not to call him, or get involved with him. And you didn’t listen to me.”

You opened your mouth in protest but felt his bare finger press against your lips.

“No.” There was that tone from that night, in the kitchen when it was all command and pent-up emotion. “You talk when I say.” He removed his finger, but stayed close, “You went ahead and called him anyway. I don’t know why, and I’m not going to ask, but how could you not think something would happen? All I knew, was being in this damn shower, and then everything exploded. I felt the Crest go down, I heard you scream. By the time I got my armour back on and got out of here, I didn’t even know which way was up. I couldn’t get to you.”

His words were slowly getting a little quicker, and it floored you because in the entire time you had known him… this was the most he had ever spoken.

That was the only reason you bit back your retorts and stayed silent.

You heard him suck in another breath, “When I woke up, I searched this whole ship, this whole fucking ship three times over. I couldn’t find you, or Grogu, or even Duru. You were all just… gone. I didn’t know if any of you were alive, if you’d been hurt, if you were stuck somewhere, if someone had taken you.

I went out straight away, and all I could think was… what if I couldn’t get to you in time?” His voice was choked a little, still mixed with frustration and you heard him pace across the tiny area of the refresher. This had really shaken him, allowed him to feel a fear so potent he didn’t think it was possible.

If you opened your eyes, he would still have his helmet on, but you would see the rapid rise and fall of his armourless chest, see the way he held his body, like he was preparing for battle as all of these emotions and words tore out of him, like he could no longer stop them.

The water still poured down over the pair of you as all of this emotion cascaded out of him, “When I saw your arrows on the floor and the dead Trooper, I knew you were alive.” He paused for a breath, or maybe to try and stop his outpouring?

Either way, you took the advantage, “How? How could you know I’m alive just from arrows and a dead Stormtrooper?”

You felt him look at you, his voice softening for a moment and sounding sort of… proud? “Because if you were killed, there would have been a hell of a lot more mess. You wouldn’t have gone down without a fight. It was too clean, so I knew you were hurt. And then… Then I felt it. A pull toward you. I ran, so hard, so fast and when I saw you, trapped on that lake-” He cut off with a soft noise, “My entire world stopped. He had you. He had you there and I couldn’t do anything to stop It without risking you or the kid. And I shouldn’t have hesitated like I did, I shouldn’t have sat there and let him dictate his terms. I should have just killed him as soon as I saw you and none of this would have happened.”

He was starting to spiral into guilt, you could feel it, and it physically pained you to hear him blame himself, “Din, stop. Please. None of this was your fault, none of it at all.”

“No! It is my fault!” His cry was so different to his usual lower baritone, that for a moment you thought he was someone different. “The only reason you went to him, is because I haven’t made you comfortable enough to trust me. To trust me with… whatever it is you went to him for.”

He carried on too quickly for you to register where he was going with that. “You were kidnapped by him, because of me. He hurt you, and did Maker knows what to you, because I couldn’t protect you. You went into that lake, you nearly died… because of me.” His voice cracked on the word ‘died’ and broke to a whisper at the end.

It tore straight through you, and you pushed off from the wall, stumbling the few steps to him blindly and you rested your hands up onto his helmet, “Din…”

His hands flew up, grasping your wrists by instinct but then they softened, holding them gently, “Please don’t tell me otherwise.” You could barely hear him over the sound of the water.

Ignoring him anyway, you forged on, willing him to understand with your words since you couldn’t let him read your eyes, “None of this was because of you. You have made me feel comfortable and safer than I ever have before, in my entire life. I trust you, completely. What happened to me, today, it was my fault. My foolishness, so please, please stop blaming yourself.”

It was like Din didn’t even hear you, like your words floated in one side of his helmet and dropped out the other, “Do you know what I would have done? If I hadn’t been able to save you on the ice?”

Tightness gripped your heart, and you shook your head, “Don’t.”

He grasped your wrists a little tighter, “I would have hunted Haran down and killed him and then I would have taken Grogu and Duru to Peli. And given her the Crest, she’d look after it. Or sell it for parts. Either way, it would have been in good hands. And then I would have lain you to rest, somewhere beautiful and peaceful, like you always talked about.”

You tried to pull your hands away, but he held fast to you, gently, “Din, stop. Please don’t say it, please-“

“And then I would have laid down next you, taken off all my armour and I would have driven a blade into my own heart.”

A hard flinch ran across your body, and you shook your head fiercely even though the action made your head swim, “Don’t you dare say that again. I don’t even want to think about you doing that, Din. Why would you even do that? Why wouldn’t you just live out the rest of your life in peace? Go to that Sanctuary planet you talked about and be free? Don’t throw away everything you’ve been through because of my own stupidity.” You yanked your arms free, backing up a few steps and stumbling up against the wall again.

The shadows shifted and you knew Din was following you forward, “Because I would have failed you. I do not deserve to live after it’s my fault you died. Grogu shouldn’t be brought up by someone who can’t save the people he lo – cares about.”

You made a noise of frustration, turning away so your back was to him, opening your eyes and you glared at the wall, tears stinging your eyes, “Just stop!! I don’t deserve that! How can you talk so easily of throwing your life away for someone like me! Just stop, Din – it’s ridiculous.”

Even though your parents words echoed in your mind, you just… couldn’t believe them.

Din’s hands rested on your shoulders, “It’s not ridiculous, cyar'ika. It’s the truth.” He said it so simply, so easily and that just made you even more frustrated.

“No!” You shook your shoulders, ignoring the bolt of paint hat ran through your side, “It’s not the truth. You can’t just leave the kids without a father; you can’t just lay down and die just because I’m not here. I don’t mean that much to you, Din, honestly. I’m a pain. All I’ve done since I came here is cause you more grief. So, if you say one more time that you’ll die for me, I’ll – I’ll..”

“You’ll what?”

You swallowed, a tear rolling down your cheek, “I’ll leave.” The words stung, low words that hit below the belt, but Din had to understand. “You have to understand, Din. I am not worth that.”

He remained close but didn’t touch you. His words were in that rumbly baritone again, the one that shot straight through you, “You have to understand, princess, that I can’t stand here and listen to you talk about yourself like that. You are worth everything. All of this, all these people after us, the old and the new, it doesn’t bother me. I don’t care.”

You groaned, raking your fingers through your knotted hair in frustration, “You’re not listening to me!!”

Din’s voice rose, equally as riled up again, “No, you’re not listening to me! I’m trying to tell you what I’ve been thinking about for… fuck, for months. And you’re not hearing it, you’re not listening to what I’m saying!! Just like always.”

Without thinking, you spun round, eyes blazing, and you waved your hands in the air, even if it did make the floor feel like it was swaying, “Then what do you have to say, Din? What are you so desperately trying to tell me? Huh?”

Din didn’t react to you seeing him in his helmet and black underclothes. It was like he didn’t care.

His hands were shaking at his sides, curling and uncurling into fists, “I’m trying to say that – that I..”

You rose your eyebrows, “Well? Come on, spit it out if it’s bothering you so much that I won’t understand. The floors all yours, Din. You have something to say-”

Before you’d even finished speaking, he cut you off, shouting above you and the water,

“I love you.”

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#good times are on their way friends #the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin #pedro pascal #star wars #rogue

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subwalls · 4 years

Text

i simply think a sensory deprivation curse on c!dream would be like. hm.

raising a world seed into a full-blown server requires some negotiation. it’s not hard, because the universe loves each and every player that exists, but the voices are pickier about it, so it’s still a process.

dream is very good at it. he has to be, to spawn so many little worlds for manhunts and the like. this time, though, he’s asking for a lot more than he normally does: every natural feature the universe has to give, enough room for those he loves, every barrier to keep out those he does not, and enough power to administer justice as he sees fit.

the universe sings in eager delight. the voices twist closer, curious but skeptical. the starlit glimmer of their speech curls around him, staying just clear of the wishing seed he cradles between his hands.

now, hold on. the structures you seek are many. whose eyes will it be to appreciate them, even if they lie at the edges of the world, even if their gifts are not worth the trek taken?

mine, the player says.

the vast space you seek is heavy. whose shoulders will it be to hold the weight of it, when the world becomes too burdened to sustain its own place in the universe?

mine, the player says.

the protection you seek is unyielding. whose hand will it be to carve every permitted callsign into its most protected chambers, to tame the roaring blaze of its defense so that some may pass unharmed?

mine, the player says.

the power you seek is heady. whose body will it be to anchor the soul that must bear that responsibility, which will cave to the rebellion of the world against the will of its soul, if it must?

mine, the player says.

there is silence as the voices contemplate this. they drift away and draw near again, intelligible static moaning quietly from their unseen throats as they discuss amongst themselves. and then, at last, one addresses him again.

this is much to put on you and only you. but you have accepted this. do not forget.

you make this for the joy and laughter of your friends—this is easy to see, young dreamer. do not forget.

a server world is a world that serves. it will serve your friends. we will not tolerate anything less.

we will not tolerate oathbreaking. the world will not tolerate abuse.

you are its vassal.

you are its to punish.

dream says, i understand.

and the universe says, i love you, and the seed cupped in his palms pulses gently, and then fiercely, boldly, life blooming under the sworn promise of someone who will tend to it, and—all at once, the void is forced back. land shudders into existence in a rushing wave that reaches far and wide, and the core of it purrs to life into dream’s heart.

the wind whistles along the plains, laughing through the trees and their countless leaves. lakes lap gently at their shores at the base of mountains that stretch up to the sky, high and waiting.

and dream has his server. he inhales the sweet air and runs his fingers along the grass, curling his fingers along the soft petal of a flower and feels nothing but love and anticipation for what the server is and what it might become.

he lifts a hand and the protective borders of the world roar to him, walls of flame rushing past his senses before a shimmering white list coalesces before him. it is empty until he carves a few callsigns into it. just three, for now, but there is room for many more.

his friends arrive, after that. they play, and they relish, and they ask for more. who is dream to deny them, in a world meant to be theirs? he carves more names into the list. they arrive, they play, they ask. he carves more still, and then more, and more.

there is as much room as dream needs.

they skirmish and play-fight. it’s an easy thing, running rings around each other while shrieking for mercy or blood, building ugly things of wood and faith and cobblestone and friendship, playing pretend without a care in the world.

at least, it was easy, up until—

wilbur soot says, “this is a different server, independent of dream smp.”

wilbur soot says, “you and yours are forbidden from stepping foot here.”

wilbur soot says, “this is l’manburg, and this is mine, and we will stand our ground.”

wilbur soot, whose father is the winged angel of death, who could nearly call the blood god his own family, whose bloodline is so entrenched in the dealings of voids and voices that he must know what dream had to do to turn a world seed into a haven of a server, this wilbur soot is the one who meets dream’s mask with a wide grin and an open taunt, daring him. mocking him.

and dream, remembering the responsibility he swore to take on as his own and no other’s, the word mine in echo through his soul, says, “no.”

and they war.

(you know this story.)

but it’s odd. it’s odd because after dream’s arrow sinks into tommy’s heart and dashes his soul against the rocks, he tastes ash in the back of his throat. it does not go away when he rinses his mouth out in the clear rivers of his land, nor when he gulps down a bucket of milk, nor when he bites into the cake his allies make to celebrate their victory.

the pastry melts on his tongue with what must be copious amounts of sugar, but he cannot tell that it is meant to be sweet.

dream tastes nothing but ash.

he laughs past it. there is an inkling of fear in his gut, but compared to the rib-shaking thunder of his heart when he’s low on health on a manhunt, it is easy enough to overlook. especially when tommy comes to him.

tommy offers a trade and dream is intrigued enough to accept. he figures that if tommy was willing to give up his most treasured items for this, for what is little more than a name and an toothless claim, then maybe this nation deserves a... chance.

in name, at least. not true independence—no more than a flower can be independent of the land it is rooted in—but there is no need to overreach his control when he’s already proven that they cannot do anything to him and his.

he lets them play. that’s what this server is for, in the end.

(the end. that should’ve been the end, but it’s not.)

not long passes before the fake nation festering like an unwelcome cancerous growth on dream’s land suddenly wants to make itself realer than before. it turns words to action with an election that goes sideways at its peak and buckles under itself. by the close of the day, its new leader has driven out its founding members, lighting the fuse to its own destruction.

dream, overlooking the chaos of it all, sighs.

this nation will never be anything more than a mistake, it seems. whether it is l’manburg or manburg does not matter; it binds its population by excluding something else, and thus by definition is a sin against a world made to be shared.

in the aftermath, dream curls a little tighter around his family, but it’s too late. the first crack has already been made and everyone is all the more fragile for it.

when a few more decide to take leave of the heartland, they do not tell dream. he finds out by the empty houses and unfamiliar flags, and he...

they...

... it’s fine. they did not like the fighting, is all. of course they would rebrand and skirt the violence.

it does not mean abandonment, surely.

dream does not raise his sword against his inner circle, no matter where they place their allegiances. he instead focuses on the one he’s certain is rotten to the core, and he’ll sing l’manburg’s praises if it means that piece of land will finally stop inciting war after war after war.

“its name is l’manburg, not manburg,” he says in the dark ravine of pogtopia, and wilbur cheers and tommy raises a brow and dream feels sick to his stomach.

tommy mumbles something about carbon monoxide poisoning and complains about the smoke from all the torches and campfires and lanterns they use to light up the place. wilbur rebukes that they cannot ventilate the smoke without giving themselves away, and so they bicker, but it occurs to dream that he hadn’t noticed the difference.

the stale smoke-tinged air smells the same as the fresh winds outside.

he’s handed a baked potato as he leaves. he holds it to his face for a beat before tentatively biting into it.

ash. dust.

the lack of taste, he’s grown used to. but his sense of smell is gone now as well, and that inkling of fear strengthens.

he remembers what he promised to the voices. his body will cave to the rebellion of the world, should he stray from its intended purpose. but he has yet to break an oath or abuse his powers. he doesn’t understand.

is it the side he’s on?

if the server vies for him to join manburg, then of course he will flip sides for it. of course he does. he even conspires behind their backs, ensuring that if pogtopia wins l’manburg still does not win.

he was right to, because the day of reckoning comes with the failure of manburg’s leader.

he was wrong to, because dream’s fingers go numb on the handle of his axe when he brings it down on his rival’s shield, and the feeling never returns. something in his chest sours with frustration.

(something cracks, deep inside, ripping apart hairline fractures into something more serious, more troubling. his soul quakes. the universe wails, but nobody has touched the server’s End by law decree, and the void goes unseen.)

dream rips off his helmet and lets time run out the invisibility running through his veins. he yields to pogtopia’s glaring victory with ease, because it was never the nation he fought for but his responsibility to the land it sat on.

and because he still wins, in the end. the ground ruptures as a blast consumes the remnants of manburg, and yet even then dream is the last to move away from it.

he knew it was coming, but reacted last, and not only that but overbalances along the way. he nearly tips sapnap into line of fire when he meant to pull him free from it.

they laugh it off later, but. sapnap looks over his shoulder more often. dream does not meet his gaze, instead contemplating the ground and how he did not feel the rumble of the earth before it blew.

he needs to sort this out. so he goes to find an open field.

he spends hours and then days in that field, figuring out how much he needs to pull back a bow to loose it swiftly. how tightly does he need to hold a weapon before he cracks its hilt? how roughly can he handle his own armor before the thorns bite back at him?

(elsewhere, an entity realizes it can touch, and it does. it uses that touch to kill those who kill on its sacred lands. the rules of the world must be followed. it does not know anything else.)

later still, a mushroom house burns.

dream looks to the smoldering remains with something tight and knotted and insufficient between his ribs, and then he looks to george, upset by the loss but upset more by dream taking back his crown, and he says, “it’s to keep you safe.”

his words leave his mouth, and the world falls silent.

dream blinks.

it’s not silent. he knows this because he can still feel the flames that should be crackling behind them, because george’s jaw is moving, because sapnap is nodding in agreement.

but they are silent. the world is silent.

no, the world is not silent. the world louder than it has ever been in its rebellion and his body is caving to it as he promised it would, and dream—dream does not falter, despite the sudden knowledge that the server he raised loathes every step he takes. he does not stammer.

he repeats the words he cannot hear but knows have left his lips, turns, and leaves.

he does not look back. he does not know that sapnap is calling after him, that george pauses mid-turn, that among the vitriol thrown at his back there is also a worry and a question. but there is no way for him to know, not with the server itself in uproar, devastatingly loud in the utter silence it inflicts on him.

fear claws up his lungs and he breaks from a walk to a jog to an outright run, and he runs and keeps running past all the structures he knows and built until it just forest and land and silence. safe, far, and alone, he digs his hands into the grassy dirt and says is this not what you wanted? is this not what i swore to do?

why do you hate me?

selfish, his precious world accuses. it is not a sound because there is no sound he can hear, but it is a hiss in his marrow, a keening in his soul. selfish, selfish. you leap for control you oughtn’t take and will burn them for it.

they burned me first.

did they? what did they do but till the fertile land? speak. speak. what did they do but flourish as you bid them to, wished them to?

they took from me and would not return it and struck back when i came to them. you are mine. i raised you.

and did you not freely give? is that not the purpose this world serves? do not forget. do not forget. do not forget.

dream does not so much pull back from the foundations of the world so much as it throws him out with teeth bared in warning and talons pressing down over his ribs, the ever-fragile beat of his heart cowed in its cage. it is a thought rather than a feeling, thankfully; just as it is the force of an arrow nearly knocking him down that makes him aware of the two others sticking out from his shoulders, once he lifted his arm to see what it was that had bumped into him.

his blood trickles down his arms as he yanks out the arrows, unfeeling.

fine, he thinks.

and dream, creator and administrator and player who cares too much and brought too much on his own shoulders, takes the injured confused uncomprehending thing so soft in the back of his mind, and puts it out.

enough is enough. his world is his server is his, and it will be brought to heel. even if it does not want him, and he does not want it, it is his to raise or raze and he will not have this haven ruined at the hands of the clumsy and unknowing.

who do you love, he asks it bitterly, yanking a netherite axe out of the air.

all of you.

who do you love, he asks again, and this time he finds his own answer in the way the events churn around one person, one survivor, one person who moves the server with a word and turns it against itself with another and leads every storm that rages: tommy.

all of you.

if you will not be mine, he says, then you will be no one’s. and he knows that this is a dangerous line to walk, and he has seen wilbur walk it to its bloody, deadly end, but he has right where wilbur had only words and songs. dream made this server for a reason and he will not give that up.

so he walks back.

he walks back, and he thinks, sourly, that maybe this is a blessing. the world takes his senses but he is stronger without them, really. who has need of taste or smell on a battleground? he can fight better like this, unfeeling, unburdened by pain.

it is easier to talk over their protests when he cannot hear them to begin with.

“exile tommy,” he tells tubbo, carefully shaping the words on his tongue, “and i will forgive you.”

and tubbo sputters and tommy rages and the world claws at him from the inside out, no, no, why are you doing this, this is not what was wanted.

he is calm, because their words pass over him without ever reaching.

he is calm, because they’re running out of time, and they will agree to him or die failing to. night is coming; shadows fall over them.

and then:

—nothing.

(nothing?)

nothing.

dream blinks. the void stares back at him, unblinking, stars aswirl and dancing, and just as he realizes that maybe night hadn’t come and maybe the void is not rising around him and maybe it’s just that his last sense is failing and maybe the world has rejected him for the last time and maybe everything he swore to do thinks he’s broken them and—

the silence breaks.

why why why why did you break what you swore was yours to uphold why did you lie why do you hurt and abuse and break. you were warned. you were told.

i didn’t.

you did. a server serves and you got in the way. do you not do this for your friends. why give them a beach to build on if you’re only going to punish them for using what they have. why. why why why.

... ,,uhhh honestly i don’t. know where this would go from here but because dream gets stopped early he still gets a chance to be better. the exile arc doesnt happen because dream just like collapses mid-negotiations lmao and even tommy feels kinda weird about stabbing him while he’s unresponsive. but i think i would like for the conclusion to be something like—

the universe says, i love you.

the world says, i love you more.

but it’s the the players holding him to their chests, hearts thumping in syncopation, tugging him from the brink of an edge that might have killed his love in a month’s time, who say, “i love you most. come back to us. come back.”

#my fics #dream smp fic #dream smp fanfiction #idk it's just a concept to toss around

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butwhyduh · 4 years

Text

One Night Thing

Jason Todd x Reader

Warning: smut, alcohol

The reader needs a distraction.

One more drink, you thought, and then I go home to my apartment. That I’ll loose soon because I was FIRED. Over something beyond control. You took a sip of the burning liquor and hoped to fog your mind a little more. Maybe you’d get lucky and sleep like a log after drinking a bit.

But your luck was a little better than that. A clank of ice on glass brought you out of your sour mind and to the man sitting beside you. Tall with dark hair and blue eyes, he was striking. Little scars on his face and hands and dressed like biker in black leather, he looked like a perfect distraction for the night. Lucky you for being smart and drinking slowly and being pretty sober.

“Hello,” you said. He smiled and goddamn he had dimples. The buttery black leather jacket and tight red t shirt gave a great show of his fit broad chest. This guy was ripped and pretty fucking tall too.

“Hi. How are you doing?” He asked holding a cigarette. Not your thing but it actually fit him. He noticed your eyes on the unlit smoke. “You want it?”

“No I don’t smoke,” you said, taking a drink.

“Yeah, me either. I mean, I quit and I’ve just been staring at this stupid thing all night,” he said with a small little half smile, almost wistful.

“A bar isn’t exactly a great place to quit smoking,” you said and he laughed.

“Yeah. What brings you to a bar? In Gotham like this?” He said suggestively at the group around. Yeah, the bar was a little bit rough but your friend was a bartender there some nights so you weren’t exactly new there, despite not being a regular.

“What does that mean?” You said leaning in. You could feel your breasts be more visible in your low cut shirt.

“You’re a little too nice and pretty for a rough bar like this,” he said giving you a little look over. It was quick, not creepy or weird. You felt your skin heat.

“I’d rather not talk about it. Just needed a distraction.” You took another sip.

“What kind of distraction,” he said smoothly running his fingers along your forearm. You felt your skin prickle at his touch.

“What kind you got,” you asked, upping it by running your leg along his. He practically purred his next question.

“You wanna get out of here?”

“Dying to,” you said, feeling reckless. You had never gone somewhere with a complete stranger but then again you’d never been fired since your first job at 18 either so there’s that.

He finished his drink and grabbed your hand like he had done it 100 times and pulled you towards the door. “Less find somewhere new, doll.” The way he said that put a fire in your belly.

He took you to a bike parked on the side. Black and red, sleek, and looked expensive. He pulled a second helmet out and put it on you. “Have you ever risen a bike before?” He asked making sure it fit.

“Can’t say I have.” You sounded way more confident then you felt. “Are you good to drive?”

“I was drinking a coke all night. I thought I might get called into work. You good to ride?” He asked a double entendre as he towered over you. Goddamn he was tall.

“One drink in the last hour. Perfectly fine. What are the rules to this thing?” You asked. He raised an eyebrow and again seemed to size you up.

“Hold my waist, lean with me, and let me know if you got scared. I’ve done this a ton. Don’t worry,” he said before realizing what he said. “I’ve had a ton of riders. Like on the bike. You know what I mean.”

“I got it but watching you fumble over your words was too nice to stop.” You said smiling. He nodded and smiled.

“Nice. I’ll remember that,” he said climbing on the bike. “Hop on.”

You carefully climbed on and he pointed where to place your feet and pulled your arms around his waist. The smell of his cologne and shampoo were intoxicating. “Hold on,” he said smiling. He turned it on and started driving. You were both excited and scared. He was a stranger driving you down the highway at 2 in the morning towards a nice area of Gotham. You gripped his waist tighter on the curves. You could feel his abs under his shirt as his jacket shifted open. Finally he pulled into a parking garage of an unmarked building and parked.

“Okay, you can climb off,” he told you and you realized you could have released his waist a little while before. He helped you off and you noticed your blood was pumping with adrenaline. He climbed off, grabbed a backpack, and helped you out of the helmet. “I just realized I hadn’t even gotten your name,” he said softly, tucking hair behind your ears that had fallen out on the ride.

You told him and asked for his name. “Why would we ruin this with my name? Just call me Red,” he said looking at your lips.

“That’s not fair. Give me just one name,” you said cupping his cheeks. He looked conflicted for a minute.

“Then call me Jay. Let’s take this party upstairs,” he whispered in your ear. You felt your blood warm.

The plain looking elevator had a card slot that he quickly inserted. He casually held your lower back a little too low on the ride up. The doors of the elevator opened a few floors higher to a plain but expensive apartment. Jay walked into the room and threw a backpack on the couch.

“This is your place. It’s... nice,” you said thinking it looked like the couch costs more than your apartment and car out together. The twinkling lights of the city were visible in the giant wall sized windows.

“It’s my dad’s place. Do you want a drink?” He asked. You considered the probable expensive liquor and wine to drink but the man standing in front of you was too tempting. The soft smell of his cologne had been in your nose the whole ride. He pulled off his jacket and laid it next to the backpack on the couch. You pulled your off too in the warm room.

“No,” you said. He turned around confused. “I want you,” you said way more confidently than you felt. Did I just say that, you thought. He raised an eyebrow again and walked over to you. Your heart pounded as he once again towered over you. You noticed how strong his arms were. His pecs were visible through the simple t shirt.

“What do you want of me?” Jay said, sliding his hands around your waist. Your arms wrapped around his neck. You kissed him softly. His lips tasted a little like bitter whiskey.

“What you got?” You whispered in his ears. He inhaled audibly.

“More than you can handle,” he said, sliding his hands down to your ass and cupping the flesh. You kissed down the side of his neck before coming back to his lips. He picked you up and you yelped before grabbing his shoulders. “I got you, baby. Don’t worry. I won’t drop you,” he breathed in your ears.

He started walking towards the bedroom. You kissed and nipped at the column of his neck paying attention to his pulse point. He kicked the door open to a slightly messy room. Papers were strewn around a desk and the bed had one side unmade. Jay walked over to the bed and laid you down. His arms made a cage over you as he looked you over. He liked the delicate blouse you wore, white with little black flowers, the front tied in a bow between your breasts like his own present.

“You’re fucking pretty,” he said huskily. You slid your hands along his arms, wishing he would do more. He pulled the tie loose and open the front of your shirt. “Baby,” he whined, taking in your sheer red bra. Your nipples were hard and exposed. He kissed down your neck. His teeth grazed your skin and you gasped. He chuckled before moving down. His tongue slid along the cleft of your breast before lapping at your nipple through the fabric. You mewed and you slid your fingers in his hair. He slid to his elbows and his hands held your waist as he switched nipples. The cool air on your wet skin harded your nipple even more.

He slid his hands down to pull your shirt off. Jay threw the delicate fabric across the room and you would have protested but he did a swirl thing with his tongue and it turned into a little moan. His fingers went lower to your pants but he pulled away from you after feeling around.

“Okay, how many fucking buttons is on this thing? Jesus. Help me out, baby,” he almost begged. You smirked and unbuttoned them. Jay hooked his fingers on the belt loop and slid them down. He went to pull your matching panties down but you pulled away.

“Not fair. You’ve got way too much on,” you said. Jay grinned and sat up. He pulled his shirt off by pulling the back over his head and threw it away. You looked at his chest. Holy fuck he looked good. Thick, broad chest with ab that you could see as he laughed. There was also a littering of scars in various places including a nasty looking little scar under his rib.

“Taking it all in, baby? Take your time.”

You ran a hand along his stomach and his muscles contracted with his breath. You boldly reached down and began unbuckling his belt that looked some sort of military grade. You hadn’t even bothered to ask what he did for a living. You unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down.

He was already hard in his underpants. You cupped him as he stepped out of his pants and he gasped before grasping your wrist. “Impatient.” He climbed over you, still holding your wrist, not that you put up a fight. He put it over your head and brought your other hand with it. “Stay,” he said and you found the command hot.

Jay climbed off the bed and grabbed stuff from the bedside table. He grabbed a condom and what looked like a silk scarf. “Do you mind?” Jay asked holding the scarf out. You shook your head and offered your wrists. He gently tied your hands to the headboard and even made sure it wasn’t too tight.

“Tell me if you want me to stop or let you go, okay?” He asked. His hands slid down your arms to cup your breasts.

“Yeah,” you breathed. His hands kneaded the flesh before going lower. Jay pulled the band of your panties down your legs and threw it in another corner. He had a pattern of throwing things. His fingers slid down to cup your pussy. You gasped. He slid his fingers along your slit and was rounding your hole before sliding in when his phone rang.

He reached over and grabbed it. With a finger on his lip to you, he answered the phone. His fingers lazily played with you.

“Hello..... no. I’m busy... not tonight. Well I don’t give a fuck what he thinks. I’m not coming in. I’m drunk. How’s that?” He said giving you a wink. His fingers moved faster and you bit your lip to hold your moan. You wanted to grab his arms but the scarf held your arms up. You whined.

“Shhh....” he said to you cheekily, “none of your business..... I don’t have to answer to you, bro,” he said on the phone before hanging up. His fingers slid deep in you and before you can ask what that was, you were moaning. Your hips moved with his hand trying to get more.

Jay pulled his fingers from you and you whined before realizing what he was doing. He grabbed the condom and slid it on his hard cock. He ran his cock through your folds a few times before finally sinking in.

“Fuck,” you gasped. His cock matched the rest of his body in size. You wanted to touch him with your hands but straining against the scarf had its own allure. Jay could see your eyes blown and lips swollen and hadn’t seen a prettier sight. “Please, move,” you practically begged and he smirked and started moving.

You weren’t quiet. He wasn’t as vocal but was softly grunting and moaning next to your ear. You watched the muscles in his arms ripple as he moved. You wrapped your legs around his waist wanting more.

“Fuck me, you do that again and I’ll cum right there,” he groaned. He grabbed your hips and pulled you off the bed a little to get a better angle. You pushed your head back and whined between your closed teeth, trying to quiet yourself.

“Baby, do you like it,” he asked in a husky voice. You nodded furiously. The tight grip he had on your hips felt delicious. You could feel yourself getting close. “I need an answer,” Jay said slowing down.

“No, more,” you begged.

“Do you like it?” He asked as you tried to move your hips faster.

“Yes, please, more,” you whined. He chuckled before thrusting at a faster pace. He adjusted his grip and went harder and faster and you felt your mind go blank as cumming was the only thing you wanted. “Don’t stop, don’t stop. I’m so fucking close,” you moaned. You could hear his heavy pants and his brow creased as he moved.

“God, you’re fucking hot looking like that. Are you gonna cum?” He purred staring down at you. His name intersected with a few “fucks” was the prettiest sounds to his ears. You nodded again. “Words, princess.”

“I.... I, you said as the words failed you. Instead you gasped and moaned your way through an orgasm. His grip on your hips was even tighter as he fucked you through your orgasm. As soon as you were done, he roughly thrusts through his own high. His thigh muscles twitched in the prettiest way. He panted before flopping on the bed beside you.

“Fuck me,” Jay said with a laugh. You chuckled.

“I think I just did,” you said back. He looked over, untied the scarf in one move, and pulled you close to his chest. His heartbeat was strong and you could feel his chest rise and fall.

“Yeah I-“ he started but his phone rang again. He groaned and got up. “I’ve got to answer this. What?..... you literally put a timer on your phone to call me? Between you and Dick... I’m a little busy.... fucking A fine. I’ll be there in an hour.... no don’t fucking tell him shit.”

He turned to you. “I’m sorry but that was work. I really don’t plan to fuck and leave but work calls.” Jay started pulling his clothing back on. “I’ll get you an Uber or whatever you want.”

“Yeah it’s cool. You said work would probably call you in earlier,” you said finding your underwear. Jay tossed you your shirt.

“You’re not mad?” He asked, surprised. Most girls would be yelling about him using them or whatever.

“No I’m not mad. It’s a one night stand. This saves me from sneaking out when you fall asleep,” you said with a shrug.

“Ouch. I mean, you would have missed out on a mean breakfast. Because I know the best Uber eats places,” he admitted and you laughed. “Can I call you sometime?”

“For a breakfast date?” You teased sliding your pants on.

“Definitely,” he said. His phone rang again. “Let me get your ride because I am being summoned by satan himself.”

“Ouch. The boss?”

“One and only. You can use the shower or eat or whatever before your ride gets here. I feel like such an asshole but I’ll be on the shit list if I don’t go,” Jay said throwing his shirt on. He failed to mention that Bruce Wayne was calling him and yeah he’d pay for not answering later.

“It’s fine. Really.”

“Date next week? Like a restaurant?” He threw out as he opened the door.

“Yeah just call me. Or text because no one calls anymore.”

“Definitely. I’ve got your ride on the way. He’ll take you anywhere for free.”

“Thanks,” you called as he ran out. About 10 minutes later a limo pulled in front of the building for you and a man introduced himself as Alfred.

“Yeah madame, I do a lot of driving for the boys. It’s really no trouble,” he said as you thanked him again as he drove in front of your place.

The next morning you got a text that said “hey” followed by “do you want a fucking amazing breakfast sandwich?”

You answered back “fuck yeah.”

#jason todd x reader #Jason Todd #Jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #Jason todd smut #red hood #batboys #dc #Friday night smut

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

Text

CHOOSE

Alexander “Tig” Trager x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: First part of Choose. I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

“So, what about (Y/N) and you?” Bobby asks sipping from his beer.

“What about what?”

“Ar'ya alrede' ‘official’”? Chibs adds while Jax, Juice and Happy leans above the table with a naughty smile drawn on their lips, palming the picnic table and making some noise.

“She's just a groupie, man”.

You can't hear Tig chuckling, because of the sound your heart does by breaking itself is louder.

“A groupie?” Jax's voice sounds confused, raising a blonde eyebrow as the palms stops.

“Yeah, you know. She's not one of those bitches that come here to eat us. But she's not my girl either. We just have fun”.

“You just have fun?” Juice asks incredulous, shaking his head just for a moment.

“Yeah, man! I must say I have eaten a lot of pussies, but, shit! Hers is a fucking delight. And she doesn' have any contagious disease, that's an important plus too”.

“If she was my mom, I would pull out your eyes”. The scratchy voice of Happy appears from nowhere, somewhat disappointed. “And I would eat them”.

“What the fuck?”

“Brother, that girl really lose her shit for you”. Bobby says, because it's something pretty obvious. “And you can say whatever you wan', but you're strained to the bone for that sassy girl”.

Tig's laughs flood the main yard, before drinking his beer.

“Man, you call her when we're ridin'. And her house it's the first stop when you come back”. Juice assures placing his forearms over the table.

“Yea', and you also have clothes in her house, and she in yours”. Jax hit the wood with his knuckles, watching the look on his face trying to hide how right they are.

“Oh! And remember that time (Y/N) told us that Tig brought breakfast at bed”. Ratboy palms Happy chest breaking into laughter, joying the talk, sitting by his side.

“We didn't even know you cook, brother”.

“C'mon, shut up!”

“And tha time ya brought ha' flowers”. Chibs points at Tig with pursed lips joking on him.

“Yeah, that was pretty romantic”. Jax continues with the jokes, making him feel angrier.

“I said she's just a fuckin' groupie. We fuck when I want. That's all”. Trager finishes the conversation, upset of their brothers teasing him about you.

Sitting on the sofa under the closest open window to them, you rest an empty beer on your lap. With your eyes on it and an incessant pain growing in your chest, lash after lash, you don't even know who the fuck are you. Then, the last year has been a lie. All those times he said he loved you, they were a lie. All those times he said he missed you, they were a lie. All those times he said you he didn't want a life without you, they were a lie. Like many others. Yes, he never asked you to be his girlfriend, but you didn't know he had to do it to make it ‘official’. You thought it was implicit in the fact that you really look like a couple. Not like Tara and Jax, but somewhat like. And it's confusing look back and seeing all the shit he did for you and all the shit you did for him, only to hear that your a clean pussy to put his cock in whenever he needs it. No feelings. No compromise. No nothing. Just sex.

You take off the black high-heels, holding them by the strips, leaving away the beer. Getting up and putting on well the dress you bought for him, feeling stupid on one of these garments, you walk barefoot towards the exit door at the end of the hallway' dorms. Your car is parked there. Safe from the Sons' of other subsidiaries and their non expected fights just for fun. The only thing you want to do is drive your way back home and hide in your bed of the shame you're feeling, after listening him talking like that about you with his friends.

“Brother, listen”. Jax sits on the nearest stool at the bar. “I lost Tara for fourteen years, don' commit my mistake”.

Tig has another shot, ripping his throat as he cleans his mouth with the back of the left hand.

“I was fuckin' scared of seeing that I was in love with her. We do all this shit that has our families in a continuous danger, but I don' regret about what I feel for my wife”. He defends the point of view he's trying to make him understand. “She's a good girl and you look focused since you met. Think about it”.

The other man doesn't say anything with the blue eyes placed on some bottles in front of him.

“You ok?” Tara's voice pushes you to reality.

You shake your head somewhat confused, raising your gaze towards her.

“I've been standing there for the last five minutes, without you noticing it”. She chuckles, closing the door behind her back to have a sit at the desk, having a quick look of the medical records on it. “Too much work?”

“I wish… It's been a quiet day and I need to distract myself”.

“It's everything okay? Didn' Tig like the dress?”

By the look on your face, putting away your eyes, Tara knows something isn't going well. You leave a heavy sigh, closing your eyes just to contain a wild tear.

“I'm just a… pussy for him”.

“What the hell…? Don't tell that, (Y/N). Maybe he's not the most romantic man on earth, but he loves you”.

“Yes, that what I thought”. Laughing somewhat bittersweet, you put your arms above the table. “Last night I heard him talking with the guys. Telling them I'm just a groupie to fuck when he needs it”.

The woman snorts resting her back on the chair, rubbing her eyes with both hands.

“The only difference between those... bitches he used to fuck and me, it's that I don't have HIV”.

“Maybe he was dru—”.

“I never heard Jax talk about you, as Tig talked about me, when he's drunk”. You reiterate shrugging your shoulders. “He just… told me all that bullshit about love and a family and a future to suck his cock. And I was so fuckin' stupid that I believed him…”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart”.

“Yeah, I'm too”. You answer getting up and taking off the medical gown to hang it on the coat rack. “I'm done with my meetings. Could you tell Marcia I wasn't feeling okay and I went home?”

“Yes, sure. Don't worry about it”.

All his stuff is already on a plastic bag. His clothes, his motorbike' things for when he travels… Everything. It was painful collect them all, with his smell flooding your room while you were keeping them. Placing it over the table in the kitchen, you sit there just waiting for him to come. You didn't call him, but even if he lied to you, you know something about him. So, when he didn't find you last night, he probably went first to the hospital by morning. And proving that you're right, the roar of his engine comes closer as he reaches your house. Crossing the back door in front of you, he takes off the helmet putting inside it the leather gloves and the sunglasses.

“Your boss told me you weren' feeling ok, what's up?” He asks truly worried, or at least seems like. Leaning forward he tries to kiss you, but you pull away your face without any words.

Now he's confused as fuck, getting up finding the bag on the table. Opening it with his forefinger to have a quick look twisting the neck just for a second, the blue eyes go straight you.

“What's that?”

“Your things. I want you to leave”.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” He demands making some gesture with both hands, as you get up of the chair.

“I'm not the one who lied every time I said ‘I love you’!” You push him away when he tries to take a step next to you, with all the pain concentrated on it.

“The fuck does it means? I didn' fuckin' lie to you”.

“Yeah, that's what you tell me in the meantime you tell your friends I'm just a clean pussy!”

“Who told you about that…?” He snorts cross-armed, supporting his waist against the counter.

“Nobody! I fuckin' hear you, Trager!” You scream totally mad, throwing him the plastic bag. “I just… fuckin' thought that someday you really would want to have a family... Shit, I'm so fucking stupid I feel so sorry for myself…”

“Sunshine, list—”.

“Go fuck yourself!” You push him away again, as he tries to grab your wrists, stirring under his grip. “You're a fucking dickhead!”

“Calm fuckin' down and listen!” He shouts at you for first time since you know him. Your heart stop, as your body does. Not because you're afraid, but because it's enough for you.

“I don' wanna see you anymore… Leave me alone”. You almost beg to him, shutting up some sobs stuck in your throat and your gaze away from the man.

He just nods in silence knowing that you are not going to come to your senses right now. So he grabs his things with anger, before throwing your house's keys on the table. Only when he disappear from the kitchen is when you break in tears. You had too much contained in your heart and you can't help but cry louder than never. Sometimes you have had fantasies about living together, having some free days and getting lost on the road, with nobody close to bother you. Sometimes you also have had fantasize of a kid running through your house calling him “daddy”. But it was just that. A year full of lies and a bunch of fantasies.

“What's that?” Bobby asks behinds the bar lifting up an eyebrow.

Tig throws the bag to the nearest wall, furious with himself and the way he has fucked up. His heart is beating fast, having a sit on a stool and grabbing a bottle of whisky to drink from it. There's no music in the clubhouse, just silence, so his guilty becomes louder of what he said. All those words dancing around him once and again.

“Clothes?” Juice asks taking the bag to open it confused.

“(Y/N) heard me last night”. He answers with his eyes getting reddened, trying to hold in the tears.

“I would have rip off your chest with a knife wetted on vinegar and salt”. Happy says without losing sight of the tip of the pool stick. After hit the white one, he raises his eyes towards him. “Later I would have pissed on you. Be thankful she kept your things in a bag”.

Jax looks at the ex-nomad not knowing why he's surprised about his threats. Walking close to Tig, with both hands inside the pockets, he supports a forearm against the bar.

“Now, what?” The president asks, lifting his chin in a simple gesture.

“Now nothing. I already lost her for being a fuckin' asshole. That's all”.

“Yeah, brotha, ya said fuckin' mean thengs bout ha'”. Chibs palms his back a little bit harder, making him spit the whisky in his mouth.

“Even if we were jokin'... Fuck man…” Jax shakes his head sighing, having a quick look of the Sons' faces. “Wan'me to talk with her?”

“No. I will… try to fix it”. He coughs by clearing his throat after the hit, having another sip.

“One year enduring your bullshit…” Bobby clicks his tongue, leaning above the bar. “I thinks it's fuckin' obvious what you should do, Tiggy”.

“Yes”. Juice, Chibs and Jax said in unison.

“That's the only way to fix it. And if you don' think so, then leave her alone”. In moments like that, Tig sees how much Jax looks like his father, with all those advices and wise words. “She's not a warm pussy, she's a woman who didn' care you're mentally fucked and who didn' care about what you do with the club”.

“I know…”

“Then, choose”. Palming the wooden bar, Jax finishes the conversation as if it was a table-business to Samcro.

#sons of anarchy x reader #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy #tig trager x reader #tig trager imagine #alexander tig trager #tig trager

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thishintoflove · 4 years

Text

“Wildest Dreams” - A Prospect (2018) Fanfic

TSwift Songfic Week Day 2

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Warnings: 18 + Explicit (Language, Sex Pollen, P/V sex, Unprotected sex, Outdoor sex), 2.2k words of smutty forest sex

A/N: Did I really just want an excuse to write a sex pollen fic? Yes, I did. Also Ezra strikes me as a guy who’d be into outdoor sex even without an extra aphrodisiac.

You’ve always loved the forest. When you’re out among the trees, watching the light spread across the forest floor in patterns of green and gold, there really isn’t anywhere else you’d rather be. This planet is filled with oxygen so there’s no need for a helmet, which means you can enjoy this peaceful wood with all five of your senses. You close your eyes every now and then, drifting along on the smells of the warm air and the sounds of native birds calling to each other between the leaves.

“Hey! Come on, Birdie, I hired you to be my guide, not daydream and get us lost.”

Ezra’s deep drawl cuts through the forest and interrupts your peace. The man has paused his endless pursuit long enough to stare back at you with an annoyed look.

“We’re on track, Ezra, just keep heading southwest. I’m right behind you.”

You’re a field researcher who was recently let go by your university, so you’re currently traveling between worlds as an independent contractor trying to make some money. That’s how you found yourself wandering through the vast woods of this backwater planet with a gruff gem prospector. It was your job to analyze the topographical maps, plot the route, and keep Ezra away from the dangers of the natural world as he searched for some kind of valuable gem. At first you were worried about being alone with a strange man for a weeks-long mission, but Ezra seemed respectful and fully dedicated to his job. He was handsome, you couldn't help but notice, but this was a job and you refused to let that be a factor. So you'd agreed to go with him on this trip, taking a 50% upfront commission, and now you're dragging your boots through the wet grass trying to keep up with him.

I thought heaven can't help me now

Nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down

He's so tall and handsome as hell

He's so bad but he does it so well

Ezra is currently stalking along ahead of you, head bowed, eyes scanning the forest floor for any sign of gem pods. Every now and then he turns around to glance at you, to either ask you a question about the flora and fauna or just to check and make sure you’re still there. You could tell he was getting frustrated that it’s been three days of hunting and yet still no gems in sight. You were following along quietly, trying not to disturb Ezra’s hunt. You glance up from time to time to make sure you can still see Ezra’s dark head poking out from behind trees and under bushes, but generally you keep yourself entertained by studying the clumps of flowers and plants on the ground.

Suddenly a rustling sound in a nearby bush grabs your attention. You catch sight of something small and fluffy huddled behind a tuft of grass. You freeze and squint down at the tiny stir of whiskers and wiggle of white-- it was a lop-eared lapine! An adorable furry creature that was often sold in pet shops, but this one was huddling right in front of you in the wild, seemingly unafraid. The small creature lifts its head and turns two very large, very innocent eyes on you. You smile despite yourself, and crouch down as it hops silently towards you. Its fuzzy paws make next to no impression on the grass as it moves.

It hops until it stops right in front of you. You reach a hand out and upon closer inspection, you realize there’s a spiky burr stuck in its fur.

“Aw, let’s see if I can get that pointy thing off you, little buddy,” you mumble, reaching out and running your fingers through its soft coat. You gently grasp the pointy burr and give it a small tug, but to your surprise the bud isn’t nearly as hard as it looks. As soon as you squeeze it, the bud bursts open and releases a surprising amount of yellow pollen into the air. It floats up, getting caught in your nose and making you sneeze.

The sound makes the lapine squeak and scuttle away into the tall grass. As it disappears, you feel your head begin to spin. Your eyes stop focusing for a moment and there’s a hot surge in the pit of your stomach. Your heart clenches when you realize what’s just happened. The burr must have been a native reproductive pod-- one with powerful side effects for humans that was usually sought out for use in performance enhancement medication. And now you’re completely doused in it.

The pollen is still drifting through the air in a cloud, and you try to get to your feet but your legs are too wobbly. Suddenly, a large hand is gripping your forearm and hauling you up.

“Are you alright, my lovely bird?”

Ezra is giving you a concerned look, unused to seeing you so affected like this. You try to warn him about the pollen but your tongue feels thick and useless. Soon Ezra is sneezing too and you know he’s ingested some of it as well.

“I didn’t mean to… didn’t expect…” you try to form complete sentences but there’s a heat rushing through your veins and blush spreading across your entire body. Ezra is still holding your arm and you reach around him to pull his body closer. Heat pours off both your bodies but you still crave the contact. A low groan slips from Ezra’s lips and the sound goes straight to the now aching spot between your legs.

“Is it… some type of aphrodisiac?” Ezra asks between clenched teeth. He’s holding you flush to his body but he seems frozen. “I do not want to hurt you, Birdie. But I’m afraid I am losing all control of my senses here.”

“Yeah it is,” you gasp, feeling a little better now that you had him so close, “It’s okay to...you know. I want you to. I need you to.”

As if to prove your point, you thrust your hips against his. You can already feel the hardness in the pants of his flight suit, and your mouth literally waters at the thought of it inside you.

“Are you absolutely positive? I may still be able to get away from here. Away from you. If I go now-”

“Don’t you dare.”

At your confirmation, Ezra growls and pushes you forward until your back hits a tree. He presses his mouth against your collarbone and sucks, all coherent thought rapidly vacating your brain at his actions.

I said, "No one has to know what we do"

His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room

And his voice is a familiar sound

Nothing lasts forever but this is getting good now

You feel dazed, pressed against the tree with your hands pinned on either side by Ezra’s long, strong fingers. You bury your nose in his dark hair as he nibbles your pulse point, inhaling additional pollen, not that you care. He pushes his hips upwards into you, too desperate for friction to question how he’s become so hard so quickly. You rut against him, egging him on and enjoying the amazing sensation of the tight fabric against your clit.

Ezra breaks away from your neck with a gasp and mouths his way along your jaw until your lips finally meet. It’s your first kiss together but neither of you really care at the moment-- the kiss is sloppy in an eager, desperate way brought on by the pollen. You both open your mouths and you tremble with pleasure at the warm slide of Ezra’s tongue against your own. You moan softly into his mouth as you feel his hardness press more insistently against your thigh through the material of his pants.

Then he’s ripping at the zipper and velcro on your flight suit, pulling the top down enough to expose your chest. He keeps his mouth on yours as his hand starts to explore you. He palms your breast, teasing the nipple to a taut peak, and your trembling increases as you struggle to control the heat burning inside you.

"Ezra, please. I need you now. I need to feel you inside me," you beg.

“Relax, my lovely bird. I want to explore you first,” Ezra growls, feeling himself grow even harder as your nipples rise beneath his fingers.

You swallow, unsure if you’re able to comply. He was like a drug to you now, one you never knew you needed. It’s driving you crazy and you know your craving won’t be fulfilled until he’s fully in you. But you take a deep breath and try to relax into his ministrations.

Feeling your body relax, Ezra slowly begins an assault on your senses. He ducks his head and takes one breast into his mouth, running his tongue over the nipple. He sucks gently before biting down, and the jolt of pain-pleasure makes you arch against him and tug at the hair on the back of his head. As he continues to lavish attention on your breasts with his mouth, his hands slip down to slowly work your pants open. You’re almost too distracted to notice until suddenly you feel a thick finger enter you. Your pulse skips a beat as you tremble under his touch, craving more. He continues to pump in and out of you with one hand while his prosthetic arm reaches down to undo the fly of his own pants.

You cry out again as his finger hooks inside you, hitting that special spot that makes your toes curl.

"Ezra, please. I can't take it! I’m going to lose my mind! Please!"

"Fine, have it your way, Birdie," he replies.

In one fast movement he removes his fingers and replaces them with his cock. He slams hard into you, and winds his arms around your back to pull you as close as possible. You cry out at the sensation of finally being filled. You curl into him, your face in his shoulder as he buries himself inside you. He withdraws slowly and sinks back in while he muffles his groans of pleasure into your neck. He strokes in and out of you with a deep, steady pace.

You'll see me in hindsight

Tangled up with you all night

Burnin' it down

“You feel amazing, everything I need,” you babble as the burning sensation inside you begins to settle and shift into pure pleasure.

Ezra groans and pushes against your neck with his nose, “You look so splendid on my cock. Never imagined you would be so wet, so tight. I want to stay in your warm heat forever.”

A rough laugh escaped you at his words-- somehow still trying to be eloquent even with the pollen messing with his brain and tongue. You twist your head to meet his mouth in a passionate kiss. Ezra moans against your mouth as he rapidly chases his own orgasm, hips pounding into yours. Everything feels like too much and not enough at the same time. You’re no longer burning but you’re rapidly falling into a pit of pleasure that you’re not sure you’ll be able to climb out of.

Ezra feels so strong and rough against you. You break the kiss to grin wickedly at him, and lower your head to suck softly on the sensitive skin of his neck. As he speeds up his movements, you bite lightly and squeeze your inner muscles a little more aggressively in time with his thrusts. His balls tighten in response to the feel of your teeth on his neck, your nails in his back, the tightening of your wetness around him.

Ezra reaches down to press your clit with his thumb, and that’s all it takes to make you come undone. You gasp and shudder against him as he thrusts erratically a few more times before following you over the edge. He throbs and gushes deep within you as your walls tremble and tug at his cock. Your orgasms seem to be unending as wave after wave crashes over you both.

Someday when you leave me

I bet these memories

Follow you around

Finally, you come down enough to drop your leg from where it was wrapped around Ezra’s hip. Your head falls back against the tree and you close your eyes as you try to steady your breathing.

“Birdie? Can you look at me?”

Your eyes flutter open and you meet his gaze. Ezra’s dark eyes are filled with apprehension and his brow is low as he looks at you with concern.

“I am… uneasy with how our encounter just went. I want you to know that this isn’t what I had in mind when I hired you. I would never-”

“Ezra,” you say, cutting him off before he can bombard you with more unnecessary apologies, “It wasn’t your fault. It was my fault for not being more careful. This doesn’t have to change anything between us.”

Maybe it’s the remnant of pollen still in your system or maybe you just finally know what you’re missing out on, but you hesitantly lift a hand and reach up to brush the hair off his sweaty forehead, taking extra notice of the blonde tuft at the front.

“But... it could change something,” you continue, “If we both want it to.”

Ezra’s look of concern melted into something fonder.

“I believe that’s something worth discussing. I can’t promise you forever, Birdie. My line of work isn’t conducive to commitments. But if you’ll have me for a time, I would very much like to continue exploring this pleasurable path we seem to have stumbled upon.”

You smile up at him, pleased to see a lighter look in his deep brown eyes. “I believe I can agree to that.”

Say you'll see me again

Even if it's just in your (Just pretend, just pretend)

Wildest Dreams

#ezra (prospect)#ezra x female reader #prospect (2018)#ezra x reader #prospect (film)#prospect fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #my fanfic #fanfiction tag #rumbelle

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zhaozaipalooza · 3 years

Text

Your Weekly Drabble! - Day 1 | Festival

The missing drabble for LuZhao mini-week where I brought to you Holi? — here it is! ✨

The court painter fiddled with the array of tools at his side - paled slightly, lips forming a curse - then quickly bit it down, stammering about getting a few supplies before he excused himself. Red curtains framing the prince’s portrait-to-be settled behind him.

Lu Ten sprang from his seat. He paced to drum out his annoyance through the silks lining the floor. When that didn’t work, he ducked out of the same opening.

A massive, tiled chamber cleared of the average riches piled in a palace room, sunlight streaming from the corridor outside, gave him more breath than his lungs knew what to do with. When the day glowed, he couldn’t resist the same - not as a child, not as a princeling aware of his place in a turning world, fire in his heart and fingers. Dance with me, sing with me, run with me, said the sun… and Lu Ten followed.

The rays guided his eyes over ornate fixtures, twisting pillars and rosy walls, to a guard stationed beside the open door. His helmet was clutched in a free hand to keep it from slipping over his eyes. He caught Lu Ten smiling, and mustered a look of confidence.

Peace that uncommonly smoothed Zhao’s face - in his presence, no one else’s - was knocked off when Lu Ten jabbed a fist into his side. “Yip!” His eyes bugged, rubbing at the sore spot.

“Loosen up! You’re only in charge of me and the, uh…” he cleared his throat, “snail sloth. And no thief is going to steal the wallpaper.”

“It’s only been half an hour.” He gripped the helmet. “Anything could happen. Do you know how much this sort of position pays? To serve inside palace walls? I’ll never go hungry again.” His lips turned firm. “I wouldn’t have managed to land it without your pull. I can’t go risking it now.”

Zhao grabbed in air when the headpiece slid neatly off his topknot. The prince tucked it in the crook of his arm. “You won’t go hungry again. Ever.”

“I promise.” Their eyes met, something of more absence than they knew what to do with fleeing their lungs.

Lu Ten blinked off the daze first, hauling him by the arm behind the curtains, where the painter had abandoned his things. He was first to press his lips to his and linger slowly, sweetly.

Zhao’s laughter was between a rumble and a sigh. “You thought you could get bored when I was right outside?”

“Pah... I have you around for more than that.” He strung a lock of Zhao’s hair around his knuckle, thumb skimming his cheek. Within an instant, Lu Ten tugged free, jumped onto the chair where he was meant to sit motionless for hours - looking so daring and heroic that it was comical. “We’re adventurers! The gods threw us together, watched us train together, conquer together. We’re meant to make history, not lounge around waiting for history to make out who we were from a painting.”

“Hm, now there’s a good point.” His disbelief mingled with awe in Lu Ten’s shadow - one he barely noticed. Zhao laughed more, the sound crinkling with a soft snort. How are you so full of life?

“We could cross the tundra, climb mountain ranges where airbender ruins still whisper to the living,” Lu Ten pantomimed an otherworldly sensation, with a swirling mock of airbending - Sozin’s descendants weren’t taught much in the way of regard. Neither was the nation; Zhao fought a grin. “Or! We could master our firebending under the greatest there ever were… the very first benders to learn from the dragons.”

“The Sun Warriors?” He leaned against the wall, hoping it wasn’t indecorous - some part of him would always feel like an ugly blot in the lap of luxury. Zhao’s memory tingled, “I read of them. Once. Sounded like a tall tale to me. If they existed, they’re far gone now.”

“I say they’re alive and well.” He hopped down. The legs of the chair jerked back. “Fire of every color thrives there. Blue, purple, green, all blazing hot. Colors that don’t have names! There’s a thousand stairs to reach the golden temple behind a sea of clouds, and once you-”

“Come on, green fire? Your head’s stuck in a sea of clouds. I say tundra.”

“Stuck in a- you hate snow!” The prince’s huff spoke easily for him after all the time they’d spent together: dream a little! He gave Zhao one of his father’s looks and went to the pigments sitting in neat boxes in a larger hinged case, and grumbled again. This one stood for that sore loser…

“He hasn’t even mixed the powders into paints. I can tell where he sourced some of them - the white is crushed seashells, it looks like. Fragile, tiny shells… Four hours is starting to look like ten.”

“Green fire, purple fire, ooh,” Zhao was teasing, “What’s next, each of them stand for a pillar of society? Yellow for contracts, green for tea, pink for… hm, intercourse? I think we should start with that one when we get th-”

A creative itch had sprouted a full-out snarkfest; the prince suddenly twisted, flinging a fistful of ground powder in his guard’s direction. Outside of these walls they were lieutenant and ensign, soldiers homeward-bound if luck was on their side.

“Or maybe it stands for paying a little more respect.” Lu Ten smirked, hands at his hips. “Not that you’ve ever followed that pillar of society.”

Zhao shielded his face too late, swiped off the glimmering traces. Face ajar and upturned at his nerve.

Here, they were a lot younger, and they were home. As young as they should be.

“So that’s how it is.”

One half-hour stretched out for twenty more minutes, the seconds passing like snow in a blizzard. Fun thinned time, after all, dragging the sun higher into the sky, melting down their reservations. “You want to learn from the Sun Warriors? Well, I’m twice the warrior you are, and Agni knows my family has the divine blessing of the sun - so why not learn a lesson or two?”

“You’re on.”

Lu Ten ripped each box loose and scattered them outside the curtains; clouds of mushed petals, the deep green of palm leaves, a reddish rust like clay shingles, and pale alabaster shells - all drifting in the air like trails of smoke. The prince was splattered, his friend powdered head to foot like a circus novelty, and their laughter shook the gleaming (once spotless) hall.

“Get back here, get back here- oh no you d- ack!” Fingers smudged like they’d been rooting in the royal kitchen and licking off cream, sleeves rolled and rumpled, armor stripped so their feet could race lightly back and forth on the slippery floor.

“I’m over here, old man!”

Endless, Zhao thought, let this moment be endless. Bare skin freckled in a dizzying prism of sight and scent; he’d thrown something of tartness, plunged through the aroma of flowers to streak Lu Ten’s beaming face. He ceded him the point, returned with a swipe of orange made from dried seeds, dusting the top of his head like a showy plume. He puffed out a pale wisp. Lu Ten folded, cradling his colorful, aching gut.

They ended sprawled wide, one on top of the other, undistinguished from anything. Littering the crook of his collar, neck, cheek, and ear with kisses, the one pinned muffling a fit with the back of his palm.

“Hey,” Zhao rolled aside, the both of them heaving, trained on the hazy light pooled in the ceiling. “Don’t fire that painter.”

“Huh?” Soaking in the quiet, Lu Ten glanced over.

“He’s new to this. Wracked with nerves. Who knows if he’s trying to make ends meet? Give him a chance.” Like you did me.

The prince thought it over. “Of course. Snap judgements are more my uncle’s thing.”

“Oh gods, does he scare me.” They spent the little breath they’d scraped together snickering.

The Firelord’s firstborn accompanied the worrisome painter to pay his son a visit… No sooner had they entered the corridor did the spray of lavender on a flowerpot clue the artist to go lightheaded.

Iroh hurried to promise his compensation, divined the prince’s likely attitude to having to wash off and remain statuesque until dinner, and decided the best course of action.

The painter was redirected to capture the fiasco in a sketch, nearly abstract: both boys with their arms looped over shoulders, a smile held in their eyes as long as their warmth was close. The young man tutted under his breath as he improvised, following the stains and speckles on Lu Ten and Zhao with a deft fingertip. In the final touches, he seemed to have enjoyed himself, too.

“You should join us for dinner.” It was sundown. The prince held the piece of parchment gingerly, softening whenever his eye crossed it again.

Adventurers.

His father had extended the gesture, son nodding along. “No, no, I couldn’t.” Zhao held up his palms, still tinged with a sea of floral and earthen smells. “The pay as a royal guard is plenty, even for a temporary station… I can look after the rest myself. I know how.”

“It would be bad manners for us to let a guest leave without experiencing the most of their stay.” The general’s eyes twinkled. “And here is the best of the best! Meals so fulfilling they leave room for fifth helpings.”

“You are more than a royal guard here.” A warm, heavy palm took Zhao’s shoulder. “As close as you are to my son, I think of you as my own.”

All he knew, even decades after the best meal of his life, was that things would have gone a lot differently if he had refused.

- - -

What a dark path, the one that lay down the other fork in the road. Thankfully, in this life, Zhao had not strayed.

The city was rife with celebration, lanterns dazzling the canals as their reflections bobbed in the water. Brilliant red, jade, and silvery powders made from starch and ground herbs coasted the night air.

A young girl in braids scampered down the pavement - chin purpled, hair smattered with blues and greens - and leaped into Zhao’s arms. He spun on a heel with her momentum, hearing a shriek of delight before her fists anchored themselves in his front.

“This is the best! I never want to sleep again. And Ma bought me these!” She placed a warm cake before his face, expectant, and he nibbled off one end. Sweet bean paste.

Her smile revealed the gap between her teeth; snuggling to his chest again, she sighed in content. “It’s so pretty… How come this wasn’t around when you were a kid?”

“Well,” Zhao rocked her gently, an unconscious swaying that soothed her since she could crawl. “It’s actually for someone very special. He was alive when I was young. I knew him. Firelord Iroh wants the world to know him, too.”

Her eyes lit up. “I read about him in school. I tell my friends, ‘My daddy knew a prince!’ and they ask so many questions.” Zhao laughed softly, and she asked, “What was he like? Really like?”

He thought it over. “… Like this. Just like this.” Like what? Lights and colors flickered over the darkness, an endless sun, a glow that rose and went on forever.

“Wonderful.”

#ray's friday ficlets have evolved into: a palooza submission!#luzhao #sideburns are a war crime #zhao #lu ten #iroh #zhaozai palooza 2021 #your local clown writes!

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lipstickbisous · 4 years

Text

wait for it

notes: i HAD to do another hamilton song, it’s just too good, alright? also, this is just a short thing. not really a drabble but, isn’t it?

THIS SONG IS TOO GOOD, ALRIGHT? LESLIE ODOM JR. MADE ME CRY WITH IT.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

summary: din’s new to love, and his love for you enables him to wait.

warnings: um, lil angst, but fluff? soft!din, sort of domestic!din, mentions of smut

word count: 2.3k

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

but he can keep all of georgia. theodosia, she's mine.

you were...ethereal. anyone could see it, and din was sure that everyone knew it. the maker had truly sent him a dream, a dancing grace, a moving beauty, and he could only imagine how clear and vibrant you looked without the visor of his helmet. in your first meeting, he had every piece of his mind to relieve himself of his helmet right there and then. if you could share your beauty with him, he would want to share the small bit of looks he had.

din swore he could feel your radiance. when he had walked into the market, smelling of turmeric and rotting meat, you were the opposite. you were sitting in your stand, full of colored fruits that, when compared to the rest of the vendors, looked vibrant against drab. you were summers in mandalore, the scent of home, flowers in the fields of the countless planets he’d flown to--he would’ve loved to show you them, to take you with him on his ship so that you wouldn’t have to live with the stench of old spices and flesh everyday. he saw the aged clothes you’d worn, similar to the scratched and dented beskar of his armor, and thought of how when he earned himself enough credits, he would spend them all on anything you needed. he could see that you loved to cook, and he wondered what your favorite food was and if you would be willing to cook it for him.

he wasn’t the domestic type, he had never been and he didn’t think he ever would be. but it was one look at you to know what home was--it wasn’t a cold ship that broke down every few months, or a guild or a creed he’d sworn himself to. it was in the embrace of your arms, his head on your chest with your eyes closed. it was his helmet sitting on your table, the promise that you would never look because you were understanding, the feeling of your breath fanning through his hair, your skin against his. that was his home, and he wanted it.

maker, he knew it was wrong. it was so wrong, but there was nothing else in the galaxy that he could’ve wanted. your husband was a soldier protecting the limits of your city from war. din hadn’t purposefully landed in the middle of a war-zone--he had stopped for some supplies and figured he would be on his way until he glimpsed of you and came back for more.

your husband was never there, and it broke his heart. if your husband couldn’t be the one to hold you during the night, or cooking your morning meals, or walk you through the city, or even spend a minute to share a conversation with you, then din would.

he felt childish for it, but these feelings were unbelievably satisfying. he had stuck everything together inside of him, hoping that it wouldn’t fall apart someday. the only thing that had been keeping him together were prayers and one day, even those wouldn’t be able to do it. he thanked the makers he found you, sitting in your market stand, reading what looked to be an ancient book, ignoring the calls and yells of other men.

they disgusted him, really. men who thought it romantic or morally alright to call out a woman for certain reasons had always made din cringe underneath his helmet, but never had he called them out on it before. in fact, it was what had grabbed your attention. the modulated voice yelling a, “hey!” towards those men and the armored frame that towered over them. you hadn’t said anything in response--just a simple nod and you looked back down at your book.

and din fell a little bit more in love with you.

he was sure you were falling in love with him too. din was hoping--no, praying--that you hadn’t just let him inside of you and your home just because you needed it, although he needed it as well. he was wishing there was feeling there, inside of the complicated mind he tried so hard to understand.

which is why when you hesitated to reply to his question of, “will you fly away with me?” your eyes were wide, your lips parted, and even though you had just woken up, you looked just as beautiful as the day he’d seen you, but your silence was breaking his heart. you had sat yourself on top of your hands but he knew you were fidgeting with your fingers when he couldn’t see.

his insides were burning. his heart was going up in a blaze, all he could see past you was fire. his head and vision were blurred by gray smoke, and when you inhaled to speak but nothing came out, it extinguished every flame he felt. now, it was all dumb, and every feeling he had ever experienced with you was in ashes. your chest still rose with the breath you had taken but never let go. your eyes looked to the floor of your house, noticing how the dust was just slightly collecting.

you had helped him place the armor on his body, admiring the small marks from age. you had even cooked a special breakfast for him, knowing that he would be leaving for a mission soon but he came back to you--he always came back to you. only this time, his leaving was a bit different.

this town was your home. it had been your home since you were a child and you had never seen any other planets or cities; you never felt the need to since you had known were home was. it was in the small house you had bought when you married your husband, it was being held in his arms, it was him telling you that he had willingly joined the forces--it was...saying goodbye to him when he was sent off to the outer limits in your city. home was knowing that there was a chance your husband could return to you lifeless in a body bag.

with your silence, din rose from where he sat and walked to the door. his hand hovered over the scanner, contemplating whether or not he truly wanted to leave you like this. your expression was blank and it was clear to din what you were thinking.

no. that wasn’t home. it used to be home, but now, home had changed. home was in the arms of the mandalorian. home was feeling the scruff on his chin and jaw, the softness of his lips, his eyelashes and his hair when you couldn’t look at him yourself. home was feeling his lips on your cheek with your eyes closed. home was imagining every feature of his face. home was feeling him nuzzle himself into you because you knew he had never felt this before. home was hearing all of the stories about his original family, about being a foundling. home was him telling you his identity. home was feeling his breath on your neck. home was thinking about how he was here instead of your husband.

“wait,” you whispered so quietly that din almost couldn’t hear it through the metal of his helmet. “i-” you were quiet again as your chest rose and fell in quick breaths. “i want to. i do, i promise, din,” he loved to hear you say his name and no one else. “i just- i can’t. not right now.”

he didn’t know how or why, but he understood. he understood exactly what you meant. you were sitting there alone on the couch, your eyes lost, your lips parted in sadness, and din couldn’t help but think that this what your life consisted of before him. he hated to admit it stroked his ego a bit, but despite your job in the market, you were alone. you would go to cantinas alone, you would eat meals alone, you would go to sleep alone. but with din, you two would drink together, make dinner together, and instead of sleeping, he would make sure to praise your body with all of his love.

his love. so this was love? this was the feeling din had wondered about on the sleepless night aboard the razor crest--when he was the one who ate alone, who slept alone, who worked alone. and he had you and he never wanted to go back to the way it was. it would hurt far too much.

“i know, cyar'ika,” he whispered the name you’d grown to love over the months. he left his spot near the door and set himself down on his knees in front of you, listening to the metal hitting the clay floor. “i know.” you couldn’t see it, but his eyes teared. “i don’t know what else to do.”

he was hoping that this wasn’t love. he was hoping that there wouldn’t be so much hurt and crying and separating. of course, he didn’t want to leave, but he was a mandalorian and you were understanding. every time he would whisper a ‘goodbye’, he would be gone for no more than two days, and when he returned, he would either find you asleep in bed or working back in the market. this time, he wasn’t sure if he could come back.

this mission had been rumored and whispered about, and from what greef karga had told din, this would be a high-paying bounty--din only hoped he was ready.

what he wasn’t ready for was this goodbye. “you always come back,” you whimpered. was he truly going to leave you just as your husband had? he had promised he was different, that he was new to this and that he loved you far too much to hurt you.

but wasn’t that love? wasn’t it that raw and powerful emotion that was full of highs and lows, crying and laughing, hurting and healing? you’d been so used to it, your husband had done the same, but never--never--did you think that din djarin, the feared warrior, your mandalorian could do such a thing.

“you always come back,” this could’ve been the first time where you could accept what was happening. “i just don’t understand, din, i-”

his gloved hand cupped the side of your head, soon to rip off the leather so this his fingertips could feel the strands of your hair. it was soft when compared the roughness of his hair, but you had never cared. “i know,” he repeated himself. “ni mesh’la, this one is a big one. it’s hard to understand, please, i know, but you just have to realize-”

realize what? that the one person who had shown you far too much love than you deserved when your husband wouldn’t was finally saying goodbye? that you would have to try so hard to purge yourself of him and anything about him? you didn’t want to realize this. you wanted him to hold you and rest in bed with you, and then maybe he could slip away during the night so that you wouldn’t have to feel a thing. you’d wake up alone, but in your eyes, that was better than watching your own love just walk straight away.

“i understand,” you lied. he looked up to you, and you desperately wanted to rip the helmet from his head and connect your lips to his. his hold in your hair softened. “will you wait?”

of course, he would wait. you weren’t ready yet, and he truly understood that, but maker, did he want to take you with him. he couldn’t even explain how much he wanted to show you the galaxy because you deserved to see every fucking thing you wanted to see. he wanted to hold you every night and wake up with you every morning because you deserved to have someone with you. he wanted to show you his love in any possible, simply because you deserved that.

and if there’s a reason i’m by her side when so many have tried, i’m willing to wait for it.

he nodded and set both of his hands in your lap. “always,” he whispered through his helmet. his helmet. your brows furrowed as his fingers touched the bottom of the metal, followed by a “no!” your hands flew to his to stop him from doing something you knew he would regret. “please, mesh’la,” you closed your eyes and everything went a little bit fuzzy with the hiss of his helmet. “please, just look. i need you to look.”

you began to shake, and it broke his heart. your hands shivered as you let go and opened your eyes.

beautiful. you thought as your eyes trailed over his face. small lines around his eyes and mouth that had appeared over the years were beautiful. the mud-color of his eyes and hair was beautiful. his tan shades and the small scars he had scattered around were beautiful. the way his lips naturally curved, and eyelashes stuck together. every feature you had felt with your fingertips during the nights spent together was now displayed right in front of you and you still shook.

“please, just wait,” you whispered hoarsely. you wanted to go to bed. you wanted to sleep and find your mandalorian sitting in front of you. you wanted to cook him breakfast and enjoy the morning air.

he brought your knuckles to his lips. “always.”

i’m willing to wait for it.

tags: @javierpenaspinkshirt @cyarikaaa @pedropasscals @zeldasayer @wakalas @honeyedspace @absurdthirst @agent-whiskeys-sweetheart @otherthingsinhead @talesfromtheguild @pascalisthepunkest @thewaythisis @forever-rogue @foreverlostindreams

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tintinwrites · 4 years

Text

the scent of light | Din Djarin x Reader

A/N: I saw a quote and wrote this in about an hour lol. Also this is in present tense which I never do.

Rating: T

Warning: Angst. Naughty words. Many sexual references. No smut but thoughts!

Word count: 1,307, apparently!!

Summary: “Like a great starving beast, my body is quivering, fixed on the scent of light.” — Hafiz

GIF credit: My queen @thesefleshfailures

Tags: @bisexual-space-slut

--------------------------------

You are light.

Din knows this the moment he lays his eyes on you and your smile makes him imperceptibly trip over his own feet, only a little.

Not many people look at him like he’s not a lumbering piece of metal that might decide to kill you if you annoy him too much.

But you do look at him like that, with kind eyes and little smiles that remind even him that he’s not an empty kettle of beskar and that he is, underneath it, a man.

Your hands are soft in the way that their intention is always gentle; they do not grab, or pull, or smack, or hurt. They hold a blaster with grace, they touch his arm with light squeezes when you stand next to him, they rock the Child with almost love, and they pick flowers on verdant planets as if they’re a prized possession.

He flinched the first time you put your hand on his arm, but now he worries the times that you don’t touch him there, holds his arm out a little to tempt you unconsciously, smiles beneath his helmet when your fingers move to squeeze around his wrist.

Maybe he poked fun at you the first time you picked a flower, made a little comment about how it was only going to wilt.

I would rather it wilts being appreciated for its beauty than being not noticed at all.

You held the bright yellow bloom up to him then smiled sheepishly when you realized he was wearing a helmet, and he didn’t know why he was quick to quell your embarrassment by telling you he could smell with it on.

He learns to smell flowers more often, but he’s subtle when he does; bending down to grab a fallen weapon and inhaling next to the plants.

He learns that flowers smell good and that you smell even better than them.

Your scent trails behind you when you walk and he would too if he didn’t have any shame, leaning forward a bit whenever you walk by just to enjoy you as long as he can.

He wants to take off his helmet and bury his nose in your hair, kiss you, nuzzle you, whisper into your ear.

The thought scares him, but he keeps thinking it again the moment he sees you like an adolescent with a crush, his posture straightening, a dumb smile on his lips that you never see.

He’s been alone for so long and there’s a void in him that the Child cannot fill, that his found friends cannot fill.

You seem like someone who knows how to make people feel whole.

Maybe there’s more to him already and all you’ve done is smell good, and touch his arm, and pick flowers, and care for both him and the kid.

You always listen, whether it’s an order he gives that you know will keep you safe or the rare moments when he speaks passionately about something without realizing how much he’s spoken, and he likes that.

He wants you to fill him and he wants to fill you too.

There are nights when you and the kid are asleep on the lower level of the ship, and he’s in the cockpit either trying not to sleep or allowing himself a moment of sleep propped up in the pilot’s seat with his head tilted back.

He wants to touch you.

He wants to watch you moan and writhe the moment his hand finds that special, glorious place between your legs.

He wants to touch you, and watch you, and taste you, and fill you, and hold you, and fuck you, and kiss you, and mark you.

The nice, buzzing feelings that accompany those thoughts turn to shame when he sees the result of them on the hand he didn’t remember removing the glove off of, on pants he didn’t remember unfastening.

He’s ashamed because of his creed.

He’s ashamed because you are light and who is he to fantasize about you without your permission?

But he wants the light to touch him.

He wants to rip off his helmet and fall to his knees like you are the creed he follows now, and he keeps that thought locked up tight where it should be.

One day he touches the edge of his helmet as if he might take it off, watching you sit in a field with the Child in your lap. You hand him a small flower and he tries to eat it, and your laugh is Din’s favorite sound now next to the kid’s coo whenever he sees him.

How easy it would be to take off his helmet and toss it into the dirt to be forgotten, to shed each piece of his armor as he strides over to you, to fall into your willing lap and let you kiss every inch of his face that has not known a touch besides his own in decades, to let the sun shine on him.

For a moment, he almost thinks he does do that, but looks down to find himself rooted to the same spot with his armor glinting and his hands gripping his helmet tightly.

Men made of beskar do not get to be loved by women made of light.

He was used to being alone until you came along and reminded him that it hurt, that his days ended with hollowness, and now he is used to the sensation of someone filling in the cracks he ignored.

He tells you to leave the next day, words clipped and voice cracking only slightly.

You can’t stay when he is questioning the beliefs that built him, when all he wants to do is abandon everything while knowing he can’t, when the temptation is too much for him, when he doesn’t know if he’s going to pound you into the wall or beg you to make him yours just because you’re beautiful all over.

This isn’t who he is.

Or maybe it is.

Maybe he’s made up of all the beliefs that were instilled in him from childhood and his desire for you to be his is the true him trying to claw its way out like an animal in a cage.

He doesn’t know.

He can’t find out.

He does know one thing for sure, and that’s that he doesn’t like seeing you cry.

He wants to take it all back at the sight of tears in your eyes and your chin quivering, but he merely stares and wonders why you are even sad.

You are good and he is not, and you should have a life with a man who can adore you openly instead of fantasizing about you every moment.

The kid tries to follow you and you kiss his head goodbye before Din scoops him up to keep him on the ship.

You pause at the top of the ramp and he wishes you would go, that you would leave him to collapse in his pilot’s seat because he misses you.

I think I’m in love with you, Mando.

It breaks his heart, he’s pretty sure, to know that you wanted him too, but he knows you are worth more than a man who won’t even tell you his damn name.

He watches you leave and anticipates the familiar darkness and emptiness.

It’s not familiar anymore.

Being used to light makes the darkness deeper when he steps back into it and the sensation of being nearly full makes the emptiness all the more noticeable, akin to that of a starving man forced to stare at a feast he can’t touch.

How easy it would be to take off his helmet and run out to tell you all the thoughts he kept secret, but he is not made for the light.

#din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin fic

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talesofnovembria · 3 years

Text

A moment of silence

Happening at the same time as this.

Salena stood in her room, right next to her bed. Her usual clothes were set aside, a dress shirt and vest laying out in front of her. Black slacks already covered her legs. A heaviness wore on her heart as she stared at the garments. He wouldn’t want this, yet here she was going to do it anyway. As she was slipping on the dress shirt, a ‘click’ rang out behind her. Eyes peered over her shoulder, narrowing the moment she saw who stood there.

Marie…

Was she here to do what she thought?

“Where are you running off to?”

“None of your business Marie.”

Buttons done, hands reaching for the vest, slipping it over her head, “You do this every year, but this one takes the cake. Don’t you have something more important to do?”

Narrowed eyes flashed over to her sibling, “Do you really think I’ve forgotten?”

“I think you’ve got your priorities backwards. Showing such little appreciation for those around you and more for someone who’s dead.”

“I never asked for your opinion.”

“I would have thought you’d have changed by now. Hasn’t our father done so much for you.”

“Yes he has. What’s your point?”

“So instead of running away, why aren’t you here to show him some appreciation. You’d be nothing without him.”

Now that stung…

“Fuck off Marie. Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

“You just hate to admit that I’m right.”

Salena finished buttoning her vest, reaching for something wrapped in paper laying along her bed, and threw a gate open, “I said, fuck off!” She stepped through the gate, shutting it off behind her. Why should she have to put up with this ridicule? From the one person she hated the most. It didn’t matter what she thought. There was somewhere to be, and nothing was going to stand in the way.

When she came through the other side, hands clung to the nearest pillar, heart racing from the surge of power pressing down on her body. She fought the weak feeling to keep her package resting on her arm. Huffs escaped from her maw. When everything evened out, her eyes peered at the surrounding area. Azsuna… Her heart sank at the sight. Moss covered elven structures, the smell of the sea hanging in the air, the hissing of the tiny naga population slithering around the area. They weren’t a threat, so much so she hadn’t felt the need to bring her weapon. If they hadn’t gone up in the years she’d kept coming here, they wouldn’t.

Pushing off the pillar, her paws pressed along the sand, sharp eyes still keep an eye out for any she might come across. Her path was clear, towers and pathways looming over her as she walked between them. Finally she stopped, one large structure having collapsed in on itself.

The same as it is every time you come… why do you do this to yourself?

Memories flooded back to her as she walked to the side of the building.

They were deep within the structure, having gone down the flight of stairs leading underground. There was a large circular pool in the middle of the room, floating flowers decorating its surface. Pillars surrounded the outside, stone stairs leading to the ring around the pool. It was almost beautiful…

Splashes from clashing foes, two others wounded to the side of the room. She was crouched with a demon hunter, the two in the center of the room looked like they were twins. The same man, but one was just a shade of the other. Best not to mention that out loud of course… it was always something that set him off.

Everyone was worn out, power surging through the whole room. She hated that she had partly been at fault to lead to this moment. What the fel was she thinking when she made a deal with a demon? A fair amount of the pain she suffered was from not ‘accepting his gift.’ She’d take the pain rather than have herself corrupted more than she already was.

Now this demon hunter had been captured, drawn him out, and they were faced with the current predicament.

His eyes turned on the two of them, her’s meeting him. What was that look? What was he planning? A surge of magic was sensed behind them… a portal? Wait a minute… WAIT A MINUTE!

No no no no no!

The hum of magic began to concentrate around him and the shade. She couldn’t leave him behind! She’d caused this mess! He shouldn’t have to pay for this! She fought the arms that reached through the portal, calling out to him. Blue began to tint the whole room. No! Magic surged through the room, ripping at her arm before she was forced through the portal.

Three were perched on a nearby cliff, her arm ripped to shreds. Not that such a thing was a hindrance to the undead. She sprang to her feet, just in time for an explosion to go off from a nearby building, watching as it collapsed in on itself.

No…

Tears streamed down her face.

No no no no!

Larregis!!

A snarl ripped from her throat, hand moving to her head as the memories tattered out. She found the hole in the side of the structure she had been looking for, slipping inside. Some of the stairs leading down managed to stay intact, paws carrying her down them. She stopped as she came to a large pile of rubble… but there was something in front of it. A runeblade with a helmet resting on top of it. She’d managed to recover both items after the fact, leaving them here as some kind of memorial. Crystal-ice flowers surrounded the area, each addition of them marking a year in which she’d come to pay her respects.

Taking the new addition of flowers wrapped in paper, she began to arrange them around the rubble, laying a few at the base of the blade. When she was done, she knelt in front of the sword, one hand moving to rest on top of the helmet. A small chuckle escaped from her maw, “I know you would be so disappointed to know I keep coming here… you’d want me to move on… so would everyone else… but I can’t. I really am weak.”

She reached up, removing the collar from her neck. A flicker surrounded her before the façade dropped from her form. Her patchwork pelt took over, hand slipping the neck piece into the pocket of her vest.

“But I miss you… I just wish you knew that…”

Her head lowered, unaware of just how long she was sitting there for, racking her brain for answers… Why can’t I just move on? Why didn’t I just stay at home? My husband is just as important… why… I hate it when Marie is right. I hate it! Why can’t I just fucking move on from you!

Finally she managed to stand up, turning away from the memorial. She opened another gate… but not to the Estate. She stepped through, falling into the snow instead of grabbing a nearby rock. Thunder roared across the sky, metal structures towering over her on the nearby mountains. Storm Peaks… so appropriately named…

The beast pushed herself from the snow, brushing it off her suit. Eyes moved around before she began her walk. The chill was welcoming along her fur. It was familiar. She walked until she came to the cliff’s edge, peering over at the drop below. Claws dug into the rock, keeping her along the mountain’s side, guiding to a circular, mechanical door. It whirled, opening for her signature.

It didn’t take long for her to step inside, the continued grind and whirling of mechanics filling her ears as she made her way down to the ground floor of this place. The greatest collection of items, experiments, and written texts her father had been able to gather over the years. She’d paid the cost to be able to enter this place, and it acted as sort of a sanctuary.

She came to the main room, dragging herself to the couch. She laid across it, facing the back. Her hands moved to her head, curling in on herself. What was wrong with her? Marie was right about her… she should be with Alexander and her husband… not hiding here in the past. Damn it all…

I miss you…

#bitch in armor - salena #annoying sibling - marie #novembria canon #((Happy Father's Day everyone!))#((I've been planning this for months!))#((So I hope you all enjoy!))#Event: A moment of silence

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lunarthedragon · 5 years

Text

Demon!Jaskier moments because it won’t leave my head!

+++

The meat suit ages around him. He can feel it grow every passing year, stretching and contorting over a too-big entity.

The original soul died far before it was born into this world. It allowed him to step in and takes its place. His brethren are like vines that choke out trees, retaining their shape even as the mighty oaks or pines wither and die beneath them.

He is like a weed with a lovely flower atop it. Mistaken for something meant for a bouquet, but even when identified, still plucked for flower crowns or innocent gifts.

Eventually this body will fail and he will move on, finding a new host. He remembers all his previous, and he will continue to remember. He likes mischief, not malice. The physical world already has enough of the latter and he finds himself falling more and more in love with this world with every life.

+++

He calls himself Jaskier in this life. He always gives himself another name. He’s a bard this time, traveling and experiencing with a song on his lips.

He meets all kinds of people. Some are so kind and jovial. Some want to spread love in ways he never understood but feels deep in his bones.

Some try to hurt him. Swindle him. Take what little he has. Cut him down and make off with the meager coin in his pocket and lute on his back.

With black eyes and black veins and fingers and claws as dark as night he faces these people down and leaves them as nothing more than stains on the side of the road.

+++

Jaskier likes Geralt of Rivia. He has liked many individuals within his lives, but Geralt is unique. That is rare, to find someone that stands out through thousands of years of lives.

Geralt thinks he’s a nuisance, but sometimes looks at him strangely. Like he can’t figure him out.

The Witcher can tell something is wrong. Can smell the sulfur deep under Jaskier’s flowerier scents. He doesn’t understand it, though, because Jaskier doesn’t act like a threat. He simply wants to experience life and see every corner of the world.

“You’re not quite... right...” Geralt says once and Jaskier doesn’t look up. Doesn’t quit playing his lute, even when the beds of his nails turn black.

“Not quite wrong, either,” he says back and Geralt is silent.

+++

Jaskier has no sway on physical monsters, but the incorporeal? They fear him. They know something is not quite right with him. An ancient darkness that lurks, too big a shadow for too small a frame.

Some have called him energumen before, but he is too old for that. Too powerful. He still walks in the shadows of fallen castles. Bones ache from cries of battles long fought. Eyes burn from the conjunction of the spheres, like it happened only yesterday.

He is not energumen. He is not a hag or a spirit. He is not a monster.

He is Jaskier. At least... this iteration is.

+++

His bodies always fail from old age or when they are too damaged for even he to mend. It is rare for the damage to be too great, for earthly weapons can leave no permanent damage.

He has held his severed head atop his shoulders and forced the skin to knit back together. He has shoved his heart back into his chest then pressed his ribcage back together. He has grown new eyes and limbs when absolutely needed.

Every time, his blood runs black, he stinks like volcanic rock, and all the sounds around him die out in fear for the entity that does-not-belong-too-much-too-little-too-cold-hot-choking-screaming-maiming-mending.

+++

The art of holy infusion has been lost to time... Which is nice for him. Holy weapons are the only things that can do him harm. Not his body. Him.

But with a shift in beliefs, a change in knowledge, a war and “cleansing” of the lands, the practice is no more. It makes his journeys far less worrying. It is still not pleasant to be run out of towns or stabbed in his sleep or shot in the back with arrows, but he at least knows he will not perish.

He still has a scar on his right thigh, a deep gash, from an angelic blade suffered millennia ago. It follows him in every body he takes, a permanent marking he will always carry.

+++

He can smell the magic wafting off the princess the moment he and Geralt walk into Cintra’s court. It is rancid with untapped potential, forced down deep into her body, crying out for release, and growing sour and sharp with every passing day.

He knows it will hurt her if she does not let it out.

He thinks the magics of this time are a step backward from what they once were, but if he said that outloud he fears he would sound like a crotchety old man. And, after accusing Geralt of being just that, he’d rather not.

So he plays, avoids angry spouses, flaunts about, avoids a few more angry spouses, and does his job as a famous bard.

Queen Calanthe reeks of chaos, too. Not the magical kind. The kind one chooses to wield. As if, rather than inheriting the magic, she harnessed it in her blades and armor. In her words and decrees.

She does not hold it back, either, and it sends cold shivers down his spine.

He plays some more. Only bright, playful jigs, at the queen’s request.

When the knight arrives Jaskier can feel the curse, like the air before a lightning storm, long before the helmet is removed.

Duny does not wield chaos. It coats him like chains. It tethers him down to a manmade fate. It feels wrong, but more like a sore on your arm that wasn’t there before. Something to be mended. To be treated.

Not wrong-but-right like Jaskier.

He tries not to get involved, even when Geralt jumps in. The Witcher is heroic to a fault, no matter how much he says he isn’t. It may be one of the reasons Jaskier finds himself infatuated with him.

Not in love. Not yet.

But when the fighting slows, seemingly ending, and Jaskier can feel the chaos whirling around Calanthe’s intentions, he knows things are not yet done.

When Princess Pavetta screams, the pent up, acrid stink of her chaos erupting into something thick and crushing, everyone is knocked away. Except him.

He forgets to be knocked down. He stands right where he started, whirlwind ripping apart the room around them, enamored with the way Pavetta’s chaos changed upon release. It is beautiful, in a way. It makes his skin tingle like mint.

As he steps forward, unbothered by the maelstrom, his eyes turning black, he approaches the floating couple with a smile. He takes ahold of the princesses ankle and gives a gentle tug, somehow managing to gain her attention. She’s in a daze, enraptured with the cursed knight, and when she looks down at the black-eyed bard, she isn’t afraid.

“I think you have made your point,” he says, not raising his voice yet somehow still heard over the storm.

Pavetta stares. And stares. And stares. Then nods before she and Duny begin to sink to the ground and the storm dies out around them.

Geralt won’t stop staring at him, even though his eyes are no longer black. He offers no answer, only keeps smiling, and Geralt is only distracted when Duny speaks of returning a debt.

When Geralt - exhausted and confused and ready to be done with the evening - calls for the Law of Surprise, Jaskier tilts his head curiously. He can feel the two souls within Pavetta long before she vomits onto the floor. Not a possession. Definitely not a possession.

Jaskier slips away before anyone can recover from the shock and ask him questions he doesn’t feel like answering.

+++

Jaskier does not see Geralt for a year after that. They travel on their own, yet Jaskier can always feel the Witcher hot on his heels. Not that he is being purposefully tracked and followed, more like a tugging of souls. Heart strings tied together and pulling each other along.

They will meet again, he knows, so he is in no rush.

He travels to places long, long forgotten. To corners of the world not meant for mortal eyes. To pockets of space hidden away from wandering fools.

He travels.

+++

“Jaskier,” Geralt heaves, breathless and covered in blood, both his own and the monsters’. He’s gasping for breath, sword held in one fist hanging low at his side. The night is lit only by a sliver of a moon, but Geralt can surely see everything, what with Cat running in his veins. His eyes are pitch black, skin ashen, and black veins creep over his face.

Jaskier’s own black eyes stare back at him, monster blood dripping from black hands held loosely at his sides, black veins arching over his shoulders and neck and chest.

A hoard of wyverns, a nest of them, lay dead at his feet. Some dropped dead, seemingly with no injury, others with chests burst open from the inside, others still cut clean in half.

All with their heads intact, so Geralt can collect what he needs. Jaskier knows the drill.

“I always liked this look,” Jaskier says, waggling his claws at Geralt, a smile on his face. “Copying my style, I mean. Very flattering.”

Geralt stares, seemingly unaware of the multiple injuries coating his body. Adrenaline is surely running high, along with whatever other potions he’s consumed prior to Jaskier happening upon him.

He doesn’t mind traveling at night. He needs no sleep and nothing in this world frightens him. No monster or blade, anyway.

It was how he happened upon Geralt fighting a losing battle and he had to step in.

He tilts his head when the Witcher says nothing but keeps staring. “Allow me to treat those wounds, then, yes? You’re in no state to do much of anything but sit there and look pretty.”

He takes a step forward but stops when Geralt raises his silver blade at him. The glare leveled at him is hot, black eyes meeting black eyes. “What are you? What have you done to Jaskier?”

He huffs and sets his hands on his hips, thoroughly unimpressed. “I am and always have been Jaskier,” he says, Geralt’s brows furrowing and his nose flaring.

“Sulfur,” Geralt says slowly, beginning to piece things together. “You’re an energumen.”

“Close, but no.”

Geralt’s eyes narrow. “Are you not a demon possessing a human body, then?”

“This body was stillborn when I stepped in, and I suppose the closest qualification for me, in broad terms, is ‘demon,’ but energumen is a modern term. I am older than such labels and I do not, quite, fit,” he says flippantly. “Not quite wrong. Not quite right.”

Geralt stares at him in silence, attempting to determine what his next course of action should be, and Jaskier grows tired of waiting.

“Enough with the sword, too. Silver. Steel. Platinum. Iron. Doesn’t matter. None of them will work on me,” he says and, suddenly, he’s in front of Geralt and the silver blade is back in its sheath. The Witcher’s arm is still extended and he flexes his empty hand in surprise, before lurching back.

“What--”

“Stop moving so much!” Jaskier snaps, grabbing hold of Geralt’s shoulders and shoving him to sit on the ground. “You’ll aggravate your wounds, you big lug. Let me see.” He doesn’t wait for a response, blackened hands moving to remove armor.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Geralt demands as Jaskier treats his wounds, cleaning them as best he can with no stream nearby.

“My apologies, my dear,” he says brightly, offering a thin smile, “But, do tell me, is revealing I am an otherworldly, eldritch horror, parading around in a new flesh bag every lifetime, with powers long dead to your world something I should reveal on the first or second date? I know I’m meant to save sex for the third, but I was never good at following that rule.”

Geralt glares at him and he keeps smiling, unfazed.

The silence stretches on for a bit until Jaskier gets Geralt standing again and making their way towards where he can sense Roach’s presence. They will fetch the wyvern heads later.

“I wouldn’t have killed you,” Geralt says on a whisper, beginning to sound tired a his potions wear off.

“You couldn’t have,” Jaskier replies.

“I wouldn’t have tried.”

“Good to know, but I enjoy living a normal life. The physical plain is an intriguing and lovely place. I do not find sharing my true nature to be of the utmost importance.”

“How long have you been alive?”

“This body has been alive for 28 years.”

“Not the body... you.”

“I am not alive.”

Geralt takes a deep breath, clearly getting frustrated, and Jaskier smiles to himself.

“How long have you been around?” the Witcher growls through clenched teeth.

“Long, long before the most recent conjunction of the spheres.”

“Most recent...?”

But Jaskier waves him off as they reach Roach. The Witcher’s face has returned to its natural color, the veins are gone, and his eyes are golden once more. Jaskier, on the other hand, hasn’t changed back and Roach whinnies in alarm. It’s a little insulting, but Jaskier just pauses to lock eyes with the horse and push some of his own essence towards her until she calms in recognition.

He smiles, pleased, then digs out the rest of the medical supplies from a saddle bag to finish patching his Witcher up.

+++

Part two to come? Maybe?

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #nonhuman jaskier #demon jaskier #fanfic #geraskier

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waywardodysseys · 5 years

Text

Alive - Oneshot

Pairing: Ezra x female reader

Warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex (wrap it up), oral receiving (m & f), use of sex pollen to resolve sexual tension

Requested?: Yes from this ask - Do you think you could try your hand at a sex pollen fic? I think it would work for Ezra, but I will let you choose who you want to write it for, if you want to write one at all.

Author’s note: gif by @lucy-sky; first sex pollen fic I’ve done - I hope you all enjoy!

~ ~ ~

Ezra looks down at the flower. Its purple petals are vibrant against the grass green floor of the alien moon. The filaments and anther of the flower are blood red. He can’t help but wonder what this flower smells like.

Ezra looks around, sees you’re busy packing the supplies.

She won’t notice, he thinks as he reaches out and rips it out from its home in the soil.

“Are you ready?” Your voice cuts through the stillness.

Ezra pockets the flower in his bag and turns to face you. “Yes.”

You raise your eyebrows. It appears Ezra has been caught red handed at doing something, but you don’t know what.

“Let’s go,” you sigh.

“Sure thing.” Ezra drawls as he walks over to you.

You begin reaching down for the pack of materials, but Ezra stops you.

“I’ll get it Y/N,” Ezra implies as he picks up the pack and swings it onto his back.

“Why do I get the feeling you’ve done something horrible?” You ask.

Ezra smiles, “I’m just being nice.”

You grimace and keep quiet. Ezra’s a wildcard to you – you never know what he’s going to do or say.

The two you make your way back through a forest, towards your camp. It wasn’t really a camp per se, it was just a red tent setup a few yards away from your landing pod, which is broken.

You and Ezra had been stuck on this green alien moon for close to three months now and you felt like there was no end in sight. You felt as though you and he were going to be stuck on this moon forever.

Once inside the tent, you and Ezra unhook oxygen tubes from one another, then remove your helmets and disrobe your spacesuits, revealing long sleeved thermal shirts and pants.

“Hungry?” You ask as you sit on your bunk.

“Loads of bars Y/N,” Ezra says as he grabs one and throws one at you.

You look at the yellow, red, and silver wrapping. “Still don’t get why you love this.”

Ezra unwraps one and bites into it. “They’re delicious.”

“Says the man who packed cases of ‘em.” You remark.

“Yet you eat them,” Ezra retorts as he sits on his own bunk.

You glare at him and finish the bar. “Because it’s the only thing to eat besides the dry packs. And we’re saving those.”

Silence stretches between you two.

You feel your eyes begin to close minutes later and lie down.

“Tired?” Ezra asks.

“Yes,” you reply. “Let me sleep.”

Ezra watches you as you turn on your side. Your back facing him.

He reaches for his bag, opens it and pulls out the flower. He brings it to his nose and inhales the scent. It reminds him of lavender and honey, it reminds him of Earth.

As he inhales, loose pollen travels into his nostrils and into his body. The pollen seeps into his bloodstream. He doesn’t know the pollen of this flower enhances the libido, increases the sex drive of whoever inhales it, whether another plant, animal, or human.

Ezra inhales again and lies back against his bunk. The smell of lavender and honey fills his nostrils and more pollen seeps into his bloodstream.

Ezra closes his eyes and begins to drift away.

-------

Ezra jolts awake. He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep, doesn’t care.

He looks over at you. His cock hardens instantly at the sight of your sleeping womanly form on the bunk.

He’s aching to touch, taste you, be inside of you.

Ezra removes his thermal top as he gets up from his bunk.

His body is consumed with lust for your body. He looks down at the flower. Could it have been…?

Ezra’s high on desire as he crawls into your bunk. He travels his hand down your side, over your body. He presses his mouth against yours.

Soft, he thinks. Soft. Delicate. Mine.

-------

You wake to the feeling of hands roaming your body, of lips against yours.

You open your eyes and are looking into Ezra’s dark brown eyes. He smiles down at you.

“Hey,” Ezra’s voice is deep and rich, and thick with lust.

You purse your lips. “Um, hey.” You try to sit up, but Ezra pushes you back against your bunk.

Ezra brushes his mouth against yours.

Since you are awake now, you take in the softness of his lips, the prickliness of his mustache against your skin. You feel one of his hands moving down your chest and stomach.

“Eh—Ezra,” you sigh out.

“You taste like powered chocolate,” Ezra moans as he leans down and nuzzles your neck.

“The bar…” you whisper.

“I want to know what you taste like here,” Ezra whispers as he palms your core.

You bite your lip and inwardly moan.

What has gotten into him?, you think.

You reach out and touch him. You aren’t touching the thermal top. You’re touching Ezra’s skin, which is soft and warm.

“Ezra,” you whisper.

“Y/N,” Ezra whispers.

Ezra licks the base of your neck, moving from one side to the other slowly.

“You taste,” Ezra moans, “you taste like soap, and chocolate. Odd combination,” Ezra moans again, “but on you—mmm.”

You suck in a breath as Ezra begins using his thumb to rub against your core. You close your legs, capturing his hand.

Ezra laughs deep and low. “Turned on?” Because he definitely is.

You don’t answer as Ezra grabs your hand; he places it on his thermal pants. He’s hard and you can feel the thickness of his cock.

“Ezra,” you moan.

Ezra leans down and licks your lips.

“What’s going on?” You ask, trying to distract yourself from the way Ezra is consumed with you.

“Well, you and I could be going on.” Ezra replies.

You sigh, “Ezra.”

“I like the way you say my name. Whether it’s an angry tone, light tone, a lusty tone.” Ezra whispers before he dips his head and licks your neck.

Fuck!, your mind screams as heat floods your body and goes straight to your core.

Ezra moves his hand up your body and begins pulling at the zipper of your thermal top. He slowly lowers the zipper, revealing your skin to his brown eyes.

“Beautiful,” he whispers then dips his head and kisses the valley between your breasts. “Soft, warm.”

The sensation of Ezra’s mouth, his mustache, the fuzz on his cheeks is sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your body is on fire.

“Ezra,” you moan.

Ezra pushes aside your thermal top, revealing your breasts to him. He moans as he dips his head and suckles one nipple into his mouth while he flicks the other nipple with his thumb.

“Fuck Ezra!” You hiss loudly as you arch your back.

Ezra moves his mouth to your other nipple.

You moan as you close your eyes and fingers thread through his short brown hair.

Ezra snakes his hand under the fabric of your thermal pants and his fingers run up and down your folds.

“Ezra,” you moan.

Ezra continues licking your nipples, moving from one to the other every few seconds. He slides in one finger, then two into your slick entrance.

With everything Ezra is doing to your body, the pleasure you are experiencing is in overdrive. Your orgasm is revving up inside of you quickly because you haven’t been touched in months by another man and Ezra hasn’t even touched your clit or put his cock inside of you.

Your mind doesn’t want to know what’s gotten into the man. Are you really wanting what Ezra’s offering? Because he’s offering you sex, and himself. All you know, all you want is him to continue what he’s doing, and you want him to do even more.

“Please Ezra,” you beg.

Ezra keeps his fingers in your pussy but lifts his head and looks up at you. He brushes his mouth against yours. “What do you want?”

“You,” you pant.

Ezra kisses you again and pulls away. He stands and removes his thermal pants.

You take in his naked chest and stomach. Your eyes travel further south and take in his hard, thick cock. You swallow. You’ve never seen a cock so lengthy and girthy. You moan just thinking about sucking it and having it inside of you.

You sit up on the bed and reach out to touch it, stroke it.

“Fuck!” Ezra hisses.

You lean forward and lick your tongue around the tip.

“Y/N!” Ezra growls.

You slowly wrap your mouth around his cock, taking it deep. You feel it hit the back of your throat and moan.

Ezra shoves his fingers into your Y/H/C hair and holds your head as your mouth begins moving up and down his cock slowly. The sensation your mouth is giving him is driving him insane. It feels as though he’s experiencing a blow job for the first time again.

“Your mouth—mmm—fuck—so good,” Ezra moans deeply.

You lather his cock with your saliva. You take it out of your mouth and use your hands to stroke his cock. You hold his cock with one hand while your other hand reaches down and squeezes his balls.

Your one hand is on his shaft. You place your mouth on the tip and slowly engulf him again. Your hand moving down his length while your mouth consumes his cock whole again.

“Oh, heaven—mmm—yes,” Ezra moans as his fingers tighten on your hair.

You suck his cock and look up at him through hooded eyelids. You can see he has his head tilted back, mouth agape. He’s thoroughly enjoying your mouth on his cock.

“Baby, please,” Ezra moans.

You release his cock from your mouth and kiss up his soft stomach and chest.

“Fu—fuck,” Ezra hisses. Your touch is revving up his orgasm, your mouth too.

Oh, that mouth, he thinks. Your mouth belongs to me now.

Your hands travel up his body as you stand and place your mouth at the base of his neck.

“Ezra,” you whisper.

Ezra opens his eyes and looks at you. He cups your cheek and pulls your mouth up against his. He moves his tongue against your mouth, and you let him in. Both of your tongues dance together as Ezra pushes your thermal top off your body.

He moves his hands up and down your back, feeling your skin under his rough fingers. He moves his hands to your front and palms your breasts. He flicks your nipples with his thumbs causing you to moan and arch your back.

You pull breathlessly away from him and reach down and stroke his cock. “I need you inside me Ezra.”

Ezra palms your pussy and inserts two fingers in. He moves them in and out slowly.

You moan and press your forehead against his chest. You move your mouth across his skin as he slowly thrusts his fingers in and out your pussy.

“Fuck me Ezra. Please,” you plead.

Ezra withdraws his fingers and places them in his mouth. He moans loudly at your sweetness.

“I’m going to have to taste you more Y/N,” Ezra moans as he pushes you back against the bunk.

You lie down as Ezra kneels on the bunk.

He kisses you softly then moves his mouth across your jawline then down your neck.

His mustache and the fuzz from his cheeks and chin are sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your fingers reach down and run through his hair. You want to run your fingers through his hair every day. You want his mouth on you every day.

You hadn’t thought of Ezra as nothing more than a work partner, but after what’s occurring right now you want Ezra as more, you want Ezra to be yours and no one else’s.

“Ezra,” you whisper as you feel his mouth move across your stomach slowly.

Ezra stands then bends down as he uses his fingers to pull down your thermal pants, exposing your whole naked body to him.

Ezra eyes roam your body. You’re beautiful. Delicious. His. All his.

He feels alive for the first time in years. He never wants this feeling to end.

You open your legs as you grab his hand and place it against your core. “Taste me. Please Ezra.”

Ezra doesn’t need another invitation. He kneels on the bunk and dips his head.

He opens your folds, exposing your wetness to his eyes. His fingers move up and down your folds slowly. His thumb finds your clit and begins circling it.

“Ezra,” you moan, hanging onto the last syllable of his name.

Ezra dips his head lower. He licks up your folds and replaces his thumb with his tongue.

You suck in a breath and moan deeply. Your fingers find Ezra’s head and thread themselves through his hair.

His tongue against your clit sends volts of electricity through your body and into your blood. Ezra’s tongue is heaven, it’s pure ecstasy. It’s something you want to experience, need to experience again and again after today.

You moan loudly, bite your lip, arch your back. Your orgasm is edging closer to the cliff with every lick of his tongue.

“Ezra,” you whimper as your fingers grasp his hair tightly.

Your orgasm jumps off the cliff and crashes inside of you.

“Ezra,” you pant as the aftershocks of your orgasm course through you.

Ezra licks lightly at your clit, flicking at it. He inserts two fingers into your pussy and pulls them out. He uses your juices to lubricate his cock. He moans at knowing he will be inside of you in minutes.

Your body trembles as Ezra teases your clit. Your hands move to the bunk and grasp the sheets on it.

“Please Ezra,” you plead. You need him inside of you.

Ezra kisses his way up your body. He moans as he feels your hands travel over his shoulders and down his back as he makes his way up your body.

Your touches are feather light and his body’s in overdrive.

Ezra knows once he sinks his cock into your pussy he will be lost, and he will want to be lost in those depths forever.

You watch as Ezra kneels between your open legs. He takes his cock in one hand and leans down towards your pussy. He strokes your wet folds with his cock.

Both of you moan loudly together, saying each other’s names in unison.

He guides his cock to your entrance and slowly, inch by inch, enters your pussy.

“Oh—fu—mmm—,” Ezra moans as he feels your slick walls conform to his cock as he sinks deeper into your depths.

“Ezra,” you moan out as your hands grasp the sheets tightly. His cock stretches you wide, but you remain tight around him as he slowly sinks his entire length into you.

Ezra leans forward and places his hands on either side of your head. He looks down at you with his deep brown eyes. He’s in heaven.

Your pussy is tight, wet, hot around his hard, thick cock. He wants your pussy to know his cock, remember his cock because the thought of you having another after him is sending him into a jealous spiral.

Ezra crushes his mouth against yours and cups your cheek with his hand. He pulls back from you. He’s claiming you now. “You’re mine Y/N.”

“Yours Ezra,” you whisper as you look up at him with your Y/E/C eyes.

You sigh contently as your hands roam up his chest. You’re enjoying this intimate moment of him inside of you, not moving. You needed his cock inside of you and now you have it. You’re unsure if you want him to move but you want to his cock giving you more pleasure.

You reach up with your head and lick his lips.

“Fuck me Ezra,” you whisper against them.

“Oh baby,” Ezra growls as he begins thrusting slowly in and out of you.

You moan loudly as his cock moves in and out of your pussy. Your hands travel up and down his chest and stomach. They reach around to his back where you dig in your fingers.

“Yes—Ezra,” you whisper as you begin feeling him thrusting faster.

You start rolling your hips. Rolling them up to meet his thrusts.

Ezra’s orgasm has already been building inside of him since he had placed his mouth on yours. Now that he’s inside of you, he’s ready to explode. Your pussy around his cock was driving the pleasure sensors in his body into extreme overdrive. And since you are rolling your hips meeting his quick, fast thrusts those sensors are setting off alarms inside of him.

His body is engulfed with the flames of desire, his body is set ablaze with lust.

Ezra growls as he claims your mouth. He kisses you deeply, feverishly. Your mouth is his, your hands are his, your whole body is his.

“Mine,” Ezra pants as he pulls away.

You look at him. You know he is serious.

“You’re mine too Ezra,” you whisper.

Your words do him in and Ezra thrusts into you deeply and explodes inside of you.

“Fu—fuck! Y/N!” Ezra pants as he leans down, kisses you then nuzzles your neck, sucking at your skin.

Your fingers dig deep into his skin. Your fingernails marking his back with ten half-moons as your own orgasm rocks your body. Your pussy clenches Ezra’s cock as you feel your orgasm rolls through you.

“Ezra,” you moan lowly as your hands roam up and down his back. Your fingers sweep up through his hair as you tighten your legs around him. You take in the feeling of his body in between your legs.

He’s welcomed between your legs now and for the rest of your days.

Ezra wraps you in his arms as he moves to his side, which causes his soft cock to slip out of you. He pulls your body with him, and up against him. He runs a hand down your back and over the curve of your ass.

You moan at his touch. Your body still reeling from the orgasms you’ve had.

“Y/N,” Ezra whispers against your mouth before he fuses his with yours.

You cup his cheek and kiss him back. You know you’ll never get enough of him.

“Ezra,” you say breathlessly after you pull away.

Ezra’s intoxicated with you, by you.

“We finally cut the tension between us,” Ezra whispers as he pulls you as close as you can be up against him.

You raise your eyebrows. “It took you this long to act?”

“I think I had some help from a certain flower,” Ezra says because he’s coming down from his high, but he’s still intoxicated with you, will always be.

“Maybe you’ll show me?”

Ezra grins. “Oh, I think one day I will.”

Tags: @mandadl0rian, @thisainttheway, @pascalisthepunkest, @kaelyn-lobrutto24, @jokersdoll, @knight-of-heart44, @longitud-de-onda, @cosmo-bear

#alive oneshot #ezra prospect #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #ezra x reader #ezra x you #pedro pascal character ezra #ezra prospect smut #anon request #smut #pedro pascal character ezra smut #space pedro pascal #space pedro pascal smut

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