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aeralux · 19 days ago

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"Spellbound" - Daemon Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen x Witch!Reader

Summary: A witch doesn't cower to anyone... except maybe a dragon. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. Harrenhal seems to be riddled with darkness and mysteries, after all.

Warnings: SMUT (18+); rough sex; oral (f!receiving); fingering; foul language; talks of magick and its use; technically infidelity on Daemon's part; loss of virginity; mention of blood

Words: 8.3k

Notes: No description of the reader, except for dark hair. Takes place in Harrenhal when Daemon is staying there. I tried to be as accurate to Westeros lore as I could, I literally spent hours on their wiki, so I hope it shows through :)

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Harrenhal was a ghastly place. It had the biggest castle of all of Westeros. The castle had five dizzying towers, with equally monstrous curtain walls. The walls were incredibly thick, and its rooms were built on a scale that would be more comfortable for giants than humans—said to be haunted and eerie.

Perfect for sorceresses and sorcerers alike, the city had a coven of Witches who collectively went by the name "Wives of the Gods Eye." The name was an ode to Gods Eye, the largest lake of the Seven Kingdoms, located south of Harrenhal.

In the embrace of warm sunlight, the water of the Gods Eye shimmers in vibrant shades of blue and green, casting a magical glow. Yet, as winter blankets the land, its surface transforms into a steely grey, reminiscent of the coldest metal. Majestic black swans glide gracefully across the water. Just a short distance away, a winding lake road meanders near the storied Harrenhal, leading through a patchwork of rolling hills, sparkling streams, and golden sunlit fields. As one journeys further south, the landscape gives way to dense, shadowy forests, creating a clear contrast.

The lake, with its murky depths, bore a name of divine beings, yet here, amidst the towering pines and shivering mists, there existed no gods. Only monsters lurked in the shadows, and witches wove their secrets beneath the pale moonlight. As for you, you were a bastard of Pinkmaiden, an unwelcome child of a place that should have offered a home. At the young age of six, you were sent to Harrenhal, a castle steeped in blood and betrayal, to serve the lords and ladies of House Strong as one of the laundresses. The ancient stones watched over you with cold indifference, whispering the secrets of many who had come before.

Your raven-black hair flowed like a dark river down your back, framing your face and matching nicely with your unsettling eyes, which shimmered like a stormy sea. These features marked you as different, a reminder of your uncertain heritage. It was not long before the Lady of Harrenhal, with her porcelain skin and sharp gaze, grew wary of your presence. On the eve of your sixteenth birthday, she cast you out, her disdain cutting deeper than any blade.

Alone and bereft, you wandered the wilderness, uncertainty gnawing at your heart. But fortune smiled upon you when the coven of witches found you, their cloaks billowing like dark wings against the whispering wind. They took you in, offering a refuge far removed from the stone walls of Harrenhal. In their hidden glen, where wildflowers crowded beneath the trees, they made you feel cherished for the first time.

Nowadays, for most, magic is a little-understood force in the world. It has been so long since magic was truly potent that most understanding now exists only in superstition and rituals of questionable validity. But with them, you understood, the doubts of others have no claim.

"You are special," they insisted, words dripping with ancient wisdom. "You possess something otherworldly." Their voices wrapped around you like a warm embrace. For the first time, you believed there was a purpose to your existence—a spark that set you apart from common folk, a thread woven from the fabric of something otherworldly.

Under their solemn guidance, you began to practice the mysterious arts. You learned to mix herbs and roots, crafting potions that glinted with promise and danger. Each incantation you whispered held power, resonating with the essence of the world around you. The witching nights became your solace, and as you delved deeper into their teachings, the women of the coven began to call you their newest daughter—their black swan. In that embrace, you found your wings, soaring above the harsh reality that had sought to bind you.

There, in the shadows of Harrenhal, you discovered your true calling and uncovered your hidden talent: Glamour magic. The few ladies of the coven from Asshai welcomed you into their fold. Asshai, a mysterious and ancient port city nestled in the far southeast of Essos, was unlike any place in Westeros, you gathered from their stories. There, the Ash River wound its way through the land, flowing into the vast expanse of the Jade Sea, where the waters sparkled under the sun like jewels.

As you sat among the flickering candles in their dimly lit chamber, they taught you ancient spells in their native tongue. Words danced on your lips like whispers in the wind, each incantation holding power and mystique. They guided you in prayer, teaching you how to bow your head before the Red God, channelling your intentions through sacred rituals. The air was thick with incense, and the flickering shadows brought to life the stories of ages past, filling your heart with a sense of wonder and purpose.

When the wise ladies of the coven, cloaked in shadows and steeped in ancient lore, deemed you ready to embrace your destiny, they presented you with a striking necklace carved from deep black obsidian. Its surface shimmered like a starless night sky, reflecting the flickering flames of the hearth where your journey began. Though the obsidian was traditionally used to forge weapons of war, the coven believed it resonated with your spirit, a perfect talisman for what lay ahead.

As you clasped the necklace around your neck, it transformed into your glamor, an enchanting charm that bestowed upon you the power to weave illusions. With it, the magic could shift the perceptions of those around you, allowing you to appear as someone—or something—entirely different. While the shape of the necklace remained unchanged, the world could see whatever you wished it to see, bending reality to your will.

The true strength of glamors lies in their connection to the wearer. Each illusion from the obsidian was ingrained with a piece of you, making them far more potent than mere tricks of light. As you wore the necklace, you felt it pulse gently against your skin, a current of magic entwining your fate with ancient spells. The coven’s trust in you burned bright like the embers of a dying fire.

In the realm where shadows danced and whispers echoed, the obsidian necklace became more than just an accessory; it was an extension of your very being, a bridge between the world you knew and the numerous possibilities.

Through the fogs surrounding Harrenhal and its haunting towers, a figure emerged one day that would change the course of history. Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, found himself in the ancient fortress where magic lingered in the air, where witches snarled their secrets beneath the pale moonlight, and where even the strongest of men lost their minds to visions that tormented them.

The arrival of the Targaryen prince foreshadowed the beginning of the violent conflict known as the Dance of the Dragons, igniting the flames of war. The first target being Harrenhal. Daemon Targaryen, fierce and determined, led the charge to seize this shadowy castle for his wife, Rhaenyra. In his mind, it would become a stronghold for loyal supporters rising in the Riverlands.

Chaos erupted in the region, the air thick with tension and fear hanging heavily over the lords and common folk. Yet amidst this turmoil, you stood resolute, encouraged by the words of an elder from your coven, whose foresight promised their safety in these troubled times.

With unwavering determination, you journeyed to the godswood of Harrenhal, walking along the clear, winding stream that wandered gently through the emerald shrubberies. The ancient weirwood, with its deformed roots and an angry face carved into its bark, awaited you at the heart of the woods. Its pale leaves trembled softly in the breeze, whispering secrets of generations past.

Above you, birds flitted through the branches, their songs mingling with the rustling leaves, while bats emerged as shadows against the dusky sky, patrolling for their evening meal. A sly cat sneaked near the godswood's stone wall, its eyes glinting like lanterns in the twilight. In this serene moment, you felt a peculiar kinship with the creatures of the wood, convinced that you were not alone.

With reverence, you placed your offering between the twisted roots of the ancient tree, murmuring a quick prayer. You believed in many deities, each an important part of your life, hoping that at least one would consider your call. After all, in these dark times, hope was a precious thing.

Before your journey back, you felt a tug in your heart to pay a quick visit to Alys. The kind healer lady was one of the rare souls who did not cast disdainful glances at you during your time in the castle. Known by others as the “witch queen,” Alys saw past the uncanny aura that surrounded you. She had grown fond of you, despite the brooding darkness that seemed to dance in your eyes, and she understood that your best path was far from these stone walls. You stood out too much among the lords and ladies, a vision amidst the living.

Like a creeping shadow, you slipped through the secret passage, the cool air brushing against your skin as you navigated the hidden corridors. The echoes of your footsteps were muffled by the cold, damp stones, as you moved with practised ease to avoid the lurking guards. You knew better than to provoke their watchful eyes.

Upon entering Alys's chamber, you were greeted by a familiar sight—her collection of potions and drying herbs adorned the shelves, a simple yet charming chaos that spoke of her craft. The room held a soft scent of lavender and something earthy, an aroma that always brought you comfort. You wandered over to the table, intrigued by the array of glass bottles filled with vivid liquids.

But the serenity shattered in an instant, as a cold steel blade pressed against your throat, sending a chill cascading down your spine. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, mingling with the tension in the air. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as panic surged. Who could it be, a figure lurking in the shadows, ready to end your life? The world around you faded into silence, but your senses heightened, honed by years of uncertainty. At that moment, you wondered if your last moments would be in the castle that had been both shelter and prison.

You couldn't see the face of your attacker, but you could feel the presence looming over you, the weight of their body pressing you forward. The blade dug into your skin, drawing a thin line of blood that trickled down your neck. You swallowed hard, fighting back the fear that threatened to overwhelm you.

"Who are you?" a low and menacing voice demanded. And what are you doing here?"

The voice was unfamiliar to you, but there was a certain authority in it that sent a chill down your spine. You knew that whoever this person was, they meant business.

You tried to turn your head, to catch a glimpse of your attacker, but the blade pressed harder against your throat, making you wince in pain. "Please," you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I mean no harm."

The figure behind you let out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "No harm? You sneak into the healer's chambers like a thief in the night, and you claim to mean no harm?"

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, mingling with the blood on your skin. "I'm not a thief," you said, your voice trembling. "I'm a friend of Alys. I came to see her, to...to say hello."

The blade pressed harder against your throat, making you gasp in pain. "Hello?" the voice repeated, a note of suspicion in it. "Somehow I doubt you, little witch."

You knew then that your attacker was well aware of your true nature, of the magic that coursed through your veins. You thought of the obsidian necklace around your neck, the glamor that disguised you as a simple servant girl. But you knew that even that powerful magic would be no match for the Valyrian steel pressed against your throat.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you struggled to steady your breathing. The cold steel pressed harder against your throat, sending a jolt of pain through your body. You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry, and your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

"I swear, it's true," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with fear. "I didn't know anyone would be here. I thought...I thought Alys would be alone."

You could feel your attacker's warm breath on the back of your neck, their presence looming over you like a dark shadow. You wanted to turn and face them, to see the face of the one who held your life in their hands, but the blade kept you still.

"Please," you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. "Don't hurt me. I'm not here to cause any trouble. I just...I just wanted to see her"

Your hands shook at your sides, the obsidian necklace hidden beneath your simple servant's gown a cold weight against your skin. You knew that your glamor was useless now, that your true nature had been discovered. But you couldn't let them know about the coven, about the power that you possessed.

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain that was sure to come. You had survived so much in your short life and had endured so much hardship and betrayal. But in that moment, faced with the cold steel of a stranger's blade, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I didn't mean any harm."

You waited for the blade to slice through your skin, for the blood to pour from the wound. But it never came. Instead, you felt the pressure of the blade lessen, the cold steel sliding away from your throat.

Slowly, you turned your head, your eyes widening as you saw the face of the one who had held your life in their hands. It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with hair the colour of spun silver and eyes as violet as an iris. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a legend, a true son of Valyria.

Daemon's violet eyes narrowed as he studied the young woman before him, his gaze sharp and piercing. He could see the fear in your eyes, the way your body trembled beneath his touch, but he also sensed something else—a flicker of something dark and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface. He knew a witch when he saw one, and you were no ordinary servant.

"A friend of Alys's, you say?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "And yet you seem to know your way around this castle better than most. Tell me, little witch, what exactly are you doing here?"

He kept the blade pressed against your throat, not enough to draw blood, but enough to keep you still. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath the cold steel and could see the way your pulse fluttered. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"I've dealt with your kind before," he whispered, his voice a low rumble. "I know the tricks you play, the illusions you weave. But trust me, little one, you'll find no mercy here."

Daemon's eyes flicked down to the necklace hidden beneath your gown, a flicker of recognition sparking in their depths. He had seen such trinkets before. But this one was different—there was a power to it that even he could sense, a dark and ancient magic that thrummed through the air like a heartbeat.

"What's this?" he demanded, his fingers brushing against the hidden amulet. "Some kind of charm, is it? A trinket to hide your true face from the world?"

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "I can smell the magic on you, little witch. It clings to your skin like perfume. The same foul odour that clings to the healer."

Daemon's hand slid down from your throat to your collarbone, his fingers tracing the curve of your flesh beneath the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady the trembling of your hands as you met Daemon's piercing violet gaze. With a steady motion, you reached behind your neck and unclasped the necklace, letting the heavy amulet drop into your palm. There was no point in trying to hide your identity any longer. Your true face coming to light.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as you revealed the truth of your identity, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. He could see the fear in your eyes, but also the aggressiveness, the spark of something wild and untamed that called to him like a siren's song.

"I am a witch, yes," you admitted in a hushed whisper, your heart pounding so hard you feared he could hear it. "But I speak the truth, your grace. I did not know anyone would be here."

You couldn't help but notice his rugged handsomeness as you spoke, the strong lines of his jaw and the way his muscles rippled beneath the thin linen of his tunic. You quickly averted your gaze, not wanting him to see the effect he was having on you.

"I'm from the coven called the Wives of the Gods Eye," you continued, voice barely above a whisper. "We practice the old ways, the magic that was once forbidden. I simply came here seeking some herbs."

You met his eyes once more, defiance mingling with the apprehension. "I meant you no harm, my lord. I swear it on my life."

"A witch of the old ways, are you?" he purred, his hand sliding up from your collarbone to cup your chin, tilting your face towards his. "How very interesting. And here I thought Alys was the only one in this godforsaken castle who dabbled in the dark arts."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "You say you seek herbs, little witch, but what say you to a bargain? Your secrets for my protection."

Daemon's hand slid down to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat in a loose grip. He could feel your pulse fluttering beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

"I could use a witch of your talents in my service," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

You stepped back, your hand brushing against the dagger beneath your skirts. "I am not some whore," you hissed, your voice low and dangerous. "I do not offer my services to any man, least of all one who would threaten me with a blade."

You met his gaze, your own eyes blazing with defiance. "You would be wise to let me leave at once, your grace. I have no quarrel with you, but I will not be cowed by threats or promises of power."

Turning on your heel, you strode to the shelves, your movements quick and precise. You grabbed a bottle of dried hemlock, the bitter scent filling your nostrils. You turned back to face him, the vial clutched in your hand like a weapon.

"I a daughter of the Gods Eye. I bow to no man, not even a prince of the realm."

You lifted your chin, your dark hair falling in waves around your face. "Now, I will ask you once more. Let me pass, or face the consequences of crossing a witch."

Your hand tightened on the hemlock, the glass cold against your skin. You could feel the rage thrumming through your veins.

"Choose wisely, your grace."

He had dealt with witches before and had watched as they danced and writhed beneath his touch. In pain and pleasure.

But this one was different. This one had a fire in her eyes that couldn't be tamed, a defiance that only fuelled his dark desires.

"A daughter of the Gods Eye, are you?" he growled, his hand tightening around the hilt of his dagger. "How very bold of you, little witch. To stand before a prince of the realm and threaten him with your petty magic."

He took a step forward, his eyes locked on the vial of hemlock clutched in your hand. "You think that trinket will save you? That your gods will protect you from the wrath of a dragon?"

Your breath hitched as Daemon closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming your senses. The threats rolling off his tongue made your head spin, a dizzying combination of fear and thrill coursing through your veins. You had never met a man who could match the fire in your blood, his very existence seems to challenge you at every turn.

Daemon's lips curled into a cruel smile, his voice dropping to a low, seductive purr. "I have seen the faces of men and women as they begged for mercy, only to be denied. And I have drunk the blood of my enemies, their cries of agony echoing in my ears like a symphony."

"I could hurt you," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "I could crack you like this vial in my hand, leaving you a broken shell of the proud sorceress you once were."

"What do you want?" You gritted out through clenched teeth, hating the way your body reacted to his proximity. Your legs felt weak, your knees threatening to buckle as he loomed over you, his eyes burning into yours.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin at the challenge in your voice, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger that made your blood run cold. He could see the way your body trembled beneath his gaze, could feel the heat of your skin even from a distance.

Stop it, you scolded yourself. He's just a man. Don't let him get under your skin.

But even as you tried to regain your composure, you could feel the power emanating from him like a physical force. It was intoxicating and dangerous, and you knew that if you weren't careful, you could easily lose yourself in the reckless temptation.

"What do I want?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Why, I want what all men want, little witch. Power. Control. To bend others to my will."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingers lingered on your cheek, his touch searing your skin like a brand.

"But with you, I want something more," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to break you. To shatter that defiant spirit of yours and make you mine."

You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, could smell the musk of his scent, and for a moment, you were tempted to give in to the desire coursing through your veins.

But you were not some simpering maiden to be seduced by a pretty face and a silver tongue.

Daemon's hand slid down to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck in a loose grip.

"I could take you now," he growled, his lips brushing against your jawline. "I could pin you to the floor and claim you, make you scream my name until your voice is hoarse."

His other hand slid down your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip through the thin fabric of your gown. "But where's the fun in that? No, I'll take my time with you, little witch. I'll make you beg for my touch, for the sweet release only I can give you."

Daemon's eyes locked with yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "So what will it be, my sweet? Will you submit to me willingly, or will I have to break you first?"

"You think you can break me?" You said, my voice steady and clear. "That you can tame my soul with your pretty words and your empty promises?"

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "I have faced far worse than you, Daemon Targaryen. I have stared into the abyss and emerged unscathed. Your threats mean nothing to me."

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling around the chain of the dragon necklace that hung from his neck. You could feel the heat of the metal against your skin, looking at him with a scowl on your face.

"But if you truly want to test yourself against me, my lord," you teased, your voice low and enchanting. "If you think you have what it takes to claim me as your own... by all means, try."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your challenge, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He could feel the heat of your body against his, could smell the scent of your skin, sweet and intoxicating.

"You play a dangerous game, little witch," he purred, his hand tightening around your throat. "To challenge a dragon is to invite its wrath."

His other hand slid down your back, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. He could feel the heat of your body, could sense the power that coursed through your veins.

"But I like a woman with spirit," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "It makes the eventual submission all the sweeter."

Daemon's hand slid up your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast through the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel your nipple harden beneath his touch, could see the way your body responded to his ministrations.

"I will have you, little witch," he growled, his voice low and seductive. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul. And when I am done with you, you will beg for more."

You roll your eyes at Daemon's sweet words, his attempts at seduction falling flat. He thinks he can have you with just a few pretty lies? How naive.

"You tempt me, my prince," you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm no easy conquest. Besides, Alys will be back soon. I bet she won't be happy to see an old man taking advantage of her friend." You smirk cruelly, enjoying the way his eyes narrow at your words.

You try to pull away from him, but his grip on your throat tightens, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I could seriously hurt you, you know," you snarl, your eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Don't underestimate me."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. In one swift motion, he slammed you against the wall, his body pinning you in place.

"Enough of your games, little witch," he snarled, his hand tightening around your throat. "You think you can toy with me, challenge me, and walk away unscathed?"

His free hand slid down your body, his fingers tearing at the fabric of your gown with a sharp, ripping sound. Buttons scattered across the floor as he bared your skin to his hungry gaze.

Shock and fury flash through you as Daemon rips open your dress, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze. You stare at him, completely still as a statue from utter disbelief, your breath coming in heavy gasps that make your breasts heave with each inhale.

"I will have you," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul."

Daemon's hand slid down your body, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast, teasing your nipple into a hardened peak. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his touch.

"I can feel your desire, little witch," he purred, his lips brushing against your ear. "Your body betrays you, even as you try to resist. I will make you mine, in every way possible."

"W-wait," you try to say, but your voice comes out breathy and weak as his fingers roll your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. Your eyes roll back and a soft moan escapes your parted lips.

What is happening? How did this get so out of control? You think to yourself, your mind spinning from the onslaught of sensation. You can't believe this is happening, that you are letting a man you barely know take such liberties with your body.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as he saw the effect his touch was having on you, your body arching into his hand like a cat in heat. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his ministrations.

His hand slid down to your thigh, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your ripped gown to caress the soft skin of your leg. He could feel the heat of your body.

"But first, I think I'll taste you," he growled, his hand sliding higher, higher until his fingers brushed against the slick, heated flesh of your core.

Even as you try to formulate a protest, your body betrays you, arching into his touch, craving more of the delicious pleasure he's igniting within you. No, I can't let this happen. I have to stop him.

But the words never leave your lips, lost in a moan as Daemon's hand slides lower, teasing you in places you have only touched in secret, in the dark of night. You are lost in a haze of sensation, your body responding to his touch despite your mind's protests.

"That's it, little witch," he purred, his fingers pinching and tugging at your nipple. "Give in to the pleasure. Let yourself feel the ecstasy only I can give you."

He could feel the wetness of your arousal, could smell the musky scent of your desire.

"You're already so wet for me," he growled, his fingers brushing against your slick folds. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind tries to deny it."

Daemon's fingers slid higher, teasing your entrance with a feather-light touch. Your walls clenched around his fingers, begging for more.

You couldn't think straight, your mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. It was wrong to crave a man you had just met, especially one who had threatened your life moments ago. But the way his fingers teased your most intimate places sent waves of pleasure through your body.

You had heard the other women of your coven speak of lovemaking, their descriptions painting it as a powerful form of magic. Perhaps you could harness this power, and use it to your advantage as Daemon desired to use you for his own pleasure.

Your hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction. You bit your lip to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your lips, determined to maintain some facade of control. But deep down, you knew you were in danger of losing yourself to the sensations he was eliciting.

Daemon's eyes glinted with triumph as he felt your hips roll against his hand, your body betraying your true desires. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the way you bit your lip to stifle your moans, and it only served to fuel his own dark lust.

"You can't hide from me, little witch," he growled, his fingers teasing your slick folds. "I can feel how much you want this, how much you crave my touch."

He pressed two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit with a maddening rhythm.

You let out a loud, uncontrollable moan as Daemon's fingers delved deep into your untouched walls, his touch igniting a fire within you. Your juices flowed freely, coating his hand as ecstasy consumed your entire being.

Your body writhed against the cold stone wall, your hips bucking shamelessly against his skilled fingers as he finger-fucked you with reckless abandon. Waves of pleasure crashed over you with each thrust, your breasts heaving as he groped and kneaded them roughly.

"Your body is mine now," Daemon snarled, plunging his fingers deeper into your slick heat. He curled them just right, stroking that sensitive spot within you that made your vision go white. "You'll scream my name until your throat is raw. You'll beg for my cock like a bitch in heat."

His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as he finger-fucked you with ruthless intensity. Your cries of pleasure echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the lewd squelching sounds of his fingers pounding into your drenched cunt.

"That's it, take it," Daemon growled, his lips latching onto a pert nipple. He sucked hard, grazing the bud with his teeth as his fingers ruthlessly stroked your g-spot. "Come for me, little witch. Let me feel you spasm on my fingers."

He could feel your walls fluttering around his digits, your body teetering on the brink of climax. With a final, brutal thrust, he sent you careening over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy filled the room as your pussy clenched down on his fingers, your release dripping down his fingers.

Daemon lapped at your neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. He continued pumping his fingers through your climax, prolonging your pleasure until you were boneless and mewling.

"Good girl," he purred, finally withdrawing his soaked fingers. He brought them to your lips, smearing your essence across them. "Clean them."

Your eyes fluttered open, glazed with post-orgasmic bliss. You hesitated only a moment before parting your lips, allowing him to push his fingers into your mouth. The musky taste of your arousal coated your tongue, and you couldn't help but moan around his digits.

He grins wickedly as you lap at his fingers provocatively, cleaning your essence from them. As his fingers are clean, he lowers himself to the floor, kneeling before you, as to worship you.

You gasp as Daemon sinks to his knees before you, his dark eyes fuming with raw desire. Your heart races, your pulse pounding in your ears as he settles between your trembling thighs. The heat of his breath on your most sensitive flesh sends electric shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

Dazed and off-balance, you instinctively reach out, fisting your hands in his hair for support. Your legs still feel like jelly from your earth-shattering climax moments before.

A bewildered expression crosses your face as he grins up at you, his tongue snaking out to drag along your dripping slit. You cry out, your head slamming back against the cold stone wall as ecstasy crashes over you in relentless waves.

"Mmmm, you taste divine," Daemon purrs, his hot breath fanning over your slick folds. He laps at your essence like a man starved, his tongue delving deep to drink from your most intimate well.

You can only moan brokenly, your head thrashing from side to side as he feasts upon your quivering flesh. His tongue is pure sin, licking and suckling at your clit with unholy skill.

"Good girl," he growls, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. "Ride my face. Grind that pretty cunt against my tongue."

Lost to the all-consuming pleasure, you do as he commands, rolling your hips shamelessly against his mouth. Your thighs clench around his head, trapping him in place as you fuck his face with feral ease.

His lips close around your clit, suckling the sensitive bud as he thrusts two fingers into your dripping channel. They curl just right, stroking that secret spot within you that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Daemon groans, pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering walls.

You can only whimper in response, your body tensing as another climax builds at the base of your spine. It coils tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

Daemon's tongue delved deep, lapping at your dripping essence with a hunger that bordered on feral. He groaned against your slick flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure racing through your body.

He focused his attention on your clit, the tip of his tongue flicking the sensitive bud with rapid, teasing strokes. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he devoured you like a man starved.

Your fingers tightened in his hair. The public nature of your coupling only served to heighten the forbidden thrill, the rush of being taken in a place where anyone could stumble upon you.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his probing tongue as he brought you to the brink of climax once more.

With one final, hard suck, he sent you spiralling over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy echoed off the stone walls as your pussy clenched around his tongue, your release gushing into his eager mouth.

Daemon lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure as he drank down every last drop of your sweet nectar. He continued his ministrations until your body went limp, your cries turning to whimpers as the waves of pleasure subsided.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. He stood, a wicked grin on his face as he towered over your prone form.

"You taste divine, little witch," he purred, his hand sliding up your body to cup your breast. He pinched your nipple, rolling the hardened peak between his fingers. "I could feast on your cunt for hours and never grow tired."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "But I'm not nearly done with you yet..."

Lifting you up with ease, Daemon tosses you onto the creaky bed, your body bouncing on the worn mattress. You cry out in surprise, your heart pounding as you take in his towering form looming over you. His eyes burn with a hunger that gives you chills.

"Daemon, please," you plead, your voice trembling. Your core aches, still throbbing from the intense climaxes he's wrought from your untouched body. You are no experienced harlot, but an untouched maiden, and you fear you are not ready for the sheer size of him.

Daemon's large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he settles between your thighs.

Daemon's eyes raked over your trembling form, taking in the sight of you spread out before him like a feast. His cock throbbed with need, straining against the confines of his breeches as he drank in the sight of your swollen, glistening folds.

His hands moved with urgent purpose, his fingers making quick work of the laces of his breeches. He shoved the garment down his legs, kicking it aside with a careless motion. His cock sprang free, the thick shaft jutting out proudly from a nest of dark curls.

He rubbed his cock against your slick entrance, teasing you with the promise of his hard length. You could feel it throbbing against your sensitive flesh, hot and hard and ready to claim you utterly.

"Please," you whimpered, your body trembling with need. "I... I've never... I don't know if I can take you."

A cruel smile twisted Daemon's lips as he heard your plea.

"Please be gentle," you whisper, looking up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes.

Daemon's expression softens for a moment, a flicker of something akin to tenderness crossing his features. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip.

"Shh, little witch," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly mild. "I'll make it good for you. I promise."

With that, he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you, staking his claim over you.

As he kisses you deeply, you feel the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. Slowly, incredibly slowly, he begins to push forward, stretching you open around his thick girth.

A sharp gasp escapes you, breaking the kiss as he breaches your barrier. Pain and pleasure mingle together, your untouched walls struggling to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his hips grinding against yours. He gives you a moment to adjust, his hands roaming your body possessively. "Such a perfect little cunt, made just for me."

He starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. The rhythm is brutal, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed as pain and pleasure crashed over you in equal measure. He stretched you wide, his thick length filling you in a way you never thought possible. Your walls stretched and clenched around him, your slick arousal easing the way as he claimed you over and over again.

"Fuck!" Daemon snarls, his eyes rolling back at the tight, wet heat of your virgin walls.

Daemon sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with animalistic hunger. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he ruts into your willing body.

"Take it," he growls, his voice strained with pleasure, his hips snapping against yours with ruthless force.

The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and his grunts as he took you, his cock sawing in and out of your dripping cunt. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails raking down his back, leaving red marks and bloody imprints.

Daemon's brutal thrusts tore through you, each one sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. You screamed, your voice hoarse and ragged as he pounded into your virgin cunt. Tears streamed down your face, your nails raking down his back as you clung to him desperately.

He had taken something sacred from you, your maidenhead, and you knew your souls were now tied. The ritual of first blood, unplanned as it was, had sealed your fates together. And with a dragon as your first, the power you could now wield...

You threw your head back, your moans echoing off the stone walls as he fucked you with complete disregard. Your hips bucked to meet his thrusts, the pain giving way to a pleasure you had never known before. You were lost to the sensation, your body consumed by the feel of him inside you.

Daemon's eyes darkened at the sight of your tears, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He could feel your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock like a vice as he claimed you over and over again.

He angled his hips, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with each brutal thrust. His hands roamed your body, groping and squeezing, leaving bruises in their wake.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take my cock like the little slut you are. Fucking mine now, aren't you? Your cunt belongs to me."

You met his thrusts with your own, your hips rising to meet him as he drove into you over and over again. The bed groaned beneath you, the frame creaking threateningly as he took you with unrestrained lust.

You felt your peak nearing, your entire body on fire as Daemon pounded into you with unrestrained fury. You brought his neck to your teeth, biting down hard enough to draw a few drops of blood. The copper taste flooded your mouth, bitter and metallic as you licked the crimson liquid from your lips.

"Now you have bled for me too," you whispered ominously, your voice thick with lust and dark magic.

But before you could reach your peak, you quickly reached for your enchanted necklace, clutching it in your hand. The ancient magics within pulsed to life, amplifying the power of this ritual tenfold.

Power surged through you, your cunt squeezing tight around Daemon's cock as you came. Your eyes rolled back, your body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Dark energy swirled around you, the air crackling with stifled energy.

"Mine," you whispered, your voice echoing with unexpected dominance. "You are mine now, Daemon Targaryen. Entwined by blood and pleasure."

Daemon's eyes flew open in surprise, his mouth falling open as he felt the surge of dark witchcraft. But it was too late - the ritual was complete.

Daemon froze, his cock buried deep inside your still-spasming cunt. He stared down at you, his eyes wide with shock and a hint of fear.

He groaned, his hips stuttering as your cunt clenched around him like a vice. The dark magic amplified every sensation, every touch, every thrust. It was overwhelming and intoxicating, and he never wanted it to end.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice strained with anger and pleasure. "What did you do?"

But even as he asked, he knew. You had bound him to you, claimed him in a way that went beyond the physical.

He thrust into you one last time, his cock erupting deep inside you as he came.

He tried to pull out, to break the connection, but your walls clenched around him, refusing to let him go. Panic flashed across his face as he realized the implications of what you'd done.

"You... you she-devil," he snarled, his hands tightening on your hips. "Did you plan this? To trick me, to bind me to you?"

You just grinned, a vicious, seductive curve of your lips. You could feel his fear, his anger, but beneath it all was a flicker of arousal. The power you now held over him was intoxicating.

"Shh," you cooed, your fingers trailing down his chest. "Don't fight it. We are one now."

You roll your hips, your walls clenching around his softening cock. He groans, his hips bucking unconsciously into yours.

You gasped as the obsidian stone of your necklace pulsed warmly against your throat. The maleficent force surged through your veins, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. "Yes!" You cried out, the power exhilarating in your veins.

Your eyes, nearly black now, held his gaze as you sneered cruelly.

Daemon collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His softening cock slipped from your abused cunt, a trickle of his seed leaking out to pool on the tattered sheets beneath you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies still intertwined as you both tried to process what had just happened. The energy that had swirled around you during your climax still lingered in the air, making the hairs on Daemon's arms stand on end.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes searching your face. He looked confused as he took in your triumphant grin and the blackness of your eyes.

"What... what did you do to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You smiled at him, your eyes gleaming with malice. "I didn't do anything to you. I had no desire to harm you, as I stated before," you answered truthfully. "Did you know that the moment when one reaches orgasm is the most intense and the most powerful experience a human can have in life? For in that moment, the soul suddenly opens to the divine realm and the breath of God is infused. I needed another to reach divinity."

You rose from the bed, slipping your ripped dress back on and throwing a cloak over yourself. "I simply used you... as you have done to many women in your life, I'm sure. Do not fret, my prince," you smirked.

Daemon stared up at you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and a hint of grudging admiration. He pushed himself up to sit, his naked body on full display as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

"Used me?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "I've never been used like this before."

He stood, his cock already starting to harden again at the sight of you, despite his anger. He took a step towards you, his hand reaching out as if to grab you, but he stopped himself.

"What are you?" he demanded, his eyes raking over your form. "What kind of witch are you?"

He snatched up his discarded breeches, roughly pulling them on, his mind reeling from the events of the past hour.

"I should kill you for this," he growled, but there was no real heat behind his words. He knew he couldn't, not now. Not with the bond between you, however unexpected it may be.

"What do you want from me now?" He asked, rage clearly visible in his eyes.

You sauntered over to Daemon, your hips swaying seductively. The rip in your dress left little to the imagination, your full breasts on display for his hungry gaze. You could see the desire warring with the anger in his eyes as you approached.

"Nothing anymore, my prince," you purred, your voice like honey. "My powers have been amplified. I owe you a debt of gratitude for that."

You traced a finger along his jawline, feeling the prickle of his stubble. "Though I wouldn't mind having you take me again. I doubt I'll find another man as virile as you in all of Westeros."

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "You've awakened something in me, Daemon Targaryen. A hunger I never knew I could satisfy."

Your hand slid down his chest, your nails raking lightly over his skin. "I am yours. And I suspect you are mine as well."

You pulled back, your eyes locking with his. "What say you, my dragon?"

Daemon's breath hitched as you touched him, his body responding instantly to your proximity despite his anger. He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise as he glared down at you.

He pulled you closer, his other hand gripping your hip. "You want to be taken again?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll fucking ruin you."

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months ago

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General Mills and cheaply bought "dietitians" co-opted the anti-diet movement

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in NEXT THURSDAY (Apr 11) in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroehttps://cockeyed.com/lessons/viagra/viagra.html, then PROVIDENCE, RI (Apr 12), and beyond!

Steve Bannon isn't wrong: for his brand of nihilistic politics to win, all he has to do is "flood the zone with shit," demoralizing people to the point where they no longer even try to learn the truth.

This is really just a more refined, more potent version of the tactical doubt sown by Big Tobacco about whether smoking caused cancer, a playbook later adopted by the fossil fuel industry to sell climate denial. You know Darrell Huff's 1954 classic How To Lie With Statistics? Huff was a Big Tobacco shill (his next book, which wasn't ever published, was How To Lie With Cancer Statistics). His mission wasn't to help you spot statistical malpractice – an actual thing that is an actual problem that you should actually learn to spot. It was to turn you into a nihilist who didn't believe anything could be known:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/04/how-to-truth/#harford

Corporations don't need you to believe that their products are beneficial or even non-harmful. They just need you to believe nothing. If you don't know what's true, then why not just do whatever feels good, man? #YOLO!

These bannonfloods of shit are a favored tactic of strongmen and dictators. Their grip on power doesn't depend on their citizens trusting them – it's enough that they trust no one:

http://jonathanstray.com/networked-propaganda-and-counter-propaganda

Bannonflooding is especially beloved of the food industry. Food is essential, monopolized, and incredibly complicated, and many of the most profitable strategies for growing, processing and preparing food are very bad for the people who eat that food. Rather than sacrificing profits, the food industry floods the zone with shit, making it impossible to know what's true, in hopes that we will just eat whatever they're serving:

https://journals.plos.org/plosbiology/article?id=10.1371/journal.pbio.2003460

Now, the "nothing can be known" gambit only works if it's really hard to get at the truth. So it helps that nutrition and diet are very complex subjects, but it helps even more that the nutrition and diet industry are a cesspool of quacks and junk science. This is a "scientific discipline" whose prestigious annual meetings are sponsored (and catered) by McDonald's:

https://www.motherjones.com/environment/2014/05/my-trip-mcdonalds-sponsored-nutritionist-convention/

It's a "science" whose most prominent pitchmen peddle quack nostrums and sue the critics who point out (correctly) that eating foods high in chlorophyll will not "oxygenate your blood" (hint, chlorophyll only makes oxygen in the presence of light, which is notably lacking in your colon):

https://www.badscience.net/2007/02/ms-gillian-mckeith-banned-from-calling-herself-a-doctor/

When the quack-heavy world of nutrition combines with the socially stigmatized world of weight-loss, you get a zone ripe for shitflooding. The majority of Americans are "overweight" (according to a definition that relies on the unscientific idea of BMI) and nearly half of Americans are "obese." These numbers have been climbing steadily since the 1970s, and every diet turns out to be basically bullshit:

https://headgum.com/factually-with-adam-conover/what-does-ozepmic-actually-do-with-dr-dhruv-khullar

Notwithstanding the new blockbuster post-Ozempic drugs, we're been through an unbroken 50-year run of more and more of us being fatter and fatter, even as fat stigma increased. Fat people are treated as weak-willed and fundamentally unhealthy, while the most prominent health-risks of being fat are roundly neglected: the mental health effects of being shamed, and the physical risks of having doctors ignore your health complaints, no matter how serious they sound, and blame them on your weight:

https://maintenancephase.buzzsprout.com/1411126/11968083-glorifying-obesity-and-other-myths-about-fat-people

Fat people and their allies have banded together to address these real, urgent harms. The "body acceptance" movement isn't merely about feeling good in your own skin: it's also about fighting discrimination, demanding medical care (beyond "lose some weight") and warning people away from getting on the diet treadmill, which can lead to dangerous eating disorders and permanent weight gain:

https://www.beacon.org/You-Just-Need-to-Lose-Weight-P1853.aspx

Fat stigma is real. The mental health risks of fat-shaming are real. Eating disorders are real. Discrimination against fat people is real. The fact that these things are real doesn't mean that the food industry can't flood the zone with shit, though. On the contrary: the urgency of these issues, combined with the poor regulation of dietitians, makes the "what should you eat" zone perfect for flooding with endless quantities of highly profitable shit.

Perhaps you've gotten some of this shit on you. Have you found yourself watching a video from a dietitian influencer like Cara Harbstreet, Colleen Christensen or Lauren Smith, promoting "health at any size" with hashtags like #DerailTheShame and #AntiDiet? These were paid campaigns sponsored by General Mills, Pepsi, and other multinational, multibillion-dollar corporations.

Writing for The Examination, Sasha Chavkin, Anjali Tsui, Caitlin Gilbert and Anahad O'Connor describe the way that some of the world's largest and most profitable corporations have hijacked a movement where fat people and their allies fight stigma and shame and used it to peddle the lie that their heavily processed, high-calorie food is good for you:

https://www.theexamination.org/articles/as-obesity-rises-big-food-and-dietitians-push-anti-diet-advice

It's a surreal tale. They describe a speech by Amy Cohn, General Mills’ senior manager for nutrition, to an audience at a dietitian's conference, where Cohn "denounced the media for 'pointing the finger at processed foods' and making consumers feel ashamed of their choices." This is some next-level nihilism: rather than railing against the harmful stigma against fat people, Cohn wants us to fight the stigma against Cocoa Puffs.

This message isn't confined to industry conferences. Dietitians with large Tiktok followings like Cara Harbstreet then carry the message out to the public. In Harbstreet's video promoting Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Cocoa Puffs and Trix, she says, "I will always advocate for fearlessly nourishing meals, including cereal…Because everyone deserves to enjoy food without judgment, especially kids":

https://www.tiktok.com/@streetsmart.rd/video/7298403730989436206

Dietitians, nutritionists and the food industry have always had an uncomfortably close relationship, but the industry's shitflooding kicked into high gear when the FDA proposed rules limiting which foods the industry can promote as "healthy." General Mills, Kelloggs and Post have threatened a First Amendment suit against such a regulation, arguing that they have a free speech right to describe manifestly unhealthy food as "healthy."

The anti-diet movement – again, a legitimate movement aimed at fighting the dangerous junk science behind dieting – has been co-opted by the food industry, who are paying dietitian influencers to say things like "all foods have value" while brandishing packages of Twix and Reese's. In their Examination article, the authors profile people who struggled with their weight, then, after encountering the food industry's paid disinformation, believed that "healthy at any size" meant that it would be unhealthy to avoid highly processed, high calorie food. These people gained large amounts of weight, and found their lives constrained and their health severely compromised.

I've been overweight all my life. I went to my first Weight Watchers meeting when I was 12. I come from a family of overweight people with the chronic illnesses often associated with being fat. This is a subject that's always on my mind. I even wrote a whole novel about the promise and peril of a weight-loss miracle:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781429969284/makers

I think the anti-diet movement, and its associated ideas like body acceptance and healthy at every size, are enormously positive developments and hugely important. It's because I value these ideas that I'm so disgusted with Big Food and its cynical decision to flood the zone with shit. It's also why I'm so furious with dietitians and nutritionists for failing to self-regulate and become a real profession, the kind that censures and denounces quacks and shills.

I have complicated feelings about Ozempic and its successors, but even if these prove to be effective and safe in the long term, and even if we rein in the rapacious pharma companies so that they no longer sell a $5 product for $1000, I would still want dietary science to clean up its act:

https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jamanetworkopen/fullarticle/2816824

I'm not a nihilist. I think we can use science to discover truths – about ourselves and our world. I want to know those truths, and I think they can be known. The only people who benefit from convincing you that the truth is unknowable are the people who want to lie to you.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/05/corrupt-for-cocoa-puffs/#flood-the-zone-with-shit

#pluralistic #corruption #nutrition #food #diets #dieticians #nutritionists #junk science #junk food #astroturf #fat acceptance #fatphobia #health #nihilism #steve bannon #flood the zone with shit #general mills #dietitians

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 3 months ago

Text

the shadow’s soul obsession

kinktober, day five

a/n: extra, extra! come get your nasty monsterfucking, hot off the press!

summary: for the entirety of the rest of the night, you felt as if you were being watched. However, what you mere mortal didn’t know, was that the group of you college girls hadn’t been successful in communicating with any spirits on that autumn eve, but instead had been successful in cracking open a door, just wide enough for a demon to slip through.

warnings: demon!bucky barnes x virgin!reader, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, college au, halloween party, accidentally summoning a demon at a slumber party, bucky needs to "recharge his batteries" via sex (but virgins are the most potent), bad friends, monsterfucking, somno, loss of virginity, blood (just fit this fantasy), slutty demonic magic, kissing, size kink, belly bulge, dirty talk, fingering, squirting, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay, references to gaping and fisting

word count: 2602

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2024

“So, do you know yet what your costume’s gonna be for the omega kappa beta party?”

“Alice,” you looked to your friend leaning against the opposite side of the kitchen island, “I don’t even know if I’m going.”

“Oh, come on,” her head tilted, “you have to!”

“Yeah,” the blonde to your right then teasingly suggested, “you could go as an angel since you’re already just as sweet and pure as one.”

With each passing moment, the end of October crept ever nearer. You were at a slumber party with a few of your friends, who unlike you, didn’t still live at home with their mothers, but instead in a sorority house on campus.

The door to the kitchen then swung open and one of the other girls came waltzing in, “hey, look what I found!” she held what looked like a faded board game above her head.

“Oh my god,” Alice gasped, “is that what I think it is? Where did you even find it?”

“The attic,” she plopped the box down on the table and the lid popped off, letting everyone spot the old Ouija board inside, “so, anyone up for contacting some ghosts or what?”

When everyone around you swiftly agreed in the spirit of the season, you were the only one who didn’t, although the teasing that quickly drowned you, about you being a scaredy cat, pressured you into joining despite your initial fear.

Most of the girls leaned into your amusing anxiety and made the game more dramatic than it needed to be, taking every chance they got to make you jump in your seat. But none of their attempts rivalled the one towards the end when one of them spooked you so fiercely that your body shrivelled up and a shrill scream tore its way out your lungs. They all laughed at your reaction and abandoned the board, too entertained by the success in scaring you to continue and wrap up the pretend ritual in the proper way.

However, during every second of the eerie game and even ever past that, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, though it wasn’t just because of how scared you admittedly were, as there was someone else, something else, that caused that sensation to bubble up within you.

For the entirety of the rest of the night, you felt as if you were being watched. However, what you mere mortal didn’t know, was that the group of you college girls hadn’t been successful in communicating with any spirits on that autumn eve, but instead had been successful in cracking open a door, just wide enough for a demon to slip through.

From the second the sliver of him slipped through, Bucky felt drawn to you and instantly became completely and utterly entranced by you. Your soul was so bright and pure it nearly blinded him as he felt himself grow stronger merely from your presence.

Who would have thought such luck would have been on his side, for with a perfect and potent little virgin like you in his gasp, an entity such as he would be able to restore his full power in no time.

And when you eventually fell asleep on the couch and he greedily let his spectral touch ghost across your form, sliding off your blanket and coping a feel over your pyjamas, each caress he ravenously claimed felt to him like his lungs once again expanded and filled with oxygen, like he became a little more corporeal and regained just a little bit of his powers the longer and the fiercer he groped you.

Though what he truly needed to regain his full potential, unfortunately, had to wait, as his demonic grip caused you to stir from your slumber just enough for you to roll over into a new position and fall asleep again, never to think more of it than just a light slumber. But perhaps if he kept it up long enough, he’d soon regain enough of his prowess to make sure you wouldn’t rouse no matter what he stole from you in order to return to the grand demon he used to be.

The home you returned to the next day was just as empty as expected with only a kind note stuck to the fridge as an echo of your mother, reminding you that she wouldn’t be back from her business trip till far into the coming week.

When darkness fell upon the town and the moon rose up high in the sky, you went up to bed and swiftly drifted off into sleep.

As Bucky leaned down over your slumbering form, he smiled as he let a finger trace the edge of your face before he bent down and pressed his lips to your own.

Now, it wasn’t just a kiss he gave you, but a fiendish hex that forced your frame to keep on sleeping, no matter what, until the sun once again crested over the horizon.

“As much as I’d love for you to wake up and have you witness everything I’m about to do to you,” he brushed some of your hair out of your face, “we can’t have that,” his broad thumb briefly stroked your cheek, “at least not yet…”

Ripping the duvet off, he watched as goosebumps rose and dotted your skin from the chilly night air, how your nipples turned into pebbles beneath your thin nightgown.

While his consuming gaze raked down your form, his grasp pushed your sleepwear up and let it bunch around your hips, granting him a view of how the cotton of your underwear moulded around your soft centre.

A smirk twitched at the corners of his lips as he let himself drift back down, closer to your slumbering frame, “let’s see if we can fix this little problem…” before he pressed a hot kiss to your covered core, briefly running his split tongue over the fabric as the effects took hold.

When he tilted back, it wasn’t just his own saliva that now drenched your panties, but also your own juices as he had successfully scrounged up enough of his power to force your pussy into a state of desperation, making it extraordinarily leaky and sticky with cream and quite literally drool for him.

With a primal growl, the throbbing between his legs swayed him to dig his grip into your underwear and tear them off, tossing the shreds off to the side before he spread your legs wide.

Enclosing his fist around the base of himself, angry and flush in his grip, he offered himself an ouch of relief as he stared down at you.

“Hell… what I wouldn’t give to hear you moan and scream for me… to see fear arise in your mortal eyes at every little thing I’ll offer you… but that’ll have to be another time… can’t have you wake up and ruin the ritual…”’

As he rubbed his fat cock against the mess he’d made of you, he couldn’t help but smile at the staggering difference as his unholy length weighted down upon you, making you look so tiny in comparison, so easy for him to just break.

“Would you beg me to stop? Would you cry about how big this devil dick is? Whimper about how you couldn’t possibly take it, not even if you weren’t a pure little prude? Yeah, you probably wouldn’t even be able to take it then…” a dark chuckle then crackled within his broad chest, “good thing I don’t care,” before he ruthlessly slammed his cock inside, stretching your poor pussy out beyond belief.

He let out a deep moan at just how incredible you felt around him, how he had to strain himself to work past your strangling tightness and bury himself completely in your haven.

“Oh, well would you look at that…” a sly smile crept up on his lips as he glanced down at how you struggled to take him and spotted the tinge of crimson that stained his fat girth as he momentarily retracted, pulling out just till your cunt only clung around the bulbous head of him. His digits floated down to swipe some of your virginal blood up onto the pads of his fingertips before he brought them up to his lips and groaned as he let himself taste your ruined purity, letting himself regain even more of his vigour, “you are just fucking perfect…”

As he let his frame drift down closer to you, he draped himself over your slumbering form as he thrust mercilessly into you, watching you closely at the way his efforts caused you to writhe and tremble in your sleep.

Nibbling at your neck, his lips wandered further down as he ruthlessly rutted into you, splitting you open like the savage monster that he was, and eventually sank his sharp teeth into your shoulder.

With a low growl, he pushed himself back up, though even as the movement threatened to let his colossal cock leave the warm embrace of your tiny hole, his hands roughly found your hips and brought you back down onto him.

“Fuck…” he lifted your hips off the mattress and made your back arch obscenely as he used you like a toy, “you’re such a little whore and you don’t even know it yet…” his possessive grip dug into your hips so fiercely that his nails drew blood and left angry scratches in their wake.

His black eyes then found the dull bulge that rhythmically appeared in your lower belly at each and every one of his thrusts, “can’t wait to see how you react when you wake up tomorrow morning, all sore and swollen, wondering why you’re so sensitive. If only you knew that some big bad demon followed you home and tortured your pussy all night long…”

Perhaps his brutal fucking had forced your slumbering form to orgasm more than once, though it was hard for Bucky to ignore it when you came this last time as you squirted all over his fat girth.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he chuckled and kept up his ruthless rhythm, never pausing once as he made your gushing pussy give him each and every drop, “I knew it was true that virgins pack the most powerful punch for us unholy folk, but damn…” he slammed you down against him hard enough for his bullying tip to bruise your cervix, “you’re even better… I might just have to keep you after this…”

And when he soon tumbled over the edge and pumped your little pussy full of his demonic seed, his ethereal form flickered till it wasn’t at all ghostly any longer, till his full power regenerated and he now sat on your bed clear as day with his spent cock limp against his thick thigh and horns protruding from his temples.

Briefly, he swept his broad hand up your stomach before it scooped down to where you leaked with his essence.

“Look at you,” he pushed two fingers into your mess and pumped his hot cum that much deeper inside of you, “you’re still so fucking tight…” he struggled to force another thick digit in beside the others. As his cock began to twitch and swell once more, he quietly groaned, “guess that just means we aren’t done yet… you might have helped me with my little problem, but this ain’t over,” he tried and failed to slip his picky finger in beside the rest, “I haven’t finished breaking you in yet, little human,” his free hand found himself in silky strokes, “I won’t stop till you’re fucking gaping for me, till I fit my whole fist up in here,” his thumb quit its attempts at sneaking inside and instead extended up to crudely strum your puffy pearl, “till you’re utterly ruined and completely perfect for me…”

The bassy music rumbled the entire frat house like an earthquake as you leaned over to whisper to Alice that you’d be right back from your libation location mission.

Though when you stumbled into the kitchen, the crooked feathery wings on your back brushing against the doorframe as you passed, a loud sigh escaped you as your eyes scanned the various bottles lined up on the messy counter and discovered them all to be empty, “argh, seriously?”

That was exactly what you needed.

To be at a wild Halloween party without any alcohol in your system to make the obnoxious people more bearable and make you forget how you’d rather just go home and try to sleep as none of your efforts all weekend had granted you any ounce of rest, only left you more exhausted than the day before and bizarrely enough also making you sore in the oddest of ways.

But then as all hope seemed lost, a voice echoed from the corner of the kitchen, “hey, you like tequila?” and you glanced up to see a man in an elaborate demonic costume holding up a full bottle for you to spot.

“Thank you,” your tense shoulders dropped slightly as you offered him a smile and stepped closer, “though I don’t know if an angel like me should accept a drink from a devil like you,” the joke slipped out of you as you neared him.

As a bright grin crept up on the man’s lips, he light-heartedly squinted down at you and played along, “hm, yeah, you’re probably right. We demons are an untrustworthy lot. But, I am your only chance at getting drunk and numbing these dumbasses out,” he seized a plastic cup and began to twist the cap off, “so, what do you say?”

“What’ll it cost me? To make a deal like that with a devil?” you kept up the gag, “just my soul or do you want my firstborn or something?”

Naturally assuming that the handsome stranger was still just joking around, you saw him smile as he poured you a drink and uttered, “oh, your soul will do just fine, sweetheart.”

As he handed you the cup, he joined you as you raised the hard liquor up to your lips, taking a sip of his own straight from the bottle, though he somehow didn’t make a face like you did when the harsh booze poured down your throat, in fact he didn’t even blink as he tipped the bottle back and kept his intense stare glued to you.

“Your costume is really amazing,” you complimented as you let your gaze wander over his burly frame, “your coloured contacts? And those horns? I’ve never seen prosthetics as good as those before.”

You thought the flattery would have pushed him to elaborate, but instead, the mysterious man just murmured, “thank you,” and didn’t entertain the subject any further.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” you uttered and noticed the few grey hairs that faintly speckled his scruff, “are you a professor?”

“No, I’m not,” he shook his head.

A shiver ran down your spine as his stare continued to stay glued upon you, “then what are you doing at a frat party? No offence, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you just look a bit too old to be a student. Not that you couldn’t be, maybe you are–”

“I’m not a student,” he cut you off, “I just haven’t been feeling that well lately and the person who helped me get better is here, so that’s why I went out tonight, to this college party of all places, to thank her properly and hopefully make her all mine…”

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librababe99 · 4 months ago

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Healing Touch

cw: MDNI, 18+, Smut, Fluff, Young!Charles Xavier, Fem!Reader word count: 2.7K Summary: In the mid-1970s, Charles Xavier is a man haunted by loss and burdened by the weight of his own mind. When you, a fellow mutant, offer him not only companionship but a love he never expected, the walls he has built around his heart begin to crumble.

A/N: Since I wrote for Erik I felt that writing for Charles balances everything out <3 Forgive me if mentioning the cuban missile crisis at the beginning throws off the timeline in anyway, we don't have to jump into technicalities...lol! Anyways, please feel free to comment, reblog or like this <3 happy reading!

(Marvel Masterlist)

The 1970s had a way of weaving magic into the air—rife with a rebellious freedom, spinning off the back of a decade of upheaval. Amidst the intoxicating haze of civil rights movements, psychedelic music, and ever-changing fashion, there was something magnetic about this era, as if the world were in the throes of rediscovering itself. And in that same time, tucked away in the heart of Westchester County, Charles Xavier was a man rediscovering himself too—one who had seen the world both at its brightest and at its darkest.

The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning had become more than just a school. With the Cuban Missile Crisis a decade behind them and the threat of mutants still very much real, Charles had been pulled into a storm that had rocked him to his core. The man who had once been so full of optimism and hope had become someone else—someone hardened by loss, crippled both physically and emotionally. He had found himself retreating from the world, isolating behind the walls of his mansion, letting the noise of the outside world fade into a dull, muted hum.

But then there was you.

You had come into Charles’s life by chance, a fellow mutant with abilities that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had noticed you first because of your power—something akin to empathy, the ability to feel and manipulate the emotions of others. It was subtle, nothing explosive like fire or ice, but it was potent in its own right. In some ways, Charles found it even more fascinating, for it spoke to the heart of what he had always believed—that mutants were more than just their powers; they were people with gifts, capable of great good or terrible destruction depending on how they wielded them.

But it wasn’t just your abilities that caught his attention. There was something about you that stirred something long-buried inside him. You were strong, yes, but kind too—empathetic not just because of your powers but because of who you were at your core. And in a world where Charles had grown tired of fighting, tired of losing, you had become a beacon of warmth in the cold. Your presence began to thaw the ice he had encased himself in, and though he resisted it at first, that pull between you was undeniable.

It was a Friday night, and the mansion was quiet, the students having all gone off for the weekend. The air outside was thick with the scent of rain, the clouds heavy and swollen, but inside, there was a warmth that clung to the air. You had found Charles in his study, a glass of scotch in hand, seated behind the large oak desk that had become almost a throne for him. He was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair slightly out of place in a way that made him seem more human, less like the esteemed Professor Xavier he had always tried to be.

You knocked softly on the doorframe, leaning against it with a playful smile. "You look like you could use a break."

Charles glanced up from his drink, his eyes settling on you in that way that always sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes—those sharp, piercing blue eyes—were tired, but they softened when they met yours. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "A break from what, exactly?"

You shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. "From thinking. From brooding. From being Charles Xavier, mutant extraordinaire." You reached his desk and perched yourself on the edge of it, your knee brushing his thigh as you did so. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, and you saw the briefest hitch in his breath.

“I don’t brood,” he replied, though the smile that followed betrayed his words.

“Oh, you most certainly do.” You leaned forward, teasingly close, just enough that he could feel your presence in the air between you. “You sit in this big, empty mansion, all alone, with your thoughts and your scotch, and you brood.”

Charles chuckled softly, though there was something in the sound that was darker, more resigned. “Maybe I do.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes distant for a moment. “There’s a lot to think about these days.”

You watched him for a moment, your gaze softening. Charles had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even before the accident that had left him in a wheelchair. But now, that weight seemed heavier, as though the world had taken too much from him.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his wrist, and the moment you touched him, you could feel it—a deep, aching sadness, buried beneath layers of composure and strength. It was like touching a wound that had never quite healed.

“I can feel it, you know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles looked up at you, and for a moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble, leaving behind the man he had tried so hard to hide. “Feel what?” His voice was just as soft, but there was an edge to it, a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

You smiled gently, your fingers trailing up his arm, barely grazing his skin. “Everything. The pain, the loss, the weight of all of it. You’re carrying so much, Charles. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he did. “And what if I don’t want you to feel it?”

“Then I won’t,” you whispered, your hand now resting against his chest, right over his heart. “But I want to help you carry it. I want to be there for you.”

Charles’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with something deep inside him, as though he were warring with himself. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours as it rested on his chest. His touch was warm, gentle, and yet there was a tension in the way he held you, as though he were afraid to let go.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your heart clenched at his words, and without thinking, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you until your lips were inches from his. “You deserve so much more than you think, Charles.”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, as though you were testing the waters, waiting to see if he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around yours, and you felt him respond, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprised you both.

The kiss deepened, the years of longing, pain, and desire pouring into it with a ferocity that neither of you had expected. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, the way his breathing quickened as he lost himself in the moment.

Before you knew it, you were climbing into his lap, straddling him as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Charles groaned against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire and hesitation.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your forehead resting against his as you smiled softly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His response was a low, guttural sound that sent a thrill racing through you, and before you knew it, he was kissing you again, more desperate this time, as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and Charles let out a breathless laugh, the sound vibrating against your lips as you finally managed to push the fabric aside, revealing the hard planes of his chest. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that broke your heart. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his neck. “Then they’re all fools.”

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His touch was gentle at first, almost reverent, but there was a fire behind it, a need that he had kept buried for far too long.

When you finally peeled off your shirt, you heard him suck in a breath, his eyes darkening with desire as he took you in. “God, you’re—” His voice broke off, as though he couldn’t quite find the words, but you didn’t need him to.

You kissed him again, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way his body responded to you, the way he trembled beneath your touch. You could feel the tension between you building, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, slowly, you began to move against him, your hips grinding against his in a rhythm that had both of you gasping for breath. Charles’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you, matching your movements with a desperate need.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice ragged.

You didn’t need to ask what he wanted. You could feel it, the desire, the longing, the need for release that had been building between you for so long. You reached between your bodies, your fingers making quick work of the zipper of his pants.

When he finally slid into you, the sensation was overwhelming—an electric jolt that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Charles let out a broken gasp, his hands gripping

as he pulled you closer, his body trembling beneath yours. You could feel the tension in him, every muscle wound tight, as if he were barely holding himself together.

You both paused for a moment, the sheer intensity of the connection stealing the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this, like every nerve in your body had come alive, attuned to him and only him. Charles's forehead pressed against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin as you both adjusted, savoring the feeling of being so intimately joined.

“God,” he whispered, almost reverently. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

Your fingers slid up into his hair, cradling his head, and you pressed a soft kiss to the top of it, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “Then take me, Charles. I’m yours.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low, guttural sound, Charles’s grip on your hips tightened, and he began to move beneath you, slow at first, a steady rhythm that made you gasp with every roll of his hips. He filled you so perfectly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. You matched his pace, rocking against him, savoring the slow burn that built between you, the friction pulling you both closer to the edge with every passing second.

Charles’s hands roamed your body, sliding up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, then slipping lower, his fingers digging into your skin with barely restrained intensity. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Charles…” you gasped, your head tilting back as you gave him more access.

His lips parted against your skin, and you could feel the groan that rumbled in his chest. “I can feel you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Every thought, every emotion—it’s overwhelming.”

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with need, but there was something else there too—something raw, something so deep and primal that it made your heart race.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whispered, your hands cradling his face. “Feel me. All of me.”

Charles’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if letting go of the barriers he had so carefully constructed. And then, all at once, it hit you—the full weight of his mind brushing against yours, the flood of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t just desire you felt—though that was certainly there, sharp and electric, searing through your veins. It was everything. His longing, his fear, the deep well of sadness that had haunted him for so long, and underneath it all, a love so profound it left you breathless.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation of his mind intertwining with yours sent a jolt of pleasure through you, heightening everything. The room around you seemed to fade, the only thing that existed in that moment was him—his body, his mind, and the way he was utterly consuming you.

Charles groaned, his hips bucking up into you with a sudden intensity that made you cry out. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he panted, his voice strained, as though he were on the edge of losing control.

You could barely form words, the pleasure building inside you almost unbearable. “Charles, please…”

He understood without needing to ask. His hands slid down to your hips again, guiding you faster now, his movements more urgent, more desperate. You could feel the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring wound too far, ready to snap.

And then, with one hard thrust, you shattered.

A wave of ecstasy washed over you, white-hot and all-consuming, leaving you trembling in its wake. You cried out his name, your body arching against his, and you could feel him lose himself in the moment too, his hands gripping you so tightly it almost hurt as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the only sound in the room your ragged breaths and the thrum of your racing heartbeat. You slumped against Charles, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you both came down from the high.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as though afraid to let go. You could still feel the echo of his mind against yours, the connection between you not quite severed, and it brought a sense of intimacy that was unlike anything you had ever known.

After a long moment, Charles broke the silence, his voice soft and hoarse. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Neither did I.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes were still dark, but there was a softness to them now, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For reminding me what it’s like to feel something other than pain.” His voice was filled with a quiet reverence, as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Charles. I’m here.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. “I know.”

You shifted slightly, still straddling his lap, and Charles let out a soft groan. The movement stirred something in you both, a flicker of desire reigniting as your bodies remained entwined.

“You know,” you said playfully, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest, “we’ve got the whole mansion to ourselves tonight.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into something more mischievous. “Is that so?”

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

His breath hitched, and you felt his hands tighten on your hips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “Then I’ll make it a night you won’t forget.”

With that, you began to move again, slow and teasing, savoring every moment of the night ahead.

#charles xavier #charles xavier x reader #xmen fandom #xmen fanfiction #xmen comics #x men movies #charles xavier x fem! reader #young! charles xavier x reader #charles xavier smut #xmen dofp #james mcavoy #marvel comics #mcu fandom #charles xavier imagine #young! Charles Xavier

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milkteabinniechan · 6 months ago

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♡Breaking the Formula - Han Jisung

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: scientist! Han Jisung x fem! reader

summary: Dr. Han Jisung takes his experiments very seriously. He's close to understanding the science behind human pheromones until one of the beakers breaks all over him and he soon finds himself consumed with an insatiable need...

warnings: pheromones! primal behavior, rough sex, breeding, toxic male

a/n: this is different from the usual stuff I write but now y'all get a glimpse into what a sci-fi nerd boy I am ^.^ I hope you enjoy!!

Dr. Jisung pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He was exhausted. His entire body ached. He pushed his glasses up into his hair and sighed deeply.

“What am I missing?” He groaned into the palms of his hands.

He glanced over the papers scattered across his desk. His lips moved as he whispered the different formulas aloud. His finger trailed across each line of data.

Simultaneously, his phone lit up and showed your name. He squinted at the screen and positioned his glasses back onto his nose. You asked if you had left your notes in his lab. He sighed heavily and stood up to have a look around.

You had been assisting him in this pheromone experiment for months now. And while he would never admit it, you were a pretty decent assistant. He was never good at interacting with people, especially with people as physically attractive as you were, but conversing with you came easily to him. He genuinely enjoyed your company. You had invited him out for drinks one evening a few weeks ago. He remembered the night clearly in his mind. You had asked so casually. He knew he couldn't do it. Couldn't speak to you in a familial way. So he declined.

Dr. Jisung continued to search his lab until he finally came across your notebook, laying there next to his most recent test subject. An unassuming plant. The Orchidaceae. Or a common orchid plant. This plant was the perfect test subject for what he wanted to accomplish. The orchid had an uncanny ability, their flowers resemble female wasps, and they emit a potent chemical that mimics the sex pheromone of the female wasp. This draws in the male wasp and makes it almost powerless to the desire to procreate.

He wanted to test this pheromone’s power and ability on other creatures and see how the brain neurons respond. But so far, the pheromone hasn't worked on anything besides other plants. Dr. Jisung grabbed your notebook and made his way back to his phone to tell you the discovered news. But something caught his eye. A number in the formula he had designed. But the number was misplaced, or miswritten… he stared at the formula for a long while.

“It couldn't be…could it?” His mind felt like it was being supercharged.

He quickly ran over to the concentrated liquids that he had isolated earlier from the orchid. He followed the formula exactly like before but with one differential factor. And all of a sudden, the normal blue solution he had come to expect was suddenly purple now. His eyes widened as he stared long and hard at the beaker in his hand.

“...is this it?” He mumbled softly, almost entranced with the liquid inside. He couldn't take his eyes off of it…

Bzz! Bzzt!

His cellphone. The vibrator broke his concentration and in turn broke the beaker he was holding. He cursed as the beaker broke onto the table, causing the liquid inside to pour out into his lap. The thick, purple ooze dripped over the edge of the table and onto his stomach and groin area.

“Shit!” Dr. Jisung shouted. He was so busy mourning the loss of his possible discovery, he didn't think about the effect this purple ooze was having on his body, not until it was already too late.

Dr. Jisung stood up from his desk and attempted to wipe the liquid from his lap. He looked down and the floor began to twist and turn a bit beneath his feet. He blinked a few times to attempt to regain his composure. He glanced down at his lap to see the purple solution completely absorbed into his clothes, not a trace to be seen.

His head suddenly began to pound and pulsate at an alarming rate, causing him to yell out in pain. A strange heat was pooling in the core of his stomach. He felt extremely… euphoric. Even though he was dizzy and wobbling while he walked, Dr. Jisung knew he had done it. Well, he knew you had done it and he had to call you and tell you the good news. He clumsily dialed your number and waited for you to answer.

“Hello…?”

“W-we did it! You have…have to get here…now. Test. Brain…” Dr. Jisung tried with all his might to communicate what he needed to say. Thankfully you understood, or somewhat understood, and told him you'd be there as soon as you could.

Dr. Jisung sighed in relief. He held himself steady against his desk, waiting for you to arrive.

However, when you did arrive, an intoxicating aroma traveled with you. You opened the door to the lab swiftly and stood there for a moment. Dr. Jisung's eyes hastily glued to your body as you entered the room. His brain, still somewhat in charge, pleaded with him to stay in control. Pleaded and begged not to let these urges get the best of him.

But that voice was speaking softer and softer the closer you got to him. So close now that he could practically feel the heat coming off of your body now.

“Stay…stay back…” he moaned as you continued to step closer. His moral fiber was clearly breaking and fraying with each new step you took towards him.

You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw the pained look on Dr. Jisung's face.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Dr. Jisung backed away from you slowly, even though all he wanted to do was throw you onto his desk and taste you. God, how he wanted to taste you. He always imagined you tasted sweet, with just a hint of salt. He could smell your shampoo when you two would work together. He would close his eyes and take a deep breath and hold you there in his lungs.

You watched as Dr. Jisung backed away from you. You looked his body up and down to try to assess if he was hurt or not. Your eyes roamed over his waist and the growing appendage that was laying underneath. Dr. Jisung followed your eyesight and quickly saw what you were looking at. His face immediately turned a dark shade of red from embarrassment and arousal.

“I think you figured it out…the formula.” Dr. Jisung spoke in a husky, low tone.

The sound of his voice sent shivers down your spine. You slowly started to step towards him again. Not only were the pheromones working on him, but they were starting to do something to you as well. You continued your movement towards him, slowly but surely.

Dr. Jisung tensed for a moment, worried you didn't quite understand what was happening to him, until you started to get closer. He could see the fire burning in your eyes that reflected his own. You looked so goddamn incredible. And that small shred of moral fiber he had left had finally broken apart the moment your hand reached out to touch his.

You leaned in first, pressing your lips softly against his. He lets out a soft gasp, his lips tingling at the slight touch of your own against them. He's impatient though, so he can't help but lean his head forward, trying to kiss you deeper, trying to feel more of your lips against his. He just wants to feel you however he can, and as much as he can.

He grabs your waist and easily picks you up on top of his desk. He presses his body into yours aggressively as he begins to climb on top of you. Never breaking the kiss, you buck your hips into his as he completely envelops you with his body. He whines into your mouth, his mind completely fuzzy with pleasure. He just wants as much of you as he can get, wants to feel the heat of your skin, the weight of his body as he continues to press into you.

Jisung grips your thigh and pulls it up around his waist, his other hand already undoing his belt as his eyes stay fixated on you. All he can think about is mating. Mating. Mating. Mating. He needs it. He needs to make you his. His eyes are dark and primal as he finally, slowly, slides his cock out of his pants and lines it up with your entrance. The rips your panties away as if they were tissue paper, a primal growl escaping his lips as he does.

He holds the base of his cock and slowly slides it inside of your wet hole. The instinctually whimpers that pour from his lips are almost animalistic as he hastily begins pumping his hips into you.

You gasp sharply at the initial speed, gripping the edge of the desk for stability. Jisung grabs your shirt and uses it to pull himself further and deeper inside of you. His mind completely consumed with thoughts of filling your womb until his seed pools out of you onto the desk.

Grunts and groans are the only thing that comes from his mouth as he concentrates on fulfilling his need as the fertile male. You continue to moan and writhe on ecstasy beneath him, your mind and body overwhelmed with the pheromones you both share now.

Jisung's pumping rhythm hits a climactic high and ultimately ends with an explosive finish. He holds you by your waist until he has pushed everything out of him and into you. His body, now empty, feels weak and pliant. He falls down onto the desk next to you, the two of you still trying to catch your breath. He turns his head toward you and you do the same, the two of you look at each other for a long while until Jisung finally speaks.

“Go again?”

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konigsblog · 8 months ago

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stepfather!koing raping his pretty stepdaughter!reader because she was flirting w someone random dude and he wants to stake his claim

he's just looking out for you, liebling. :(

tw/cw; virginity loss, rape, non-con/dub-con, stepcest, guilt tripping, dark fiction. dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+

you're a virgin. you promised your stepfather that you wouldn't dare lose your virginity and that you'd lose it to a good man whom he'd met before. although there was no need to meet your future boyfriend, because könig already had plans to keep you as his second wife, despite you being his stepdaughter.

to you, your stepfather being creepy and perverted is ‘normal’. it's what you're used to. könig gets off to the sound of his stepdaughter masturbating. he installed a camera in your bedroom to prevent you from sneaking out and getting drunk behind his back, but instead he found himself using the recordings for a different purpose. he strokes his stiff length at a slow pace, listening to the sweet sounds of your euphoria and the sticky, sloppy noises of your cunt being fucked with your soft fingers.

when you introduced your new boyfriend to könig, he wasn't very happy at all. he glared at the boy before shaking his hand, shooting him a death glare. könig is the type to threaten your boyfriend, saying that if he ever makes his stepdaughter upset, then he'd take a rifle and leave the bastard bloody.

könig sneaks into your bedroom at night and begins to undress you. he curses you for not wearing any panties. it's as if you knew this was coming and wanted it. könig pumps his swollen dick into you, his cock overstimulated from jerking off. he fists his weeping, lengthy cock before pushing into your swollen folds; his breathing is heavy, and a cigarette is held between his pearly white teeth. he grunts out shamefully, lowering his head as he begins to fuck you, his balls meeting your rear with each thrust.

you cry out like a little whore, turning your head over your shoulder only for könig to pin your head down against your pillow, gripping you by the scruff of your nape and forcing your face into the softness of your pillow to soak up your tears and stifle your loud, terrified, and mortified noises. he ruts into you brutally, talking about how seeing that boy made him feel so jealous and envious. he'll guilt trip and manipulate you into believing that he just wants to see you happy and that he doesn't think any man is right for someone so sweet and precious as you.

“breathe in, precious. you belong to me, ja? isn’t that right, mäusi? tell me, who do you belong to?” he hisses out through gritted teeth, his thrusts quickening and becoming more violent and intense. you whimper out an answer that you know will please him, sniffling quietly as your walls clamp down around his veiny shaft, forcing könig to release ropes of his creamy, potent load into your puffy cunt.

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onemore2morrow · 2 months ago

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I don’t know if this makes sense and I’m probably gonna delete it eventually because Trump administration and internet tracking 🤪

I have seen so many white women on TikTok talk about the “4b” movement or “boycotting men”. I’ve also seen so many white women talking about a “loss for women everywhere” and “the devastating feeling of being a woman” and “is this what katniss felt like?”. And those feelings are valid, I’m not one to tell people how they can / can’t react during a world changing election. (I also know the katniss one is usually a joke).

But 53% of us couldn’t even band together to vote for a qualified black woman over a literal rapist. We need to swallow that. We need to address that. And that same 53% is commenting things like “He doesn’t want you anyway🤪” or “More for me!” on posts talking about things like a sex ban or 4B movement. There is no sisterhood, and there will be no “4B, 5B, 6B, or 7B” movement so long as 53% of white women continue to center men. Even out of those of us that did vote for Kamala or third party, some of us didn’t break up with our republican boyfriends/fiances/husbands until yesterday. And make no mistake, I am so proud of those of you who did finally find the courage to end that relationship. I’m not shaming you. But I am saying we cannot rely on this “sisterhood”.

There is no sisterhood in whiteness, because white supremacy and far-right ideologies are inherently based on in group fighting and othering. Make no mistake, you can find sisterhood in your white friends, women, and groups. But there’s a difference. Sisterhood and female solidarity has never been a part of whiteness. Which is why it is so important we center poc and specifically black voices during the next years ahead. Not to put labor on them, not as an excuse to not work, but because this “sisterhood” we speak of doesn’t exist. Not without acknowledging race. If we truly want to see change, we need to start decentralizing ourselves from the conversation. We need to unpack whiteness. And we need to unpack our main character syndromes.

What does this mean?

No handmaids tale cosplays.

No “we’re the daughters of the witches you couldn’t burn”.

No “I was raised by Katniss Everdeen”

Again, I am not saying that sisterhood doesn’t exist among white women. But I am saying sisterhood centered around whiteness will never be as strong or as potent as intersectional, anti-racist sisterhood. And if we really, really want to see change, we need to unpack this and we need to unpack this yesterday.

I hope this makes sense.

Sincerely,

An Embarrassed, Disappointed White Woman

p.s.

I’m not saying anything new. But unfortunately, if it’s from a fellow white woman I’m hoping more people will listen.

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demonic0angel · 20 days ago

Note

Dan being forced to go to anger management therapy hosted by Harley Quinn.

(I refuse to believe that Dan would be forced into anything, so this is a Dan in Arkham AU lmao)

Wraith huffed angrily. “And that’s why he deserves pain and suffering.”

Harley stared at him in fascination, tapping a finger on her lips. It had been weeks after their breakout from Arkham, and Wraith was quickly becoming a good friend of the Sirens. It had reached a point where now, he was spilling his secrets over a glass of wine (stolen from a Bruce Wayne-endorsed party), about a boy he used to be and the timeline he came from.

It wasn’t the weirdest thing ever, since this was Gotham after all, but it was still both disturbing and thralling.

Harley could not help but stare as Wraith grumbled to himself, blue eyes flashing crimson and sharp fangs being bared in a snarl. Then she asked, “Did your sister ever say anything about this?”

Wraith huffed and swirled his wine lightly. “She said it’s a form of self-hatred. Because I blame myself for our family’s deaths, I blame Danny too. But I don’t care. We are the same person but we are not the same. He is still human, while I have transcended past mankind to be something greater.” His fingers clenched on the stem of the wine glass. “It’s not fair how he gets to be happy, but I can’t.”

A god complex, a superiority complex, and an inferiority complex, all born from the loss of family and self-identity. His psyche was absolutely damaged by his previous experiences, and trauma had made him into something very, very twisted. It was probably true that he was not human anymore, but it was so interesting how he had abandoned his humanity so thoroughly and thrown it aside.

“You can’t?” Harley asked. “Or you won’t?”

Wraith’s expression twisted. “I can’t.”

That didn’t seem right.

He was happy when eating red meat and drinking expensive wine. He was rather happy when they went shopping and included him in their jokes and games. He was plenty happy when he talked about his sisters. He was very happy when interacting with Nightwing, who seemed to effortlessly peel away his layers to reveal a playful, gentle personality that did not seem to be a facade.

“You seem happy around Nightwing,” Harley said. “And us. What do you think of that?”

Wraith glared at her lightly, but he didn’t seem angry, not like how he was when he talked about his little brother, his other self. The venom in his voice and eyes when he talked about his younger self would’ve been better deserved if he was talking about the Anti-Christ, but Harley didn’t voice this.

“Nightwing has the purest soul in this world. It’s strong and beautiful because of how kind it is. It should be a crime to be cruel to it, not when he’s so… good.” His expression gentled and he swirled his wine again before taking a sip. “And you and the others are… nice to me. I don’t want to spoil your fun.”

Harley beamed. “Aww, we like you too, Wraith-y poo!”

Wraith rolled his eyes and took another sip. Harley poured him some more without him asking, and they drank their wine in silence.

Eventually, Harley said, “It’s not healthy to hate yourself so much, y’know? Maybe you don’t want advice, but I think your sister would agree with me. You should let go of the past and live in the present. That timeline doesn’t exist anymore, does it?”

Wraith scowled. “It may not exist anymore, but I came from that timeline. I am who I am because of my family’s deaths and because of Danny.” The hatred in his voice was deep and potent, making Harley shiver. “It can never let me go and I can never let it go either. The past shaped me in ways that cannot be undone.”

Harley took a sip of wine to think. Then she said, “Well. No matter what, me and the girls are here for you. And I think Nightwing really likes you too! Really!”

Wraith hummed, eyes half lidded before he turned and looked at her with a quirk to his lips like a small, genuine smile. “Yes, I know. Thank you, Harley.”

She grinned. “No problem!”

They continued drinking together in companionable silence.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom x dc #dp x dc crossover #ask #anon ask #dark danny #dan phantom #dan fenton #harley quinn #dick x dan #bad humor ship #ty for the ask!#dan in arkham au #dick grayson #jazz fenton #danny fenton

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withoutyouimsaskia · 11 months ago

Text

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 1)

GIF: Originally posted by @tavners

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Wow, this took way longer to finish than I had originally planned. My head's been all over the place with trying (and thus far failing) to find a new job. The themes are very different to what I've written before; I hope it reads okay. Please let me know what you think. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

Fate.

A phenomenon that governed every particle of matter within the known universe and even those beyond.

Some considered it a comforting concept that excused them from the burden of decision making, citing: "I'll leave it up to fate." For others the phrase was a cursory, throw-away comment or a romantic line they heard in the lyrics of a song.

The real truth of the matter was that Fate was a trio of immortal beings, goddesses, with sight so potent that they knew the past, present and future of every individual to have lived. The mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse hadn't been too far off with their stories of the Moirai, Parcae and Norns but of course, no humans really believed there to be any realism in myths. They were just stories. It didn't matter either way; they existed and had influence regardless of what the majority believed.

For beings such as The Endless siblings, the presence of Fate in the cosmos was not only real, but also something that affected even themselves.

For the King of Dreams, an eventuality had been prophesised long ago by The Kindly Ones that spoke of a bond that was to be forged between himself and a mortal.

Lord Morpheus, in his pride, had tried to be above such a foretelling, even questioning its validity because the notion of a mortal accepting his version of the universe seemed wholly implausible.

But he could not truly stop himself from wondering about you, reaching out to see if he could feel your presence in the minds of the dreamers he hosted.

It wasn't something he indulged in with frequency. More of a once-in a-decade interval. Enough to appease his curiosity.

Of course, this was put on hold during his imprisonment at Fawney Rig.

Morpheus had had much to contemplate during this period. The damage his absence caused to the collective subconscious, the decay of his realm, the loss of freedom and dignity. There was also a chance that you had been born and died in the 106 years he spent in captivity.

What if he was too late and had lost the chance of discovering who you were?

It was a nauseating prospect that scraped and scratched a space deep within his being; bleeding him of his remaining stores of hope that were so significantly depleted after the death of beloved Jessamy.

Despite the nasty emotional wound, finding you was a charge that he assigned at the end of his priorities after his escape.

Recovering his scattered tools, restoring the Dreaming, locating his absent creations, unravelling the mystery of Rose Walker and confronting Desire all had needed to come first.

The latter interaction had left Morpheus with a seething rage that was currently propelling him down the boards of the dock that sit above the Ocean of Dreams.

The dense mist in the air is buffeted by his movements and the only sounds are the tread of boots, the creak of wooden slats and the lap of water.

With each step, the liquid becomes choppier as it reacts to its master's mood and by the time he has reached the end of the dock, the surface of the water roils fervorously, completely in line with Morpheus' dangerous temperament.

The words of Desire's final silken-toned taunt echo in his mind with grating persistence.

"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn't I?"

He is loathe to admit there is truth in the question.

There are moments where Morpheus ponders the turn that the relationship between them has taken. How Desire went from being his favourite sibling to someone one shade shy of an adversary. Their faultless adeptness at provoking his temper and manipulating the events that encircle him would be impressive if not for the danger posed to humanity.

The agitated water eventually draws focus to how out of control he and his emotions have become. Morpheus knows he must get them in check, and quickly, for he knows the consequences all too well should he ignore it.

He clenches his fist and swallows it all down, pushing it deep inside his belly until the crackling entropy of the anger is fully dispelled.

Morpheus then sweeps his coat out behind him as he sinks lithely into a crouch. Trepidation nips at his heart and tugs his attention to a sobering thought.

This foray into the water may be fruitless.

You may be long gone and there would be no way of ever knowing you.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath; he has run out of excuses to not look, even if he is afraid of the outcome.

Long, delicate fingers dapple the surface of the inky ocean. The waves still at the touch, obedient to him with instancy.

He repositions to full height and reaches into his coat to find the pouch of sand stashed in the pocket. A handful of twinkling grains slip off his palm into the ocean, lighting the water it touches to a luminous green.

"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.

The intention is set. He steps off the dock into the water.

At first, like every other prior attempt, there is no sign of you. Morpheus floats submerged in the tepid liquid, filtering through the hubbub of countless other dreams and nightmares.

Then there is a pull.

It is faint yet indisputable. Warmth explodes in his chest and he groans inwardly from the delicious sensation of relief.

You are alive, and you are dreaming.

A path of radiance appears in the water, a line that shows your connection, and provides a location for him to hone in on.

Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.

As he reaches the edge of your subconscious, he rejoices that he got a handle on his emotions. He wouldn't want your first perception of him to be one tinged with rage, however unaware you were of him, with your soulmate being the source.

He hesitates for a moment before entering the dream you are in and is somewhat taken aback by what he finds.

A room comprising of four blank walls, a floor, a ceiling and a door. There is but one other feature; a window, and its view is as non-descript and inoffensive as the internal space.

You stand by said window, head turned from him.

Despite being unable to see your face, he sees your anxiety with immediacy. It is an aura hovering about your body, being sucked into your lungs with every fast-paced breath.

You begin to throw glances towards the door. Morpheus filters through the layers of the dream. No one is scheduled to come across the threshold.

The more he observes, the more questions arise in Morpheus' mind.

What was making you so affected? What were you expecting to happen?

There's nothing in the scene that is intended to be unpleasant yet you are reacting in a way that most observers would characterise as unsettled.

Morpheus, despite not yet knowing you, doesn't like to see you this way. His dominant instinct is to end the dream but he quashes the desire to review the bigger picture.

The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.

It clicks into place.

What you were feeling, even if on a purely instinctual level, was the anticipation of meeting your soulmate and starting your new life.

Morpheus steps into the frame, just a couple of paces behind you.

You feel his presence instantly, eyes full to the brim with tears as you whirl around with a soft gasp.

You see him.

The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.

Morpheus reaches out, overcome by his need to provide comfort.

You disappear.

-------------------------------------

Morpheus is sat on his throne. He pores over the book he had located in the Dreaming's library a little over a week ago that contains the details of your life. It is something he has taken to doing when the impatience of waiting for you to fall asleep becomes too keen.

Your subconscious has him enraptured, watching it every night as if it is a stage show. Each dream he delves into is like the tug of fingers on a loose thread, your psyche has begun to unravel before him.

Everything from whims to cravings, hopes to fears. Your temperament, the things that delight and irk you. What drives you and demotivates you. He consumes it all with an insatiable hunger.

Based on the projection of yourself that he sees, there is no doubt that he is attracted to you.

All that prior haughty disregard for the Fates' prophecy has been cast aside like a negative thought in a meditation session. Morpheus is a romantic. A believer. He is ashamed to have even doubted your coming.

He wonders if it would vex Desire to learn of him finding his soulmate and by extension, the prospect of companionship, perhaps even physical intimacy or love.

It is all too easy to imagine the sickly sweet grin they would smile at him, shown to be fake by the almost imperceptible contempt glinting in their golden eyes.

Would his triumph drive them to distraction?

It is this smug sentiment that spurs his next decision. He wants more. The next logical step is to find you in the waking world.

He rises from his throne, a sure hand ready to bring forth his pouch of sand when he falters.

Tears pool in his eyes.

His mind is suddenly marred with the memories of what happened in 1916. The agony, mortification and rage that followed. He couldn't go through that kind of treatment ever again and the waking world expanded the risk of it transpiring.

"No," he says resolutely. His sadness turns to resolve, the hard line of his grimace matching those set in his brows.

He will not let the actions of a group of mortals dissuade him from going to you. And besides, he has researched everything he can about you from within the safety of the Dreaming.

He takes a measure of sand and uses it to materialise within your bedroom.

It is obvious from a quick scan of it that deliberate attempts have been made to ensure the space is cosy and calming.

Two marshmallowy pillows support your head. The cotton sheets have been meticulously tucked to avoid drafts. A lavender reed diffuser fragrances the air with a subtle scent. There are no devices or screens visible.

Everything has its place. A coaster supported glass of water within reaching distance. Touch activated lamp in case of emergency. The diary lined up with the back left corner of the bedside table, pen placed parallel in the spine dent. All clothes are in the wardrobe or stashed in the laundry basket.

Morpheus moves to the curtain-shrouded window and delicately moves the dark, heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

The scene is sepia stained from an old streetlight positioned right outside your home. It explained the choice of curtains.

You stir slightly from the change in environment and Morpheus allows the curtain to fall back in place. He remains stationary until your breathing returns to its previous pace. It is imperative that his presence remains undisclosed. He knows that mortals do not take well to home invasion.

Then, your right hand slips out from the duvet cocoon revealing a cushion cut ruby ring on your middle finger.

He smiles exultantly. The similarity between the jewel and his own now-destroyed dreamstone was undeniable.

The Fates were making it transparent.

You were the one.

Morpheus approaches the side of your bed now. In your momentary discomfort, you had moved your head, making your whole face visible to your uninvited guest.

He bends gracefully so his face is closer to yours and observes you with an intent fascination.

Even in the gloom, Morpheus asserts that your features are even more captivating now that he is able to look upon them in person and is certain that if he could guarantee an absence of fear then he would fall to knees and worship you right there.

Fingers stroke a lock of hair splayed across the pillow and his thoughts turn darker still, imagining what he would do with you if he could get you alone in the Dreaming. How he would seduce you with words, and then pleasure your body with his own until you were senseless.

Getting you there would be so easy, all he needed to do was move his hand up and touch your skin and -

Morpheus stops himself, deciding that now is not the time for an introduction. He will wait until tomorrow. You need to rest. It will be quite the revelation for your sweet mortal heart.

Morpheus whispers a promise, "We will be together soon, my precious soulmate."

He leaves after taking one last look at your peaceful form.

When he returns to the Dreaming, Morpheus discovers that the visit has riled him way beyond what he thought possible.

It was supposed to sate his curiosity and answer some questions.

It has done the opposite.

His craving for you is sublimely intense, opiate-like in its ensnarement.

He needs to possess you. To have you all to himself. Everything would fall into place. Loneliness, disillusionment, jealousy; they would never darken his outlook again. You would heal him, he is certain of it.

He paces restlessly in the low light of his private chambers as heat ripples beneath the surface of his being, charging him with pure sexual lust.

He hungers for the moment when you feel the same about him.

For now, all he can do is stand and touch himself while thinking of your face, an act that has been carried out repeatedly in the days since he found you in the Ocean of Dreams.

An erotic idea enters his mind.

Your subconscious is still in the Dreaming; he knows the feeling of it intimately.

Perhaps he could bring you a dream mirroring his own current fantasy.

To give you a taste of what was to come.

A gift that only he could bestow.

The mere thought of it turns him on even more. His back arches and his eyes roll back as he choses the words through which he would deliver the offering.

"Dream of me," Morpheus murmurs breathlessly. "Dream of me."

He repeats the phrase until he is unable to continue, moans taking over the darkened space around him.

-------------------------------------

It is dusk the next day when Morpheus returns to the waking world.

The instant he touches down on the Earth's surface, he knows exactly where to go. The metaphysical connection between you is as strong as the energy pulsing through a ley line.

The city he is directed to is thrumming with life but the side street he stands in has been spared from the furore.

It is fortuitous that he is permitted to be unobserved for Morpheus is struggling now with the urge to get closer.

Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.

He walks up to the door and then an invisible force makes him back away.

He doesn't even try to fight it.

The Fates hold all the cards. Morpheus is beholden to their each and every whim.

It is surprisingly liberating.

He is dancing in the cross hairs. Blinkered by the tie the universe has fashioned for you.

All he has to do is wait.

The door to the building is pushed open.

-------------------------------------

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd

"Fate. Up against your will. Through the thick and thin. He will wait until you give yourself to him."

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dilftaroooo · 1 year ago

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this is kinda soft and sappy but…ghost being your first time…

tags: sum cute sex + loss of virginity + nothing rough :3

ommmg no bc soft ghost with his cute civilian girlfriend would be so romantic. His years spent in the task force has hardened him, inside and out. He’s a seasoned soldier decorated with scars, some new some old, each one being a constant reminder of his past regrets and trauma.

but whenever he sees you, God, you’re like his own angel sent from above. Your heart is filled with fields of the freshest sunflowers and monarch butterflies, Ghost cherishes you — Simon cherishes you.

So when he learned about your inexperience in sex and how your confusion was so potent on said action he did not hesitate to comfort your being:

“It’s ok, luv. Don’t worry too much about it, yeah? Lemme guide ya’…” He would handle you like your skin was made out of fine china, gently removing your soft cardigan and skirt, his touches soothed you. He’s a tender ocean breeze — a breeze so calming you succumb to the cool air nipping away at your skin, running through your supple thighs and the soft spots of your belly.

Simon will wait until the moment is right, until you give him a charming look that murmurs “i’m ready for you”. From there, he’ll take his position, starting from the tip before slowly making his way towards the base, making sure to stop and smother your tear stained cheeks with kisses whenever you felt overwhelmed, “I’m sorry, my dear. We’re almost there. ‘Know you can make it, you’re my strong girl. Here, hold on to me as tight as you can. I got you, i got you.” And you believe him — trust him.

He’ll make you feel so good, anon. He’ll hold onto you, always and forever <3

#🥺#m’baby simon #simon riley smut #ghost smut #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #mw2 smut #ghost simon riley #ghost modern warfare #call of duty mw2

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p1utofairy · 10 months ago

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PICK A CARD: BARBIE edition.

★ which one of your manifestations is coming towards you?

NOTE: take what resonates, leave what doesn’t. i feel like people are in need of some positivity and encouragement so here you go! 🍬

pile one.

hi pile 1 🌞 wow i feel like you have a very bright personality! it's so potent and beautiful. you can light up any room you walk into, and once you start seeing your beauty for what it truly is, that's when you'll really become a magnet for the things you desire. i feel like you've come out of some deep situations that left you confused or wondering about your true purpose in this lifetime – but don’t let anyone or any situation ever dim your light or take away your power. your soul purpose is really special and i think you’ve been looking for clarity or some sort of answer/solution to this lack that you’re feeling in your soul. you will definitely receive a message and/or an answer to what you’ve been seeking to find. i see this manifestation being a dream come true, pile 1.

you’ve put the work in and now you’re about to reap the benefits of your labor. this could be a new job, career path/major, business opportunity or an increase in your finances. your spirit guides want you to put yourself out there and say YES to whatever this message might be. you already have the motivation and desire for it, so it just requires you to take action and be confident in your choices in order to receive it. you might downplay yourself a lot or make self-deprecating jokes that ultimately put you in a lack mindset. i’m hearing “psh…yeah right. i doubt something as extravagant and nice as that would happen to me.” but why? whose to say what tomorrow will bring? your guides want you to lean more into your optimism and have faith in yourself, and understand that you truly deserve all the great things that are about to unfold in your life.

you know how to make light of situations, so use that to your advantage. i feel like you have a great sense of humor lol but be kinder to yourself okay? it can be really tough when life starts throwing curve balls at you, but it’s what you choose to make of it. as phil dunphy from ‘modern family’ said, “if life gives you lemonade - make lemons and life will be all like whaaaaat?!” so go out there and show the world what you’re made of!

pile two.

heyyy pile 2! i feel like you're coming out of a period of grief or a loss of some sort – a powerful transformation. i feel like this is more about letting go of a toxic mindset and freeing yourself from negative energy/situations rather than on a physical level. for some of you, a loved one could have recently passed or a connection you had with someone ended but i think it’s more so that you’re in a period of transition and starting to accept things for what they truly are. you’re no longer letting anything or anyone hold you back. you’re gaining momentum in your life path, and your spirit guides are so very proud of you!

they see how much it’s taken you to get to this point in your journey. it’s taken a lot of patience and discipline, but you’ve persevered and made it through - and for that you will be rewarded. i feel like you’ve been trying to manifest a change of some sort…whether that be physically moving out, going on a vacation/traveling, going out more or just a genuine change in your everyday life; i’m happy to say that you will be receiving that! you’ve been slowly but surely focusing on yourself and nourishing your mind, body and soul. you’re now starting to realize that you can accomplish anything you set your mind to…you might be seeing a lot of signs/confirmations like angel numbers, repeating patterns, symbols or animals.

you’re starting to realize that surrender is key - not everything can be in our control and sometimes that’s a tough pill to swallow but that’s just the way of life and it usually works out in our best interest in the long run. a flow of abundance is on its way to you. you can manifest anything you want in this lifetime, it just comes down to your mindset and the power of your words. continue to be at ease and let your actions speak for itself, you don’t have to prove or explain yourself to anyone. you’re on the brink of success and it’s coming in fast, just make sure to always stay grounded and remember where you came from. heavy is the head that wears the crown; you know what you’re capable of and what you deserve so don’t let the pressure and weight of life hold you down. keep moving forward, it’s all going to work out in your favor.

pile three.

pile 333 i just wanna give y'all a hug 🥲 y'all are really going through it right now. heavy water sign energy. do y'all have any pisces, cancer or scorpio in your chart? i get the sense of someone laying in bed…just staring at the ceiling like why? why me? you're trying to process a lot of intense emotions and center your energy, but it's taking a toll on you right now. you feel very alone and and unsure if you can talk to anyone about this. not even trying to be funny, but yeah it's giving existential crisis barbie.

if you've seen the ‘barbie’ movie, you know the scene where barbie just gives up and lays down flat on the ground and they're like "she's not dead. she's just having an existential crisis." 😃 real AF but no no no you gotta quiet down your mind. you can 100% feel and process your way through these emotions, but don't let them take control over you and make you feel like you’re doing something wrong or like you’re not doing enough – release that negative energy! i feel like your mind is going a mile per minute, and you can’t even form a rational thought without getting upset. in terms of your manifestation, i feel like you’re really craving love right now. you’re ready to go out there and bag the person of your dreams, but your guides just want you to first take this time to quiet your mind and trust in them & second believe that love is going to find you no matter what. don’t force it…don’t question it — believe it.

you could’ve had a couple of instances where you thought it was the real thing, but it turned out to be really disappointing and not what you wanted. that’s your spirit guides telling you that you can’t force it. this new relationship will find you naturally and it will be everything you’ve ever dreamed of plus more! this person will not only be your lover, but they’ll be your best friend and your confidant. you will feel absolutely liberated and comfortable to take on any challenge with them by your side. however, you need to let this wave of emotions pass and understand that what’s meant for you will NEVER pass you. you got this my pile 333's 🦋 it will be in reach soon.

#pac #pick a card #pac reading #pick a pile #p1utofairy #barbie #tarot reading #energy reading

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whxtedreams · 4 months ago

Text

Familiar yet Foreign

A Din Djarin x f!reader oneshot

Summary: In the depths of Canto Bight, you find something you thought you lost; his trust.

Written for @burntheedges roll-a-trope challenge - my trope was fake dating/marriage.

Word Count: 3.7k

Tags: fake marriage, untrustworthy reader, mentions of past injury, one bed hehe, protective!din, unwanted male attention, fear of loss, handcuffs, thief!reader.

Main masterlist - series masterlist

Canto Bight, the infamous, glitzy gambling hub, was a paradox.

On one hand, it was no place for a thief like you. With security cameras, guards and wealthy patrons on high alert.

On the other hand, the place was ripe for a skilled crook like yourself. With the promise of hefty winnings on the casino floors and in private games, temptation was everywhere. The dimly lit alleys and extravagant parties provided perfect cover for those with the expertise and daring to take advantage of the high-stakes environment.

In a way, Canto Bight was both forbidden territory and an opportunity waiting to be seized.

The only problem was you had made a promise to the Mandalorian you were traveling with.

The Mandalorian, or rather, Mando, had stood in front of you where he had sat you on a crate on his ship earlier that day. His arms crossed over his chest. The glare you knew he gave you, hidden behind the helmet.

"Listen," he said, "you're going to sit here and you're going to stay out of my way. You're not going to cause any trouble, not going to bring any attention to yourself. You're going to stay right here. Got it?" His voice was cold and unwavering and his stance made it clear that the matter was non-negotiable.

You had waited ten minutes after he left before you left.

There was too much to see and steal after all.

The city was a sprawling, pulsating beast by night. The dimly lit alleyways and shadowy rooftops were your playground as you navigated discreetly through the city. You moved like a ghost, flitting from one venue to another. From the lavish cantinas to the high-rolling casinos. Your fingers were nimble and sure, plucking riches from the hands of the wealthy as easily as if they were picking ripe fruit.

You had missed this, the thrill and adrenaline of a thief's life.

Mando was like a jailer recently, keeping you caged on his ship. He had refused to let you leave for months. The reason was clear - your error. It wasn't just a simple slip-up; it had led to an injury that had stained both Mando’s and your hands with your own blood. It had caused the bounty hunter's protective instincts to kick in. He was determined to keep you under his watchful eye, his actions both a punishment and a precaution. The atmosphere on the ship had turned heavy with tension, the silence broken only by the hum of the engines and the occasional sigh or muttered curse from the stoic warrior.

He used to talk to you, used to seek out your company.

It had been months since a conversation lasted more than five seconds.

You felt so lonely.

The air of Canto Bight was like a drug, a potent mix of excitement, opulence, and thrill. It was just what you had been craving. The atmosphere was electric, the glitz and glamor everywhere you looked. The streets were filled with people eager to gamble, party, and seek out adventure. The promise of a good time and the chance to escape your mind was intoxicating and you found yourself drawn in like an Alderaan furry moth to a flame.

You were navigating the cramped, labyrinthine ventilation shafts as you tried to avoid detection of the guards. They had thrown you into the trash filled back alley as you tried to enter the high states casino. It was a risky move, but you had done it many times before.

You were skilled at getting into places you shouldn’t be in after all.

However, this time, your luck ran out the moment you crawled out of the vent and made a turn into a narrow corridor. Unknown to you, the hallway was not empty. You turned the corner and head butted into a solid, metallic surface. As you looked up, blinking in surprise, you realized with a pang of dread that you had head butted Beskar.

Mando.

Shit.

"I can explain," you said. The words tumbled from your mouth in a rush as Mando’s gloved hand grabbed hold of your wrist.

“We can talk about that later. I need you.” He said.

You trailed behind Mando, your footsteps echoed softly in the dimly lit corridors. The music from the cantina below was a distant, booming pulse. Its sound muffled by the thick walls but still strong enough to fill the air. The occasional glimpses of flashing lights spilled out through the doors you passed and it painted the floors in a deep purple hue, providing the only source of illumination in the otherwise dark and ominous hallway. You could feel the tension in the air and the Mandalorian's steps ahead of you seemed purposeful.

Mando came to a sudden halt in front of a guard that stood in front of large golden double doors. His hand that had been grasping your wrist just moments before moved to rest on your spine. You felt a slight pressure, a silent command to stay put. You looked up at Mando, confusion and curiosity in your eyes as you tried to puzzle out his actions.

“Mywife,” Mando said.

His what?

Before you could open your mouth to voice your confusion, Mando’s hand gave a sharp tug at your shirt and pulled you against his chest. The sudden movement caught you off guard and you stumbled into him, your back now pressed firmly against the cool Beskar. The question that had been forming on your lips died on your tongue as you felt the solid presence of the warrior behind you.

The guard looked you over, his expression skeptical as he took in your bewildered face. He raised an eyebrow and directed his attention back to Mando, his tone unimpressed. "You sure about that?" he said.

“It’s new,” Mando replied.

“Very new,” you said.

Your gaze shifted from the guard's face, which was locked in an intense, one-sided staring contest with the Beskar helmet behind you. To your left, a framed sign on the wall caught your eye. It was a gaudy, overblown declaration advertising a casino room beyond was open to married couples only.

Oh.

“My wife and I would like to play Sabacc. Now.”

The guard sighed.

“Fine, but one wrong move and I will throw you out. Mandalorian or not.” The guard grumbled as he opened the door for you to step through.

Mando steered you through the threshold of the doors and into the crowded, lively room beyond. Round tables were strategically placed throughout the space, each occupied by couples absorbed in either their game or live Fathier Racing holograms. Groups of people roamed the floor as they moved from table to table, eagerly watching the games and races unfold. Along the walls, secluded booths provided intimate spaces for groups of people, their conversations hidden behind the low, padded barriers. The air was thick with tension and excitement. The hum of chatter and the clink of credits filled your ears.

Credits to steal.

“I can feel your fingers twitching.” Mando said.

You stole a glance at Mando. His helmet faced away from you as he scanned the room. His gaze moved from table to table, taking in every detail just as you had but for an entirely different reason. His hand was still pressed firmly against your back, its weight a constant reminder of his presence. It was familiar yet foreign. You could feel the slight tension in his touch, the subtle way his fingers pressed through the fabric of your shirt. A silent signal for you to stay close.

You clenched your fists tightly, the action a meager attempt to control the tension that coursed through your body. Your fingers dug into your palms as Mando turned his helmet to look down at you. You could feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on you, even through the visor of his helmet. You took a deep, steadying breath, maintaining the neutral expression on your face despite the hammering of your heart against your ribcage.

"Are you going to behave?" The low hum of his voice behind the modulator sent a shiver down your spine as he spoke. You swallowed hard, struggling to find your voice as you nodded stiffly in response.

“Always.”

He scoffed; the sound muffled through the modulator in his helmet. His hand tightened in your shirt as he gripped the fabric firmly.

“I don’t need a repeat of last time.”

Despite the gruff and frustrated tone in his voice, there was a hint of gentleness in the way this hand smoothed the fabric of your shirt, his touch surprisingly careful. With his guidance, he led you to an empty booth at the back of the room. The dim lighting provided a secluded area away from the main gambling tables. You could sense the tension in his stance, the controlled strength and power coiled beneath his armor. As he motioned for you to sit, his presence loomed over you like a shadow.

As you settled yourself on the cold metal bench of the booth, Mando’s voice cut through the hum of the casino. "If I tell you to stay, will you?" His visor was trained on you, the purple dim lights above the booth casted shadows across his already intimidating visage.

You nodded.

He shifted his weight and rested his hands on his hips. He then cocked his head to the side, his gaze locked onto you. He exhaled, the sound a deep, mechanical huff, as if he were gathering his thoughts or summoning some inner strength.

With a swift, practiced movement, Mando unclipped a pair of cuffs and secured one around your wrist. You felt the cold metal pinch against your skin, the sound of the click as the cuff locked into place. Without a second thought, he attached the other cuff to the heavy table leg, effectively tethering you to the booth.

“You understand why I don’t trust you?”

You nodded again.

Because you do. You really do.

Once you were secured to the booth, Mando leaned in close. The cold, hard surface of his helmet mere inches from your face. In a low, firm voice, he informed you that he would return once he had acquired the information he needed or captured the bounty he was hunting. The weight of his words and the situation's gravity settled over you like a leaden blanket as he took a step back, his figure disappearing into the crowd of gamblers.

So, there you sat, bound to the booth. The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. You could have easily slipped free the cuffs and you knew Mando was aware of this fact as well. This waiting game was a test, a trial to see if you could be trusted again. If you had the discipline and restraint to stay put despite the temptation to flee.

You waited for him.

Around the two hour mark a burly Weequay pushed his way into the booth beside you. The weight of his body caused the metal bench to creak and groan under his weight. He settled into the space with a smirk, his eyes scanned you up and down with a leery gaze.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you said.

"You here all alone?” The Weequay leaned back, his arm slid over the back of the booth and came to rest behind you with a casual familiarity that immediately set your nerves on edge. He chuckled softly as his eyes lingered on your bound wrist. “And handcuffed?” His other hand reached for your bound wrist.

Just as you were about to snap a retort at the Weequay, a deep shadow fell over the booth. Your eyes instinctively lifted to find the source. In front of you stood the imposing figure of the Mandalorian, every inch of his body radiated tension and anger. His hands were clenched tightly by his sides, his stance wide and aggressive, as if he was barely holding himself back.

The Weequay's face twisted into a frown as he turned around, his gaze locked onto the imposing figure behind him. The cocky expression fell from his face and he visibly tensed, his body jolted in surprise at the sight of the armored warrior. He swallowed hard; his confidence vanished like smoke in the wind.

"If you want to leave with your hand attached," he stated, each word punctuated clearly, "I suggest you take your hand off my wife." Mando's voice was as cold and hard as the Beskar he wore, the threat in his words clear and unequivocal.

The Weequay's eyes widened in surprise at the term "my wife," and his head whipped over to look at you. He stuttered over his words, his eyes darted between you and the Mandalorian. He hastily slid out of the booth; his apologies spilled out of his mouth in a rush as he took in the sight of the furious Mandalorian towered over him. In a heartbeat, he turned on his heel and scurried away, disappearing into the crowd.

The moment he left; you could see the tension in Mando’s shoulders relax. In his hand was a drink, the condensation on the outside of the glass glinted in the casino lights. With a nod, he placed the drink on the table beside you. The liquid within beckoned to you, the cool, cold condensation a tantalizing promise of relief. You practically lunged for the drink, your parched throat relishing the cool liquid as you downed it all in one gulp.

“Your wife, huh?” You smiled as you put the empty cup on the table.

After watching you practically inhale the drink as if dying of thirst, Mando bent down as he ignored you. With a swift motion, he unlocked the cuff around your wrist and freed you from the booth. He then stood straight again; his gaze fixed on you.

“Got the information I needed. We can head back to the Crest.” He said as you rose from the booth.

Mando’s reaction was instant as you reached out and grabbed his wrist, his body jolted at the unexpected touch. He turned back to face you.

“What?”

You looked up at him, your hand still wrapped around his wrist and suggested, "What if we get a room? With an actual bed, maybe?"

He stared at you.

“I may have stolen enough credits, so I can pay for it myself?”

His visor betrayed no reaction, but his body seemed to tense beneath your hold. Then, he nodded.

Mando seemed to consider your suggestion for a moment before he spoke, his voice gruff beneath the modulator. "Fine," he said, the word coming out as a reluctant agreement. He then adjusted his grip, his fingers wrapping around your wrist instead. "But only because you didn't run off," he added as he pointed his finger at you, a note of subtle approval in his tone.

As he pivoted on his heel and began to lead you through the casino, you couldn't help but smile to yourself. There was a sense of triumph in the way he tugged you along, your hand encircled by his sturdy grip. The sound of the casino faded into the background as you followed him through the corridors and to the lobby.

The moment Mando reached the counter, he reached out and rang the bell. After a moment, the guard from earlier emerged from the back room, his expression a mix of tiredness and irritation. The guard let out a long sigh, leaning heavily on the counter as he recognized the armored figure before him.

"Two rooms," Mando said. With a flick of his hand, he tossed a small stack of credits you stole onto the counter and it clattered against the hard surface.

The guard darted from the credits to Mando’s helmet and raised his eyebrows. “Two rooms?” He asked.

Mando remained still as he stared at the guard.

"Now, why would a husband and wife need two rooms?" he sneered, a smirk played at the corner of his mouth. The guard crossed his arms across his chest, as if challenging the Mandalorian's response. The tension in the air thickened as he stared at the guard, his grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly.

“One. Room.” Mando said and you felt the anger radiate off him.

The guard raised an eyebrow at Mando's tone, seemingly surprised by the man's demeanor, but he quickly snatched the credits from the counter and handed Mando one room key.

With a swift, almost violent motion, Mando snatched the key and remaining credits from the counter. The guard's fingers barely moved out of the way in time.

It wasn’t until the door shut behind you with a soft click and a sense of isolation enveloped you that you noticed Mando's shoulders relax again. His rigid stance loosened as if shedding the tension that had been weighing heavily upon him. The dim lighting of the room cast dramatic shadows across his armor, but for a moment, in the quiet of the room, he looked less like an intimidating warrior and more like a man struggling to hold onto his composure.

He walked past you, his movements purposeful and measured and made his way to the chair in the corner of the room. He spoke as he sat down, the sound of the chair creaked slightly under his weight as he folded his arms. "I'll take the chair," he stated, his voice flat and matter of fact. He leaned back in the chair, the metal of his armor clinked against the wood.

You sat down on the edge of the bed closest to him, the springs of the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight. You looked over at Mando seated in the chair he had claimed as his own. "I'm sorry," you said.

His helmet flicked up to glance at you, but other than that he didn't move.

You sighed.

“I’m sorry you can’t trust me like I want you to.”

“I did trust you.”

You looked up at him and nodded slowly.

“I trusted you to trust me and you-” he stopped himself with a deep sigh and shook his head, “Do you know I still find your blood in the Crest?”

Your eyes closed involuntarily as shameful memories flooded your mind. Flashes of his shaking hands on your bloody body in the dimly lit corner of the Crest. The memories played out in quick, vivid snapshots, like photos being shuffled in a deck of cards. The sound of his angry, raised voice echoed in your head. Its volume and intensity were a stark contrast to his usual collected and calm demeanor. His hands tearing at your clothes to get to your injuries. His hands holding you down as you cried. Your cold body drenched in your own blood. His cries as he held you. You could almost feel the fear that oozed from him, a fear you had never seen in him before, and it terrified you more than your injury had.

“I can’t see you like that again,” he said.

You took a deep breath and opened your eyes again, the memories still lingered like ghosts in the back of your mind. Without uttering a word, you nodded in acknowledgment.

You turned away from him, your focus shifted to the bed that seemed too large and too empty for just you. The words "Sleep with me?" left your lips before you could second-guess yourself, your voice almost a whisper in the quiet room.

“What?”

“I miss you Mando. I won’t touch you, I just - miss you.”

Without a word, he stood from the chair.

Mando did not take his armor off like he used to. He did not slip under the covers, instead laid on top of the sheets. He did not hold you close to his chest like he had for countless months.

The distance was palpable; not just the space between your bodies, but also the distance between the connection you once shared.

Instead, you found yourself clutching the soft fabric of his cloak in your hands as you laid beside him. The scent of him that had once seemed soothing and comforting was muted by the metallic smell of his armor. Fatigue tugged at your eyelids, your mind teetering on the edge of sleep as you held onto his cloak. The bed seemed too large, too desolate without his embrace.

He was so close yet so far.

Familiar yet foreign.

As you were on the verge of that sweet surrender of sleep, his arm moved around your waist and pulled you gently closer to him. His touch was unexpected, his movements cautious yet deliberate. Your body slotted against his armored form, the cold touch of his armor against your skin a sharp contrast to the unexpected warmth that spread through you at the contact.

“Can I trust you? Will you trust me to keep you safe? Because I can’t see you like that again and I need to know if I can trust you to listen to me when it matters most,” he said. You could hear the strain in his usually calm and collected voice. The underlying hint of fear in his tone.

You nodded into his side, the strength of his grip on your waist a comfort. You had no intention of leaving his side again, the memories of his angry voice and shaky hands was still fresh in your mind. You wanted to stay close to him, for him to trust you in the way he once had.

He nodded as he sat up in the bed, his movements methodical and practiced. You silently watched as he began to remove his armor, each piece came off with a series of clicks and scrapes as he unclasped and untethered the Beskar from his body.

He left his armor stacked neatly on the chair; each piece placed with a level of care. Then, he returned to the bed, the mattress dipped slightly as he slid under the sheets. His body warm against yours.

You could have cried.

You did cry.

The warmth of his bare hand against your stomach as he pulled your back against his chest emanated more than just physical comfort. The solidity of his body against yours was a reminder that he was there with you. His touch was firm yet gentle, his fingers splayed over your stomach in a way that suggested he was afraid of letting go. You sank back into his embrace, the steady beat of his heart against your back a soothing lullaby you had not been able to sleep without.

You weren't alone anymore.

Notes

Did I stay on track of fake marriage? Maybe? – listen I tried. I sat down to try and write this three times and scrapped it three times before I finally stuck with this. But regardless, I had a lot of fun doing this! I haven’t necessarily written in the Star Wars universe before, only AU’s with Din so this was very intimidating. I did, however, like writing it. It was just scary because I didn’t want to describe something incorrectly or not write it correctly?

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mando x you #mando x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian

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