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bisexual-horror-fan · 8 months

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"Not What I Planned." Rusty Nail X AFAB! Reader.

Well hello! It is the amazing and fantastic @eggsandbeer birthday so, so soon! But I am meeting Matt and Skeet tomorrow and my brain is gonna be all on Billy and Stu post that, so you get this now! This is my first time writing Rusty, I watched Joy Ride 2 six times while writing this. I love Riri, she is so fucking awesome and I adored doing this. She has a more personalized version but gave the go ahead to post a reader insert version for you all! So let's go!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.7K (I Know.) Rusty Nail X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Customer Service Work. Asshole Customers. Murder Mentioned. Drinking. Making Out. Man Handling. Fingering. Masturbation. Blow Job. Cum Eating. Vaginal Sex. Riding. Taunting. Teasing. Dirty Talk. Praise. Pet Names.

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You hate your job, it is exhausting, mentally and physically, a total drain, but you do all you can to not let it get you down. You focus on the little things, good customer interactions, great coworkers and the times you are truly able to get away from your work. It isn’t like it’s what you wanted to do for the rest of your life anyway, far from it, in fact one of those vital lifelines that helps keep you sane is a local news internship, it gives you some good experience for what you hope to actually eventually do with your life along with giving you purpose.

Today is not good, though, off to a less than ideal start. This is decidedly not the way you wanted to spend your birthday. Rolling into the grocery store to do a closing shift, apron in your grip and bag over your shoulder, half-hearted waves to co-workers as you strolled through towards the area you could safely stow away your stuff until you are allowed to clock out. You do just that, drop your stuff in the usual place, get your uniform situated and punch in, ready for another day of God knows what bullshit.

Your mind was at least slightly occupied, where you work is en route to the Burning Man festival which meant that you were busy as fuck with people loading up on supplies before they arrive to their final destination, it kept you busy. As for what kept your brain whirring, your internship had tasked you with writing a piece on the crowd that is rolling through on their way, meaning you are watching and listening intently. It looks like you aren’t from the outside, hands stacking a fruit display, but ears open, all sorts of talk about events the Burners were amped up for, how much further they had to travel, what snacks were the best and would keep in the desert heat.

You did some actual work naturally, finding yourself crouched and cleaning out a stubborn drain, the process thoroughly annoying and honestly degrading, and not in the fun way you usually liked. It was your fucking birthday, for Christ’s sake, you should be indulging in the fun kind of calve burning, not the bent over and unclogging kind. Still, you try to stay in higher spirits and certainly not show it outwardly, if someone squinted hard enough, they might be able to pick up on it.

Later on, you had just finished making a new display, standing back and looking at the gorgeous display of apples you’d spent longer than you cared to mention on, hands on your hips. The first genuine smile that had graced your face since clocking in and wasn’t tinged with a single hint of perfectly practised customer service fakeness. This is one of those moments you felt genuine pride in your work, a glimmer of nicety in all the bullshit.

It lasted for two whole seconds.

A customer’s cart hits you in the hip and wrist simultaneously because of how you were standing, the action both painful and shocking, completely unexpected. It makes you step to the side, grip your wrist with your other hand, the pain is throbbing and dull, it isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever experienced, but it still sucks and should have never happened in the first place. The customer doesn’t apologize. Worse still, they stride forward, pick a single apple from the middle of the display, causing half of it to tumble over. The customer scoffs with a roll of their eyes, they drop the apple into their cart to look around, seeming to notice you just now for the first time, only then acknowledging you. They give a pointed look from you to over their shoulder, a motion of their head as they criticized your work, “Not very sturdy.”

Your mouth falls open, and they tut as they walk away, leaving you dumbfounded with fifteen some odd apples scattered on the ground that you had to clean up and a display you had to rebuild.

Later still, you are sweeping, trying to get these damn onion skins up, but they aren’t moving. You are half focused, conversing with one of the Burners, they are asking for your opinion on what kombucha is best, and you are humouring them and getting a few questions answered along the way.

Throughout all the regular work crap, you’d been having small conversations with people, writing brief notes for your project, and it was nice getting some serious stuff down about it, served as a half decent distraction too.

His initial thought is that it was reminiscent of a zoo, upon greater thought while attempting to park the Peterbilt he decided swiftly that it was worse than that, a fucking circus. He manages to park and decides that getting in and out as fast as possible would be vital to maintaining his sanity. He was aware that Burning man was happening, naturally, but still the place was crowded as all Hell, more than he had been anticipating. Rusty didn’t like large crowds of people, but he needs some supplies, he needs to eat.

It isn’t any better inside.

He is making his way around, hat pulled low, basket in his grip, grabbing a few drinks, some favoured snacks that he knew kept well, he was passing by the produce, almost ready to get the fuck out. He goes into your department, he is grabbing bananas and thinking about getting some of those pre-cut carrot and celery sticks. Rusty is trying to be a tad more health minded, not like it would do much with how much he enjoys a good smoke but better to do something than nothing he supposed.

His train of thought is broken when he hears a loud exclamation of, “I can’t believe how fucking stupid you are!”

Rusty’s head turns, he catches sight of you, standing there, trying to look apologetic as some older lady is verbally ripping into you, “I’m making lemon chicken LEEK stroganoff, right?”

She is looking at you expectantly, your eyes wide, and with that half customer service forced smile you nod and say through gritted teeth, “Right.”

“So tell me, how. Am I. Supposed. To make. Lemon, chicken LEEK stroganoff without LEEKS?” The way she said it was infuriating, the halting, pausing way of it, so condensing, as if you were the cross between an idiot and a child all rolled into one.

“I don’t know, ma’am. I guess you can’t. I’m very sorry.” You admit it reluctantly, knowing she won’t like your response, and she does not. She goes off on you, “Well I’ve had this menu planned for WEEKS, I have company coming tonight! You have to make this right!”

Rusty was listening in, brow pinching, this woman was off her rocker, what a complete bitch. You were trying to calm her, smooth over the situation, and she was being worse and worse to you. No matter what you say, she wouldn’t stop freaking out.

“I really am very sorry. I could call another store nearby and ask if they have any leeks?” You offer up, and she scoffed with a laugh, “So I can make ANOTHER stop? Do you not remember? I am hosting a dinner party tonight, I’m busy! I have other places to go, I can’t be here fighting with you over this all night!”

And yet she was still here, doing just that.

He had turned, wasn’t watching quite as subtly as he was previous. You were doing your best and none of it was measuring up to this crazy, impossible standard that was being set out. He was looking at you, and he could see that you were taking it hard, your customer service face and voice were holding strong, but your eyes? They looked so sad.

You reminded him of a kicked puppy, as the woman finally had enough of being a raging cunt and stormed off. Right after that, someone else in uniform walked by, a manager? And on their way, they said, “Happy birthday.”

You gave a small, “Thanks.” along with half a wave as they strode past. You were not only working on, but getting treated like that, on your birthday?

It got to him, hit him square in the chest, shot to the heart. A sigh and he looks over, he makes a note of the asshole who mistreated you so, he has a little time before they check out before he can go dispose of them in the parking lot for being so unreasonable and rude to you. It might be too far for some people but not for him, people like that, there is no changing them, not at her age, some people don’t deserve to live.

First things, first though, he saunters over to you, a small clearing of his throat before he asks, “Got a date tonight, there a drink you’d recommend?”

You turn towards the low and smooth voice, you have to turn your head up to look at him properly, he was taller than you. The way he was standing, the angle, and how he wore his hat you couldn’t see his face, brim pulled too low, standing a few feet away.

A small inhale and your smile turned more genuine before you reply, “Oh, our Pink Champagne is my favourite. I get that on special occasions.”

Well, how fucking perfect a find were you? Kind, respectful, hardworking, and you have good taste.

“Thank you.” He said it easily with a wave of his hand in acknowledgement and broke away. You watch him go and think to yourself that he is cute, in that particular way that strikes you when an older guy catches your eye just so. The interaction doesn’t stick with you however, you turned and saw more fucking onion skins that needed sweeping up.

Hours later, you finally get off of work, messed up apron in one hand and looking forward to getting the hell home. You had two days off ahead, you were intent on a bath and partaking in some drinks in your fridge with a good record on when you get home. You are walking through the dark and now very empty parking lot, your mind only focused on reaching your car, sliding behind the wheel and getting home as soon as possible, when you hear a voice calling out. Your car keys are in one hand, the keys between your fingers, sticking out and ready to punch a would be attacking if you need to.

Hearing the voice makes you put your head on a swivel, initially scared, you look and then see it is that older gentlemen you helped out earlier. You pause, and he comes a little closer, again in the dark and with that hat you can’t make out much except for the orange glow of the end of his cigarette, partially illuminating the lower half of his face. He calls out your name, following it with a question of, "-right?”

“Hi, yeah it is.” You were still sightly on edge until he is holding up the very same bottle you suggested earlier, “Wanted to say thank you for your recommendation, properly.”

Your brows raise up, you saw him in the store hours ago, meaning he should in theory be long gone, and you ask, “I thought you had a date?”

“I do. I was just waitin’ for her to get off work.” Even though you couldn’t see it fully, you could hear the smile in his tone, and it makes one spread to your own face. “Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realize that was you asking me out.”

The tone you said it in was very light, and he seemed equally amused, “Sorry bout that, terrible manners on my part, truly.”

There is a beat of silence, and you say, “I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”

“So you’d be willing to join me?” He asks, you nod, you felt endeared to him very quickly, the confidence he displayed, the boldness, you were charmed and figured why not? You had the time tonight, nothing wrong with enjoying a birthday drink bought by a courteous man.

“Where are we going to go?” You ask, and he gestured over to the large shiny black Piterbilt towards the back of the lot. “Was thinking my truck, if that’s alright with you?”

When he asks in that delicious tone of voice, you think that yes, it is very alright with you. “Lead the way.” You prompt, and he does, you fall into step beside him, apron is thrown over your shoulder, and you asked, “So you’re a truck driver?”

“How’d you ever guess?” He asked on an exhalation of his cigarette with a glance over to you. Now you can catch the half smirk on his face, unable to make out his eyes completely, but it didn’t bother you, honestly you kind of dug the mysterious kind of thing, not even fully knowing what he looked like. If anything that communicated how into him, you were, hadn’t even seen his whole face but his voice and how he carried himself was more than enough to convince you to this odd kind of unexpected date.

“I’m real intuitive. Call it a gift.” You mused, and he liked you, even in how you joked, there was no real meanness to it, could tell that it was all in fun and that inherent niceness shone through. “Giving me gifts when it’s your birthday? Isn’t that what M’ supposed to be doing?”

That gives you some slight pause, how in the fuck did he know that it was your birthday? Before any serious question could be made, you were next to his truck on the passenger side. You look it over and say honestly, “Nice truck.”

“Thanks, do my best to take real good care of it, s’ seen some rough times.” You look a little closer, scrutinizing, if it had, you couldn’t tell, the thing looked clean and not a scratch on it. You turn and lean against it, you realize he had gotten some cups that were also sold at your work, he holds them out, “Mind holding these while I open this?”

You nod and take them out of his outstretched hand and watch as the last remainder of his cigarette was dropped and ground under the heel of his boot. He uncorks the bottle with ease, doesn’t spill any or cause it to overflow, which mildly impresses, you hold out the cups and he fills them. The bottle is set aside on the ground and after passing him his cup he asked “Any words to share?”

“Here’s to the weekend?” You offered up after a moment’s thought, and he said, “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks yours and his cups together, and you take a sip of the sweet and familiar fizzy alcoholic drink.

“Seriously the shift I had today was rough, so this is really nice, thank you-” Then you realize you don’t know his name, he clearly picks up on this and says, “Name’s Rusty. Rusty Nail.”

Immediately you figure it must be his CB handle, you wonder if Rusty is his real name, but also you don’t think it matters much, you don’t press, “Well thank you, Rusty, really.”

“S’ my pleasure. Heard how that woman was going off on you earlier, some people can be so rude.” Is that what prompted this? The total bitch who was freaking over leeks? If so, you think that maybe her being such a raging cunt wasn’t such a bad thing if it led to this.

Little did you know that Rusty had taken care of her, she was currently stuffed in the trunk of her own car, way, way on the other side of the lot, body long since gone cold.

The conversation then turned to you both complaining about a shared distaste for rude and unreasonable people, he let you vent about your day and previous horrible customers at your job. As the conversation went on, you find yourself enjoying his company more and more. You also find yourself standing closer to him, half the bottle gone, he’s had another smoke, and you are leaning on him much more than the truck, he doesn’t mind, you sigh to him, “I cannot believe the crap you have to put up with, it’s so unfair!”

“Some people have some really unsavoury and outdated views on people in my line of work.” He admits with a nod, and from what he’d shared it seemed like. There are people who say the meanest shit, make horrible assumptions, treat him like dirt or worse, a feeling you know all too well at your own job. You relate to Rusty.

You’d been talking for an hour, and it was even later, darker, and a shiver unexpectedly ran up your spine, “You cold?”

You were a little, you were in a t-shirt and after standing in one spot for so long this late the chill had somehow set in. “Yeah, surprisingly I am a bit.”

Then he made an interesting offer. “You want to get in my truck, warm up?”

You think you really did want that. “Yeah, that’d be great, actually.”

He moved back then and so did you, he opened the door for you, and you looked up, Christ it was big, how were you supposed to get in while in your slightly buzzed state without looking like a total clown? You feel him against your back, he asks, “Need some help?”

You nod, unsure of what he means or how he is going to help but trusting him all the same, it’s then that you feel his hands on you. He turns you, and then those same hands find your waist with ease and grip. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you realize to him, you probably do, as he helps hoist you into the passenger side of the truck. Rusty sits you on your ass in the seat and your face feels much hotter, he just scooped you up and set you down so fast, one simple and fluid motion as he stepped one foot up on the running board, and then there you were. You are side-saddle, legs dangling down and far off of the ground. His hands leave you quicker than you’d like, sliding off your waist and stepping back down. You are a bit dazed, his hand touches your ankle, and you jump, he laughs at your surprised, “What?”

“You wanna get your legs in, so I can close the door?” You nod and do so, swinging your legs in, and he shuts the door. Your hand, that had been clutching your bag and apron, dropped them on the floor by your feet. You look down into your cup, you hadn’t spilled any even when he picked you up, the cup is raised, you tip it back and swallow down the remainder. A sigh and you pull the cup back, hand still clutching it, comes to rest on your thigh as your thumb on your opposite hand swipes a stray drop from the corner of your mouth. He had come around to the other side, he has the door open and is sliding in beside you into the driver's seat, he’d picked up the bottle on the way, and you were contemplating asking for more.

As if reading your mind he gestures for your cup, you lean over, holding it out, and he pours you some more, you asked him, “So before, you were talking about all the bad stuff about truck driving, but what about the stuff you do like?”

The question seems to surprise him if his tone is any indication, “The stuff I do like?”

He has pulled the bottle back, he isn’t pouring more for himself, you respond to his question with another of your own, “Yeah, what makes the job worth it? Other than the money.”

Rusty considers the question for a moment before he says, “I like seein’ the country, like being by myself most of the time but most of all? Probably seems obvious, but the freedom of it.”

You nodded, it made sense and asked, “Can go anywhere, do anything?”

“S’actly.”

The silence is as surprisingly comfortable as the passenger seat of this truck is. The thought hits, and you say it without thinking, “I dunno how you do it.”

“What? Truck drivin’?” He asks, and you say with a turn to him, “Yeah! Like, the actual driving it.”

He laughs, and you press on, one hand holding your cup and the other making like you are gripping a steering wheel that was comically large, pretending to turn it, “Seriously! This thing is massive, it’s a beast! How can you control it?”

“Ain’t that hard really, just gotta be the right mix of careful and confident.” He assures, and you laugh, “You make it sound so easy, I’ve never driven anything this big, that-” You point out the window to your much less impressive ride, “-is my car over there.”

“Yeah, don’t quite measure up, does it?” He teases and you grin, “Nope. But I don’t think I could drive anything like this.”

“I think you could.” A small pause before he asks the big question, “Wanna try?”

You nearly choke on your sip and pull the cup back, wiping at your mouth, “What? Me? Drive the behemoth? You want to write it off that bad, Rusty?”

“You cannot be that bad a driver.” He scoffs.

“Rusty, you barely know me, I dunno-” He insists, “C’mon, I’ll help.”

“Help?”

You were curious enough to allow it to happen, you’d not counted on his idea of help being putting you in his lap. He’d moved the seat back enough and encouraged you to climb on, emboldened by both the drink and his encouragement, you slide on into the space he made. He moves the seat forward enough to do the pedals, and he places your hands on the wheel, his hands covering yours. “You sure this is a good idea?”

Nerves were setting in, you’d been drinking, not a lot but also all the close contact with him was getting to you, his attractiveness was apparent during your brief meeting earlier but now that you'd’ been getting to know him? He was becoming even more appealing, being sat in his lap, your back to his chest, his hands on yours, you felt flustered. Sounded by him in both touch and scent, it could be enough to make your head swim if you let it. In your current position, his voice is over your shoulder, “Positive. You’ll be fine.”

The tone of voice he says it in, the conviction, he makes you believe it.

One of his hands leaves yours briefly to start her up, the truck rumbles to life, and it makes you jump slightly, Christ it was loud and is vibrating like all Hell. “We’ll just do a lil’ loop, alright? M’ doing the pedals, you just steer her real easy.”

He had to speak louder to be heard over the hum of the truck, and you pitch your own volume up to be heard, “Yeah, real easy, can do.”

His foot comes down slowly, and he eases it forward, you grip the wheel tightly and let him lead. He talks you through the process, and it helps, you focus your eyes forward and your ears on listening to his smooth voice praising you, “Uh-huh, around the pole, use it as a guide.” You swallowed and nodded, brows knit together as he keeps talking, “Oh good job, see? You’re doing it.”

His hands squeeze yours reassuringly, your mouth feels dry, you nod and say quieter than you should, “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, you’re doing most of the work.” You feel that isn’t truthful but again, he talks, you believe.

“Almost all the way around, a little further-” Both his hands leave yours, sliding down your arms and choosing to come to rest on your waist again, letting you fully be in control. It makes you tense, rushing out, “Rusty, wait-”

Another flex of his hands, another show of comfort, he says easily, drawling out, “Calm down, you’re doing it all yourself.”

You aren’t fully convinced until you’ve made the full loop, and he lets off the gas, he turns off the car and your shoulders slump, what he says next, makes you melt, “I told you. You’re perfect.”

That does something, makes a particular part of you break, or is it wake up? Either way, a certain section of you, somewhere aside, comes alive, and instead of wanting to run from it, you chose to grab onto the live wire of sensation with both hands. The truck has stopped, but you keep moving, the urge overcomes, and you turn in your seat and in his lap, one hand comes up, meets his cheek, feeling the rough stubble. He’d already gotten you the champagne, but you think you want more still, and you ask, “Can I be selfish?”

“S’ your birthday, be as selfish as you want to.” You take that is more than enough of an invitation. You lean up and in, push the brim of his hat up enough to give yourself the appropriate access, and you kiss him.

He had a feeling it was going this way, but thinking and experiencing are two different things. You choosing to take the lead was better than he could have been hoping for, though. Your mouth was so fucking soft, you felt warm, he tried to take it easy, but this is the kind of thing he can’t help getting swept up in. Chances like this don’t come around often, the urge to rush is present, he manages to ignore it, preferring to savour it, or rather, savour you. He lets himself relax further into the seat, returning your affection immediately.

The scratch of his facial hair against your skin feels better than you’d hoped it would, you let out a soft exhale, a sound on the precipice of a moan while still falling just short. His hands are still on your waist, he nudges you closer, you lean in more, your head tilts, his lips part, and he tastes more like cigarettes than he does the champagne, but it’s there. Your tongue makes the first exploration and sticky sweet fruit is unearthed from below smoke and ash.

One of his hands slides down, a brief pass over your thigh, and you wonder where it’s going, you realize in short order when the seat you are both on moves back, giving you more space, making it, so you aren’t quite as locked up against the steering wheel. Heat is sparking inside, your hand moves from his face, slipping to rest on his neck, your other hand comes up to his shoulder, fingers grip the jacket he has on and the want becomes too much. You grind down on him.

The shifting and adjusting allows you to feel how hard he was growing, a harsher inhale, and you begin to scramble, you want more contact, you move to be fully straddling him, no more twisting partially around like you currently were. You are seated just right soon enough, ass firmly planted, and you think fleetingly God he had some solid thighs, strong, you felt very well-supported.

The making out was only paused briefly while you changed position, you’d gotten right back into it, your mouth slotting back against his with a hum that sounded like his name. You grind again and this time he returns it, rutting up into you, and the friction makes you actually moan this time. The taste, the feeling, and two minutes more of making out is all it takes for you to break, pulling back once his touch had gotten bolder, one having slid up your body, palming one of your tits through your work shirt easily with how large his hands were. You arch into him, breaking the kiss you beg, “Fuck, Rusty, more.”

You are close enough now that you can see his smile as opposed to just hear it, his hand moves and starts to go under your shirt, rough fingers on bare skin and steadily moving up, brushing the edge of your bra. Not quite a laugh but more than an amused releasing of air, he asks, “More?”

A frantic nod, another squirm of your hips and he asks, “How much more? C’mon, tell me.”

He wants you to say it and you want it desperately enough that it’s no issue, far from it, if anything him making you say it, makes you want it more, makes you feel hotter. “Fuck me?”

“I like your directness.” Thank God for that. “Just have a lil more patience with me, alright?”

When he asks in that tone, you think you’d do just about anything. A small nod and he needs to get his fill of you just a hair more. Hands explore, groping, feeling, it teases both of you, trying to get a sense of your body before the clothes come off, mind running over just how you’ll feel with nothing in the way. You remain good, you let him feel, minimal squirming on your part, even when he starts kissing your neck as the hand that isn’t up your shirt kneads your ass. Only when you feel your underwear literally plastered to you and your cunt ache incessantly do you whine his name again.

He mercifully acquiesces, “Okay, okay, I hear you.”

He eases up, a gesture of his head for you to move to the passenger's seat, “Gonna need you out of those clothes for what you really want.”

You rush to comply. Once in the passenger's seat, sitting sideways, still facing him, looking at him, your hands catch the bottom hem of your shirt and as if anticipating that you intended to frantically tear it off, he stops you. One hand out and that sweet but firm tone, commanding, "Do it slowly."

Your face feels hot, and you do as instructed, slowing your movements right down, pulling the shirt up, exposing your stomach and then your bra. Higher and higher until you have taken it off, tossing it in the direction of your bag and apron. Next you have your thumbs hooked in the waist of your pants, arching your hips you start to slide them down, you watch him, try to gauge his reaction, but it’s hard in the low lighting. He gives a nod to show he’s pleased so far, encouraging you verbally too, “Go on.”

Shoes removed, pants follow, soon you are in just your underwear, and he speaks, a small gesture of your body, up and down, “S’ a good start but keep going.”

You reach behind yourself, start to unhook your bra, and he is still talking, “Dying to see the rest.”

You swear you can feel his eyes raking over every exposed inch of your skin. A small thought strikes, you follow it, slipping your arms out of the straps but holding the cups to your chest, an indulgent smile, a rise of your eyebrows, and he clicks his tongue, you play dumb and ask, “What?”

“You’re being a tease.” He states, and you ask in a tone of mock innocence, “Am I?”

He says more seriously. “Drop it.”

Unsure if he means your bra or the act, you chose to abandon both. You let the padded fabric slip out of your hands, a spread of your legs, you wonder if he can tell how wet you are from here. He moves too now, you weren’t expecting it, he falls to his knees in the space between your seat and his. Hands come to your hips and the sudden contact makes you jerk with a sharp inhale. His mouth catches yours in another kiss, you return it and moan, his mouth doesn’t stay on yours for long, trails down, jaw and neck, one on your shoulder and lower.

He is confident, he’s taking what he wants and you more than let him, you enjoy every rough scrape of his well worked hands, pass of his lips and nip of his teeth. His warm breath fanning over your chest is welcome, one hand has moved again, over your hip and now on your inner thigh, his thumb is close enough, and he runs it up you, swipes up your clothed slit. You sigh, eyes falling closed, relishing the contact, you are sure now he can feel how wet you are. He runs it back down and then up again, a press just right, and you moan between the friction on your clit and his mouth now on your chest.

He found it so easily and judging by the smile you can feel against the curve of your breast, he is just as pleased. Rusty abandons the current pleasant task, fingers hooking in your underwear, “I got a feelin’ it’d be a fight to get these off you too, an’ I just can’t wait.”

You couldn’t either, not anymore.

Assisting with a move of your ass up, he gets them off, and now you are naked in his semi-truck. You want to jump him, but he is holding you down by your thighs, taking in the view of you unobstructed, totally bare. “Fucking gorgeous.”

A hand reaches out, catches his jacket, and you tug as you tell him, “I feel really exposed right now, you wanna lose some of these?”

“S’ only fair.” He agrees, he removes his jacket and asks, “Wanna give me a little show while I fix myself?”

It is a request, but you take it like it’s an order. Hand between your spread legs, fingers trace up, catching ample wetness and spreading it up, circling sensitive tissue, making your thighs tense and a small moan fall from your lips. “There you go.”

The praise helps, you increase the pressure, and he hums in approval. Shirt is gone, belt is opened more and more revealed until he is in a similar state of undress. The view of him stripping all for you is insanely helpful. Pleasure is filling you easily and once he is ready he asks, “You mind if I-?”

“However you want me, please.” It leaves you needy and breathless. He steps in, he moves your hands away from yourself, and starts to adjust you to his liking. You like it, you think he can be rougher honestly, you are put on your knees, facing the passenger window, a hand on your back, adjusting you more, hips tilted up, and you feel him against you. The bump of his shaft between your thighs and over your clit is already very good. “Ready, yeah?”

A shaky nod, “Please Rusty-”

The one word and his name is all you are able to get out before he is lining up just right, you hold your breath in anticipation, he spits into his own hand, strokes himself, the extra lube as courtesy is appreciated. He slides in, and you let out a gasp, he doesn’t do it easily, taking you in one firm stroke, hand on your hips as his come to rest against your ass. He revels in you, the tight, soaked heat of you, his head tips back slightly as he soaks it before he starts to move. Pulling out halfway before driving forward, your hands scrabble for the window’s edge, you hold onto it like a lifeline as you gear up for what is already promising to be the ride of a lifetime.

His thrusting is firm, just like him, steady and sure, a good and even pace. It leaves breathless, not caring about being overheard, not like anyone could in the empty parking lot. A heavy breath from him, “Fucks sake, you’re soaked.”

You were moaning, incoherent pleas, along with his name, you were more than warmed up, each drag of his thick shaft in and out increasing the feeling. Fingers dig into the meat of your hips, he pulls you back as he drives forward, and you move too, rocking backwards to meet him. “Tight as Hell, can barely fit myself in here.”

“Keep talking, never, ever stop talking.” Is the one thought in your brain as you moan dumbly. You aren’t thinking much, unable, but you are feeling. Rusty was so kind to you, was totally turning your birthday around, making you feel incredible, spoiling you, and you want to do the same. His hands are roaming and that won’t do, you need to stop him before you are fucked into total submission and wrecked. Another minute, just another minute, you tell yourself, eyes are half open and brain hazy. The glass is so fogged up you can’t see out of it, could write your name but if he asked you doubted your hands would be steady enough. Could you even spell your name right now with what he was doing to you?

Finally, you reach back, hands on his hips, “Ru-Rusty, please, stop-”

“Something the matter?” He asked, holding deep, all the way to the hilt inside you. His hands smooth up your sides, fingers trace the curves of your chest before coming back down again, and you shiver, clenching on his shaft.

“Gotta, fuck, do something. Pull out?” He listens, he does so, “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

The pet names, fucking Christ the pet names, you are forcing yourself to move. It happens quickly. You turn, and then you push him, so his back is against the seat of the driver's side. He takes the hint, sits up on the seat sideways, and then you are the one on your knees. Between his spread thighs, you lean down, a hand locks around the base of his shaft and you lick. He lets out a surprised groan, soft and sounding too good. You start to blow him in earnest, careful of your gag reflex as you work. Your hand slips up and down his slick shaft as you suck on the head, his hand comes down to your head, fingers twist in your hair, “Like tasting yourself?”

A nod as you moan against him, tongue swirls around the tip, and he watches enraptured, his hips buck slightly, and you gag almost immediately. He inhales through his teeth, “Sorry there.”

You brush him off, a gesture that it is fine, as you redouble your efforts. He seems to be enjoying it immensely, he is encouraging you further but soon asks, “Can you handle some more?”

For him, you want to try. You nod, and he guides you, does it slowly and easily, “Breathe through it-”

You do and the pace, his voice, it somehow works, and you’re able to take him deeper, “Pretty birthday girl. Takin’ it so well.”

All you wanted to do was please him, you continue the work for only a minute more, however because then he tells you, “I want you back up here.”

You jump at the chance. Same as before, you climb up him and straddle him, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see where this is going. “You didn’t have to do that.” He comments, and you have your hands on his biceps, currently sucking a hickey into his neck and teasing your dripping hole with the tip of his dick, “I know. I wanted to.”

“Could tell you were into it. You always wanna taste yourself like that?”

“Not always but it is-” You move your hips down, start to slide him inside with a moan, once he is buried inside of you again you finish the thought, “-a favourite.”

“Dirty girl.” He coos it like a compliment, and it hits you just like one, too. You start to ride, his hands on you help along with upward rocks of his hips. You bite and suck along his throat in between broken moans, the salt of his skin is a tad too addicting, as is the stretch of him inside and the way he brushes all the right spots inside of you at this angle.

Apparently it still isn’t good enough for him.

He tugs you closer, presses you so that way your clit is getting friction and ground with every thrust and bounce, your moans increase in volume in pitch along with the sensation. You had no clue this is how your day would shake out, if you did, maybe your shift would have been more bearable.

His hands are on your back, holding you close, fucking up into you as you are slamming down, and on a particularly good hit you are gasping. For two people fucking for the first time and relative strangers, you’d found a frighteningly good rhythm. Your body is moving on instinct, just chasing what feels good but still, thoughtlessly tinged with doing your best to please him, thankful for the moment that what seems to be getting him off is feeling incredible for you. It isn’t quite enough, though, and he seems to pick up on that.

“Lean back.” His voice snaps you out of your pleasure induced stupor, and you nod, separating yourself from him, the one point of contact still remaining your ass on his thighs and him stuffed deep inside. He directs you further, his hands help, and you find yourself with one hand on his knee, the other braced on the roof of the truck, feet on the seat on either side of him and with a confident nod you start moving again.

It’s good, you are able to hit spots inside yourself that are even deeper, using all your leg muscles as well as your hands it becomes more of a full body effort, minute adjustments can be made so too much strain is never on one part of your sweat slick frame. Soon as you are just right in the groove of it, he surprises you, why he wanted the change in position becomes all too clear. His hand is between your bodies and his thumb presses down, swirling over your clit, and it makes your pace falter, “Oh my fucking God-”

“Don’t stop now.” The way he says it makes a shiver run up your spine and again makes you clench down on him. He says it in the dominant tone of voice, but it’s light, that smug fucking half grin on his face, unable to tear his eyes away from your body. You shake your head, choking out, “Wo-won’t stop.”

“No, course you won’t, you’re so good at listening.” The praise washes over you with another sharp jolt of ecstasy. His hand that wasn’t working your nerves into a frenzy was on your thigh, sliding up, gripping your hip, “This workin’ for you?”

Fuck, was it ever. You nod frantically, focusing on breathing and not stopping riding him, but in short order, your movements were getting increasingly sloppy. It was like he didn’t have to ask, didn’t rush it, just let you work it out and helped carry you along. You were getting dangerously close, the edge creeping up at a blinding pace, everything you’d experienced so far this night was piling up and threatening to make you break apart at the seams. There were no real words, just hurried breathing and pitched moans, head back, nails digging into the fabric of the truck cab’s roof, the sound of skin on skin and his encouragement.

A soft call of your name, his hips moving up, grinding into you as his hand works and him asking in a mind meltingly hot tone, “I wanna see it, give it to me.”

And something about that, whether it is what he said or how he said it, causes the reaction inside to finally make it happen, like it clicks into place just right, and you go from a weak and barely audible strained whisper of, “I’m almost there!” To holy fucking shit, I’m, “-cumming!”

Riding as much became not an option, legs almost giving out, but he takes over, grip on your hip is bruising, hip strength impressive, and he drives up into you over and over. Your hand isn’t able to stay on the roof, caught midair, body tense as your climax rockets through your body, you think your hand on his knee might be drawing blood with your nails, but you can’t stop it nor can you care.

You jerk as it peaks, and he slips out, his fingers don’t stop until you are crying out and pushing him away, still trembling through the aftershocks. Your eyes were closed, you were panting and not even remotely down from his high when you feel the hot splatter on your tits and stomach with your name staining his tongue. Peaking back open, you see him, hand around himself, and he’d cum all over your torso. The pretty pearly white is sliding down, and his own breathing is very laboured. Your hand trails down, still shaky, skating through the mess he left, and then you're bringing those same fingers back up to taste him.

Your body relaxes against him, you get into a more comfortable position, and after you stop shuddering so much you are telling him, “That was pretty fucking great.”

“Oh, are you all done?” He asked as he looks up at you, hands are resting lazily on your thighs, tracing patterns absentmindedly. “I mean I thought we were but are we not?”

“We don’t gotta be. I’m in no rush.” The thought of that is extremely pleasant.

“Another drink till you’re ready to go again, old man?” You asked with a smile, and he laughs as he reaches over to where the bottle was left on the floor of his side of the truck. Thankfully it hadn’t been knocked over, “You get that one and only cuz you were so good.”

“Only one old man joke or one joke overall? Because I was gonna make one hoping that you aren’t passingly along tetanus to me Rusty, but if you’re planning to be a buzzkill-” He shuts you up with a hand on the back of your neck and a kiss that you end up humming into. Yeah, you think this has been a pretty solid birthday.

#Rusty Nail x reader #slasher x reader #BHF writing #HAPPY BIRTHDAY RIRI #MWAH #LOVE YA #ENJOY

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lavendertales · 11 months

Text

Fire breather**

pairing: young!Din Djarin x f!reader

summary: he knows that even being around you is dangerous, forbidden even. But he can't fight against it for the life of him, not when you lure him with the most innocent of moves that throw you both into an intoxicatingly erotic game.

word count: 6k

WARNINGS: mini crisis of faith; virgin!Din, mutual pining, blowjob, piv, praise kink, cum play, first time shenanigans.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @manny-jacinto

read on AO3

It started out tentatively. Teasing to an almost ridiculous degree.

As a new bounty hunter, Din sought work. And for a beginner, Nevarro isn’t the worst place to be: plenty of questionable thieves, seemingly charitable folk on the street with dark pasts—a truly varied pool of work for someone like him. He almost-too-eagerly joined Greef Karga’s parsec of bounty hunters, and quickly learned the hazards of the job.

But he also learned there was beauty to it.

Whenever he had spare time, he liked to sit in the local cantina. Not necessarily for the food, but for the people. Simply watching them as they walked by, enjoying a warm meal, a good drink and a polite conversation. For the most part, it was a radiating canvas for young Din Djarin—most of the time unsoiled by the dark desires and past times that possessed so many creatures.

Then he saw you.

He watched your cat-like movements from behind the bar, serving those who stopped by, always with a smile. The more he dared to gaze in your direction, never forgetting to look away just as you sensed his visor upon you, the more he felt a certain fascination for you. Something about you exuded warmth, a rather mysterious sensuality, that of a foreigner, which Din knew had the ravishing possibility of getting him in trouble if he got too close.

So he didn’t. He observed you from afar, never uttering more than a grumbled “thank you” when you serviced him.

He meets with Karga to discuss business. It’s always business; nothing more, nothing less. He sneaks a glance at you, so quick it nearly makes his head spin. He finds himself lost in your smile, your politeness with even the rudest customers, your agility. His helmet suddenly feels constricting.

“Mando? Are you okay under there?”

Even Karga seems to notice. Din gulps, nodding his head ever so stoic, and resumes the conversation about the puck he’s taking today. But today is different. Today, you catch his visor, eyes big and radiant, and you smile at him.

You fucking smile at him.

“Be sure to finish this mission before the heatwave hits Nevarro,” Karga warns. “Seems it’ll be quite a hot season this year.”

Din finishes the mission a few days after said heatwave hit Nevarro. And it sure as hell was hot.

It was one of the rare circumstances when he wishes to done his tunic and beskar and jump into a body of water. It seldom happens, and yet now, he finds himself craving some release from that asphyxiating sensation.

“You’re back.”

The voice, soft and sweet like honey slowly drizzling on skin, startles him. He turns to meet your radiant face welcoming him back on the planet and into the cantina, and he gulps. His throat is so dry it’s itchy.

“You’ve been gone some time,” you say politely.

“Tricky mission.”

“Bounty hunter, right?”

“Yes. You keep tabs on all your clients?”

You chuckle, and the sound is playful, crystal clear, almost causing him to gasp.

“Only the most interesting ones,” you smile. “Can I get you anything?”

His mind feels scrambled, emptied of all other wishes. All except for one, clear and concise, and yet so terribly frightening to even think, let alone voice.

“I’m okay, thank you,” he replies.

“Some water at least. This heat is no joke.”

Eventually he nods, his eyes glued to your figure from the second you depart until you return with a tall cup of ice water.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” you tell him.

Din feels astounded at your understanding. Unlike others, you don’t question his armor or his habits, you simply… understand. You have enough respect for him already to know when to walk away.

And that awakens something else in him.

In the twisted and explosive world Din had voluntarily stepped in, his infatuation for you unfolds agonizingly slow, and yet far too fast for him to catch up and attempt to understand it.

The manifestation of Eros happens in increments, over long weeks of heat and simple words exchanged: from the lingering, curious gaze you began to return, to the mouth-watering way he longed to touch you. Just once, just a light touch over your arm, nothing more.

A lot more, actually. But Din forbids himself from thinking that far.

It is an erotic and mystical experience, unknown to him. He hasn’t felt the touch of another being, ever, but this he can learn to recognize that he ardently wants. There are moments of insecurity that go beyond his Creed and everything he had sworn himself to. Moments of jealousy of the infatuated man beneath the Mandalorian armor, failing to understand how someone can just touch another’s arm so innocently, so tenderly, and awaken such animalistic instincts in another.

He sees the guy at the bar, shamelessly smiling at you, at one point even laughing. Din’s heart stills, his breaths barely there. He watches the guy touch your hand, hold it for a few seconds longer than he has to, and Din finds his fist curled into a fit of rage. He does and says nothing. What could he say or do? Besides, he has no right to intervene. You aren't his to be had, and he isn't anything more but another client.

“Is everything okay?”

Din is taken aback by the fact that you take a seat right in front of him. You seem to be able to read him easily, and that thought alone is as surprising as it is scary.

“Yes,” Din almost groans.

“Are you sure? Because it looks like you’re about to rip your own gloves.”

He glances down at his hands, both curled into fists so tight he fails to acknowledge that they feel bothersome. He instantly relaxes them, taking a deep breath as you smile reassuringly at him.

“Long day,” he retorts, trying to appear as careless as possible.

Then, the unthinkable happens. You reach and touch his hand, stroking the glove gently, with the same kind and understanding smile on your face.

You touched his hand. It burned his skin through the fabric, his cheeks turning crimson under the weight of flattery and desire.

What is happening to me? Din can't help but ask himself.

“If you need some company, a conversation or… anything, really… you know where to find me.”

As you say so, you stroke his hand one last time and return behind the bar, glancing at him on occasion. Din gulps, struggling to manage for the rest of the day. Had his jealousy been that obvious that you had to come over to soothe him?

No, it couldn’t have been that.

He likes to think of himself as a smart man. Not possessing a superior intellect, but definitely smart, quick to come up with solutions when needed, even impulsively so.

And so he knows that the basis of this attraction he carries for you is nothing but physical. No other explanation for it. It’s pure biology; he can’t really help the way his body sweats and aches for you, let alone the way he just stiffened when his eyes met yours and when you touched him. He felt confined in his own armor, in his own pants, like he couldn’t breathe.

And you only just touched his hand.

It’s simple biology. Action and reaction; excessive nervousness, a celibacy record of twenty four years and counting, internal restlessness and a horrid fear of what the future might look like should he succumb to—whatever this is. He grows more and more fearful of the day he’ll finally snap and his body will take the reins of his feelings and needs, but the precarious situation actually thrills him, and he can’t explain himself. Not anymore.

Din knows he’s a moral man—or so he tries to be—but the demon inside, acting on biological, needy grounds, tempted and proved him the opposite with each moment he spent in your presence. You’ve barely lived, much like him, and yet there lives a refined sensuality and confidence about you, as well as a perplexing innocence inside of you.

He’s used to a different type of feminine behavior, and everything about you thoroughly confuses and excites him.

As the heat thrives in Nevarro, Din feels like he’s falling apart with each day.

No other woman has ever troubled him this much. He’s never been disrupted from his job by anyone, much less a woman. The sensual suffering you unknowingly put him through is beginning to feel like a curse, and this weather isn’t helping either.

He thinks about you when he’s chasing down his targets. He thinks about you when he carbon-freezes them. He thinks about you when he can’t sleep, then he gets so hard it actually feels like he’s being strangled. He thinks about you when he washes the day’s exhaustion off, and his hand seems to act of its own accord and curls itself around his erection, mindlessly stroking in hopes of some release. He seldom feels his own flesh in times like these; if he would’ve cut himself right now, he wouldn’t feel a fucking thing. And yet, what he does feel are his own nerves like a fishnet of beskar, weighing heavily upon him. He’s practically trembling as he rushes to finish himself in the shower, his ragged breath like molten lava. Even after he spills his seed, ashamed of such specific thoughts, you do not leave his mind.

Is it the mystery of your body, the curiosity that comes attached whenever you’re nearby?

He doesn’t know, and he certainly doesn’t care.

After his parents’ demise, Din was raised in a tough environment, one meant for a warrior. And that’s what he became: a hunter of beskar, cold and calculated, sharp. Yet there you are in that cantina, drawing him into a complicated, decisively erotic and unpredictable game. A lingering gaze from either of you is a code that must be deciphered; a touch of the hands is an act of bravery and a betrayal of one’s ways of thinking.

What of the Creed? What of everything I sworn myself too? I can’t fall in this trap, I can’t abandon my family.

But if it’s wrong, why does he ache for you with his whole being?

When you intentionally touched his leg one time as he sat at a table with Karga, it meant a big promise to him, an invitation. The promise was later fortified by a tea that you made especially for him to help with his restlessness.

And it fucking worked.

Din slept the best he had in months, thinking of you as he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

The next day, he brought you flowers as a thank you, but most importantly, as a little gesture to mean “I accept your invitation”. You smiled and thanked him.

Plenty of the customers around noticed you received flattery from the Mandalorian and plenty teased you about it, but you didn’t care. You felt like he could trust you, and being offered the trust of such a skilled warrior was more flattering than anything else.

Of course, there was the issue of attraction. There was no denying that over the months you had developed a rather carnal desire for the covered man. His modulated voice was softer when he spoke to you, almost shy; his movements, usually harsh and brutal, were tender and careful, hesitant as if he were afraid to not break you—or perhaps he was afraid of breaking himself. You began to fear that the physical attraction was too powerful to be contained and that one day you’ll snap, revealing or doing something that’ll put him off.

That was the last thing that you wanted. And, unbeknownst to you, it was the last thing Din wanted, too.

The situation is twisted, to put it mildly; Din, more simplistic in his all-too-new desires, lets himself be tempted by the potential of an affair that could end in tragedy. He’s become obsessed by myths, tearing them down, and new sensations. The observations he makes about body language in particular and the suggestion of foreign sensuality, with its heavy moments of infatuation, are stronger.

The erotic myth that Din finds himself drawn to is unfolding in the most unusual situations: when you smile at him during a busy day in the cantina, when you welcome him after a mission, when he accidentally touches your arm or your leg and his whole body trembles with fear and excitement alike. The now love he carries for you awakens raw, animalistic feelings inside of him, and the inevitable sin happens one evening when he seeks you.

The cantina is empty by this hour, except for one drunken Mythrol in a chair somewhere in the back. Although Din’s pulse is through the roof and he hears his own thrumming in his ears, burning auburn at this point, he inches closer to you.

“Mando, hi,” you smile, pleasantly surprised to see him. “What can I get ya?”

He hesitates, gulping. The heat wave hasn’t retreated from Nevarro, and it does not help with the way his body sweats right now.

“Spotchka. Please,” he clears his throat, insecure.

He’s never had the beverage before, but it’s the one thing that crossed his mind. Because the question that unveils itself at the back of his mind as he approaches the bar is… what is he doing here tonight? Just for the drink? He can’t drink with anyone around. So what the hell is his plan, why is he here with limp legs, barely able to breathe—

“Here we are,” you say, pouring the blue liquid in a glass and putting it in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“So what brings you here tonight?”

Gloved hand curled around the glass, Din falls prey to a deep silence. What can he tell you? He doesn’t know himself.

“Uh—“

“Are you okay?”

“How can you tell if there’s something—“

“Well, for one thing, I know Mandalorians don’t eat or drink in front of others, even if I can turn around and that guy in the back is drunk under the table. And you do seem a bit nervous.”

Kriffing hell, how are you so damn good at reading him? How can you even be so understanding and kind?

Would you be so understanding if he’d told you he can’t stop thinking about you? That he thinks about you even when he shouldn’t?

“Tell you what,” you lean over the counter and get so close to his visor he could pass out. “I have to close up soon anyway. How about I take this”, you smile and take the whole bottle of spotchka, “and we go somewhere more private?”

“Are you—is that okay? Closing early, I mean.”

You sneak a look back to notice the Mythrol still under the table and refrain yourself from giggling. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I might need some help cleaning around here.”

Din carries the Mythrol out the cantina all the way till he passes out somewhere on the street, near the garbage cans. Neither you nor Din care enough to keep tabs on him, and honestly, Din is far too lost in your scent to pick up on anything else around him.

“Where we going?” he asks eventually.

“My place.”

Din stops, gulping and staring at you in awe. He knows what this means, the implications and everything else, and suddenly he’s fearful.

Fearful for not being enough for you and not living up to whatever expectations you may have.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you immediately apologize, noticing his stiff stance. “I didn’t mean—I just thought you’d like it better if you were in a more intimate setting. I mean not intimate, but—not a public space, you know?”

“Yes.”

“You just seem like the type of guy who likes to be mostly by himself, so if that’s okay with you—“

“It’s—fine.”

Suddenly his mind is plagued by the possibilities: are you nervous too because of him? Could that even be possible? No, how could it? He’s a Mandalorian, sworn to the Creed and a lifetime of solitude. He never lost his head like this—or at all, really.

How could you foster any sort of interest in him when you barely know him? When you haven’t even seen him?

But he finds himself following you blindly, his heart’s desire and curiosity exceeding his brain’s rationality. Although he knows that you won’t hurt him in any way—he supposed infatuation does that to someone’s logic—he cannot help the nervousness that seeps through its every pore. The surrounding environment slowly fades with each step he takes in proximity to your place, and suddenly, all Din is capable of focusing on is you.

You’re all he sees, all he’s curious about, and all he wants. Though not versed in the ways of relationships and feelings and such, he does know what he feels. He knows that he aches for you, deeply, and—perhaps delusion is part of the deal because he’s foolish enough to think that maybe you might be interested in him as well.

For why else would you invite him to your private quarters?

“Here we are,” you announce with a sweet smile.

Din suddenly realizes that he is finally in your private quarters. He glances around at the neat space, very much in tone with you. He’s nervous still, but much more content to be in such a space.

“If you feel like having a drink, I can give you some privacy.”

Din feels struck by your politeness; more so by you respecting boundaries he hasn’t even set.

“I know Mandalorians don’t show their faces in front of—strangers,” you smile.

“You do?”

“Yeah. My father was a Mandalorian.”

Underneath the helmet, Din raises his brows, almost shook at the realization.

“He was?”

“Yes. He fought in the war, defending Mandalore. And… he passed away.”

“This is the Way.”

Din nods somberly, hoping you understand. And you do. Of course you do.

But this explains why you’ve been so understanding and respectful. And it explains why you’ve been gravitating around him. Perhaps Din’s presence was a faint reminder of that former Mandalorian in your life.

“Anyway, I uh—I’ll leave you to your drink if—“

“Stay. Please.”

His please sounds throated and shaky, and it blindsides you. You figured he was nervous, maybe because he’s unaccustomed to being alone with someone, and you didn’t want to scare him off.

You pour spotchka for the two of you, polite enough to look away whenever Din lifts his helmet in the slightest to take a sip. The liquid is intense, going down to his stomach like a fire rapidly spreading throughout his whole body.

Once he takes the first few sips—and albeit their small quantity, they still relax him and make him feel more at ease and slightly sweaty—Din asks about your father and your past. You share gladly, openly, as if you are talking to an old friend. And so he finds out about your childhood and about you, soaking up the knowledge like a sponge.

In return, he tells you about him and his past, how he came to be the warrior standing now before you, and to say you are mesmerized is an understatement.

You are beyond touched by his life story, his perseverance and his bravery to carry on and find himself a new purpose even after suffering the loss of his parents. You could relate to that as well; losing your father in the Great Purge when you were very young could’ve easily let you to become a train wreck, but instead you were determined to provide for yourself and your mother. She took it the hardest, and while she always made sure you had everything you needed and was enough mother and father for you, you knew that she missed him terribly all the time.

As the stories come to an end, Din finds himself craving again. Now that he’s getting to know you, his craving only surges, and, like never before, he feels that his armor is constricting him.

“Are you okay?” you ask after a while.

He swallows harshly, his throat dry whereas his mouth was watering with each second he spends looking at you. What an odd phenomenon, he thinks.

“Why?” he foolishly asks.

“You just seem to be very nervous.”

“I—am. You make me nervous.”

You raise your brows, visibly surprised at the confession. Though if you have to admit to yourself, you’re quite nervous too; your heart’s thrumming in your ears, beating so fast inside your chest you can feel it.

“I do?” you ask just as foolishly.

Din nods. “Why? I’m just—me.”

He can’t even begin to tell you just how wonderful you seem to him. Frankly, he doubts he has the words for it anyway.

You think the same about him. There’s an aura of mystery surrounding him, a lot of things you still don’t know about him, and yet you feel as if you’ve known him for months, if not years. And, though it may seem crazy, the more you stare at him, the more you can imagine the face of the man behind the armor. You can imagine his eyes, kind and warm, plush lips, perhaps some facial hair making him distinguishable.

And suddenly heat spreads throughout your whole body, settling dangerously low in your belly and between your legs.

You want to ask what happens now; you drank, you shared stories, and now all you’re left with is a yearning that doesn’t seem to subside. Din doesn’t know how to continue the conversation, either. He’s too struck by you, too smitten to verbalize his feelings, which are those of desire, he’s concluded.

But how to say this aloud? “I want you”? That just sounds crass. Instead, he coos your name, gulping afterwards, and you hold your breath, waiting.

“What is it?” you ask.

“You make me nervous.”

“So you’ve said.”

“You make me nervous because… I want you.”

Oh, dank farrik. He should not have said that. He should not have said it like that—or at all, really.

“I meant—I want… to be with you. No, I—“

Then he hears you giggle, and his heart flutters in his chest. Laughter is a good sign, right? That he didn’t yet make a complete fool of himself? He can only hope.

“That’s okay,” you smile at him. “I have to admit, I… I want to be with you too.”

If he was unsure whether he was sweating before, Din is now convinced he’s sweating buckets underneath the armor and the tunic.

“You—you do?” he asks, completely dumbfounded.

“Yes. Is that bad?”

Maybe it should be, he thinks. Maybe it should because he’s a Mandalorian and he has taken the Creed and he is loyal to his family and his beliefs, but… why does it feel so good to stand here before you, so vulnerable?

“No,” he replies.

You stand up, extending your hand to him, and Din gulps again as his gloved hand takes yours into his. He struggles to regulate his breaths while you guide him to what he can assume is your bedroom, but fails to do so. Anticipation is nearly asphyxiating him, and he’s so hard by this point it’s a miracle you didn’t somehow notice it.

Or you did and were too polite to mention it.

Either way, once he’s in your bedroom, Din stills, and so do you.

“Have you done this before?” you ask, and boy is he grateful for your consideration. Since you’ve had a Mandalorian father, he can only assume you know some things about the culture that make you more attentive to details. “Have you ever been with someone?”

“I have not.”

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

All the blood flow is basically in his pants so he can’t think of a decent thing to say.

“I do want to,” he replies.

“Okay, then we take things slow, and… if there’s anything you feel uncomfortable with, we stop. Does that sound good?”

“Yes.”

You turn off the main light, allowing only some lights from the street to shine in, thus granting the minimum visualization, for which Din is beyond thankful.

“Is it okay if I—take this off?”

He assumes you mean the armor, and he agrees with a shaky yes. You move closer to him, removing his armor bit by bit, all while his heart’s about to burst out of his chest and his pants on the verge of explosion. You don’t reach for the helmet; you leave that up to him. Once the armor is removed, Din is standing in his tunic, and he takes it upon himself to remove the clothing, mostly because he’d be embarrassed if you were to discover how hard he is right now.

Though he supposes you will find out soon enough.

Since it’s dark enough to not actually see anything but forms, Din feels comfortable enough to remove the helmet. You hear the faint click and you gasp.

“You took off the helmet?” you ask.

“Yes.”

Gods, his voice sounds so rich and smooth even without the modulator.

“I thought you’re not supposed to.”

He doesn’t reply; yes, he’s not supposed to, but technically, you can’t see him, so there is no danger. Then it hits him that you’re probably naked by now, too, and his nervousness returns.

“Alright then,” you say, though your voice is shaky with emotion too. “Is it okay if I kiss you? To… you know, get us started?”

“Yes.”

He couldn’t have answered that fast enough. You can easily deduce that this is his first time kissing someone too, so you make a mental note to be extra tender.

“Can I touch your face?”

“Y-Yes.”

He feels your warm breath on his lips and he shudders. Then you cup his cheeks, grazing them gently and pulling him in. You can tell he’s new at this, as well as rigid, so you kiss him sweetly, slowly, patient and eager for his reaction.

Reaction which does not fail to arise.

Din grows needier within seconds; he’s roaming his hands over the small of your back, then to your shoulders and hair, opening his mouth in order to explore more of yours. You gladly reciprocate, but do so just as tenderly, as if showing him the way around your mouth. The thing you didn’t realize about Din, he’s a fast learner. He rapidly learns how you like to be kissed, thus learning how he likes it, too, and he lets himself go. He lets himself get lost in the moment, in your sweet scent and taste, and by Gods, it is heavenly.

When you break the kiss, he’s almost sad. But then you say something that makes his heart jump right into his throat.

“Lay on the bed, and let me take care of you.”

The saccharine request has him weak—and questioning things he doesn’t dare question aloud. Take care of him how?

Soon he finds out; the moment you see his rather broad shape lounging on the bed, you move atop of him, kissing a hot trail from his cheeks to his jaw, neck, chest, belly…

Then Din gasps.

You reach his neediest part and he twitches just as you wrap your arm around his cock, the strokes slow and steady.

“Is this okay?” you check with him. “Does it feel good?”

“Mhm—yes—“

Unbeknownst to him, you smile, continuing to stroke him. You listen in to his grunts, and you can only think of the sounds he’d make once you’d take him in your mouth. Or the sounds he’d make being inside you.

Dank fucking farrik, you’re growing wetter as your imagination is running wilder. With your hand at the base of his cock, you take the rest of him in your mouth.

“F-Fuck—“Din moans brokenly, his breaths shallow and rapid. “Fuck, you’re s-so—so good—“

You hum in appreciation, and the vibration sends tingles down his spine. He’s not sure he’s going to keep going like this. His whole body burns and aches and he doesn’t want to come like this, not when you have him in your mouth. It feels… inappropriate. Like you deserve better than something purely filthy.

“Wait, stop,” he wails.

Instantly your eyes go to where his face would be, taking him out of your mouth and ceasing your strokes. Though still hard, Din no longer feels the need to come—at least the need isn’t that urgent.

“Did I hurt you somehow?” you ask. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, it’s—I didn’t want to come yet.”

“Why not?”

Maybe it’s more than just lust. How can he explain how enamored he is with your whole image, how drunk he is on your presence, and that he thinks you deserve only the kindest and best things in this life and him coming down your throat feels cheap?

“I want to feel you,” he mutters. “Can I?”

Breathless, you whisper a desperate yes and make your way to his face, kissing him again. His lips are soft and plush, like you’ve imagined, but if you move too much you fear he’d hear how shamefully wet you are.

The kiss, though innocent in the beginning, turns rather sloppy, betraying both your eagerness. Din moves so that he’s on top of you, one of his hands boldly parting your thighs to make room for him. He brushes against your folds, almost grunting upon feeling the slick heat. The mere idea that you want him this much and that your body is so responsive to his hesitant, clumsy touches is mind-boggling to him.

“Can I go inside you?” he asks.

You feels his shallow breaths on your face and you can’t believe how overstimulated you are just from light touching and undressing.

But you know that for a Mandalorian, the undressing part at least was erotic in and of itself. What follows is merely an enhancement of that longing, one that Din feels more than lucky to get to share it with someone like you.

“Yes,” you respond.

Din grunts as he wraps his hand around his cock, painful to the touch. He fails to see you sneak a hand in between your legs and rub your clit while you wait. The anticipation is overwhelming you too, and it’s so surprising to want someone you barely know so damn much.

But here you are, wet as you could possibly be, legs spread for him, waiting.

“Remember, if you want to stop—“

“I don’t want to stop.”

Almost out of breath, everything around Din fades once he pushes the head of his cock past your lips. You gasp and moan as he keeps pushing in, making you feel every inch of him. The sting is a bit painful, on account of his size and girth, but you welcome it gladly. Once he’s fully sheathed inside you, Din exhales. You’re warm and tight around him, and it’s making him dizzy.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

Gods, how can you be so considerate even when you’re just as deprived of proper touch as he is?

“You just feel… so tight and warm,” he replies. His voice sounds like it doesn’t even belong to him. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. Everyone’s nervous and clumsy during their first time. I’m thankful you wanted to share this with me.”

“I can’t imagine this with anyone else.”

It’s then that you find the strength to cup his cheeks and kiss him again, which prompts Din in return to move at last. You groan into his mouth when you feel his languid thrusts inside, both of you starved. Little by little, Din builds a pace, one that works for both you and him. He’s in awe at the sounds you make, the way your body feels around him and even enamored by the squelching sounds emerging in between your legs where your bodies are joined together. Everything about you is inebriating.

In this moment, when everything feels so much more heightened, he knows he’d do anything for you. Anything you want, he’ll give you.

Despite his prior nervousness and lack of experience, just like with the kiss, Din learns fast. He quickly learns which angle feels good for you and which motion drives the sultriest moan from your side, and sticks to that. His thrusts are tender, much like him, and frankly, it surprises you to notice the imbalance between the fierce Mandalorian you’ve seen in the cantina and the man behind the armor, naked above and stealing moans and sloppy kisses from you. He stretches you wide with each thrust, growing a bit too eager and thus speeding up—which you do not mind one bit. It’s the ideal combination of tender and rough, getting you just where you need to be.

He kisses you as he buries himself inside you to the hilt, making you feel every inch of him. His head falls in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, closely listening to the sounds you make for and because of him. One hand sneaks at the back of his head, caressing his hair as sweat begins to prickle your skin—and his too, it seems.

“You’re so good,” you whisper to him. “You’re doing—so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm—so good for me—that’s it.”

You wish you’d know his name so you can call it out when you come, but you don’t think to ask of that right now. Not when you’re so full of him you could scream throughout the galaxy.

So instead, you keep muttering sweet nothings to him, encouragements to get him going and build his pleasure further. You simply have the feeling that this is a man who needs the praise, someone who thrives on validation though he may not admit to it. so you keep doing that, for both your pleasure, and then you start to feel it: the familiar burn in your lower belly that’s threatening to explode.

And Din feels it, too.

“I’m gonna come,” he warns, sucking in a sharp breath. “Shit, I’m—where?”

“What?”

“Tell me—where to come.”

You peck his lips. “Anywhere you want.”

You don’t have the patience or the time to tell him that you’re safe and clean, and it doesn’t really matter right now. This moment is far too precious and important to not enjoy it to its fullest.

Din pulls out, stroking himself to completion over your folds and lower belly in thick, hot spurts. You follow suit and you rub your clit fast, reaching your own orgasm. You close your eyes, relishing into the blissful sensation. You can still hear Din catching his breath, so again you pull him down to your face to kiss him. Oddly enough, that seems to steady him.

“Was that good?” he asks shyly afterwards, and Gods, you’re just so enamored with him you could cry.

Instead, you chuckle lightly as he falls to your side. “It was wonderful.”

You feel him shifting towards you, his breath over your face. “If you’ll have me… I’m yours.”

Though he can’t see you, you smile so wide you fear you might overstretch your whole face.

“There’s no ‘if’,” you whisper him reassuringly. “I do want you. But I do hope you know this means I’m yours, too.”

Din smiles, nodding in the darkness. He smiles for the first time in a long time. There’s a calm happiness about him, yet a violent one at the same time. A tumultuous happiness which his heart cannot possibly resist. He’s in this euphoric state, having discovered the pleasures of the flesh, as well as those of the heart; he grazes your arm as you retreat at his chest, and in this moment, there is no fear.

tags: @groguspawbeans

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comradekatara · 10 months

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Hi, hope you're well.

How would you rate the gaang + fire ladies' ability to work in customer service?

(there are so many fics of sokka working in retail and mai working in flowershops and I just don't think they're built like that— sokka has no patience for dumb questions and mai would probably rather die)

wait that’s so funny they literally are not built to serve people like that they’d kill themselves. especially mai i cannot imagine her having any kind of working class job and i know she hates flowers thinks they’re disgusting!!! i could see sokka being a tutor (in my modern au that’s how he meets toph. bc she drives everyone else away but then he meets her and he’s like “why ?? she is so cool”) and even working at the jasmine dragon (iroh is a chill boss so that’s why) but he could NOT do retail he’d kill himself before working black friday (in my modern au they’re also in new jersey. bc that’s very funny to me). but anyway!!

aang: i think he’d hate having to answer to someone else like just doing something he was told to do that he does not want to do ever would make his skin crawl. but when it comes to interacting with people even the worst rudest customers he is very friendly. even as a twelve year old he’s extremely patient (except when you are keeping him apart from a loved one, which is understandable!)

katara: i actually think katara working at a local coffee shop or smth is very plausible. she would have a tier ranking of all the regular customers in her head (and maybe even on paper) and she would treat them accordingly, ranging from excessive flirting to passive aggressive eye twitch. she’s good at her job for a communist who also needs to be liked by everyone at all times or she’ll die!

sokka: when he thinks a customer is stupid or annoying he starts talking slower and using smaller words in such an infuriatingly condescending way, but with the plausible deniability of “he was just being helpful” so that he can never actually get in trouble for it. but they both know he was being an asshole!!!!

toph: she needs to tell it like it is every five minutes or she’ll literally die it’s like a source of air for her. but i do think customer service would be good for her. she would enjoy it more than being a c*p that’s for sure! (low blow, sorry.)

zuko: okay well we see him be a tea server and the reviews are mixed. i think the thing about zuko that you have to understand is that if he is in a good mood he is a delight to have around and if he is in a bad mood he is a monster and his vibes ruin every room he’s in. so his proficiency at customer service is also just entirely dependent on how he is feeling at any given moment. i think he’d be happy serving tea once he’s the firelord though because it’s nostalgic and a respite for him. not so much when he’s an angry teen in ba sing se and he wants to be anywhere else.

suki: she’d be good at it because she is good at everything but she would definitely employ sokka’s plausibly deniable tactics of condescension. she has a lot more patience for people than sokka does, but she’d still enjoy messing with people, maybe even just out of boredom.

ty lee: she pretends to be stupid on purpose with customers she doesn’t like and when they try to complain to her manager she’s like “i am the manager” and when they question how she’s still allowed to work despite being so incompetent everyone else vouches for her they’re like “she’s literally our best employee.”

mai: would kill herself before that ever happened.

azula: see above, but also i think it could be good for her.

#yourlocalamoeba #asks #the gaang and #modern au #partially #except for zuko it was just real #also don’t try to bring me mai flower shop from the accursed comics #that’s bullshit and we all know it

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duckprintspress · 20 days

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hey, i'd like to just throw this out to you, since you're a press so i have a feeling you might know. if i was seeking to publish a book but i didn't want it to ever be sold through amazon, what would my options be?

Hiya!

I'm assuming you mean you're interested in self-publishing? If yes, then yeah, I can give you at least some information about your options. :D

If you don't want to use Amazon, you definitely still have some options for self-publishing a book. I can sympathize with this sentiment; we hate Amazon and I've done what I can to keep our works off there (and, ultimately, failed, but still kept it to a minimum).

There's two overarching questions you'll need to consider when deciding how to proceed:

What formats are you selling? Are you doing e-book only or e-book + print or print book only? What about audiobooks? Which will influence your choices.

Are you mostly interested in direct sales (as in, you personally sell the book to the customer) or sales-through-an-intermediary (as in, a bookstore sells your book to a customer) or distribution (as in, you list the book with someone who acts as an intermediary between you and other vendors)?

As briefly as I can, first, here's what Duck Prints Press uses:

Ingram - e-book (and, once we have one - we're working on our first! - audiobook) distribution. Ingram is the biggest book distributor in the US and has a virtual monopoly on distribution. Even places that aren't technically Ingram, such as draft2digital, usually use Ingram. Because they're a near-monopoly, Ingram has a lot of ability to, well, screw people, and one way they've tried to screw people is they keep making it harder to get into their better services, pushing people to their much-less-supported service IngramSpark. I managed to get the Press grand-fathered in to Coresource, which is their e-book and audiobook distribution system, even tho we don't meet the current minimums for number of titles for that product. I CAN'T get into Lightning Source, which is their better-supported print book distribution service, because we don't have enough titles (we'd need 30, we currently have 10ish). If I wanted to use IngramSpark, I'd have to ditch Coresource, and I don't want to do that because Coresource works great and has good customer support, and so I had to settle on a compromise I don't love until we meet the minimums for Lightning Source - I use Coresource through Ingram for e-book distribution (and don't distribute to Amazon), which is...

draft2digital - print book distribution. This was my work around for not losing Coresource in the name of getting Ingram print on demand (pod), and it came with a price: d2d doesn't let me opt out of Amazon, much to my irritation. So the three titles we currently have pod on ARE on Amazon.

our webstore - e-book and print books, directly sold to the public. Our website lets people download e-books; I package print book orders made through the webstore myself and mail them myself.

in-person sales - I started vending at events last year; this year I'll be doing about a dozen.

All of which goes to show, even trying to publish while avoiding the most evil places is really hard and a source of frustration. If anyone knows a good option for ethical publishing distribution, I'm honestly all ears. Competing with Ingram is extremely David vs. Goliath (see also the recent death of Small Press Distribution).

So: remembering that Amazon is easily the worst but that there's still basically no ethical consumption or production under capitalism...

Ingram

Of the places I'm familiar with, the best-known option with the widest reach for self-publishing distribution is IngramSpark. As mentioned, I don't use Spark, but Coresource lets me completely customize which of Ingram's partners (vendors, wholesalers, libraries, etc.) I actually distribute with, and I've assumed that other Ingram products are the same. I believe IngramSpark is currently free per title; they get paid by charging fees per sale and because they get better listing deals with partners than an individual would get (like, Ingram might get charged x per title they list with, idk, Barnes and Noble, whereas you as an individual would get charged y, where y is larger than x, and Ingram pockets the difference).

I know a lot of people who use IngramSpark and my impression is that when it works, it works really well, but when it doesn't, getting help/customer service can be a nightmare. Virtually everyone I know who has used them has stories about late titles, support taking a week+ to reply, that kind of thing. I believe they have an option to pay for better/more rapid responses from customer support, which I feel kinda tells you everything you need to know about IngramSpark.

Draft2Digital

Another option is draft2digital. They use the Ingram distribution network, but again they can do so cheaper than an individual can because of their bulk sales through Ingram. They also offer e-book, audiobook, and print distribution. I use draft2digital for print and I've been quite satisfied with their customer support, but their print distribution doesn't allow opt-out of Amazon. HOWEVER, I believe their e-book distribution does. At minimum, there's a checklist on d2d about "steps you have to take to distribute e-books through d2d" and I'm assuming if you just. didn't do that checklist. then you obviously wouldn't get your books distributed through them. The other big thing I don't like about d2d (which may also be true of IngramSpark, idk) is that they charge after the first revision. Which is to say: you put together your book, you upload your book, you get it all set... and you notice a mistake. Okay, fine. You fix the mistake and re-upload. Re-uploading uses a "change token." You only get one free change token per title per six months. So, you notice another mistake you feel you have to fix a few days after that first? That'll cost $25. I've personally just kinda... tried to find all my mistakes right off and fix them, and anything I spot after that, I keep a log and will update all of them at the six month point. (I understand why they do this, btw - they have actual humans doing set-up on their end, so if you revise eight times in a week, that's a lot for an actual human, and charging for the tokens forces people to be careful, helps ensure people submit books that are actually ready in good faith, and helps keep costs low. That doesn't mean it's not annoying, though.)

Bookvault

Bookvault is a UK-based print-on-demand option (so NO e-book distribution, just print) that has recently started offerings in the US too. They currently have a relatively limited distribution network, but they're growing, and especially for UK-based people they're a strong alternative. I've heard a lot of positive reports about their printing in a FB group I'm in (Kickstarter for Authors - do recommend, lots of great info there), but I'll own my personal experiences weren't great and I've decided not to keep using them for now. However, if what you primarily want is print books as print-on-demand, and some limited distribution choices, they're a good choice, and they can help with option five below.

Do It Yourself Lite

A fourth option that's a LOT of work is...you add it everywhere yourself. Most places will let you. For example, here's how to sell on Barnes and Noble.com. When I self-pubbed a book a few years back, before I ran the Press, I submitted my work by hand to several different options (B&N, Kobo, Amazon because I still used them then, Smashwords, to name a few). However, doing this isn't the same as distribution - it only will sell through that specific vendor - and as far as I know there are no options for doing print-on-demand those ways (I THINK, tho I'm not sure, that Amazon is the only place you can set up both e-book and pod through a single vendor - it's not something I've researched tho, cause with the Press, doing single-title-at-a-time entry across so many different vendors is simply not realistic).

Side note on this: I don't believe there's a way to list self-pub books on Bookshop.org, but don't quote me on that.

This method also doesn't work well if you want to get your title in with libraries. I researched this a bit well over a year ago now, so I don't recall all the details, but before we signed up for Ingram I DID try to see if there was a way for us to publish and get in libraries especially without involving them, but there...wasn't really. Places like Overdrive that handle e-book-to-library distribution don't really have a way for individuals to submit; I have this vague memory I found a way to do it that involved paying per title but tbh I can't even find that now (though while I was looking I did find this decent-looking article about how to get your self-published book out in the world, echoing a lot of what I say here).

Do It Yourself Difficult Mode

Your fifth major option, and what we originally did as a press, is: do it all yourself. You can get your own storefront (ours is through Woocommerce + Wordpress). You can do your own crowdfunding. You can run your own newsletter (I use Mailerlite), do your own advertising, etc. You can do your own printing (we currently use Booklogix and I'm quite happy with them, their customer service is A+++). You can vend at events, you can market to local bookstores, sell through bookstores that do consignment, etc. You can learn to format your own e-books (I use a combination of Affinity software and Calibre, with an assist from Daisy to improve the accessibility of our e-books). You can get access to stock images and vector art to make things look nice (I use vecteezy). There's a LOT you can do entirely on your own. And that's what I did for myself before I ran the Press, and what I did for the Press for the first couple years we operated.

The reason I changed how the Press handles things? I hate to say this but the sad truth of publishing is that not using Amazon is utterly crippling to a publisher. As of 2 years ago, Amazon represented 67% of all book sales in the United States. Not selling through Amazon means accepting you'll simply be completely unable to reach more than half of the people reading works in English all around the world (works not in English may be different, I don't know that market since I publish in English). And for myself, alone - for my works? I could make that choice. But the Press currently works with well over 100 authors, and I ultimately felt I couldn't make the same choice to them. I tried so so hard not to compromise this, but refusing all distribution, when we were also avoiding Amazon, meant completely hamstringing the ability of authors we work with to market and sell their books. It meant, to work with us, people would have to sacrifice so much of their ability to earn money from their words, and it just didn't feel right to continue in that avenue as we grew. So, I was forced to compromise: first to use Ingram, which I did on the condition that I'd be able to reject Amazon specifically, and then by having to use draft2digital, including their goddamn Amazon print-on-demand, at least until I qualify for a better option, which as soon as I can do? You bet your butt I'll be switching and opting out of Amazon again.

The current climate makes these choices really hard, and I didn't make them lightly, nor did I make them alone - there's about 20 people on the DPP staff, and they all contributed opinions and voted on the final decisions I implemented for the Press in these regards.

(and sorry, I know "what DPP does and why" is a bit to the left of your actual question, but I felt like it'd be weird to make a list of recommendations without including the decisions I've personally made and why - like, why would I recommend you something I don't do myself with the books I publish? So sorry for the info dump.)

The TL:DR of all this is, as far as I know, and as I've been forced to accept as part of the realities of running a small press in the modern world of publishing, is that avoiding one Big Evil (Amazon) with any hope of achieving even a modicum of success basically requires partnering with at least one other Big Evil (Ingram especially). It's a very hard game to win.

HOWEVER, you are doing this FOR YOURSELF, NOT for all the people involved in a business larger than just you. If you're willing to put in the extra work to figure out a lot on your own and manage your own marketing, you can theoretically build enough of an audience to go it alone without Amazon OR Ingram OR places like Kobo/B&N/etc. You'll have to outlay more out of pocket - things like webhosting cost money - and you'll have to be a lot more careful - if you're running your own website instead of using someone elses, you gotta go above and beyond making you're in compliance with privacy rules and such - but it can be done.

And if you don't want to go that route, and your only real "to avoid" is Amazon specifically... use IngramSpark.

Sorry I'm long-winded. I hope this helps! Good luck with your publishing goals!

(and if others reading this have some other advice and resources, things I may not know about, please do weigh in! I bet the asker would like to know, and I'm always eager to learn about new options too.)

#duck prints press #about us #self publishing #faq #yeah ya'll know you can send us asks like this right #and i'll spend way too long answering them and talk your ear off #sorry (not sorry?)

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allkordelia · 10 months

Text

Keep Me in Your Thoughts (39)

Meleah left the Red Keep the moment the sunrise peek along the ocean, she stood up half the night with rhaelle trying to get the despondent woman off the floor and to the bed. Rhaelle made sure to avoid eye contact with meleahs as the young priestess tries tuck her in bed, meleah soon follows after under the covers as she held her friend's hand through the night. When she woke up first she saw how rhaelle disgruntle face as she sleep, she was having a nightmare.

Just seeing rhaelle in despair even in her sleep made meleah's heart clench in her chest, so she did something she knew if her friend find out, rhaelle would never speak to her again. After, meleah took care of rhaelle, she grab her cloak and went off through the castle before leaving to Fleabottom. Before, she left the castle she heard maids talking, more like gossiping about the prince and the princess rhaenyra, tales of him bringing her into a brothel in fleabottom and taking her virtue. Meleah didn't have time to think about if he did it or not, she focus on her task on finding daemon and bringing back to the castle.

As meleah roam the streets of fleabottom, she looked through ever person mind hoping to see if any of them saw the rogue prince last. It wasn't until a young girl, mere teen with dark hair and tan skin walk by eyeing meleah, when she saw where daemon was in the girl's head, she made her way to the the two story brothel.

A woman with tan skin and dark long hair watch as Meleah climb the steps of her brothel, making the slender woman come out and meet meleah halfway on the stairs.

"How do you do, m'lady. If you are in need of service, may I suggest using the front door." The thick Lys accent made meleah tilt her head up slightly but not much so her face could still be hidden.

"I am not a customer. I heard you know the whereabouts of the rogue prince," Mysaria hummed took a step forward leaving three steps between the two woman.

"I do, what is it to you." Mysaria ask.

"He is needed back at the castle, immediately." Mysaria look over Meleah's body taking the woman in before speaking.

"I can show where he sleeps, but it will cost you...greatly." The curve of meleah's lip lift a bit before she reach both hands up to take down her hood, she flick her eyes up to look into mysaria's dark orbs.

"I have no money...nor time to waste," Mysaria watch as the woman take a step up and an unsettling feeling nestled in her stomach as Meleah look at her, "...so I ask again where is he." A flicker of red pass through Meleah's iris making Mysaria gulp back in shock and fear.

"You are a witch." She trembled out, meleah smirk as she took a step close no coming face to face Mysaria.

"No, child. I am not..." Meleah move her hand causing Mysaria to flinch back as the priestess move her hand to dust off nonexistent dirt from mysaria's shoulder, "...I am something way worst and ancient," Meleah pulled her hand away.

"I am also someone without patience, so..." Meleah step aside with a wick smile, "...lead the way."

—

Daemon laid on a cot on the floor, his face was covered in dirt and he reek off wine. Meleah look at him from the doorway with wrinkled nose, she cross the threshold and look around the room in distaste.

"Daemon." She called to him as she walk to lean over him, "...daemon, wake up." She called again, but the man only grumble and turn his face away from the light coming from the window.

Meleah heave a sigh, before she stood up and straight, "Daemon!" She bawl out using her toe to jab him in the rib making him groan and clench his side, daemon eyes slitted out as move to sit up, he sneer at the figure in front of him before grumbling.

"What the hell do you want." He hiss, he leaned his back against the wall, he say a small goblet and took it looking inside before pulling down his throat.

Meleah watch him with squinted eyes, she turn her head towards the door where mysaria stood watch the two.

"Leave us." Meleah says as she walk to the door and shut it in mysaria's face.

"That was rude." Daemon yawn as he used his fingers to get the sleepiness from his eyes.

"Where were you last night," she asked coming back to stand against the wall across from him.

"None of your business." He said bitter, he move to stand up but fall back on his ass still drunk.

Meleah stare down at him, she needed to know where he was and what happened, she didn't want to trust the gossip that was spreading through the maids.

Daemon glance at meleah annoyed at her staring, he look her dead in the eye watching as her eyes twinkle before she closed her eyes.

Meleah clench her hand over her eyes as a tense headache course through her, she saw everything in his head, she saw him sneak out of his room through a secret door hidden behind a suit of armor. She saw him walk through the walls before he came to a stop in front of a wall, he pushed it opened and...Meleah snap her eyes opened and slowly drop her hand from her face. She had to lean against the wall for support at the tense look through the prince's head took a lot out of her, daemon blink at her confuse for a moment before he realize what just happened.

"...daemon," the rogue prince look away from her as she look back at him.

"Don't." He mutter.

"We need to go back to the castle," she said, he scoff folding his arms.

"I'm not going back there." He said.

"You have to...rhaelle needs you." His face twisted in a sour look.

"I'm sure viseys can take care of her–" a bowl was kick towards him making him snap his eyes to meleah.

"You don't know what you speak of," he roll his eyes.

"I saw what I saw. She kissed him and he kissed her back, thats all I need to know." She look at him closely flickering her eyes up and down him.

"She doesn't remember." She said, daemon pinch his brows together.

"What do you mean, was she drunk?" He ask making meleah shake her head no.

"I did something..." she said lowly as she train her eyes on her hands that was holding her skirt, "...I..uh...made her forget."

"I'm sorry, what?" He lean off the wall as sat forward, "what in the seven hells are you taking about you made her forget..."

Meleah was quiet.

"Meleah!" He hiss getting up, he held the wall as he stumble at bit, "What did you do." He said, meleah look up at him with a look of gulit.

"She was crying when I found her, she wouldn't tell me what happened, she avoided looking me in the eye when I put her to bed. So, I..." she stop casting her eyes away from him again as she put her finger to touch her lips, "...I went...through her mind and manipulated her memory so she wouldn't–"

"You had no right." he hiss at her, she glare back at him, she knew what she did was wrong, she promise rhaelle long ago she wouldn't do something like that go as far into her mind without her consent, but her queen was in pain and she needed to know what happened before she did something.

"I needed to be sure of what happened before I took action," Daemon look at her angry and puzzled

"Action? She kissed him." She look at him with a glint in her eyes.

"He made her kiss him, and thank R'hllor that it stop there, because if it didn't I would have..." she stop herself as she clench her hand around her wrist as they rest against her stomach, daemon look at her with a look.

"What would have done," he challenged, she gave him a look that would made ageon the conquer tremble in his armor.

"You really don't want me to answer that, rogue prince." She said with a threaten tone, daemon look at her unsure, sensing the air change in the room.

"What all do she remember." He ask, changing the subject, meleah stared at him for a second.

"Everything. From agreeing to each other terms to him sprouting crap of loving her and knowing her better than you..." She look to daemon for a reaction but he stare at the wall behind her with a blank look, "...rather than remembering the kiss, she remembers kicking him out and thats it." Daemon hum as he look around for his boots, before putting them on.

"You should go and help her pack," he said as wiggling his boot on his right foot.

"What about you?" Meleah ask, he look at her before looking away and stumbling to the door.

"I will follow once I pack my things, just get her out of the castle." He says opening the door and stopping for moment as he feels himself about to puke, but he swallow it down and groan at the throbbing in his temple, meleah stood right behind him watching him.

"You know you will have to tell her about what happened in fleabottom," she said, daemon snap his eyes open and look at meleah.

"She doesn't have to know about that." He said quiet.

"I disagree, I think you should–"

"I don't care what you think." He snap at her making her give him a dark look, "I made a poor decision last night, because what I saw. I will have to live with that, just like you will have to live with messy with her head." He seethe making meleah's cheek twitch.

"So, we will keep this to ourseleves and never mention it again, you will make sure she is out of the castle and away from the court. Understand?" He said, meleah wasn't looking at him as she nod, he mutter, "...good, now let's get the hell out of here."

—

Daemon departed from Meleah moments ago, as she took another way into the castle while daemon went through the front gate. As he stomp on the muddy ground, two kingsguard approaches him taking him by the arms. He look at them with a sneer as he struggle against them.

"Take your fucking hands off me," he spat as they drag him towards the opened doors of the castle.

Daemon still drunk and tired as they thew him to the ground of the throne room making him groan, his head bounce off the hard floor making the throbbing in his temple beat harder. He laid on his stomach sluggish as he couldn't move, everything around him was spinning and he shut his eyes to stop it. A minute past and the doors were open then closed, he didn't turn or look up as he heard footsteps walk towards him, as the footsteps stop, daemon felt a presence hovering over him.

"My daughter..." Viserys spoke with calmness but there was venom as he talk, daemon cough and groan as he shift in his spot, "...won't you even deny it?" He looks down at his brother with a glare.

"I need to understand the charge before I can attempt to discredit it–" Daemon let out painful groan as his brother kicked him in the side.

"You defiled her." Viserys kick his brother again in the stomach making daemon turn on his back with another painful groan, "...in a brothel no less for everyone to see."

Daemon crack his eyes open and look up at his brother, the anger that roll off the king made daemon smile.

"You think this is funny?" Viserys seethe, daemon chuckle in respose,"...you fucking..." viserys got on his knees and grabbed daemon by his collar.

"You have ruin, my daughter. And all you can do is laugh in MY FACE." The king's voice bounce off the walls of the throne room as daemon just stare at him.

"Do you feel that..." he says moving his finger to tap on viserys's chest where he heart lies, "...that anger, that betrayal, that hurt, brother. Is exactly I feel right now." Daemon scorns his viserys as he balled his brother's rob3 in his fist.

"What nonsense do you–" viserys hiss.

"I speak about the night you kiss my betrothal," viserys stare down at his brother taken back, he clench his jaw before huffing through his nose.

"I would never–"

"Don't lie to me, brother. I know. I know everything, how could you do this to me," viserys glare at his younger brother.

"I can say the same for you, rhaenyra is your neice." Daemon roll his eyes.

"I wanted you to feel what I felt," he snap,"you had me sent to my chamber so you could fool around with my belove, who does that."

"You did–"

"I wouldn't had to if you didn't kiss her," Daemon yelled, viserys look away from his brother, "...you can't even look ashame, can you." Viserys close his eyes as he sigh before opening them again and getting off daemon, he held out his hand for his brother to get up.

Daemon stare at it before grabbing his brother's hand, viserys pull him up before he could react daemon punch his viserys in the stomach making the older man bend over and wheeze as the air was knock right of him. Daemon held his side still in pain as he watch his brother bend, viserys groan before he tackle daemon to the ground, both man wrestle on the ground as they spit nasty words at each other as they roll around on the floor where once great kings stood.

After a well, they stop their scuffle and laid there on the floor breathing hard, both in their own heads thinking about everything that occur just hours prior to this fight.

"I am sorry, brother..." viserys spoke making daemon just stare at the ceiling, "...but, I can not help how I feel for her." Daemon made a growl of disgust before sitting up, viserys follow suit as they got off the ground.

Daemon wipe the dirt off his clothes and hands before he look at his brother, who was already staring at him.

"Please, know that I am sorry for hurting you, brother. I let my lust guide me." Daemon shook his head at his older brother, he couldn't focus on anything as his minds can only think about what thoros said so long ago.

"I have so much to say to you, but the longer I stand in your presence makes me forget that we are blood brothers." Daemon said calmly, "so, I wish for you to hear me loud and clear because if anything like this happens again, I will have no choice but to kill you." He flicks his eyes at his brother, viserys look at his brother dumbfounded.

"Daemon–" Viserys started sadly, but daemon put up his hand stopping him.

"I was so excited for once in my life to invite you to my wedding, I hoped that mine union with rhaelle could finally make us a family again." Viserys stares devastated at daemon's words, "Now, I know that could never happen, so you are not invited to my wedding or rhaenyra or the queen or anyone in this court."

"Daemon, please–"

"I'm not finish!" Daemon exclaim making his brother purse his lips, "You will give rhaelle what she truely deserve, you will make it known to the world that she is queen of magonsæte and that anyone who dares tries to usurp her will pay with blood and fire." He glares at his brother.

"Until, you can learn to "control your lust" for my wife you are no longer my brother, just like rhaenyra is not my neice but a whore I broke in and ruined." Viserys clench his jaw at his brother, "So, for the time being you are not going to see baelor anymore,"

"He is my son–"

"I don't care, he doesn't need to be around a man like you for a while, but don't worry, viserys." Daemon gave a cruel smile, "I will take care of him like he was my own son," A look of resentment cross viserys's face as he watch his brother turn on his heels and leave.

A bond so strong that not even the gods could break it was broken, all because the king didn't like seeing his brother have something he wanted the most.

@beggarsnotchoosey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @avidreader73 @green-lxght @spderm4nnnn @supermassiveblackhope @watercolorskyy @stargaryenx

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x black!reader #blackoc #black reader #black oc #x black reader #black!reader #hotd imagine #hotd oc #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon x reader

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thedeluluverse · 1 year

Text

This is my first foray into the world of drabbles but please gimme allll the feedback! 😊 I just couldn’t get this damn chair idea out of my head so hope y’all enjoy, let me know XD

Summary: You normally aren’t the type to go home with a handsome stranger from the club but today is different. Stressed with life and a long day at work, you let loose for once! But what will the morning after bring?

Pairing: idol!Taehyung x cashier!f!reader.

Rating: PG13 ig lmao

Genre: idol!au, strangers to lovers!au, fluff,

Word Count: 1,787

Warnings: swearing, 2nd hand embarrassment, making out, some hair pulling, mentions of smutty night before, customer service job (yes that’s a warning lmao), sleepy pure bean Tae

You have been living on your own for about a year, and so far, so good until you started your new retail cashier job at a little-bit-of-everything store. It isn't the worst job ever, but it tends to attract all kinds of people in varying shades of odd, so it can be quite mentally draining in addition to all the Karens you encounter. Feeling more tired than usual, you don't even notice the tall, handsome customer walk in and head straight to the back clearance corner where the weird things you might find at a garage sale live.

Until the rest of your coworkers leave for the day, and you are alone because your dumbass manager doesn't know how to make a schedule. So, he has no other option to check out besides you. The sound of approaching shopping cart wheels alerts you to look professional. Still, you almost lose your balance once your eyes focus on this customer. Though his appearance is barely seen with a baggy hoody, baseball cap, and a mask, you can tell this is one handsome dude. The flustered sensation fades slightly once you see him place the only item in his buggy up on the counter to be scanned; a chair with more cake than most people that you threw in the back months ago. Gulping hard at the familiar object, you ask,

Y/N: *turning the chair around to find the tag to scan* “Wi..will this be all for you today, sir?"

CM: *raises an eyebrow with an amused look and chuckles* "Yeah, that's it, but you don't need to be so formal; it looks like I'm not much older than you."

Y/N: *you blush b/c omg he looked at me lmao* "Oh…okay… I didn't mean to offend you; just part of my job. *Bags up the item and places it back in the cart* "Have a nice day…well, what's your name Mr. not old."

CM: *has a fake annoyed look on his face* "Someone is quick-witted, I see… well, sadly for you, I'm not keen on revealing such personal things. Not like this, at least. See you around, Sassy." *Leaves store*

You sit back down on the bench with a hand on your heart beating out of your chest from the mere presence of that man, much less you had playful banter?? And did he just give you a nickname?? Taking a deep breath, you are energized by this interaction and start cleaning up the store so you can leave on time to meet your friends at a new club tonight. One other person comes in before closing, so you can leave work at 8 o'clock on the dot for once! Much as you try not to, you just can't help replaying that mysterious stranger in your head the whole drive home. Once you get home, you blast your upbeat boss bitch vibes playlist as you freshen up and get ready to head to the club.

Entering the club, you spot your friends, and instantly, the stresses of life fade away in the aesthetic lights and boppy music blaring through the stereo. It doesn't hurt that you feel fine as hell, either! After about 2 hours of songs and 2 shots, you sit down at the bar for a breather and some water as you were too busy for dinner, so a couple of shots don't necessarily agree with your stomach despite your attitude feeling fantastic. You close your eyes for a moment as you enjoy the crisp water going down your throat, feeling the cooling sensation all the way down. The relaxation doesn’t last long until you feel a presence beside you. This isn't odd since you are in a public space, but it has the energy of someone waiting to talk to you. Turning to your left and swiftly standing up to show you were stable to whoever was near you didn't work out according to plan. Your legs buckle as soon as you are upright, and you can feel your balance slipping from getting up too quickly as you aren't buzzed enough to be unstable. Thankfully, a solid but gentle pair of arms catch you before you hit the ground and slowly turn you to face him to ensure you are okay. Before any words are said, you recognize him as the customer from earlier today. Your eyes widen suddenly, and you are very nervous about how good you look because most men you've met in clubs have been scum. You start to dart away, but his honey-like voice pulls you back.

CM: "Hey, hey, it's okay; you're safe, alright? I was worried when you came to sit down, so I was on standby to protect you.

Y/N: *is confused* “But wh..why? You don't even know me; why do you care?" *slight pause* "Oohhh, right, you're a guy. I bet you are just trying to play the hero card to get in my pants."

CM: *frowns* “I am a guy, but everything else is wrong. Do you not recognize me from earlier? You are the same cashier, right? Sheesh, that'd be embarrassing if you weren't…."

Y/N: *astounded he recognized you* "Woah… I did, but I didn't think you'd remember me!"

CM: *chuckles and shyly rubs his neck* “I mean.. how could I not? Hard-working, funny, and beautiful, it'd be a crime to not commit you to memory."

Y/N: *bibi di nobody bo you’re a tomato* “I..well.I’m flattered.” *looks down, biting your lip, then head snaps back up with hands on your hips* "Wait… so can I know your name now?? You already know mine because of my stupid uniform name tag, so it's unfair."

CM: *tilts head in, 'You have a point'* "Fair enough, the name is Tae. Nice to formally meet you, y/n."

Y/N: *butterflies a flurry in your stomach, hearing him say your name* "Trust me…the pleasure is all mine. So I have to ask, do you really think I'm beautiful? Like, I know I look hot right now but earlier, different story. "

TAE: "I mean what I say and vice versa, gorgeous. I normally don't do this, but I've been going a little crazy since the store. Sooo, would you be okay if I.. again, it's fine if not, I just wanted to ask because..”

Before he can finish the sentence, your arms are thrown around his neck, engaging in a passionate kiss. You don't break away to breathe until about 10 minutes of your hands roaming all around each other’s bodies and through your hair without a care. Communicating wordlessly, you bolt out of there hand in hand to his car, where the makeout continues for another 5 minutes before you agree to take it to his place. You usually are never the type to have a one-night stand, but something just feels so right with this guy. You feel safe enough to let go of your worries and let something other than your vibrator give you release for once.

*TIME SKIP TO NEXT MORNING*

Waking up in a new place in a baggy Celine t-shirt, the events of last night slowly replay in your head as you goofily grin, feeling elated for the first time in a while. Looking over, you notice Tae is not in bed still. It shouldn't worry you, it's a hookup, after all, but you can tell he's not that type of guy. Curiosity getting the better of you, you wander out of the room, greeted by the cutest little fluffball of a Pomeranian. Squatting and letting it sniff you, it instantly jumps into your arms; walking into the living room, you meet Tae's shocked eyes.

TAE: "He let you pick him up? It normally takes several meetings for him to be comfortable with someone."

Y/N: *shrugs as you release the upper, excitedly panting for his dad* "I've always been good with animals, honestly. What's his name?"

TAE: *picks up the dog and kisses head* "Names Yeontan but I call him Tan for short."

You melt at all the cute you have witnessed in the last few minutes, then you stare off into space, looking shocked about something.

TAE: * waves hand in front of your face* “Hey, y/n, you okay?”

Y/N: *doesn’t blink* “You…you’re…The.. as in motherfucking Kim Taehyung Tae????? I thought you looked familiar, but I wasn't sure about you looking undercover as fuck in the store and then the low lighting at the club. Holy shit… tired brain went away and immediately put the puzzle together, and I… I need to sit..”

He guides you to the couch and rubs your back, making sure you are alright but also thinking your reaction was adorable and is honestly surprised his disguise was that good. Once he feels your breathing stabilize, he kisses your temple and pats your leg as he gets up to make the two of you breakfast. As he turns around to face the stove, he notices you look like you've seen a ghost.

Y/N: “Tha..that wasn’t a gift? You actually wanted that for your own house.. oh my god, what is life...”

TAE: *follows your gaze to the ass chair he bought yesterday and looks confused* "I mean, yeah, why wouldn't I? It's unique, and I liked it so voila! What's so odd about that? Plus, it's Jimin's designated seat when he comes over because, I mean…booty and harder for him to fall out of that one, haha."

Y/N: *shakes head, trying to process* "No, I get it just..ugh, I swore nobody would know this, but here we are… that used to be mine. So the fact that our tastes are this similarly odd and you own something that my ass used to be on is just a little overwhelming since you may or not be my ult bias since I was like 15… “ *blushes and twiddles fingers nervously*

TAE: "Everything you just said made me that much giddier, and I wasn't sure that was possible… I don't mean to weird you out, but I'd like to see you again. Outside of work or the club, maybe go get boba tea and a snack this weekend if you're free?"

Shocked that this is how your life is playing out but not questioning it too long, you agree. That date leads to another and another until 6 months later, you are officially dating and the happiest you've ever been. You do a lot for and with that man, but no way in hell are you ever using that chair again or getting over the fact that he actually bought your ass chair from you and proudly displays it. He's lucky he's adorable, but even still, you wouldn't want him any other way.

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hollythehills · 1 year

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Chapter One: Running On Carbs

First Fanfic guysss <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was quiet. As usual.

You mean. You would hope so, right? It is a library after all. But there weren't many people there and although you enjoyed sharing your love of literature with other people you had to admit you liked it like this. There were no children running amuck, parents leaving them here in hopes that some poor librarian will feel bad enough to watch over them, or maybe even hoping that the child will sit down and read a book. There were a couple of teenagers out and about but they were always quiet, too afraid of drawing any attention to themselves. You tried your best to make sure they especially felt at home here, because this was your safe space when you were their age. Probably why you work here now.

But you're not complaining. After all, you were getting paid to read a majority of your day now that you mostly work front desk. Sure you have to deal with the occasional missing book or library card, or angry parent (always for the worst reasons, one time a lady came in demanding why you kept a copy of Catcher in the Rye, as if you specifically had any say in what the library did and did not carry), but all in all it was a nice gig. At that moment you were reading some fantasy trilogy that was just another euphemism for racism without actually including racism, a hierarchy within a hierarchy. But the writing style was easy to follow and refreshing so are you really to blame for becoming so immersed in your novel?

Unfortunately yes. The cough in front of you seems incredibly adamant on getting your attention. You look up from your book ready to help and are met with the gaze of...

Well actually it took you a second to realize you were actually meeting the gaze of anything. Instead of eyes you were met with eyesockets which would be surprising if not for the skeleton they were attached to.

Your eyes widened trying to take in the sight. The skeleton was incredibly tall and wore a beanie. He had on a sweater and some type of gardening pants. He kind of loomed over you in a way, he didn't seem to be trying to intimidate you, but he was absolutely having the affect.

You rose your chin and put on your best customer-service smile, "Hello, sir. How may I help you?", your voice carried to the skeleton clearly, without a hint of a waver.

Wordlessly, the skeleton placed a book on the counter and nodded to it. You caught the cover and it seemed to be a cookbook. You cocked your head, waiting for some kind of clarification. You hadn't ever seen this skeleton here but you assumed he had been here before with how confidently he walked to the counter. Perhaps he was mute, you thought.

You asked carefully, "Do you have a library card, sir?"

There was a pause before he cocked his head. Almost like a puppy. You were about to ask again before he finally spoke, "no."

There was another pause where you waited a moment for him to say more, but he didn't. He had an incredibly deep voice that reverberated through the small corner counter that you sat at and although it puzzled you that someone who probably didn't have vocal cords was talking you nodded and pulled out the forms from the shelf next to you.

"I can get a card set up for you. I'll just need your name and email."

The skeleton stared again, looking down at you from his spot in front of the counter. He seemed confused again so you explained, "The name is for our system, just so we have a clue about what person has what book." You looked up from the form, "If you want I can use a nickname, it doesn't really have to be your 'legal name'," you used air quotes, "and I promise I'm not a snitch." Your lips curled into a natural smile and the skeleton seemed to relax a bit, though he still seemed on edge. His hands were in the pockets of his rough pants, which made him seem even bigger than he was, almost puffed up in a way. Finally after a moment he said quietly, "don't have an email."

Oh.

"Oh." You said, very intelligently, "That's no problem, if you'd like I can put a phone number in the system too. Or we can set up an email now if I could help with that."

He nodded gruffly, muttering a thanks while you waved him into a room behind the counter. The room was open to the rest of the library, but it was a little more private and you figured the skeleton would like that better than the open counter. He followed and watched as you got up from your chair. He eyelights followed you to the doorway and he trailed behind you, careful to keep a bit of a distance.

"Alright," you sat down with a huff and a flinch at the dull sting in your lower back, it was sore from your mattress (which was beginning to show springs on the outside instead of the inside), you needed to get it replaced but you didn't have the funds for that right now. He seemed to notice with how he eyed you warily, and you quickly tried to wave his concern away, "Oh don't worry about me. Bad back."

He nodded, seeming to understand. It surprised you that he didn't ask any questions, though it shouldn't have considering he's said less than ten words the entire conversation. Maybe it was only because you were so used to the looks and the questions. It was probably a human thing, the nosiness. Heh. Nose. Skeleton.

"Alright," you repeated, shaking that line of thought away. "Do you have a phone with you?"

He raised his brow bone but nodded, "yeah."

"Cool, so open an internet browser and go to..."

The whole ordeal took about fifteen minutes, only because the skeleton, who you knew was named Oak now, didn't seem to completely grasp the whole technology thing. But you get it, technology on the surface is pretty different than the underground so you didn't make a big deal about it.

You led him to the desk to finally check out the books and after you do he stops for a moment.

"hey, uh. I just." He looks at the books and nods, "thanks. for all the help." He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn't and you smile.

"'Course, hon. Glad to help."

That was the first time you saw him.

But it was not the first time he saw you.

He had been watching from afar. At first it wasn't on purpose. He saw you on the other end of the bread isle at the grocers that he frequented. That became his favorite grocers, because it seemed to be yours. He didn't know what it was about you. At first. He just assumed that he liked you physically. The way your arms looked like they knew how to kneed bread (something he had been doing a lot of lately, since he finally had the time), the way your nose was just a little too big to support those glasses you always wore so that they sat on the very edge. Your legs were big, strong. But they still had a jiggle to them. He knew you really liked bread, he saw you in a bakery once and he thinks he actually saw your eyes sparkle staring at all of the baked goods. He tried it the same day, a couple hours after you left. It wasn't creepy, he said to himself. It was just curiosity. The sour dough there was fine. He knew he could do better.

He found himself constantly thinking about you. Not in an obsessive way, it was very casual. When he was baking he wondered if you would enjoy the cupcakes or the macaroons or the banana bread he was making. During game night he thought about whether you were competitive or not. He hoped you were. Because he wasn't and playing was only fun if someone playing the game was actually trying to win.

When he was out with his brother he spotted you in a cafe. You were in a booth that would've perfectly fit him and his brother too. He convinced Poplar to come into the cafe with him, even though it was a little too crowded for his taste. There weren't a lot of people, but humans tended to stare at him and his brother, maybe because they looked a little menacing, o maybe just because they were monsters he could never really tell. He knew he and his brother were definitely tall, compared to humans. So that could be the reason. But to believe that it were the only reason is naive, he told himself. And he was anything but that.

He ordered a red eye, he didn't know what that was but...c'mon. It's pretty funny. The kid taking his order smiled when he said it, he was glad someone appreciated the joke because his brother surely didn't.

"Sans Please, We Are In Public." His brother huffed but there was a hint of a grin on his skull that Oak saw clearly. He chuckled gruffly and went to sit at a table that had a good view of you. You were cuddled into your booth, a book in one hand with your fingers wrapped around a mug in the other. The drink seemed to be very light in color and the empty sugar packets on the table told him that you liked your coffee sweet. He laughed a bit in his head, how funny is it that he baked all of these sweet things and doesn't like sweets. And here you are. A solution to that problem. It was funny, but just a thought, he told himself. You were just a little crush. He had heard people call it a 'hallway crush', when you see someone around you think is really attractive. And then you keep seeing them around, and now you know all of this stuff about them and you can't really do anything with it but you really want to get to know them better but you cant really work up the courage to just go up to them and say hi so. Yeah. A predicament.

Poplar nudged him. He sat across him in the booth, but because the booth is against the opposite wall from where you were sitting they both have full sight of you. Which means Poplar definitely saw his staring at you.

"She's Cute." He grinned at Oak, his eye-lights twinkling behind his thick glasses. Now that he was looking, Oak saw that his brothers glasses were really similar to yours, though yours were thinner than Poplar's. Oak's face dusted in a light blush, the color a rusty red. He nodded and hoped his brother would come off the topic.

He did not. "We Should Go Talk To Her."

Oak's face snapped up to meet his brother's face. That... didn't seem like a good idea. He knew that you were pretty nice for a human, but he had never seen you interact with a monster before and he did not want to run the risk of you somehow being a monster hater. What if you were a complete bigot? He had no way of knowing. All he knew was that you liked coffee and bread. He was sure bigots also like coffee and bread. Who didn't like coffee and bread? He eyed the book you were reading. Tales from the Cafe. Okay that wasn't a book that bigots usually read, but it wasn't unheard of. "uh. i don't know about that, bro."

Poplar did not look shocked. And that is because he wasn't. Oak was a homebody, it was very rare that he ever found interest in another person that did not live in their house. He did not have friends, and although he claimed that it didn't bother him, Poplar had the suspicion that he was a little lonelier than he led on. "Why Not? I'm Sure She'd Love Someone To Talk To Right Now." That was a lie. Poplar was almost certain that if someone had interrupted him while he was reading at a coffee shop alone, sitting a booth in a coffee shop alone, and sipping coffee alone and someone interrupted him he would be many things among perplexed. And he knew that his brother knew that. But he couldn't squander this moment of interest that he saw in him What if his brother had found a datemate? And Poplar did have to admit, you were quite attractive. He wouldn't mind seeing you around the house everyday.

Oak shook his head a little. "naw, you've got the wrong idea." His brother squinted his eyes at him. He looked away, "I mean. not completely wrong. i just recognized her from that bakery we started going to."

Poplar looked even more delighted, which Oak thought wasn't possible. He practically vibrated in his seat when he said, "Perfect! You Two Have Something In Common."

"i don't think bread is something really significant to bond over, paps."

Poplar lifted his brow bone, "Now We Both Know That Is Completely Untrue. You And Red Ended An Argument With A Focaccia."

"that was different."

Poplar looked smug, but didn't push it any further. His brother was a procrastinator, but he knew that if he really cared about something he would do it. Poplar cringed inwardly at the choice of words in his inner monologue, but he knew what he meant.

The coffee and treats arrived (coffee for Oak, treats for Poplar) and it turns out that a 'Red Eye' is just a black coffee with two shots of espresso. It was very good, Oak finished it all and hoped he wouldn't be too jittery later. His caffeine tolerance was pretty high but his anxiety was higher. He watched his brother eat the chocolate chip biscuits they bought. They looked pretty good, enough fluff and the layers looked decent. Poplar ripped off a small piece and handed it to Oak. He ate it, chewing thoughtfully. It was definitely shipped frozen, but otherwise it was fine. He nodded and Poplar smiled. Oak glanced at you. Still wrapped up in your book, but one of the baristas must have brought you some food while he was talking to Poplar because he saw a plate of three biscuits at you table. Chocolate chip.

They left before you did. You didn't see them, but they saw you.

And then Oak saw you at the library. He was only trying to find some books for his brother. It was his week to cook dinner and he wanted something different. Oak didn't see you until he was done looking through the library. You were just there. He wasn't even looking for you. But there you were, and he guessed now he knew one more thing about you. Where you worked.

You asked him for a library card. He definitely had his brother's card in his pocket. He wasn't a serious reader. But he guessed it was never too late to start.

You helped him get everything he needed, an email (which he definitely had, but now he had one especially for your place of work. you know. just in case), and he has his own library card now. He found out a couple of things that day.

One: You are definitely not a monster hater.

Two: He already kind of knew this from the cafe experience, but when you're reading you have no sense of your surroundings.

and

Three: He really liked you. And he didn't think it was just a little crush anymore.

#undertale #fanfic #fan fiction #reader insert #x Reader #sans x Reader #horrortale #ht!sans #ht!papyrus #reverse harem #undertail

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