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margowritesthings · 2 years ago

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Vedova Nera

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x f!reader

summary: You've been Angelo Bronte's live-in assassin for years now, going undercover to kill those who have wronged him. Your next job seems rather simple: eliminate the outlaw Dutch van der Linde. What could go wrong?

word count: 5710 words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, mentions of sex as part of a job, breath play, reader is an assassin, rough sex, choking, attempted murder, angelo bronte being a creep, sexual themes, cunnilingus (r receiving and giving)

a/n: this was a request from my beloved @cowboydisaster and god was it a wonderful prompt. I LOVED writing this, so thank you for the inspiration darling. So so glad to be publishing after such a long break, and I want to thank any and all of you who have stuck around to wait for me <3 love y'all, here's some filthy Daddy Dutch smut!

beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire @punctillous @dutchysoriginalwife

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When the sunlight streams through the gap between the red velvet curtains, peacefully stirring you awake, it feels like any other day. The silk sheets seduce you to stay, the feather pillow beneath your head luring you into five more minutes of dreaming, despite the noises of the hustle and bustle of Saint Denis penetrating the peace through a crack in your bedroom window. You really could stay here all day, cocooned in luxury while the staff serve your every whim.

But you can’t. The second your lashes flutter open and your eyes land on the dress hanging from your wardrobe, you’re reminded exactly why. While the fact that somebody must’ve delivered it to your room while you slept churns your stomach for a moment, you can’t deny that it’s an exquisite piece. The silk falls from the hook like a crimson waterfall and you know it will hug your body just perfectly by the way it hangs. You’ll look perfect tonight at the party, even if you will be draped on his arm.

Urgh. The frown on your face is quickly pushed away at the sound of your door knocking. Nice of them to knock this time, though you’re sure it’s only because they know you’re awake and would knock whoever is brave enough to sneak into your room on their ass in seconds.

“Miss? Mr. Bronte would like to see you.” The voice is somewhat muffled by the heavy wooden door, but your orders are clear as day, no matter how politely they’re worded. You’re to be downstairs in no more than five minutes. You huff, the only response you’re willing to give to the poor, innocent henchman at the other side of the door. Well, not exactly innocent, but who are you to talk?

It doesn’t take long for you to brush your hair out of its braid with your fingers, the curls freely cascading down your back, get dressed, and find yourself knocking on the open, ornate door leading to the parlour. Bronte is waiting for you, arms stretched out around the back of the couch, taking up far more room than he deserves to. When he lays his eyes on you, he stands, reaching his arms out, palms upturned as he grins at you.

“Ah, il mio poccola ragna, how are you?”

It feels like you’re being doused in lukewarm grease, but you allow him to hold your hands in his, pulling you just close enough to kiss you on the cheek, “I’m fine. Thank you for the dress, it’s beautiful.”

“And you will look stunning in it tonight, cara mia. Nothing but the best for la mia vedova nera.”

You raise a brow, knowing that Angelo only calls you his black widow when he has a job for you. Of course he does. Nothing comes free in this world, and you have a deal. Bronte gives you a roof over your head, that plush bed you’ve grown awfully fond of, and all the luxuries a man of his stature could offer. In return, you work exclusively for him, as opposed to the freelance assassinations you used to offer to anyone with a fat enough wallet. In its simplest terms, that is your agreement with Angelo Bronte, but that doesn’t stop his wandering eyes, sickly terms of endearment and clammy hands wherever he can get them.

“It is with only the deepest regret that I shall not have you on my arm tonight, but alas, I have a job for you that requires a certain distance between the two of us, amore.”

It takes a level of restraint to not physically sigh in relief when you learn you won’t be spending the evening performing as Bronte’s woman, but your intrigue grows ever stronger when your curious gaze falls to the wanted poster laying on the table next to you. A sketch of a man steals your attention, and his intense stare threatens to never give it back despite being mere charcoal. Instinct tells you to reach out and run a finger lightly over the crumpled paper, tracing the man’s strong jawline, though you’re not quite sure why. You’ve never seen him before, nor have you heard his name: Dutch van der Linde. The poster isn’t from around here, it’s from Blackwater. You can tell, because you’ve seen your own face staring back at you on one just like it before finding yourself under Bronte’s protection.

“This the guy?” You ask quietly, still entranced by this stranger etched into coffee coloured paper. Bronte doesn’t seem to notice, already leaning back into the loveseat.

“Sí, bella. He is new to town, he does not know of my vedova nera, and we must keep it that way. He dishonours me, dishonours my city. He will be at the mayor’s party tonight, but he will not see tomorrow, will he, cara mia?”

It isn’t a question, but you nod anyway.

Dutch van der Linde will not live to see another day.

═══════☆═══════

Some consider this, the pomp and performance of high society, a gilded cage, forcing man into superficial roles to play and stripping him of any true freedoms, but you’ve learnt to see the beauty in taking advantage of it. You’re more than happy to put on a pretty dress and play pretend, laughing along to terrible anecdotes with a drink in your hand and a smile perfectly crafted on your reddened lips. After having truly nothing, living at the very bottom of the food chain, putting up with this farce is a small price to pay for a little security. Besides, drinking champagne while rich men call you beautiful is hardly a sacrifice. Most of them are old and rather greasy, but you’re more than capable of holding your own. They’re just microscopic cogs in a grand plan they’ll never even know about, orchestrated by someone they overlooked because of the way they look. Your greatest asset, you’re sure.

You reach for the champagne flute at the very top of the sparking pyramid, the bubbles dancing on your tongue from the first sip. When you make your way upstairs to the balcony, every tiny bubble rising to the top of your glass reflects the illuminated string lights wrapped around the iron gazebo and every pole in the perfectly tended garden, casting the who’s who of Saint Denis in a warm glow. From your spot on the balcony, you observe all, searching for your Dutch van der Linde. You can see your host, mayor Henri Lemieux, engaging in what could only be considered ‘schmoozing’ with a group of men in top hats by the fountain, and although you can’t see every face, you somehow know that none of them are the one you’re looking for. Those piercing eyes are sure to come with a presence to match, and you can’t feel it yet.

That is, until the french doors into the house are opened and the hairs on your arm stand up straight. You blame the cool breeze that is pushed into you by the swing of the door, though that doesn’t account for the quickening pace of your heart. You rarely get nervous for a job, why would you? It’s all you’ve ever known.

So why this one?

The thought falls down your spine with a shudder, and you try to shed your doubts quickly with a rather large sip of champagne that seems to numb the sharp edges to smooth curves just slightly. Your hand rests gently on the balcony, maintaining a facade that you’re looking out into the crowds below instead of listening in on the conversation between the group of men just feet away from you. In your peripheral vision, you spot him, dressed in a suit that simply must have been sewn around his body with the way it perfectly fits him. He wears a top hat, a large cigar burning between his gloved fingers. He takes your breath away upon first glance, your cheeks flushing when your eyes meet. You offer a small smile, before looking back over the ongoing party and finishing the rest of your champagne, leaving a red stain on the lip of the flute.

Now, you wait, hoping you left enough of an air of mystery and allure for your target to approach you. Bronte is with the group of men attending with Dutch, but neither of you acknowledges the other to maintain appearances. Definitely something you could get used to.

Twirling the stem of your flute between your nimble fingers, you watch the crystal carvings refract and scatter beautiful dots of light over your dress as you listen in to Dutch, Bronte, and another man you’ve never seen before talk over their cigars. It’s all bullshit, Bronte bragging that the whole town fears him while he acts overly friendly to the man he has hired you to murder tonight, and it takes all the restraint you have to not visibly roll your eyes. You lift your glass to your lips again, before realising it’s empty. As you turn on your heel to head back to the drinks table, you’re met with an outstretched, gloved hand, bubbling flute presented to you in its grasp.

It’s him.

Up close, you can see how beautifully he’s cleaned up from whenever he was sketched for his poster, his moustache gelled in an upward curve, his eyes a deep auburn that a charcoal sketch could never truly capture. He’s magnificent, his presence drowning you, and you’re sure even without the formalities he’d be just as stunning, a roughened cowboy with a drawl to send you weak in the knees.

“For you, my dear.” He offers, watching intently as you take the flute between your fingers.

“Why, thank you, sir. I never knew they hired such well dressed gentlemen at these events.” You joke, smiling almost mischievously at him before taking a sip, “You surely can’t be a guest here, they’re never this kind.”

“Afraid so, miss. Dutch van der Linde, at your service.” He takes your free hand in his, lifting your knuckles to his mouth to kiss them tenderly. The sensation travels up your arm and sends a little flutter through your stomach. Quite the gentleman, it seems.

“A pleasure, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“Please, Dutch is fine. And the pleasure is all mine.”

You offer your name in return and a shy smile, the one that often has your victims bowing to your every need while they imagine you writhing beneath them, and by the way Dutch watches you, he’s no exception.

“Tell me, Dutch,” you oblige, “what is a fine gentleman such as yourself doing at an event like this? Are you a friend of our host?”

“No, I am a guest of Mr Bronte’s, attending on a personal invitation.” You instantly sense it, the displeasure hidden in amongst the pleasantries. You’re not at all surprised, Angelo is hardly a likeable man.

“Ah, I see.” “You know him?” “Not personally, no,” You lie, glancing over to the man in question, who appears to be boring the ears off Dutch’s abandoned friend as he downs his near full glass of whiskey, “But everyone who’s anyone in Saint Denis knows of him. He’s… real somethin’.” You match Dutch’s indignation with an expert precision, and you don’t need to pretend one bit.

Dutch laughs, a hearty one at that, using the gesture to take a step closer to you, “Now that we agree on, my dear…”

A comfortable silence passes between the two of you and a waiter arrives, passing Dutch a rich amber drink that he thanks him for. You grab the waiter's attention, asking for a bourbon of your own. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Dutch looks impressed.

“I can admire a woman who appreciates a fine whiskey.” He remarks, tipping his glass to you and you smirk, raising a sharpened brow,

“I can appreciate much more than a fine whiskey, Mr Van der Linde.”

The air between the two of you is electric, charged with something inexplicable yet maybe the most powerful energy you’ve ever felt.

“Is that right?” It comes out almost a growl, which you feel deep in your core. The way he’s looking at you… it’s inevitable. Mission accomplished.

You lean in closer, glancing down to the snow white flower pinned to Dutch’s lapel. Your eyes linger on the thing, so stark a contrast to the jet black suit he’s wearing, so delicate a symbol for a hardened criminal you’ve been hired to murder.

There’s little space between the two of you now, far less than is proper, but Dutch closes it, his hot breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he whispers to you,

“How about we get a real nice room somewhere and I show you just how much I can admire a woman who appreciates a good whiskey?”

═══════☆═══════

Sending Dutch back downstairs to the saloon for drinks gives you opportunity to reach under your skirts, pulling the dagger from your crimson garter and stashing it between the bed frame and mattress. It’s a simple routine, one that works every time to not only allow you time to prepare for the job, but to prove just how wrapped around your little finger your victims always are. Ever the gentleman, as you’re learning, it only took a simple comment of thirst and a bat of your thick lashes and Dutch was out the door. He returns to you quickly, hands full with two identical glasses of neat bourbon, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying click.

“Here we are, the finest this establishment has to offer.” He says, with just a touch of bravado as he goes to hand you the crystal glass. Your hand brushes with his own skin, tanned from what you assume to be hours out in the sun, and a jolt of electricity shoots up your arm, scattering your whole body with goosebumps. With strenuous effort, you collect yourself fast enough to thank Dutch, before letting that comfortable silence settle between the tiny space between your two bodies again. You’re so close to him you can smell the distinct cigar smoke and liquor burn on his breath, feel the energy buzzing off him. One deep breath and your supple chest would be pressed right against his hardened one.

The golden liquid burns over your tongue and down your throat, but not nearly as much as your skin does under Dutch’s touch when he runs a thumb over your bottom lip. It feels as though your entire body heats from the contact, the only respite from the fever his contact elicits being the golden rings adorning his fingers, pressing up against your jaw when he cups the side of your face. It stops your heart, you’re sure of it.

“You, my dear, are exquisite.” He whispers tenderly.

In your line of work, there is violence. There is pain and fire and yes, sometimes passion, but never tenderness. But when Dutch van der Linde’s eyes roam over you, it feels different. Like he sees you, instead of seeking for whatever it is he’s looking for. They’re all looking for something, and they all seem to think you have it, but not Dutch… even if there is the most devilish grin tugging at the corner of his lips and a glint in his eye that tells you to be careful.

Your lips don’t meet, they collide, with a deafening crash that vibrates the earth below. Both yours and Dutch’s glasses are discarded on the table beside the four poster bed as you require both hands to grasp at his satin waistcoat while he reaches around your waist to pull you flush against him.

Every inch of him is solid, his hands moulding you around his frame as his tongue requests- no, demands entrance to your mouth. You’re happy to oblige, parting your lips so that he can run the muscle along your bottom lip, eliciting a real, sensual moan from deep within you. Most of the time, you feign interest and want and pleasure, using every tool at your disposal to have your victims as putty in your hands. Tonight, it would seem you have to fake nothing, feeling more like putty yourself, folding and sculpting around Dutch’s thick, strong fingers.

Dutch growls, low and gravelly, and you feel it vibrate every part of you, leaving little cracks all over the shields you’ve grown so used to wielding. The tremors reach your knees and you have to put extra effort into not letting them buckle. He invades every sense, a smoky, powerful force that for a moment you worry you’ll never be rid of. It’s normally so easy to detach yourself from these men, seeing their demise as the only thing standing between you and the continuance of the life of luxury you’ve grown so accustomed to, but right now it takes everything you can to not fear a future haunted by Dutch’s ghost. It’s… strange, this attachment formed so quickly, so unexpectedly that you’re almost certain the only way to prevent it is to kill him now before anything else can happen. But you just can’t bring yourself to do it… you need him in this moment, need to take something from a man for yourself for once, instead of for your slimy Italian master. It’s a mistake, you know it is, but it’s one you can’t stop, like a train barreling towards you with broken breaks. The collision is going to hurt, but you’ll be damned if you don’t bask in the feeling of every bone in your body shattering for this moment, every speck of your being destroyed just for an evening. If your blackened soul must be broken, at least it’s your choice. And this is your choice. Dutch van der Linde is your choice.

His hand burns through the silk on your back, searing your skin that itches for a release of its confines. He never breaks your hungry, needy kiss as his expert fingers make quick work of your bodice, pushing your dress off your shoulders until it falls at your feet like a scarlet pool of blood. Your chemise is just as deep a red as your dress and the stain covering your lips, as is the garter squeezing your thigh. Dutch takes a step back, drinking you in like a fine glass of wine. Under his gaze, you burn all over again, feeling the heat pulsing in your very core, your clit throbbing and cunt weeping for him. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt a yearning so intense that you feel you might combust if you don’t have this man inside you soon.

“As I said…” he growls, tongue licking over his own bottom lip this time, “Exquisite.”

Your exhale is shaky from the sheer effort to stay still, to not pounce on Dutch and take him. Somehow, you take a steady step towards him, out of the pile of silk discarded on the floor, reaching back to the buttons on his waistcoat to pull them apart. Your neck cranes up slightly to meet Dutch’s intense stare, catching him flick his eyes down to watch you undress him. Your bodies are so close now you can feel his hard cock pressing against you, branding you, even hotter than the rest of him. Even through his breeches, his size is evident. Intimidating, but you can all but feel yourself drooling at the thought of taking him all. Patience growing thin, your fingers speed up to finish their job, pushing both waistcoat and crisp shirt off Dutch’s shoulders and onto the floor, revealing a strong, sturdy chest underneath. You run both hands over it with a featherlight touch, feeling him shudder at the contact.

Looking back up to meet his eye, tracing gentle circles over his skin, you whisper, “As are you, Mister Van der Linde…”

“Oh, my dear,” Dutch catches your chin between his fingers, squeezing gently to pull you closer, until your lips are just a hair away from each other. Your breath hitches in your throat, lips parted and waiting for him. A gasp escapes when he runs a finger of his free hand up your inner thigh, pressing firmly against your slit through your lingerie, the sensation shooting up your spine, “I think we’re past the formalities, don’t you? Dutch is fine.”

You swallow down the moan building deep down, attempting to hold onto whatever little decorum you can before you crumble beneath this outlaw. When Dutch removes his finger from against your heat, it takes everything to not whimper from the loss of him. Still holding your face, he presses a kiss to your lips, inhaling you in through his nose before pulling away, glancing down to the space between the two of you.

“Kneel for me, beautiful.”

It takes you less than a second to obey, feeling the plush of the carpet against your knees. Your hands are instantly on Dutch’s belt, unbuckling it with hands that are almost vibrating with anticipation. His trousers don’t even fall past his hips before his cock springs out and you almost gasp again. It’s huge, thick and long, twitching and pulsing all for you. A beautiful sight, truly.

Both hands look tiny in comparison, wrapping around his base with a slight squeeze that has Dutch groaning already. Your eyes lock onto his, never leaving them as you lick a line up his shaft all the way to his rosy head, the salty spend dancing on your tongue a sure sign he’s as desperate for you as you are him. When you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you get as much of his length in as you can, Dutch grips into your hair, cursing through his teeth as you start to bob up and down.

Using your mouth and hands in tandem, you work up and down his shaft, licking across a protruding vein that causes another growl to leave Dutch’s lips and charge the air with a near blinding want. His cock pumps and swells even more so in your mouth, and when you take a deep breath and push all of his length in and down your throat, Dutch lets out a visceral groan sure to reach the ears of the devil himself.

“Fuck, just like that, angel, just like that…” He whispers to you, watching as little tears fall down your cheeks, mixing with the spit escaping the corners of your lips. Dutch holds your face between his large palms, fucking into your throat. It isn’t until your lungs are burning for air that he relents, his cock sliding out of your mouth soaked in your saliva, a bead still clinging to your chin. He wipes it away with his thumb, guiding you to your feet with an extended hand. You gasp as he lifts you into the air and all you can do is wrap your legs around his waist. His cock nudges against your lingerie, the thin, scarlet silk the only barrier between the two of you. You’re writhing, desperate for him as his tongue licks the roof of your mouth, dominating you.

Dutch throws you onto the bed and you land with a squeak, spreading your legs wide to allow him to crawl over you, propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes roam over you, pulling the straps of your chemise down to expose your breasts. He continues to undress you, each second stretching out to an eternity until you’re bare underneath him. There’s a fire burning in his eyes and it scorches you. You feel the fire spread over every inch of you, especially when he dips down to lick a line from your nipple, across your chest, down your stomach until he is hovering above your cunt. His breath tickles your soaked skin and it takes everything you have to restrain and be patient. The devil is merciful, and after torturing you for what feels like hours, watching you writhe and whine, Dutch delves into your folds, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it gently. You scream, hands instantly raking into his jet black hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He hums in content, as if tasting a delicacy, and it vibrates your inner thighs. Your eyes roll back, jaw dropping as your back arches for him.

“Oh, God…” you moan, relenting your grip just a little when Dutch stops to look at you, eyebrow raised and smirk tugging his glistening lips,

“Now, dear, I said Dutch is fine.”

He doesn’t give you much time to digest his cocky words, plunging a finger deep inside you, finding that spot that makes you go dizzy and curling against it. You whine and purr, bucking your hips up to show Dutch what you need. He takes your silent command and submits to it, bowing his head to take your clit in between his teeth. It tethers you between pain and pleasure, threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. One finger becomes two, pumping into your core and you feel yourself hurtling towards climax faster than you ever have in your life. There’s a burning on your inner thigh from his moustache while he laps up your juices, kissing and nipping and sucking until you’re sure you’re going to break and shatter all over the hotel room floor.

“Oh, God, Dutch- fuck, Dutch, yes Dutch- I- I’m gonna-”

The whine you let out when Dutch withdraws his fingers from you is downright tortured. You look up at him, the question of why written all over your face. He simply smirks, sliding those glistening fingers in between his lips and licking your juices clean off them.

“Tell me what you want, beautiful.”

The sweet endearment softens your frown, his demand driving you even wilder. It isn’t a matter of want anymore, you need him. Right at this moment, you’re gasping for air, and Dutch van der Linde is your only oxygen.

“Everything,” you breathe out, “God, Dutch, I need you, please…”

You earn a satisfied grin as Dutch begins to crawl over you again, the length of his body consuming you wholly. “Hm… I like it when you beg for me, my dear.”

When he lines himself up to your entrance, the feeling of his tip brushing far too gentle past your clit, you’re truly dizzy with need. You reach up to Dutch, nails digging deep into the flesh of his shoulders as if he's your only tether to the earth itself. Your mewls guide him in like a siren's call, filling you more than you ever thought possible. Though slowly, Dutch slides all the way in, until you’re connected by the pelvis, the head of his cock prodding gorgeously into that swollen sweet spot of yours.

“F-Fuck…” you gasp out, concurrently to Dutch’s carnal groan. He fills you to the brim, and you squeeze his throbbing cock perfectly. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, breaching past the barriers of what you once considered sex to be. When he steadily withdraws, pushing all the way back in, you see stars, scattering across the ceiling of the hotel room, falling into the faint freckles you’re sure nobody ever notices on Dutch’s cheeks. The pure lust ignited in his eyes burns hot as he begins to move, thrusting in and out at an excruciatingly deliberate pace.

When he picks up a little speed, you feel his hand brush against your cheek, finger tracing your jawline from ear to chin and back again. His expression as he fucks you is so intense, and there’s a certain darkness clouding it all that scares you. Dutch is otherworldly, and your mind briefly casts to under your back, where that little knife lays waiting. Your confidence in completing your mission is faltering, picturing golden ichor bleeding from Dutch’s chest in lieu of blood. He is so far removed from anybody Bronte has ever had you kill, so divine an energy that you’re starting to wonder what your failure would mean for you. It has never been an option before, but the possibility wanders into your mind as if it belongs there.

Your whines and moans harmonise with Dutch’s groans and curses, the room filled with purely obscene, visceral vibrations. He fucks into you, one hand gripping onto the sheets, the other cupping the side of your face, slowly snaking downwards to cover your neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on yet, but can surely feel the thrumming of your pulse against his palm. The possessive way his hand covers your whole throat makes your heart skip a beat, your now untouched clit twitching at the thought of Dutch restricting your airways.

“God, you are so beautiful…” Dutch purrs, teasing a hint of pressure on your jugular. He’s getting faster now, just faintly more erratic. That darkness is flaring in his eyes, spreading over his whole expression as he begins to squeeze at your windpipe. It's gentle at first, just slightly cutting off the blood flow to your head, making your cheeks flush red. Your lips part in gasps, less than an inch away from Dutch’s as you feel your orgasm building again, no external stimulation needed. You’re so close now, nirvana within reach, Dutch’s hold getting ever stronger.

“So beautiful… such a shame.” He growls, not relenting his now iron-grip to give you the air to consider what he just said. You try to speak, try to ask what he means, but you suddenly can’t. He’s clenching too tight on your neck. It hurts, but coupled with the dizzying lack of breath, it’s only furthering your journey over the edge. Your vision is blackening at the corners, an unknown fear striking you in the chest. He isn’t letting up, and you’re not sure if you even want him to, but you have no idea where this is going now. The energy in the air is changing faster than you can keep up with, your chest feeling hollow as your futile attempts at breath go ignored.

“A-A shame?” You just about manage, Dutch still pounding relentlessly, gloriously into your tight cunt.

“Oh, my dear…” he squeezes once more, a bruising grip, and it hurts so much that your hands fly up to claw at his wrist. It’s unavailing, Dutch far too strong to be deterred by the little scratches your nails are leaving on his skin, “That you’re trying to kill me, darling.”

Your eyes fly wide open, pupils shrinking to barely a drop in a sea of panic. Your hands barely make it an inch towards reaching for the dagger under the mattress before Dutch grabs them with the hand not already holding you, pinning both wrists above your head. He’s still fucking you hard, and it still feels incredible despite the pure terror coursing through your veins.

“Oh, little vedova nera, did you really think it would be so easy?”

It’s hardly even a struggle, your scratching is no match for Dutch’s strength. You can’t move, can barely breathe, and you’re genuinely terrified he’s going to kill you before you even get the chance to fight back. His grasp relents, just enough to allow a small, struggled gulp of breath, but it’s seemingly only so you can hear his next words before blacking out.

“Now here’s what's gonna happen…” He growls at you, not once faltering from his pace. Despite everything, you’re still so close, on the verge of a blinding climax that may actually kill you. “That pretty little pussy of yours is going to cum all over my cock, and then you’re gonna go back to our friend Mr. Bronte and tell him just how well Dutch van der Linde fucked his woman and lived to tell the tale. Got it, my pretty little thing?”

Your heart is pounding, and you’re certain you only have seconds of consciousness left in you, but you manage a frantic nod, your nails leaving reddened crescent moons all over the skin of Dutch’s wrist. You’ll do anything, the terrifying part being that you’re not sure if you’re begging for your life or your death, your petite mort, if you will.

“Good girl.”

He releases your throat, instead squeezing your cheeks together harshly, forcing your lips into a pout. The blood rushes everywhere, sending you hurtling over the edge, clenching on Dutch’s cock and keeping your promise and then some. Tears are streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of everything, screams falling from your lips as best they can through Dutch’s hands. He’s groaning loudly, vibrating your being as the two of you cum together, Dutch pumping rope upon rope of his spend deep inside you. Time stretches, seconds becoming minutes becoming an eternity falling through the stratosphere as waves of white hot pleasure mix stunningly with the pain you feel all over.

Dutch finishes with one last thrust, so hard you’re sure you’ll never recover from him. You’ve never felt anything like this, never felt an orgasm wrack through every atom like this one, pumped through your body with a heart running on pure fear.

Mere seconds ago you were convinced Dutch was going to end your life, but when he pulls out of you and removes all contact from your panting body, the loss is immense. By the time you manage to come around, your arms finally having enough integrity to prop yourself up, he’s already dressing himself, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. You can’t think, let alone speak. What would you even say? The tear marks falling down your cheeks are inky black from your makeup, but you let them fall as the realisation of what just happened hits with enough force to shatter you, just as you predicted.

You’re both silent as Dutch dresses, and all you can do is sit and cover yourself with the sheet on the bed. When he reaches the door, he stops, hand resting on the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder to you, “Tell Bronte I said hello, won’t you?”

And he walks out of the hotel room, leaving you alone, dripping with his spend, wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do now.

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mcuamerica · 7 months ago

Text

The Shadowsinger: Eight

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. More angst, PTSD/nightmares, misogyny, threat of physical punishment ACOTAR series spoilers. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're still at Windhaven, and you can't help that rage that builds by the day.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Prologue - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven

After a week, your nights were full of nightmares that entailed your wings getting clipped, being beaten to a pulp by your father, and (oddly enough) a young Azriel and Cassian getting ripped to shreds by an older Illyrian. Why it had been Cassian AND Azriel, you had no idea. But it didn’t sit well with you as you got up everyday and trained with the other females while Cassian went to different war camps. He never mentioned which one.

You argued with him when he said he would need to go to another camp instead of train you. And since both Rhys and Azriel were busy with their own missions, that meant you wouldn’t train. But Cassian gave you the option to train with the females at Windhaven or to wait for him to come back at the end of the week. You would have said no, had it not been for what you’d seen that first day. How their commander wasn’t even training them, just letting them run around in circles, doing what looked to be endurance training. And maybe a little heavy weight training, if they were lucky. So you decided training with them was better than not training at all. And it would help you as emissary, especially if you could get the girls to start sparring and not just exercising.

When the male commander didn’t even help the girls with their warm up stances, you had your shadows nudge them enough so they corrected it. And then, they actually moved on from their constant loop of motions to sparring. Just like you had hoped. There were five girls today, and then you. You paired with one named Ragna. Her skin was darker than anyone else you’d seen, and she had pointed ears which told you that she was only half Illyrian. Though she had wings. And she was the one that showed the most promise. You were surprised they even let her train if she wasn’t full Illyrian, but then again, neither was Rhys. Though you had a feeling Devlon didn’t have much of a choice with him as a High Lord’s son.

You helped her with her placement, chiding remarks that you remembered Cassian saying to you back at the House. You learned quickly, and it was easy enough to see what she was doing wrong. Two days were just spent in the mirror, Cassian showing you all the ways you made yourself vulnerable. You wondered if these females would ever be shown that. They hadn’t moved past the warm up exercises until earlier in the week when you joined. And Cassian mentioned they should have been training for the past month and a half. They should be far past your training level… or farther than they were. But they didn’t have a trainer that was willing to help them.

So, here you stood, sparring with Ragna. You saw the male, Calder, approach as you let her sweep your feet from under you. You asked her to do it, and wanted to show her the proper technique. “And now you just allowed your opponent a break from standing.” He mocked Ragna.

You glared up at him and stood up, shaking your wings so the dirt would fall off. “She gave herself an advantage.” You snapped. “And executed it perfectly, too.” You said, giving her a small smile before you examined the green Siphon Calder had on his hand. The one and only. Granted, there could be another one if it was exposed in his armor like Cass and Azriel. But it didn’t, Cass already told you the males that had two Siphons. And Calder wasn’t one of them.

“I don’t see how you could know with your back on the floor. Though that’s probably where you spend most of your time. Especially with that bastard that calls himself our Lord Commander.” He scoffed. You cleaned your fists and walked closer to him, your shadows shooting out from you to swirl around his arms in a frenzy. They wouldn’t restrain you from this male as they had done for Cassian.

“You might be careful how you speak about our Lord Commander.” You growled, restraining yourself from hitting him square in the face.

“Fond of the bastard?” He chided. You felt your nails dug into your skin. If he said one more thing…. “I bet you enjoy being in that cabin all alone with him. That’s why he’s allowing you to train. So he can have you with your legs spread-“

He didn’t finish the rest of the sentence. You knocked his jaw with your fist. Just how Cassian taught you to. He stumbled back from it. And then you had your shadows restrain him as he staggered forward, ready to repay the favor. “Speak one more word about it and you’ll find these shadows strangling your neck. And maybe snapping some bones too.” You ground out. Not that you even knew how to do that with your shadows. But Cassian’s told you about how Azriel’s done it before. If he ever bothered to train you, one day you would. For the time being, Calder didn’t know you couldn’t do it. But you’d bet your salary that he knew Azriel could. And that was enough for his eyes to widen.

You backed up, taking a deep breath before you let go of your shadows, watching them return to the comfort of your shoulders.

“Shadowsinger!” You heard a voice call. Not any voice, Devlon’s voice. “Out of the ring, now!”

You whipped your head, noting that he probably watched the entire encounter. You huffed and glared at Calder as you walked towards Delvon. “What?” You said, trying to bury that rage that burned in your chest.

“You know the punishment for laying a hand on your commander without him provoking you?” He asked, his arms crossed on his chest. The look you gave him was answer enough. “For a female, it’s two extra hours of chores.”

“I don’t have chores here. And he isn’t my commander.” You said simply, not taking your eyes off him.

“For males, it’s ten lashings.. which one would you prefer?” He ignored your statement, leaning against the fence of the ring.

“Who says he didn’t provoke me? Because he was insulting-“

“Insults are not provocations. Words are not provocations. Unless he hit you or it was a training exercise, it was without provocation.” He stated. “Lashings or chores?” He asked.

“Neither.” You replied with gritted teeth. He was starting to get on your nerves.

“You know, I wonder what your father would think when he finds out where his little girl ran away to. And a Shadowsinger, too… he’d be pleased to know where she was after all these years.” Devlon said, a small smirk sliding onto his face.

You bristled, not holding back the swallow that forced its way down your throat. The thought of your father knowing you were here terrified you. “He wouldn’t care,” you lied. Your father would be furious… Furious that you were still alive. That you made something of yourself without him.

Before Devlon could call you out for the lie, or for the fear that replaced the rage, Cassian landed beside you.

“What’s going on?” He asked.

“I hit Calder and Lord Devlon wants me to do chores because of it.” You answered.

“Or take the lashings. It’s whatever she chooses. Your High Lord is so enthralled to offer them a choice, so I’m letting her choose.” He said. Your High Lord. You didn’t miss the blow.

Cassian looked at you, and you looked up at him, a bucket of shame washing over you as you saw the disappointment in his eyes. He didn’t say anything as he grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the ring. “I’ll handle it.” He said simply and you stumbled after him. You yanked your arm from his hold when you were enough ways away from Devlon, almost to the cabin.

“What are you doing?” You asked, flaring out your wings for balance as he whirled on you.

“What am I doing? What are you doing? I told you to be nice. And you punched him? The one trainer that actually agreed to train the females and you punched him?” He asked, clearly holding in his anger. “Not to mention the stunt you pulled two days ago.” He said.

You almost snickered at the memory. You had your shadows help the females finish their morning chores and you took them out for training yourself. Devlon was furious when he saw you training with the practice weapons. And Cassian wasn’t too happy that you were trying to train them, considering you didn’t know how to use weapons or techniques properly. Let alone teach them.

But you held the snicker at the rage that bristled around him. “He was insulting you. He was calling you a bastard and insinuating that you were training me because I was sleeping with you-“

“I don’t care what he was saying.” He looked around, pulling you towards the cabin at a pace you had to run to keep up with. Once you made it inside, he asked, “Where is all this coming from? You haven’t even shown a drop to anger the past two months. And now it’s practically all I see from you here. What’s wrong?”

You faltered, catching your breath. You went to answer that nothing was wrong, but you stopped short when you sensed another male in the corner of the room. Not only smelled him but felt that familiar tug. The one that slightly decreased during your training here. He was hiding in his own Shadows. “Azriel,” you said, your eyes on him immediately.

Cassian whipped around. “Mother above… Az what are you doing here?” He asked.

“I heard how your introduction with Devlon went, and the incident the other day, and I figured you might be able to use my help.” He said.

“You never come here willingly. Did Rhys send you?” Cassian asked.

“No, I did come here of my own will. Only to help (Y/N).” He said. “My spies are doing their jobs. And I think I should indeed stop brooding in the shadows and help you train. And I won’t leave this time.” He said, only looking at you. Whatever resolve to ignore you seemed to have disappeared. And it didn’t help that bubbling anger inside of you.

“Fine, but you’re taking her to the mountains.” Cassian said.

You whipped your head to Cassian. “What?” You asked.

“You’ve got unbridled rage here for some reason. The better place to train will be away from it. And if Azriel trains you, you’ll need the space while learning about your shadows.” Cassian explained.

“This isn’t because I punched Calder, is it?” You asked.

Azriel stepped out of the shadows, and you saw his head shake as a small side smirk came to his lips. “You punched your commander?” He asked, something that mirrored pride washing over his face. It was gone in a blink.

“He isn’t my commander. And he was being a prick.” You snapped.

“Cassian used to beat his trainer to a pulp sometimes.” He teased. You hadn’t seen this side of him before.

“And I got the lashings because of it. Don’t encourage her. She isn’t helping us at all.” He said.

“No? Did she not just show Calder that she wasn’t going to take his bullshit? Any other male would have done the same thing. Even you.” He said to Cass.

“How do you know it was a fair shot?” You asked.

“My shadows got here long before I did.” Azriel said. “I hate this place, these camps. But that doesn’t mean I can’t watch from a distance.” He said.

“Go pack, you’ll leave when you’re done.” Cassian said, obviously having enough, and nodded towards your room.

“I-“

“Go.” He said. “You’ll be gone for 4 days.”

You held back the urge to roll your eyes and walked up the stairs to pack a bag for the journey. And you vaguely heard them talking about the route and where you would go. You didn’t bother to ask your shadows to listen. You would learn what you needed to soon enough.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the double release! Something special is in store for the next chapter!

Series Masterlist

Join the taglist here

Tagging (if you are not being tagged properly, please send me a message, I will fix it as soon as I can!):

@cherry-cin @cleverzonkwombatsludge @nickishadow139 @mybestfriendmademe @atomolvnar

@complete-randomness-2 @lilah-asteria @tele86 @mariahoedt @6v6babycheese @secretsthathauntus @krowiathemythologynerd @fightmedraco @he6rtshaker @kayla-rose15 @aelincaddel

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#acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar spoilers #the shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #katie writes

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uponawhitehorse13 · 4 months ago

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INTRODUCTION AND RULES

Intro:

Hello. Call me White Rider or some variation of it. I am here to write x reader headcanons. Ask box is always open for non requests.

Pfp by @xinsareforever

Masterlist

Discord server

Rules:

-up to 3 characters per request but please do try to not request the max amount every time

-even if you request a gender for the reader it probably won't come up so if you're reading through my post and see a request with a gender it's probably still gender neutral

-don't make the reader too detailed or try to insert them into a lore significant position that'd force me to re-arrange a lot of stuff

-no smut but I will write about violence and other non-sexual nsfw topics

-no incest

-no weird stuff

-don't reference things you aren't sure I'm familiar with

-no yandere

Fandom specific rules:

Blazblue

I write for most of the female cast. Only male character I could write for is maybe Ragna but only if the prompt was really good.

Tsukihime/Melty Blood

I have only played the original game so don't ask for remake related things. I write for the main 5 heroines but I'd be open to writing for other characters if there was an interest. For how I write the main 5 see notes.

Fate

Only played Stay Night so I write only for girls from there (Saber, Rin, Caster). Sakura requests are open but will be held until I finish Heaven's Feel. Medusa is not requestable until I play a bit of Hollow Ataraxia. Might write for Archer if the prompt is good enough. I have watched Zero if that's relevant to something you want though.

#blazblue x reader #x reader #pinned post #new pinned #tsukihime x reader #melty blood x reader

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broken-clover · 1 year ago

Note

Do you think you could make some fluffy romantic Ragna x reader hcs, there’s so little stuff of him it’s criminal

Will freely admit Ragna is still a character I don't feel 100% confident with in terms of characterization + personality (mostly I just scrape off @arundolyn), but I'll still give it my best go!

-Ragna has very little stability and consistency in his day-to-day life, and whether or not he admits it, he's desperate for something that grounds him, even if just a little. He's happy to have something consistent

-He is terrible about being emotionally open, this is not news. Still, he will do his best to make his affection for you clearer in his actions

-A long as it's safe to do so, he'll happily bring you along to the Kaka village. He has about two good things in his life and he wants them to get along. And hey, if Ragna likes you, the Chibikakas probably will, too!

-Ragna is a clingy sleeper, whether or not that's cute or sad depends on your personal views

-His hobby is cooking, so expect him to share whatever he tries to make. Even if it doesn't always turn out right, he tried very hard and put passion into it

-While not much of a kisser or a hugger, he does have a liking for resting his chin on your head or shoulder, depending on how tall you are

#ask #blazblue #imagines #ragna the bloodedge

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kokorothe53rd · 1 year ago

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tempted to release my ragna x reader fanfics..

#ragna the bloodedge #blazblue

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zeabolos-fuck3r · 1 year ago

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you are literally the only person who will listen to me on this but,,, ragna x puppy demi-human reader,,,

OH MY GOD YES.

ragna catching you using aramasa as a chew toy or something.

#blazblue #ragna the bloodedge

0 notes

mikey180 · 2 years ago

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Hello darling, hope you're doing well. Welcome to the place we're endless fluff is made and if you so desire, a bit of madness can take place too~

Under the cut is where you will find the rules for our wonder land

Requests are open

Master lists

The fandoms I right for-

• Bungo Stray Dogs

• Tower Of God

• Dungeon Meshi/ Delicious In Dungeon

• Ragna Crimson

• Genshin Impact- Only for Tighnari and Scaramouche though if you want someone else feel free to ask

• Twisted Wonderland- Usually only for Riddle and Lilia, but again feel free to ask for anyone

Btw, you (the reader) will most likely be the care giver in my stories. So if you would like to be taken care of, tell me.

The rules for your stay-

I won't wright-

- 18+ Content.

- Anything involving sexism, racism, self harm, any form of abuse, pedophilia, incest, torture, (and for religious reasons, though I used to) lgbtq

For you I will write-

• Headcanons. If you have a scenario feel free to ask

• One shots. If you would like something specific please make sure to be specific. This includes au, gender of the reader, scenario, or prompt just to name a few

• drabbles. Basically just short one shots or unfinished ideas.

• Fluff

• Angst

• platonic

• And anything else

If you have a request

Feel free to ask through the bar at the top, message me, or simply leave them in the comments. Also if you wish to make yourself known while still being an anon, you may also ask to be (emoji) anon

#fanfiction #TOG #tower of god #rules #request #genshin impact #tighnari #scaramouche #tower of god x reader #ragna crimson crimson #ragna crimson #ragna crimson anime #mithrun #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon

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nkn0va · 6 months ago

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Hello Chef anon here. I had an idea about Celica introducing her S/O to her friends and family because I feel like S/O would lose their mind. Like "Here they are!": The most wanted terrorist in the world Immortal eldritch horror samurai My sister, the strongest mage in the world Her husband, a samurai cat And their daughter, a nuke stockpiling drug addict

I am befuddled that of all the Blazblue waifus that had to be requested last it was Celica. Holy shit.

Also I've been told that apparently people are blocking me because they don't wanna see x reader shit in the general blazblue tag. I think I've already reached everyone here on Tumblr by this point who knows Blazblue considering how small the community is so I can stop tagging blazblue on it all. If you wanna find my stuff without searching for me, use the blazblue x reader tag.

-Celica likely brings up the idea first to meet her family and friends. You hadn't really met them for yourself though she has mentioned them here and there. Anyone would be nervous to meet their partner's family but you figured it'd be best to do it sooner than later.

-Regardless of that, she reassures you with a smile that it'll be completely fine, you'll love them. Even though Minerva's body language seems to be telling you a different story, you still wanna have at least some faith in your girlfriend so you go along with it.

-The first person you meet is supposedly her niece once she leads you to the NOL branch nearby. A half-beastkin with a serious attitude/sweets addiction, albeit clearly a very intelligent one. She's probably a lot older than she looks, and you shiver at the idea of her becoming your niece despite the fact she could very well be old enough to be your great-grandma. She doesn't really give a shit about Celica's love life, though she does pity you for dating someone whose existence is on a rather short clock without knowing it. She doesn't really tell you that though, she'll leave it up to Celica to break the news when the time comes, Kokonoe has more important things to be doing.

-Next up is...

-IS THAT THE GRIM REAPER!?!?

-...Yup, it is. That wanted poster is complete ass, but the hair and jacket match up, at least. The Grim Reaper, or...Ragna, is actually a surprisingly chill guy, clear temper problems notwithstanding. He didn't try to slice you in half immediately which was nice, though he made it pretty clear what he'd do if you ever hurt Celica.

-Oh shit, is that one of the Six Heroes?

-Oh shit, is that another one of the Six Heroes!?

-Yes, on both accounts. You're really starting to feel the pressure, especially from Hakumen. He does still care about Celica beneath the cold, hard exterior, literally and metaphorically. Jubei's at least much more amiable, happy for Celica to have that special someone like he did. Honestly he's the only one other than Celica herself that's trying to alleviate the pressure you're feeling, which you very much appreciate.

-He trusts Celica's better judgment and is sure you're a good fit for her, especially if you managed to win Minerva's trust as well. More than anything though he's glad to have someone else to keep her from getting lost all the damn time, much to her chagrin when he brings it up.

-More importantly though that leaves just her sister you haven't met, though Celica says you'll get the chance to when you and a bunch of other people visit her workshop, seemingly on a mission to destroy something.

-Oh shit, is that another one of the Six Heroes!?

-Yes, and she is not happy with the fact that Celica has found an S/O, god forbid if you're a guy. She would immediately go for the kill on you if it weren't for Ragna intervening and fighting her first.

-When Nine has no choice but sacrifice herself to give everyone else time to stop Izanami, she gives you one last request in particular. She hates the idea of having to trust her dear sister in the hands of a romantic partner she doesn't even know, but she's otherwise out of options.

-You recognize that deep down she was only zeroing in on you because she loved Celica, which was only reinforced by the way Celica worried so much for her when Ragna ran her through and was then attacked by Izanami. She didn't really make the best first impression on you, but you respected her for her achievements and the dedication she had toward her family. Maybe under better circumstances you would've gotten off on the right foot more.

#blazblue x reader #celica a mercury #headcanon #x reader

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boonsmoon · 8 months ago

Note

Are there any other rules for making requests? Like are there any specific characters or other topics you will or won't cover? Are there any other fandoms you cover? How many characters can we ask about in a single request? And will we get less headcanons if we ask for more characters? For Persona specifically, can we ask about Confidants or characters from side games? Feel free to add anything else. Sorry about all the questions, just want to be sure. Thanks and have a fantastic day!

I'm gonna turn this into my new pinned post so don't mind the first portion.

You may call me Moon. I'm 18+ and in college, so reqs might be slow. I go by she/her and my first (and only) language is English. Nothing is beta read, we die like men.

Masterlist

Let's make this easy and sort into sections lol

Characters

WILL:

Children (PLATONIC ONLY)

Teens (mostly platonic, late teens could be romantic)

Adults (platonic + romantic)

Robot/Mech (full on robo will be platonic, but mech features can be romantic)

WON'T:

Animal (like full on, animal features are OK) i.e. dog reader x dog character = no reader with cat tail x character = yes Characters like Morgana are the exception with being humanoid

Genres/Dynamics

WILL:

Character x reader (m + f)

Character x character

You can request multiple genres i.e. fluff to angst

Fluff

Angst (not good, but I try)

Platonic

Romantic

Oneshot

Headcanons

WON'T:

Lime/Lemon

Yandere (clingy OK)

Dead Dove

Incest/Pedophilia/Abuse

Character x OC

Fandoms (more will be added)

WILL:

Record of Ragnarok (ROR)

Ragna Crimson

Heaven Official's Blessing (TGCF)

The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (MDZS)

Chainsaw Man (CSM)

Dragon Ball (DB + DBZ)

WON'T:

I will write any fandom listed, the reason it's like that is because I probably won't know most fandoms outside what I have

Limits

I would prefer 3 or less characters in one request, however if you go one or two over it won't be ignored, just will take vastly longer

Headcanons will NOT be shortened if there are more characters, I usually have a lot to write headcanon wise, so they'll all be beefy

Persona

Persona isn't on the list and probably won't be anytime soon, BUT if it ever does get added, I will allow Confidants or side game characters

Where To Request

My inbox is open if I'm taking requests; but you can comment your request too

If my inbox is closed that means I'm not taking requests, anything commented will be ignored or pushed very far back

Crossover Requests

I have a post here if you're interested

Hope this answered all questions you and anyone else had

#record of ragnarok x reader #ror x reader #ragna crimson x reader #heaven official's blessing x reader #tian guan ci fu x reader #tgcf x reader #the grandmaster of demonic cultivation x reader #mo dao zu shi x reader #mdzs x reader #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #dragon ball x reader #db x reader #dragon ball z x reader #dbz x reader

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azure-grimoire-imagines · 5 years ago

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hewwo its ya girl.. can i get a uhh enkidu with a small reader? i survive off of size differences :3c

Of course! Here you go!

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Shortstack | Enkidu with a small reader

-Enkidu makes sure to be very gentle with you, considering the size difference, and also his sheer strength. He would hate to accidentally crack your ribs during a hug and send you to the emergency room.

-That being said, he enjoys picking you up and holding you. Whether it's close to his chest in a hug or on his shoulders, he enjoys that special feeling of closeness. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

-Enkidu is also very happy to assist in getting things of off high shelves, a godsend for cooking and cleaning. Likewise, you help him by reaching the smaller spaces that he isn't so accustomed to.

#unist #unib #enkidu #enkkdu unib #enkidu x reader #ragna's rambles #im always happy to write enkidu for you #he's fun and cute #enkidu hatred will not be tolerated on this blog

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giorno-plays-piano · 3 years ago

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Abominable Part 1

Pairing: mage!Peter Parker x mage!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, murders, possible gore in the future chapters, pretty dark story overall.

Words: 1543

Summary: An investigator of the Mage's Association, you are sent to discover the mystery behind a series of murders before more sinister events take place.

P.S. This was inspired by The Garden of Sinners particularly. I loved it dearly when I was a teenager.

To avoid any confusion, the reader is neither good nor bad due to the nature of her profession. Peter is an adult.

____________

Stepping on a platform with a vintage Samsonite briefcase in your hand, you looked at the people standing aside, most of them waiting for other passengers to leave the train. Although you knew the face of a magus who was supposed to meet you, it was hard to recognize him in the crowd, and you stared at all those people in front of you, clenching the briefcase’s handle. You hated waiting.

Of course, Lord Pierce wasn’t too happy with your arrival: the old fool thought he was untouchable even after a series of murders and an unnatural magic activity in Tombra that got the Mage's Association alarmed. You remembered the revulsion in Mr. Stark’s voice when he talked of Alexander. The old aristocracy, Lord Pierce was an outstanding magus who had long abandoned practicing any decent magic and instead preferred to exploit the strength of his numerous successors. While he still had some friends in the Association, Stark hated him greatly and was happy to remind him who was in control.

Naturally, Pierce knew why you came to Tombra, and the conversation between you two didn’t go well. You didn’t hide your intentions: you were the Investigator of the Clock Tower, and your job was to figure out what was happening in that megalopolis where Lord Pierce resided proudly. It meant you were going to be a great disturbance and a possible danger to many aristocratic families under Alexander’s protection.

It wasn’t surprising he chose the most useless assistant to help you find out the truth. His name was Peter Parker, and he was class D+ magus who attended neither Clock Tower nor Atlas Academy. His role was to slow you down, you thought and sighed.

Suddenly, you saw a familiar face when a young man hurried to you, his cheeks red, sweat running down his face: apparently, he was late. You snickered, looking at his formal attire - his black tie was so long as if he stole it from his father.

Once he was close enough, the young man stood tall, at attention, waiting for you to say something as he stared at you with awe and horror.

“Lady Ragna of the Clock Tower,” you named your rank coldly, and your companion nervously bit his lower lip, acting exactly how you expected of him.

“Peter of Tombra! Pleased to make your acquaintance!” He sounded too excited, and his hands were trembling a little, although he tried hiding it.

Gods, what was he good for in a situation like this, unless he possessed some extraordinary powers not stated in his file? Well, now was the time to discover that, you thought as you narrowed your eyes at the young man.

"Your primary magecraft?"

"B-bounded fields and healing!"

Nothing spectacular there, but bounded fields could be of use to you if you would ever be attacked while performing magic.

"Elements?"

"Water and wind!"

This was better: magi controlling more than one element were still rare, and the boy could make a nice apprentice if he were to be send to the Clock Tower. Besides, with Tombra surrounded by a river, a liquid manipulation skill Peter definitely possessed could be valuable, too.

"Magic circuit composition?"

"N-normal?"

"Any familiars?"

"None."

He was clearly feeling like a mouse in front of a snake, his face getting even more red with every second, and you found the situation rather funny.

"Your motto?" You stared him dead in the eye.

For a second Peter looked horrified, his mouth slightly open as if he were to say something, but you heard no sound coming from him. Then, as if struck by lightning, he gibbered with fear, "Live p-proudly?"

Oh boy. He really thought you were being serious when you talked rubbish with a stony face. If anybody was to talk about a personal motto, even the most pretentious magi of the Clock Tower would burst out laughing.

Rolling your eyes skyward, a gleam of deviltry in them, you smirked, "It was a joke. Don't ever use a motto, it's a terrible idea."

"Thank goodness! I thought it's something high magi of Clock Tower have." The next second Peter made a sigh of relief, and then the both of you laughed loudly, making other people on the platform throw glances at you.

Although you realized the young man had much less experience than you, you still felt he would be fun to have around. If he could make your life a little easier, you would accept his help.

Moving away from the platform and soon passing through the station's hall, you went straight to the city streets instead of catching a taxi. Peter hurried after you, still perplexed at your refusal to let him carry your bag - you guessed he expected you to boss him around, and it made you chuckle. What Pierce was doing with young magi here if Peter had such an impression about higher-ups?

"Lady Ragna, I was informed that the cottage where you chose to stay is in the suburbs. Did you decide to change it?" He asked, seeing you walking to a completely different place.

"No, it's the same cottage. If you wonder why we aren't driving there right now, I'd prefer to patrol the streets tonight to get to know the city. We can discuss the details of the job in the meantime."

You walked away fast, not looking at your companion anymore and watching the night city instead: you had never been to Tombra before, but many magi from the Clock Tower were born there, and their talk about the city always made you a little jealous. Born in a small town to a simple human woman who knew nothing of magic, you always wished to know what it was like to grow up in a true magic society like the one in Tombra, a home to many noble families, albeit smaller and less significant than those living in the capital.

The city looked exactly like you imagined it: giant grey buildings stood besides the streets, and while they didn't look particularly pretty, you loved those countless neon signages and bright posters that were shining even in the darkness of the night. The streets were busy with tourists admiring the city, couples walking out of the fancy restaurants and cinemas, and young people, recklessly snooping around some nightclubs and bars, trying to get in despite the security glaring at them and requiring them to show their ID cards while the kids pretended they forgot them. There was also a small marketplace with colorful food trucks and booths, offering both local and international cuisine, and you blended into the crowd immediately, taking some crepes and then buying takoyaki - Peter, following you like a puppy, looked shocked.

"I can't do my job on an empty stomach," you smirked and handed him some takoyaki.

Funny enough, he accepted the second you showed the plastic plate into his hands, eating so hungrily as if he had been starving the whole day.

"Well, now since I feel a bit better, let's talk business," you motioned the young man to follow you, and turned to a narrow alley, leaving the noisy market that was going to be full of people for at least a couple of hours more. "Do you have any idea why I have been sent by the Association?"

Licking his fingers, Peter looked somewhat shyly at you, probably afraid he would say something silly, "From what I understand, the reason is some unnatural magic activity the Association couldn't trace, and the involvement of its user in several murders."

"Correct." Crossing the alley, you scratched the chipped paint from an old building in front of you and looked at your fingers, furrowing your brows. "To be precise, the reason why the Association didn't leave these murders to a human police is the method how these murders were carried on. Whoever did it pretty much sucked the soul out of victims' bodies."

Peter frowned, staying still while you kept examining the concrete wall in front of you, drawing strange symbols that started glowing immediately as you finished them.

"It may sounds funny, but the ritual necessary to prevent the soul of a dead person to come back to Akasha is known only to a couple of magi, and each of them is considered a great danger to the society by the Association. This alone is a threat, but Mr. Stark's other concern is the indefinite nature of magic practiced in Tombra. It is likely that the magus responsible for the deaths is planning something much more sinister, and we can't allow this to happen."

Finding what you were looking for, you nodded to yourself and moved further, Peter walking right beside you with a concerned expression on his face. He was probably surprised you didn't need his guidance, but you spent the last three days memorizing Tombra's map.

"Do you mean that the souls of victims can be combined to become a power source for some... dark ritual or something?" He asked nervously, licking his lips.

You smirked, turning to him and pointing to the wall of the next building that started to glow subtly as you got close, "Exactly, Peter."

__________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx

#peter parker x reader #dark peter parker x reader #peter parker #dark peter parker #spiderman #spider-man #spider man #yandere #MCU fanfiction

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estoniacobaltpayne · 3 years ago

Text

Judgement Day

Chapter 5: The Truth and the Lack Thereof

Summary: Desperate, a force user bargains for her freedom; if she acquires the ‘asset’ deemed top priority, she would be free from the life that has enslaved her. Years of training has prepared her, but she’s stubborn and unlucky and more often than not she’s biting off more than she can chew. Maybe pulling the long con is the only path to freedom, but if it is, there’s a Mandalorian blocking it.

Warnings: language

Pairings: Din Djarin X Reader

A/N: Hey everyone who’s reading this! Sorry it’s been... 7?? 8?? months since I’ve updated, but I swear I’ll finish this fanfiction! Please leave a like and a comment if you’ve enjoyed!

Prologue: Here!

Chapter 1: Here!

Chapter 2: Here!

Chapter 3: Here!

Chapter 4: Here!

“You’re so lucky, you know. They didn’t want you. Not like we want you. Not like I want you.”

A fully grown Ragna lied curled up on her uncomfortable bed. She was clearly bruised after a long day of training. Across from her sat her father, lounging in a chair on the other side of the room that was just as uncomfortable.

“You’re lucky we found you and got you out when we did. Could you imagine if you had been left to waste away there? You would have never reached your full potential. Those rotten… keepers of yours were ashamed of you; they wanted to hide you from the galaxy.”

Ragna let out a pathetic grunt, not heeding her father’s words, but she didn’t have the energy to stop him from saying them either.

“But not I. No. I am proud to unleash you. You will subjugate fear into this galaxy. And with fear comes control. Yes, I am proud of what you have become and all you will bring.”

Ragna’s father, after years of manipulation, tyranny, and torment, had finally broken the last string of defiance in Ragna. She would never take anything he said to heart, she was too petty and angry to do so, but she was also too afraid and too tired to fight against him and the other Imperials any longer. She knew her best bet for freedom, at this point, was through acquiescence. If she could convince them that she was on their side for long enough, eventually, there’d come a time where she could gain her freedom; either through bargaining, or by pulling the long con on them.

She didn’t realise that such a time would come so quickly.

What was left of Darth Ragna was falling apart. She’d been on this ship with the child and the Mandalorian for months now, and everyday she was holed up in the Razor Crest with the two, another piece of the person she was made to be chipped away.

It was driving her insane.

If she really didn’t care about the Mandalorian or the child, why had she protected them- saved them- so many times now? Why was she deliberately throwing away her chances of going behind Mando’s back and taking the child for her own?

And why was she so damn shaken about Mando grabbing her hand a few weeks ago with Ran’s crew? Why did his touch linger in her fingertips?

More importantly, why did he save her? Surely, he must have had some suspicion towards her by now. So many times had she almost been caught. She underestimated him before, but now she knew better now; the Mandalorian was one of the smartest people she’d ever met. He must surely be hesitant of her.

All these thoughts were constantly swirling in her head. Adding to it was the fact that Mando had been forcing her to rest on the little pallet she had, tucked away in the back of the Crest’s lower level. “It scraped your ribcage,” he had told her once she came to, which apparently meant that she was only allowed to get up from her makeshift bed to use the fresher, and only with Mando supervising outside in case she needed his help at any point. With every minute she sat idly by and rested, the more she spiralled. It seemed like the more she recovered physically, the more she recovered morally, and that was splitting her mind right down the center. It was putting her in an existential crisis, and it was quickly eating away at her.

And Mando was fully aware that something was wrong with (Y/N). Something much deeper and far more painful than any blaster wound was consuming her. Her eyes were sunken in and were surrounded by dark bags; her face constantly contorted into a frown. And, after being stuck on a ship with her for months on end, he could admit that he had come to like her presence, and it pained him to see her in such a state. Seeing her almost die nearly sent him to a mental place he wasn’t sure he’d be able to crawl out of had he let himself fall into it.

He couldn’t deny it anymore; he was falling in love with her.

It was this realisation that made him decide to start opening up to her; and hopefully, she’d open up to him as well. He hoped that by asking lighthearted questions and talking about the little things it would take (Y/N)’s mind off of whatever was ailing her.

And so, the days (or what could be considered ‘days’ in the vast, continuing darkness that was space) passed with attempts in conversation and few rewards for Mando. He was trying; maker was he trying to get out of his comfort zone and find out something, anything about this woman. For once in his life, he wanted to get to know someone, but damn was she making it hard.

It all came to a head one night when Mando had stopped on some seedy outer rim planet, in search of some underground work. He came back to the ship with a list of names; smugglers, ex-Imperials, traffickers, murderers, the like, all of whom wanted by someone or another who was also wanted by the Bounty Hunter’s Guild, so they very well couldn’t put out official bounties for them. Mando, who had been excommunicated from the Guild, was eager to get his hands on these under the radar jobs.

He sat himself on one of the crates next to (Y/N)’s little pallet in order to attempt conversation while he analysed the list of jobs. He decided that maybe a more direct approach with her is what was needed to start a lasting conversation.

“You know, you can talk about him if you’d like. I won’t tell,” Mando expressed without looking up from the list.

Ragna looked up in concerned confusion. “Talk about who?”

Mando wasn’t surprised. He knew she’d try to dodge such a deep and personal topic. He gently looked over to her and elaborated. “Your father. You mumbled about him multiple times while you were unconscious.”

Ragna scowled and shrugged. “Okay? What about him?”

“What’s the story there?”

She knew this moment would come. It was inevitable. Surely he knew her secret. She supposed all she could do was to try and shrug it off and quickly change the subject.

“He’s just a jackass. Not much else to say.”

Mando wasn’t convinced. “Why? What did he do to you?”

Ragna wasn’t really in the mood to argue and she really wasn’t in the mood to have her personal trauma pressed like this.

“It’s more like, ‘what hasn’t he done to me.’” There was a brief pause in conversation, and Ragna was hopefully thinking that this was the end of the conversation

“Well then why were you contacting him on Sorgan?”

Shit.

It very much wasn’t the end of the conversation, and it could not have gone in a worse direction than where it just did.

Ragna hoped her simple “it’s complicated” would suffice for an answer but Mando seemed especially determined.

“That’s not much of an answer. Everything and everyone is complicated.”

She paused to collect her thoughts, but Ragna knew that this may very well could be the straw that would break the bantha’s back and end her time - not to mention her life - with Mando and the child. She’d heard that every lie was imbedded with a shred of truth, and she supposed in this case, giving Mando a little taste of the truth was probably the best way out. The lie wasn’t going to be in what she said per se, but in what she wasn’t going to say.

“He’s the one that found a teacher to train me in the ways of the force. And now he think’s that because he did I’m eternally indebted to him; that he owns me.”

Ragna couldn’t look Mando in the eye, but his visor was strictly focused on her. “Then who sent you to protect the kid?”

“The master who trained me. It was the only way to get away from my father at that point. He wants me to return, but luckily the delays in finding a teacher for the child has kept me from doing so.”

Mando quickly and excitedly looked over at (Y/N), “wait a minute, you have a master. We can take the child to him! He can be trained and he could finally be safe from the Empire!”

“No!”

A pregnant pause fell over the two.

“What do you mean, ‘no?’”

Ragna was tense. She believed that training under her master, the Emperor, would be fate worse than death for the child. But it didn’t matter anyways.

“He’s dead.”

Mando must have accepted that answer. “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t realise. It must be a sore subject for you.”

Oh, how he’d never know just how sore, Ragna thought. Mando continued. “I know that family can be complicated.”

Oh? A deep psychological insight into the Mandalorian? Ragna was intrigued, as well as grateful the topic could be taken off of her and her life.

“And how is your family complicated?”

She wasn’t expecting the following answer.

“I wish they had lived long enough for me to find out. They were killed by the Separatists when I was just a child. I would have suffered the same fate had the Mandalorians not stepped in. It was then that I joined them and would later swear the creed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

A beeping suddenly came from the cockpit and Mando jumped up to go up on check on it. Thank god he did, as not a mere second later did her comm go off from its hidden spot in her bag. She quickly grabbed it and rushed deeper into the back of the hull.

“…come in Darth Ragna. This is Jakku base to Darth Ragna, come in.”

“I’m here.”

“Excellent. Patching you through now.”

Ragna swallowed the lump that was growing in her throat. The chances of being caught were too high. There was nothing on this ship Mando did not see or hear.

“Ah, Ragna, my dear, how is your mission going?”

She wanted to keep this short, but something about her father’s tone was too chipper - too elated to have anything good come out of the conversation.

“It’s going.”

“Glad to hear it. I just wanted to inform you,” his tone darkened, and here, Ragna thought, was where it was going to go down, “that you have three days to deliver the child. If you fail, all bets are off, and any fantasy you ever thought up in that pathetic head of yours of being free of me will be shattered. You will once again be mine.”

She shuttered. Violently.

“Fine.”

She disconnected the link, not wanting to hear another word. She had to tell Mando the truth. There was no way to either betray Mando next time they landed (and who knew how long until that would happen), or kill him on his own turf, and let alone in only three days.

She started to think maybe telling Mando the truth - the entire truth - was the only way out. Worst case scenario, he would kill her, and she figured dying by his hand would be infinitely better than being forced back under her father’s, or, as she hoped, he really had liked her enough that he would help her; that if she told him she’d had a change of heart, that she wanted to stay with him and earnestly protect the child, he’d believe her, and he’d help her escape the Imperial hands attempting to snatch her.

She rushed up the ladder and entered the cockpit. Mando was watching a holo message that had just come through. The man was familiar but Ragna didn’t really know who it was, but she gathered he and the Mandalorian had gone way back. He was offering some sort of truce, but her head was racing too fast to really pay attention to it. She had to tell Mando the truth. There was no other way.

The holo shut off and Mando turned to Ragna.

“Mando I have to-“

“Ragna, hold that thought. This is very important. I just received an offer; from the man you helped me escape from back on Nevarro, Greef Karga. He was the chapter head of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild in the system. He has a proposal for me - if I clear his city of the Imperial take-over, he’ll ensure the protection of the child. It’s risky, and extremely dangerous, and I thought you should know. Karga isn’t someone I necessarily trust.”

Ragna was unsure how to respond. But what Mando would tell her would completely destroy her need to tell him the truth.

“I’m taking him up on his offer. We’re stopping on Arvala-7 and Sorgan first to pick up a few allies, but we’ll be on Nevarro within the next 24 hours. Your sole job will be to guard the child.”

With any luck, Ragna thought, maybe she could still trick him and turn in the child to the Imperials occupying the planet. She likely wouldn’t get the chance to kill Mando, and he would surely track her across the galaxy to hunt her down, but at least she would be free from the entire Empire doing the same.

But the thought of hurting Mando and the child antagonised her. What was the cost? One soul lost to the clutches of the Empire just for the sake of another? For the sake of a soul that’s already been obliterated by Imperial control?

Mando must’ve noticed the conflict on Ragna’s face. “So what did you want to tell me?”

Knowing what she was going to do - what she was going to need to do - in the upcoming days, (Y/N), for once, couldn’t conjure up a lie to answer with.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #mando x reader #mando fanfiction #the mandolorian #sw #SW Fanfic #star wars #star wars fanfiction #baby yoda

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