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darlingdarkly · 4 months

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Fates Worse Than Death part 7

Deimos x f!reader noncon! Enemies to Lovers

6.7k words

CW: noncon! elements, dubcon! elements, masturbation, dirty talk, degradation and praise, oral (f!receiving), blindfold sex, unprotected pnv climactic intercourse

Part 1, 6, 8

Clover bounds the length of the yard in a few strides and is up the stairs in one as the door opens and an elderly woman steps out of the porch to greet her. Sitting, she eagerly waits for the woman to bend down and give her loving, her tail whacking the old boards with the combined force of her generated excitement. When she stands up straight again Deimos is there. They exchange warm greetings and she pulls him in for a big hug, though her arms only make it just over his waist as he towers over her smaller frame.

“I see two familiar faces and one stranger. Son, introduce your company.” Her accent is subtle but her voice is strong and resolute despite her age. She smiles warmly at you and you politely return it as you wonder just how he plans to introduce you.

“Mama Anne, this is one of my soldiers, she’s helping me oversee the transfer of some important assets at the coastal base.” He turns to you and calls your name, you’d pay anything to get to see his face at this moment. “This is my god mother, Mama Anne.”

She extends her hand to you, now properly introduced. You shake it and she holds it, bringing the other up and using both to hold yours. “You can call me Anne or Mama Anne or just Mama. Whatever you prefer dear. It’s such a delight to finally meet one of my boy’s work friends. Especially one so strong and beautiful. Tell me dear, are you married?”

Your eyes widen just slightly as your smile deepens. Just as you’re about to answer, Deimos interrupts you and begins to usher her back into the house. “Mama Anne, it sure is getting late. We really should get our stuff inside and get settled in.”

She bats at his chest but lets him guide her inside and begins to run off on a tangent about how rude it is to interrupt his elders and how she hadn’t even gotten the chance to offer them dinner yet. The conversation wans as they disappear further into the house and out of ear shot. Clover jumps up on your thighs and you give her some gentle pets as you wait for Deimos to resurface. When he does you’re already at the back of the truck, pulling suitcases and bags from the bed.

“Upstairs, or…?” He takes them from you and nods his head towards the back of the house. “We’re staying in the pout house.” You grab another set and with both of your hands now full he leads you around the side of the house. “I’m sorry, pout house?”

When he answers you can hear the smile in his voice. “That’s just what we called it when I was little. You’ll see.” As you round the edge of the expansive white monolith you are greeted by the sight of a mirrored, albeit slightly smaller house. It’s the same ivory shade, the lichen growing up the sides just like its twin. Still two stories tall it took up a considerable chunk of the back half of the kempt property, backdropped by a sprawling field of waist high marsh grass and young sabal palms.

He explains the history of the house to you as you near the worn front door. “Back in the day they used to do all the cooking in this house before carrying the finished dishes into the main house where they’d be served. It kept the main house cooler back before there was air conditioning or even electricity. Over the years advances in technology made the need for a seperate out-of-house kitchen obsolete, so over time we added additions onto it until it became a whole second home. It was repurposed as a guest house or more often than not a pout house for when one of us would get fed up with one another.”

You smiled as you stepped into the door frame, the pout house was smaller but the inside was fully furnished. Everything inside was dated for sure but well kept giving it more of a homey rustic feel. “Did you ever stay the night here by yourself as a kid?”

“Oh a ton, but more for camping than pouting. Though one time I did ‘run away’ from my parents house after getting in trouble. They found me here three hours later and I was in even bigger trouble.” You laughed with him as you both mounted the steps. He carried your suitcase to a room at the end of the hall. The room was mostly empty save for a dresser and a simply done queen sized bed. It was covered in an old quilt and headed with a few pillows.

He set your suitcase down on the floor by the end of the bed as you sat down on the edge. The ancient springs creaked softly under your weight, a siren call to Clover who was roaming around outside. You heard her climb the stairs before nosing her way into the little back room. Seeing you sat on the bed she found a little spot by the door and laid down, claiming her spot.

“Well someone’s all settled in. I’ll bring her bed in here and she can sleep with you. You probably won’t need that quilt, you can just strip it off and leave it on top of the dresser.” He left and you began to strip the bed down to the sheets, neatly folding the quilt and moving it over to the dresser. He came back with Clover’s bed and she moved so he could place it where she’d been.

After devouring dinner, a huge helping of Mama Anne’s wonderful home cooking and a slice of pie, even despite the nap you took in the truck the road had a way of wearing you down and you found yourself yawning uncontrollably at the table. After thanking your host for a lovely meal you both headed for the pout house for an early night in.

You showered first and by the time you stepped out you had expected him to have something rigged up to keep you chained to the bed, maybe undoing the restraints from your bed back at base and sticking them in your suitcase before you left but when you came in the room it was the same as you’d left it. Clover was already curled up in her bed by the door and staring up at you with her soft brown eyes. It appeared you weren’t the only one the road had taken a toll on.

He came in a few moments later, taking up most of the doorway pushed up against the frame. You felt something give in your chest at the sight of him, an occurrence that was becoming more and more frequent. You tried not to think about it. “All settled in?”

You nodded up at him and tried not to stare. “Yeah, I think so. What should I do with my towel?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll carry them to Mama Anne in the morning and she’ll take care of ‘em.” You felt a bit guilty just showing up to this woman’s home as a stranger and having her wait on you like this but it wasn’t like you had much of say in the matter to begin with.

“Does she really live out here all by herself?” He scooped your damp towel up off the top of the dresser. “She sure does. Don’t let her fool you, that woman is more than capable.” You nodded in understanding and began to pull the sheets back from beneath the pillows, yawning.

“Get some sleep, you’ve had a long day.” You slide under the covers and just out of instinct wait for him to come shackle you in place but he never moves out of the doorway and so you both hover there in limbo for a moment. He breaks the silence. “Well I’m gonna go take a shower. Sleep well, sugar cane.” As he pushes away from the frame you call him back.

“Hey. This is odd but.. you don’t happen to have my mask with you? Do you?” He stops and stands there and you add more, trying to smooth over the request but just muddling it up the more words you add to it. “I’ve just gotten used to it, is all. And the windows in here are huge. The light… it’d hurt my eyes… ya know?”

He walks away and you feel small beneath the covers, wondering if he’ll come back. He eventually does, mask in hand but instead of putting it on you, like he normally would have to because your arms were never free to do it for yourself, he just hands it to you and you do it for the first time.

There’s a moment, after you’ve slipped the mask over your eyes and settle in where you hear nothing, just a measured length of silence before you hear his boots on the wooden floor, sauntering away. Shortly after the lights flick off, you know by the sound of the switch and the door to your room closes, you briefly hear the metal scrapings of a key fitting into a lock and then he’s gone.

A while later there’s the sound of the tap as the shower comes to life. The old home has thin walls and you actually hear him, the shift of his weight as he steps under the steady jet. You imagine him, bare and wet as the water cascades down his chiseled form.

Wondering idly if he takes his showers hot, the steam permeating the air as it rolls off him in waves. Or if he prefers them cold, the kind of icy chill that rips down your spine, giving rise to gooseflesh on your skin and pebbles your nipples. You want to find out, sneak out of bed and pick the lock, tiptoe on creaky floorboards and push open the door.

In your mind he pulls back the curtain, arms outstretched and pulling you in, one sliding down your back and melding you to him as the other tilts your chin, lifting your lips to his as he finally claims you. His mouth working over yours until it’s not enough and he has to have more, roaming your skin and marking the trail with nips and licks.

It becomes too much for you, the auditory stimulation that’s fueling your erotic daydreams and you find one of your arms snaking down your body, until the pads of your fingers reach the hem of your panties, a physical point of which there is no return and you falter. This is different from before, before you had no choice, for better or for worse you were a part of something that was beyond you but this was not the same. This was where the buck stopped, where it went beyond passive participation, and became something more.

As your fantasy furthered, so did you. Images of you up against the acrylic, your face smushed against the wall as he ravaged you from behind. His fingers digging purchase into the plush flesh of your hips, pulling you back against him as he lines his cock up against your slit. Mouth hot against your neck and ear as he makes you beg him to push it in, stopping the push back of your hips until you give him everything he wants to hear.

The thought of your surrender, your final descent, your fall from grace as you burn up for him, finally becomes too much. You cave and your fingers push into the fabric and skate down your mons. You wish they were his as they deftly circle your swollen clit. You let out a shaky breath as they push further to find you already damp. You bite your lip against your moans, trying to keep them at bay. It feels so good to finally give in, you could only hold on for so long and the release is saccharine sweet.

Your head drops back against the pillow as you imagine him pushing in on the first thrust, the initial stretch as he truly has you for the first time. Your arms collected behind your back in one hand, the other braced against your hip as he guides you all the way down onto his cock, your mouth falling open at the pure ecstasy of it. He stills when he drives it home, pressed up against you and seated fully inside.

He pours filth into your ear from behind. Telling you all about what a dirty little slut you are, opening up like this for him. How powerless you are against him, able to do nothing but stand there and take him, all of him. And perhaps the most scandalous of all, the deepest darkest part of you fabricating him promising to never let you go. Promising you’ll never feel the touch of another man again, promising to always keep you, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in this life and the next, you’re forever his as he fucks you feverently.

Your imagination runs wild, behind your closed lids you can see it perfectly. Your feet spread as wide as they can in the confines of the stall as he bullies himself into the space between, the feel of him against you. Can hear your moans and the loud sharp smacks of skin hitting skin echoing off the acrylic walls. Can feel the way his water soaked skin stings just ever so slightly with every snap of his hips as the water pours down his shoulders and back, little rivulets streaming through the paths of least resistance.

Your fingers work of their own accord to bring you to a speedy climax as your fantasies play and reverse and replay the dirtiest parts over and over. Imagining all the things you’d like him to do to you, all the ways you’d wish he’d ruin you, even reliving your past experiences. From the way he caught you at the very start, to punishing you for ever trying to escape, to taking matters into your own hands and riding him in the middle of the forest with dirt under your nails and pine duff in your hair and the smell of your combined sweat stinging your nose.

The wrongness, the pure abhorrent nature of it has your back arching that much sharper. Makes the climactic rock of it that much harder and as you give your final surrender you let his name fall from your lips, silently hoping he’d hear you and give in too, let him come in to find your fingers wet and your pussy already warm for him, let him pick the bones and devour what was left of you, until he’d totally consumed you.

As you recover from perhaps the most jarring climax you’d ever given yourself you hear the tap stop in the next room and you wait on baited breath as he dries off and the door opens. His bare feet still echo loud on the wooden boards and your heart beats fast as you wonder just what you’ve done, how far have you dared to push the envelope. But after a moment they recede and you’re left to stew in the aftermath, eyes wide open even behind the soft pitch blackness of your sleeping mask as your pleasure thrums through you and sleep eventually swells up to take you.

The next morning at breakfast you can hardly look at him but lucky for you he’s seems to be phased out again, lost in the maze of his own mind once more and while you’d have liked to speak more with your host, Mama Anne was out for the morning as well. An errand or two to run as Deimos put it, but she’d be back before he left.

Though the details on where he was going were also scarce, all you knew was that you weren’t going with him. This made you understandably uneasy, you were in a stranger's home, and your only familiar link was going away and he wouldn’t tell you where and he didn’t know for how long.

“Just hang out with Clover in the pout house and I’ll be back before you know it.” But there was only so much you could do in a house that barely had electricity, no computer or tv or even radio to speak of. Before he left he set you out some books. Old paperbacks that you’d never even heard of but it’d been a minute since you’d had the luxury of sitting down to read so you took them all the same.

You were sat in the parlor of the old home on a couch at least twenty years older than you, though it was still very comfy. After getting lots of love from Deimos before he headed for the door, Clover elected to curl up next to your feet, settling in for a long nap.

When he was gone it took you what felt like an eternity to even pick up a book. The silence of the huge house eating holes in your concentration. And you were worried about him, he’d been like a statue all morning, he hardly ate, hardly talked. It was clear whatever he had to handle, whatever this whole trip had been for, today was the day it was to be done and it was certainly affecting him. By the time you finally picked up the paperback from its place on the table there was a knock at the door.

The inside of the main house was not what you were expecting. While the exterior looked old and worn, the inside was clean and neat. The living room was furnished and comfy, a huge tv mounted onto the wall was on and turned to the news, an ongoing report about a train detailing in Tuscaloosa. It wasn’t until you saw it that you realized how long it’d been since you’d watched it. The shelves held assortments of knick knacks, small clocks and vases and crystal figurines but you noticed a surprising lack of photos. You couldn’t find a single one. You’d hoped to catch a glimpse of young Deimos but there was nothing of the kind.

The kitchen was similarly decorated. It was large and everything inside had been modernized including all of the appliances which were gleaming and new. Pots and pans hung from racks mounted to the lily papered walls. Lilac and deep navy trim lined the counters and cabinets. It was clear a lot of love went into the construction along with the heavy attention to detail possessed by a master craftsman.

Clover followed you into the kitchen as you set the bags she had you carry in down on the marble countertop and she began rummaging through them, setting things out on the counter from the heavy brown sacks before going back for more. Baking soda, whole roasted macadamia nuts, white chocolate chips. You were starting to see a pattern and only hoped you could perhaps benefit from the results.

“I hope you’re not allergic to nuts, dear. I’d have asked you last night had he not swept you away so fast.” You smiled and took the paper bags off the counter once they were empty. “No, no allergies. And I love macadamia nuts. Are you making cookies?”

“We’re making cookies. There’s a glass bowl in that bottom cabinet to your left.” Bending down and pulling open the door you immediately spotted the bowl in question and pulled it from its shelf as she preheated the oven and pulled a cutting board out, pulling the bag of macadamia nuts to her and opening it up.

She has you sifting flour as you talked. “How long have you worked with my boy?” Your mind reeled a bit at the question, you had to lie to keep up with his lie, you only hoped she hadn’t asked these questions to him already otherwise your answers may not match up.

“Not long, about six months.” She smiled as she worked, her hands deft and nimble with years of knife work under her belt. She hardly looked up at you while she worked. “Ohh, not very long at all, he must like you if he brought you home.”

Oh if you only knew the other half of it. But you didn’t feel like ruining this woman’s image of her god son plus it would make things extremely awkward so you went along with it and just asked polite questions to keep the conversation going.

“What was he like growing up?” She set the chopped nuts aside and started to collect the rest of the ingredients from their various homes. Vanilla extract from the cabinet, eggs and butter from the fridge.

“He was a good boy, minded his manners and did well in school. Grew like a weed and nearly ate me and his momma out of house and home.” You laughed along with her, you could certainly imagine that.

“How did you come to be his godmother?”

“Let’s see… My Henry met George Morris one sunny afternoon in May of 1967. He was taking the ferry out to see his mother on Gravine Island. The ferry had barely pulled away from dock when he heard a crash off the port side. A truck had swerved off the bridge and broken through the guard rails. Henry watched as it tipped over the side of the bridge and fell into the water and immediately jumped into action.” As she talked, now beginning to spoon out cookies, your movements stilled to listen.

“He dove off the side of the ferry and swam to the truck which had already taken on water and had sunk under. George was knocked unconscious by the crash but Henry was able to get him out of the seat and helped him to shore, saving his life. When George woke up in the hospital two weeks later he swore he’d never stop repaying Henry for what he’d done.” She pointed across the counter to the second sheet pan as she’d already filled hers. Grabbing it for her, you handed it over and she continued.

“Me and Henry never could have kids, we tried and tried but it just wasn’t meant to be. When Pearl and George found out they were pregnant they insisted on making us the baby’s godparents, effectively giving us the child we could never have on our own and we raised him up together like he was ours.” She smiled fondly at the end and you can really tell she holds him close to her heart.

“George raised his son with the image of Henry as a hero and idolized him. When he graduated high school he went off to college in Houston before joining the ATF and his military career took off from there, following in Henry’s footsteps.”

She put the finished trays in the oven and closed the door on them and the story, it was one you hadn’t expected. “Wow. That’s quite a story.”

She smiled at you and wiped her hands off on a tea towel. “Everyone’s got one dear. Now help me clean up while these bake.”

Deimos pulled the truck into the drive somber and mentally drained. He knew it was going to be hard but not like that, nothing could have prepared him for that. Pulling up to the house he put it in park and sat there for a moment just breathing and wondering how he got here.

After a moment he got out of the truck and locked it before saddling around the side of the house, headed straight for the pout house, with any luck maybe he could catch a nap before dinner. As he stepped up to the front door he found it unlocked and immediately grabbed for the vendetta in his holster. He cocked back the heavy hammer and pushed the door open onto the parlor. There was a paperback laying on the couch but the room was otherwise empty. He quickly cleared the premises but there was no sign of you. He swore to himself and ran out of the house.

You and Mama Anne had just finished drying the last of the dishes when he charged into the room. All heads, yours, Mama Anne’s and Clover’s snapped to the archway as he bolted around the corner in a panic but as he surveyed the room the panic died and he froze. Mama Anne let out an irritated huff and went off. “Gerald! What have I told you about running in the house?!”

His body language immediately changed, his shoulders drooping and his gun dropping to his side as he straightened out. “I’m sorry Mama Anne, it’s just…”

She stood waiting for his explanation. “Well? It’s just what?” He didn’t have an answer and instead apologized again and just left the room, leaving the three of you staring after him confused. “I don’t know what’s gotten into that boy!” Just as she’d finished speaking the egg timer went off and gave both of you another jump which she huffed at again.

“Go see what’s wrong with him, I’ll take the cookies out.”

You finally found him in the pout house. Clover curled up in the parlor and left you to tend to him alone. He was upstairs in his room, it was your first sight of it but you were too caught up in the moment to give it any real attention. You instantly felt sorry for him upon your entry. He was sat on the edge, his hands in his lap and staring off at the floor but it was clear he wasn’t present, lost somewhere in his thoughts.

“Gerald, huh? Never would have guessed.” But the joke missed and he hardly reacted. It was clear he was going through something, though you still didn’t know what. You took the hint and sat down next to him as he finally stirred. You didn’t expect the question he asked.

“Why didn’t you leave?” You shook your head but he stared up at you, pressing the issue. You felt uncomfortable with the answer that sat heavy on your chest so you gave him one that didn’t make your voice shake when you said it. “I’m scared of snakes.” You smiled at him, hoping under the thick hard shell that maybe you’d made him smile back, but he seemed as stoic as ever.

It was time to get to the heart of the issue. “Deimos, what’s wrong?” He sighed, like he knew this was coming at some point and decided that maybe now was the time. For a moment he seemed to be searching for where to begin before he spoke. “It’s my godfather. He’s… sick.” He paused and while his answer set in and you began to search for something to say he continued.

“We put him in hospice today. That’s why I had to come home. He’s dying and there’s nothing I can do.” The room filled with uncomfortable silence. You were scared it would come to this, you never had been good at providing comfort and had just begun to get a grip on your feelings towards him but you knew you had to do something.

Tentatively you turned to him and lifted a hand up to his face. You pulled it towards yours slowly. He allowed the movement but once facing you he froze, staying stark still like a deer in the headlights as you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss over the hard shell of his mask, your lips lingering there against the cool curve of it for a moment. Pulling back your eyes slowly dragged up to the dark lenses of his mask and you whispered against him. “I’m sorry.”

You moved to pull away, worried you’d perhaps gone too far when his hand gripped your wrist and held you there. There was a moment after as you both stared at each other in nervous anticipation before he spoke, softly.

“Do you trust me?” You stared up at him, your heart beating loud in your chest. It was a good question, one you were scared to answer. Did you really trust this man? This man who’d killed your squadmates. This man who’d kept you hostage and forced you to live in captivity. This man who stood for everything you’d been trained to hate. Did you trust your enemy? After a moment you whispered back. “Yes.”

He moved to stand and you started to stand with him when he stopped you. “Stay. I’ll be right back.” You did as he asked but the time he was gone seemed to stretch on endlessly. You nearly got up to go after him when he recentered the room and shut the door behind him. He held what he’d gone to retrieve out in front of him, it was your sleeping mask.

You looked up at him and began to backpedal. “Deimos I-“ the hand not holding the mask reached out to settle on your thigh, silencing you. “Trust.”

Your eyes met the dark pools of his mask again as he held the mask out for you. You reached out and grabbed it from him, taking one last look at your captor as the last thing you’d see before sliding the silk over your eyes and falling into darkness. There was movement, the ruffle of cloth gliding against skin and then you felt him, the heat of his body sliding up to yours, felt the warm puff of his breath close.

Your heart leapt to the front of your rib cage as you leaned forward slightly and closed the distance. You felt his lips against yours for the first time, surprisingly soft and full as he leaned into the kiss experimentally, deepening it. He began to shift and blind to the world, all you could do was let him guide you. He moved you up the bed, giving gentle guidance with his body as you followed suit.

Your lips lost his and you tried to find them again in the dark, already addicted to the taste. You felt one of his hands slide up your arm until it seated itself against the back of your neck, pulling you back into the kiss and holding you there, drinking you in. You roamed his chest, pulling at whatever you could get your hands on, trying to pull it off of him. He chuckled against you and nipped at your bottom lip with his teeth before pulling away.

You must have displayed your displeasure because he came back and kissed you softly once more, a quick chaste thing that held meaning. Relax, be patient. You held still as you heard him pulling at his clothes and your arms couldn’t help but reach out to try and get a feel of what you couldn’t see. Your palm slid over his bare flesh, his chest warm and padded with thick muscle. Your fingers lost him as he dropped out of range, beginning to pull at your clothes and making quick work of your socks and shoes.

Next your top, sliding easily over your head and then your bra. His hands came up to cup and knead at your breasts. You jumped slightly, back arching as you felt him lean down and his mouth closed over one nipple, sucking it in and lavishing it with his tongue. He pushed you back down and pulled off of you, his hands beginning to work at the fly of your shorts. When they were undone he slid them, along with your panties down your legs and off your feet.

He climbed your body slow, sliding his hands up the length of your legs, planting kisses that dotted his ascent. He stopped short at your thighs and when you reached down towards him to pull him back up to your lips his hands met them and he laced his fingers in the spaces between yours to lock you in place.

“Patience, sweetheart. I want a taste.” You moan, vividly remembering the night you met and your legs fell open for him in anticipation. His mouth was hot on your thighs and he took his time, sucking marks into the unmarred flesh and claiming it. He licked a stripe up your slit without warning and your head dropped back on the pillow as your hips lifted to chase it.

He held your hands in place as his mouth settled over your clit, sucking hard and making you squirm. But he has no intentions of teasing as he dives fully into the thick of you, burying his face between your thighs and getting more than just a taste of what you have to offer. He eats you with a carnal thoroughness that rivals starvation, like he’d been craving you since he’d had you and been subsequently denied.

He could feel the muscles in your legs, thrown up on his shoulders, tensing and shaking as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. The room, filled with your sweet sighs and breathy moans had him rutting against the bed beneath him but he can tell you’re close by the way your fingers are squeezing him, your nails digging into the flesh between his knuckles; branding the skin with crescent moons that he’ll fixate on until they lighten and lighten and then ultimately disappear.

The sight of you before him, head tipped back and tossing from side to side at each shift of his lips, at the very drag of his tongue, the way your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, pushing the crests of your breasts up to the heavens has to be the most angelic thing he’d ever seen. The taste of you only concreted the point in his mind, for nothing this sweet could be anything short of divine.

He can tell you’re close, catching onto the way you've suddenly gone unnaturally quiet, the way your hips push into the sensations but your fingers try to pry themselves away from his. He doubles down, his lips latching over top of your clit and running his tongue over it in light arcs as your body snaps up off the bed, a long drawn out moan falling from your beautiful lips as it courses through you. He stops suckling to lick up your slit, catching every drop of you as you come hard.

By the time he’s done you’re squirming in his grip, desperate to get away from the devastating sensations. He relents and lets you go but only to climb up your body, his lips exploring every inch of exposed flesh on his way up. You pull him up to you and catch him in kiss, slow and deep as his arms hike your legs up until he’s caught you under the knees. His mouth never leaves yours as he lines himself up with your soaking slit and drags the head of his cock up and down it, wetting it.

His lips pull away from you as he pushes in slowly, bottoming out in one smooth thrust and groaning against your cheek as you cry out from the intrusion. You’re tight from your first orgasm and it takes an alarming amount of self control for him not to immediately begin to wreck you. He’s patient as you adjust but the second you buck up towards him he picks up the pace, unwilling to wait a moment longer.

You’ve picked a hell of a time to open up to him, emotionally vulnerable and looking for some sort of outlet he seizes the opportunity you’ve presented him by the throat. But by the way you’re moaning his name and scratching your nails down his back it seems to him like you can’t have many complaints.

Your legs shake in his hold, body jolting up with every thrust as your hands explore what you can not see. They slide up the steep hills of shoulders and across the length of his arms, over the rigid muscles of his biceps and onto the smooth hams of his forearms. Traveling further you place your hands on his pecs, feeling the beat of his heart and the bellows of his lungs. Sliding down the hard plane of his sternum to settle on his abdomen, addicted to the undulating movements of his pelvis beneath your palms and the way it syncs with the drag of his cock against your walls. You feel him fully for what feels like this first time.

He alternates periodically between worshiping your breasts and silencing your screams, swallowing them whole straight from the source. One hand leaves its hold on your leg to slide up and settle over your throat, squeezing gently and tilting your head to the side.

His mouth leaves yours to plant a hickey on your neck just below your ear before he starts to whisper, low and hot right up against your ear, pounding into you hard and deep all the while.

“Look so pretty like this. Bare and spread open for me. Tell me sugar cane…” His hips roll against yours and the angle it creates makes you whine low in your throat. “When did it change?” You know what he’s talking about but the way he’s got you right now has you unable to form coherent thoughts let alone try to voice them. But in truth, even you don’t know where it happened. Where the wires in your brain became so frayed they had eventually crossed, where the impossible thing occurred, where you lost yourself to him.

“It doesn’t really matter though, does it? I told you, didn’t I?” The hand not around your throat slips down and finds your clit and your back arches beneath him as you realize a split second before it happens that you’re going to come. “I told you that you’d be mine.” His teeth sink into the side of your neck and you scream as you come around him for the second time. Your eyes rolling up into the back of your head behind the mask, as he drives you through it. His lips ravage your neck, his thrusts turn sloppy as you writhe beneath him in unbridled bliss and squeeze him for dear life, the raw unfiltered pleasure of it burning through your veins.

He’s so close, just needs a little more to fall into the pit of his own pleasure and you barely hold on as he takes what he needs from you, with a final series of thrusts he comes deep in your heat with a roar, filling you full of his seed as you cling to him and take every drop. As you both come down he’s much more gentle, soft kisses up and down your neck and chest and cheeks as your breathing stabilizes.

You linger there, in the bliss of the aftermath still blind as he rolls off of you and pulls you close. Your head on his chest you can hear the beating of his heart lulling you into a dozy half awake state. You wonder where this goes, as you lay against him in his bed, the bed you’ve made where you willingly lay. He doesn’t let you ruminate on it, with a kiss to the head and a soft shushing he calms your thoughts and you fall into a dreamless sleep.

The blare of a sat phone wakes you with a start. Your head lifts from his chest and he slides out from beneath you to answer it. The call is curt and little is said but as he hangs up you feel him already getting up off the bed and begin dressing. Self consciously you pull the sheet up to cover you and wait for the feel of his hands on your skin.

When he pulls your mask off you realize it’s late, the light completely drained from the horizon, the only glow in the room emits from a little bedside lamp. He’s dressed and snatching your clothes up to hand them to you.

“Deimos, what’s happening?”

“It’s Rainbow, they’re coming. I know who the mole is.”

#dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #deimos smut #deimos x reader #r6s deimos x you #r6s deimos #rainbow six x reader #rainbow six siege #tw dark content #tw dark themes #twdubcon #tw noncon

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dathomirdumpsterfire · 10 months

Text

Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 11~

'If I make it out of this alive,’ Obi-Wan thinks, ‘I'm leaving this part of the story off my report to the rest of the council.’

The whole ‘sith lord reborn through… an unknown convergence in the force… into a previously unheard of fish hybrid… who was supposed to be dead… but isn't… and-’

… actually, he's not sure what he's going to say at all.

His thoughts are interrupted by a wack of fins upside his head.

“Ow!” the jedi says, rubbing at the point of impact and glaring at the source. “Why are you hitting me again?”

“You are not paying attention!” Maul declares, and shoves more of the slimy moss into his hands. “Look!”

He does. It's… the same as before? Clover like. Wet. bioluminescent. Slick. “Yes? What about it?”

The dragonfish sith huffs, like he's being obtuse, and spirals around his back. Obi-Wan finds himself lifted and supported entirely on the curl of his tail. Maul’s head leans over his shoulder, hands reaching around him to pull even more of the plants into his lap. The sith's pupils are blown, big enough to see in the green light of his eyes.

“It is luminous and it is soft,” the sith sighs happily, “it is Kenobi Moss.”

Obi-Wan huffs with exasperation. “What in the world are you trying to say? It's just a plant. Tsk. I think you imbibed a bit much of… whatever it was that you took.”

Maul growls, shaking the bundle, “I am not high, it is-! It is Kenobi Moss! It is light and soft like you are light and soft!”

The jedi master crosses his arms and leans back.

…he's surprised to find himself quite comfortable, save for the damp plants in his lap. The length of Maul's torso and tail made for a rather shapely chair.

“I am not soft, Maul. I'm scared, calloused, and quite hairy. Now! I think, perhaps, you should consider sleeping off whatever this is.”

“You are dumb,” the sith says plainly, “and soft,” he adds, putting his clawed hands into Obi-Wan's hair. “Ssssoft…” he sith hisses delightfully, suddenly deciding to play with it.

Obi-Wan blinks, rapidly, cheeks going pink. “...quit that,” he demands lamely.

“Hnnn!” Maul says, ignoring him in favor of winding fingers through his hair repeatedly.

Oh blast, that feels incredible. Nails trail along his scalp, alternatively heavy enough to dig heady lines across the skin, then light enough tracing to give him shivers.

“Maul,” he complains, “would you please qu-”

“No,” the bastard chimes, “I am busy.”

The jedi scowls, trying to reach up and detangle the hands from his head, despite how nice it feels. He is, more or less, sitting on Maul's lap and being petted.

He is also leaving this part of the story out of his report.

“You didn't even hear what I was about to ask!” he complains.

“No!” Maul spits at him, "I am very busy right now, I will not do anything else!”

“You're just… just touching me to amuse yourself! Despite the fact that it's pleasant, you really are not busy! Besides, that’s previously what I was going to ask you. To stop-.”

Maul makes a noise that is absolutely alien, neither zabrak nor human.

…do dragonfish make some kind of noises?

“I do not want to stop! It is pleasant, and soft, and good, and always these things are taken away from me! Always the others are given food! Always the others may sit at the table and be included! Never me! Never me! Always the others are given a chance to kill me, cut me, take my place! But now I am different, I am strong. Now I make the rules.”

“... what?” he says quietly, deeply confused and a little alarmed.

What is the sith talking about?

...food? ...others? ...cutting?

“I am ssstrong,” Maul hisses in his ear, one hand threading deep into Obi-Wan's hair and winding the stands in his fist. “If I want soft things, I will take soft things.”

The man's other hand reaches around his middle, holding the jedi's back flush against his cool, unyielding scales.

“Maul…” he says, thrown and still not sure what to say.

“You… are so soft,” the sith croons into his ear, “and If I want you, I will take you.”

Every word of that phrase goes straight down his spine and into his-

Obi-Wan crosses his arms, his legs, and his toes, then tries to bury everything those words make him feel. “What exactly do you mean about… food? About sitting at the table?”

The sith makes a frustrated noise, nosing into his hair, huffing, then releasing the arm around his middle to pull in yet more glowy moss. “It matters not. The past is gone away. Look. Is this not very good? It makes light. It is like you.”

Maul… really wants him to enjoy the moss? He guesses? …or his blitzed little brain is attempting the most transparent change of subject ever witnessed.

“It is… yes, it's very nice-” he looks down at it, then sidelong at the man curled over his shoulder, “-though… if you don't put it back in the water it will probably die. I suppose it is like me, in that. If I don't get back to the surface, eventually I will also die.”

Maul snarls, wrenching his head back. It hurts, until he relaxes into the pull. The sith moves him where he wants him, draping Obi-Wan along his tail and looming over top of him. His dick gives a little twitch of interest about all this.

“You are not,” the sith tells him fiercely, “allowed. to die. I am keeping you. You are soft and light and good and I will remake the seas until they are hospitable to you. I will pull up heat from the earth to keep you warm, and steal fruit from the sky to see you fed.” The grip on his head relaxes as the sith's brow furrows, confusion and frustration and the struggle to express himself written across his face. “This place is… it is better with you here. You… you will be well here. I will not stop until it is so.”

…kriffing, kark. If that isn't the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to him. How in the ever loving sith hells did they get from revenge and death to this? In a matter of days?

“Maul,” he says too softly, pained, and then stops. Again, he's at a loss for words.

The sith makes a noise of disgust for some reason, and goes back to playing with his hair, then moves on to being fascinated with his beard, following the scruff down and under his jaw with curious fingers until it trails away into skin. He… complacently puts up with the manhandling, with his legs still determinedly crossed.

At least until the other man starts tugging at his tunics.

“Wh- Ma- Excuse you, what are you doing?” he snaps.

“You spoke true… there is very much hair. It is most soft here,” he says, ruffling Obi-Wan's head, “and less soft here," he scritches under the jedi's chin. “I saw your torso before, there was more of it. I want to see how it feels. Take this off.”

Oh hoho hooo No. Absolutely not. “I don't think so,” Obi-Wan drawls, “but I have an excellent alternative for you.”

Maul drifts back a bit, head tilting curiously. His ear fins flit twice. “Mnhh?”

“Kenobi Moss!” the jedi shouts helpfully, and tosses all of the piles of it into the air with the force. Then, he makes them spin and float around like dandelion fluff.

Maul's pupils dilate from ‘overblown’ to ‘the irises are basically gone’, and he goes swaying off to catch the nearest one.

Obi-Wan slides safely off the side of him as he leaves, exhaling expansively.

That was… a close one.

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