imaginarydesires

[imaginarydesires]

Reblog to give Din Djarin a kiss on the helmet

[imaginarydesires]

Ambush || Hannibal Lecter x Reader

Word Count: 6.2k

CW/TW: LONG ASS FIC. Mentions of scars, disturbing content and Cannibalism (obviously), reader unwittingly committing cannibalism, unhinged Hannibal, biting, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cream pie.

Notes: Upon missing a therapy session with Dr. Hannibal Lecter, you’re invited for dinner at his house to make up for lost time.

IMPORTANT: please note any repeating paragraphs are a glitch in tumblr - whenever I edit new repeat paragraphs pop up. Please try to ignore it x

He creeps up on you.

Much like the monsters you imagined lived under your bed as a child. They dwelled in the crushing darkness, between the carpeted floor and the slats that supported your slate grey mattress. Impatient for the moment your foot slips from beyond the covers into the chilled air around you, ankle exposed to the elements and vulnerable to those that lay in wait.

He’s not unlike them. The rich chocolate of his eyes reflect the trepidation of the child-you. He invokes the intense uneasiness, the kind that seeps into your pores and cooks you from the inside out, despite the gentle tilt of his smile that you saw weekly.

You cannot place the general disquiet that the man in suits solicits, or why it radiates from deep inside your bones despite the comfort you had built with your meetings. Nor can you discern why your reaction to seeing him outside of his elegant, neo-classical therapy office causes you to act like a doe caught very much within the sights of an apex predator, effectively defenceless.

You hesitate for a moment. How does one begin to explain that they had skipped a meeting as their affection for their therapist had passed beyond curiosity into the obsessive?

“No,” you mumble quietly, assuming Hannibal would be straining to hear, “No I am just forgetful.” The tap of your thumb against the pearly-silver of the gurney reverberates off the walls of the mortuary in a quiet ‘pang’, cutting through the silence that follows your ill-mannered answer as if counting down the seconds to your therapist's reaction.

You were uncertain as to when it started to slip, your fascination curdling into something akin to fraternisation.

“Well,” Hannibal begins, mercifully staying on the other side of the gurney that you had appropriated as an imaginary line in the sand, “I have no available appointments for quite some time. I believe this will affect your progress.”

You clear your throat weakly, guilt steeping your bones. How rude of you, to unravel the intricately stitched coping mechanisms that Hannibal had gently and compassionately threaded into your brain. Your mouth opens, forming around pathetic, half-hearted apologies that you hoped would mitigate the obvious disappointment Hannibal was feeling.

“Unless you wish to discuss your mind-matters over dinner?” He asks flippantly, catching you completely off guard. Almost as though he didn’t comprehend the way he was teetering on the edge of inappropriate conduct with a patient.

“Unless you wish to discuss your mind-matters over dinner?” He asks flippantly, catching you completely off guard. Almost as though he didn’t comprehend the way he was teetering on the edge of inappropriate conduct with a patient.

“Ah-“ you stumble to collect your thoughts, your own eyes seemingly unable to catch the deep-bronze iris of the man before you, try as you might. “That would be perfect, Doctor Lecter, thank you.” A pitiful attempt to rush the perfectly polite man out of the door, but your heart was racing and you needed to be able to focus.

“Seven o’clock tonight,” his eyes wander over the body before you as he speaks, “Please do inform me if you are to be late.”

“Yes, Dr. Lecter.” You mumbled, watching as he turned on his heel, rather elegantly and paced out the door.

———

It wasn’t often you found yourself contemplating how you had spent your time. When you did, it wasn’t uncommon to consider how precious life is, and whether or not you had spent enough time with those you loved or doing things you enjoyed, spending hours fretting over whether or not you had done enough to make all the time worthwhile.

And so you cringed at how much time you had pondered the question “what does one wear to a dinner with Dr. Hannibal Lecter?”

It wasn’t as though he was taking you to dinner. It was a meal at his home. Regardless, Hannibal dressed to the nines almost daily. Your standard dress felt rather obsolete at the prospect of dining at his table. If his office was anything to go off, you imagined his home would bleed a darker kind of old-money.

You had decided to dress up, rather than dress down.

Much like how you had stood in the doorway of your wardrobe and despite the cold, you found your feet rooted to the doorstep of your therapist's home. You were second guessing yourself. The rather extortionately priced wine in your hand began to burn the skin of your palm- once confident in its price tag making it worthwhile, you now started to wonder if it would be to Hannibal’s taste or if it would even go with the meal.

Finally, you swallowed the nerves that congealed in your stomach, twisting into something comparable to fear before you pressed your thumb against the doorbell. The ‘ding’ of the doorbell itself seems to shock you, a chill running up your spine at the prospect of the door opening and staring into those deep brown eyes.

But there‘a a pause, one that drags on far too long for comfort. It’s an eerie silence, settling like dust on surfaces long, the kind that makes it hard to breathe. You doubt yourself for a moment, lifting your hand to the doorbell once more.

Before you can push the button, the hinges of the doors strain as it is pushed open, an immaculately dressed Hannibal Lecter on the other side. He wears a pale blue button down shirt, almost bluebell coloured. It’s sleeves are rolled up his forearms, exposing the long scars on either wrist he once explained he had sustained during an attack on his life. The simple, light grey waistcoat immaculately compliments the tone of the shirt. Much like everything Hannibal does, it’s perfect.

“Good Evening,” he muses, eyeing you slowly. Try as you might to search for a ripple in his poised appearance, his expression gives nothing away. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you, Dr. Lecter,” your voice barely feels as though it reaches above a singular decibel in volume, nerves besting you now he stood opposite.

Hannibal moves out of the doorway, allowing you to step into the heat of his home. As you had suspected, it was as though his house was the sibling to his office. Dark, intimidating, and yet artistic and beautiful. It was as though it mirrored its owner in it’s properties.

“Allow me to warm you up,” he spoke, leading you through the hallways as your shoes ‘clacked’ against the hardwood floors. “The dining room has a fire.” Walking behind him, the expanse of his back felt so much larger without a blazer to weigh it down. It had never really occurred to you how much larger than you Hannibal was. He was lean, yet his height and somewhat intimidating aura made up for that exponentially.

To fill the silence punctuated only by the sounds of your feet hitting the floor, you decided to speak up. “I brought wine.” Hannibal looks over his shoulder at you, eyes flicking down to take note of the bottle in your hand that he seemed to have disregarded until now.

“Red wine,” he states, lips tugging at the edges, “that will work perfectly with the dishes I have prepared. Thank you for the gift.” A quiet sigh of relief is expelled from your lungs, a fuzzy feeling working it’s way through your stomach. At least you had achieved his approval somehow.

In an attempt to keep this feeling of success going, you continue the conversation despite the way your toes curl in your heels.

“What is it that’s for dinner, Dr. Lecter?”

Hannibal hesitates upon his answer, turning back to face the way in which his feet were taking him. “You’ll see,” is all that he gives in response, leaving an air of mystery surrounding both him, and the dishes that awaited your compliments in the kitchen.

Hannibal hadn’t lied. The dining room was warm, the fire glowing warm orange in contrast to the stark white of the snow that had begun to settle on the back yard and the streets of Baltimore. The window-doors at the head of the table allow you to view the flakes falling and experience the eerie quiet that often precedes snowfall.

The wall to the right of you is made of dark grey stone, shelves filled with soil and packed with a variety of sprouting herbs. The temperature of the room accentuated the mixture of scents. You could pick out a few common aromas; thyme, basil, lavender.

“Your home is beautiful, Dr. Lecter,” you whisper, as he pulls the chair to the left of the head of the table out for you. “Did you decorate it yourself?”

Hannibal moves to serve the wine that he gently pries from your hand, his actions well rehearsed from what you assumed was the multiple dinner parties he liked to throw. He hums slightly, uncorking the bottle and inhaling the fruity smell.

“I did. I like to use my artistic ability at any given opportunity,” he says, leaning in and gently pouring wine into the glass in front of you. You can feel it, the proximity of your bodies. You can practically feel the tickle of his breath on the back of your neck, chills running across your skin and peppering it with goosebumps.

Your cheeks flush, closing your eyes in an attempt to gather the thoughts that Hannibal had managed to scramble in but a few seconds as he finishes up. His footsteps seem to ricochet off the dark painted walls, assaulting your eardrums as he paces to his own side of the table.

“How do you wish to proceed?” He asks, settling in the seat across from you after pouring his own glass of wine, “We can discuss your therapy before or after the meal.”

You hesitate as you consider your answer, watching him raise the rim of the glass to his thin lips. “Perhaps before. I wouldn’t wish to spoil a delicious meal by discussing unsavoury topics afterwards.”

“Then let’s begin with why you didn’t show up to our last session?” He asks, eyes focused entirely on you. It feels like a blade has been pushed through your stomach, and he expects you to spill your insides onto the floor. You’d rather that than give him honesty.

“I got caught up with work,” you lie, rather uselessly as you feel the heat of his gaze on your face. Or was that just the warmth from your cheeks?

The wineglass opposite you is lifted by his slender fingers, swirling the liquid in the crystal as he considers your deceptive answer. “That is most unlike you. Dare I say you’re rarely less than 15 minutes early to our meetings together?”

You can only muster a quiet ‘mhm’ in response. It’s evident that you’re failing at convincing him. Fiddling with the napkin in front of you, you ready yourself to admit to your therapist the true reason as to why you had avoided his company.

Hannibal, in turn, offers you the silent treatment. This wasn’t uncommon- he claimed it allowed you to focus more on your feelings and form a coherent answer to his questions. But out of his office and in his own dining room, the hush is stifling. An immense pressure falls upon you, and you feel the truthful words threatening to spill from your parted lips.

“I… I have feelings for you, Hannibal. Emotions not compatible with a patient-therapist relationship. I had been hoping to avoid the topic and continue as we had been, but the sheer intensity of these sentiments are… restricting my ability to improve with my treatment,” It spills out quicker than you can stop yourself, lips and tongue forming the syllables despite the logical half of your brain begging for silence.

You grab your wine, taking a sip to occupy your mouth and distract it from spilling further embarrassing secrets- like the reason you weren’t improving was because you spent the whole hour-long session daydreaming about if Dr. Lecters dexterous fingers could play you as beautifully as he plays the harpsichord.

In your embarrassment, you hadn’t noticed the sharp-featured face before you had barely given any notion that it had registered the meaning behind your admission. The umber iris of his eyes simply observe your own micro-expressions, analysing your reactions. Your skin crawls at the realisation, feeling almost as though he was reading you like the complicated psychology books that sat in his office that weighed a tonne.

Though, he appeared to have an infinite amount more patience for you than the yellow-faded pages of brain studies.

Before Hannibal is able to comment on the panicked look in your own eyes, a timer in the kitchen cuts through the silence. Without pause, he stands swiftly from the table, placing his almost full wine glass down. “Dinner will be served momentarily,” he informs you, bowing briskly out of the dining room and leaving you alone to stew in your mortification.

The savoury scent of the meat and its spices barely registers as you run over every word of your appalling rant. Your shaking hand takes the crystal stem of your own booze, taking large gulps of the burgundy liquid in an attempt to ease your racing heart and mind.

It’s not as though you could say you would be surprised if Hannibal were to refer you to a new therapist. But it wouldn’t be honest of you to admit that it wouldn’t hurt you if he did. To go without his wisdom, his guidance and his company would feel almost like a drought. A famine of enrichment that your brain had become wholly reliant on.

You place the base of your almost empty glass on the table, gazing into the bowl and watching the wine settle at the bottom. It slipped down the sides, pooling like blood across a floor.

You’re torn from your self-pity-party as the sound of Hannibal’s heels against the wooden floor echo down the corridor. You find yourself sitting up straight and trying to reassemble your nerves. With a plate in hand and another resting precariously on his forearm, Hannibal waltzes into the dining room.

“Pork loin with red fruit Cumberland sauce,” he informs you, making his way over to your side of the table to deposit the carefully designed plate of food in front of you. The pork is glistening, soaked in the red sauce, and is accompanied by green beans and thin slices of potato. It smells divine, and you can’t help the way your mouth waters, begging for a taste.

“It looks wonderful, Dr. Lecter. Thank you,” you say softly, attempting to put aside the humiliating conversation of earlier. Without much of an answer, Hannibal picks up the bottle of wine to top off your glass. You don’t protest, but you had been hoping he wouldn’t notice how much you had already drunk in comparison to his relatively full crystal glass.

Of course he noticed. He always does.

You extend courtesy to Hannibal, waiting for him to take his seat before you begin to tuck in. He wastes no time, however, settling in his seat with little fuss before settling the napkin on the table over his thighs. It’s impossible not to notice the air of anticipation surrounding his actions, swifter and more purposeful than his usual neutral self.

“Please,” he urges you politely, “do not feel as though you have to wait for me.” He takes up his cutlery, eyes settled intently on your face as he awaits your reaction. You indulge him, also picking up your designated silver. The serrated edge of the utensil cuts through the meat like butter, the juices and sauce coating the slab you carved from the main body of the meat perfectly.

Raising the fork to your lips, you hum softly, the fruity taste of the sauce more intoxicating than the wine that Hannibal had been plying you with. The saltiness of the meat cut through, the dichotomy of the flavours enriching the experience on your pallet. “Mhmm,” you close your eyes, practically purring as you chew the delicate meat.

“Is it to your liking?” Hannibal asks you, words slow and purposeful. You nod softly, swallowing the mouthful of food and reaching for the stem of your glass before opening your eyes.

The view before you makes your heart race. Hannibal, sitting before you, is staring intensely. His eyes are darker than usual, his pupils blown wide as he watches you enjoy the meal he had prepared you. It shocks you, seeing Dr. Lecter’s usually steady mask slip so acutely.

You feel your face flush with heat. He’s devouring you with his eyes unabashedly, the power balance tilting in his favour.

“Yes. It is to my liking,” you repeat back softly, surprised the words don’t catch in your throat with the thickness of the tension in the air. Perhaps it’s the volume of wine you had drunk in such quick succession, but there’s a buzz against your skin, a spark of playfulness igniting deep in your chest. He refuses to look away, to blink and miss a moment.

You test the waters, impaling your fork in the glossy meat of the pork loin once more and cutting another slice for yourself. Hannibal's eyes flicker down to your plate and back to your face, anticipating you tasting his ‘art’.

You lift the mouthful to your lips, resting the meat on your tongue and slowly pulling the fork back so your lips drag against the metal, gazing back at him through your lashes. There’s a tick in your therapist's jaw, a physical show beside the potency of his gaze.

The moan that escapes your throat is obscene, entirely inappropriate for a dinner table setting. Hannibal, usually a stickler for manners and rules, seems unable to impart a lecture when so absorbed in your reactions to his meal.

The gratification that warms your body pushes you onwards despite your relatively mild nature around him. You make sure to keep his gaze, fingers wrapping around the glass of crimson-liquor once more.

Catching those carnal eyes with your own, you raise the rim to your lips. The alcohol settles on your tongue, and you allow yourself, just once, to be messy. A droplet spills from the corner of your lips, running down your chin and throat before seeping into the seams of your top.

A spark in the previously potent and viscous air caused a complete detonation. It happens so fast you can barely blink, Hannibal’s chair, thrown to the side with the speed in which he stood, clatters against the floor.

He takes your chin in his palm, fingertips pressing into your cheeks so violently it makes your jaw ache under the pressure as he forces you to look at him. His chest heaves as he gazes down at you, entirely unhinged from the composed, immaculately dressed man that often commanded the room.

The air sizzles between the two of you, lascivious and acute. You can feel your stomach flip, Hannibal’s grip slowly loosening as he drags his palm from your chin and down your throat. His touch is feather-light, the subtle calluses on his fingertips he had developed after years of playing stringed instruments brushes against the Sternocleidomastoids in your neck.

The touch of his fingertips alone against your skin causes bolts of nervous energy to rip through your spine, as though Hannibal was administering his own, radical form on electroshock therapy.

His palm stops just over your throat, leaning down slowly. You can feel yourself getting dizzy, lungs having stalled in your chest as soon as he leapt from his seat. There is no intense collision of lips and teeth, no violent kiss that bruises your mouth with the vigour. Instead, the tip of his nose brushes over your own, foreheads rested against each other.

When he gently presses his lips to your own, it’s as though he entirely winds you with the complete contrast from the kiss and his earlier actions. It’s stunningly soft, his thumb brushing the underside of your jaw to sooth you into releasing a soft moan.

You can’t process the way Hannibal takes his time, his kiss slow and gentle initially, the soft taste of wine upon his lips that add to your already drunk and dazed state. He makes you entirely pliable in his hands, readying to mould you exactly how he wished with those fingers you knew were renowned for their ability to create masterpieces.

He gently pulls back from you, your own lips tingling with the need for the pressure back. Those gorgeous umber eyes gaze through his blonde lashes, and you find yourself praying you haven’t done something to put him off. You couldn’t possibly live without another kiss like that-

A firm hand takes hold of your bicep, considerably pulling you from your chair so you stand before him. Despite his help, you manage to stumble, and you grasp onto the outer seam of the perfectly tailored waistcoat he wore. The snow continues to fall slowly from the sky outside, but the body heat coming from Hannibal, underneath the layers of clothing against your touch is profound.

Hannibal rests his palm against your hip, thumb pressed gently into your hip bone as he reaches behind you. You watch him beside you as he rests his forearm on the table, swiping aside the plates and cutlery in a broken symphony of different materials scraping and knocking each other. A silver knife falls from the tabletop, clanging as it collides with the floor. A crystal glass is knocked off balance, tipping and spilling its insides over the table in the opposite direction.

“Hannibal-“ you gasp, about to protest the mess he had made until he presses a gentle hand against your sternum, slowly laying you down against the dark mahogany table. The coolness of the wood seeps through the fabric of your clothes, pleasant against your fevered skin.

It’s dizzying, the speed of the acceleration of events but the lethargy in which they happen. Your body reacts in a similar way, arousal slowly simmering underneath your skin while already being far too much to tolerate without his touch.

“How many patients do you take to bed?” You murmur, watching as he slots his hips between your parted thighs, gazing down at you with hungry eyes. There’s a silent gap between your question and his answer. It’s no hesitation, just occupying himself with the feeling of your supple flesh in his hands.

“Only you,” He says with such conviction you find it hard to doubt him, “though, we are not in bed.” From anyone else’s mouth, that sentence would land as a joke. From Hannibal’s, it’s a pointed reminder of the risqué nature of him beginning to strip you on the tabletop in which all his guests ate from.

So he begins, this time a little more feverish in his actions than his initial kiss as he hastily unbuttons your blouse to expose the flesh of your chest. His fingertips brush your clavicle, tracing the arch of the bone under your skin before taking the strap of your bra between his forefinger and thumb, tracing his eyes over your exposed upper body.

Your skin goosebumps under his gaze, feeling exposed as he brushes the bra strap over your shoulder. Splaying his hand on the table beside your waist, Hannibal slowly lowers himself to rest his upper body against your own, lips pressing to the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Chills run down your spine, igniting in your lower abdomen.

Desperate to hold onto something, to busy your hands, you move swiftly to unbutton the form fitting bodysuit. Three buttons, cool against your touch, slip open with little resistance, and you push the tartan fabric from his broad shoulders.

The gasp that forces its way past your lips is entirely unholy. He had sunk his teeth gently into the skin of your shoulder, a short, sharp pain jolting through your neck.

“Mhm,” he hums softly, pressing his lips into the tender flesh that displays his teeth marks proudly. “My apologies.” You shake your head quickly, a frankly desperate whine indicating your need for more- though the apology hadn’t sounded entirely sincere regardless. Perhaps you’re dazed, imagining things, but you swear you feel his lips stretch into a smile against your sensitive skin.

Aiming to please, Hannibal nips your throat, preparing you before biting harshly in an attempt to elicit that same reaction. It does, the sinful moan of pleasure bouncing off the walls of the dining room. Your fingers work their way into his blonde hair, gripping the roots to ground yourself. Your hips jolt as his teeth drag against the swollen flesh, grinding against his own.

“Ohh~” you whine, the bulge in his pants evident as it brushes your clit through the fabric of your pants. Hannibal’s grip is tighter now, bordering on brushing as he tilts your hips upwards.

Finally, his free hand works to unbutton your pants, tongue running over the delicate skin he had previously assaulted. Your cunt is throbbing, desperate for him to touch as you attempt to kick the fabric from your legs. Hannibal just barely manages to pull the waistband down your thighs before you begin to cry in utter frustration.

His hand cups between your legs, thumb rubbing your clit through the thin lace fabric of your underwear. You swore when stood gazing into your wardrobe earlier that you were being ridiculous, choosing to wear lace panties just in case. But now, displayed on Hannibal's dining table, you couldn’t help but thank earlier you for not embarrassing yourself.

Your clit throbs as the pad of his thumb circles your clit quicker, back arching off the tabletop in a half-hearted attempt to escape the intense pleasure he evokes in you. “Fuuuck-“ you moan raggedly, shaking your head in feeble complaint.

Hannibal’s other hand turns your face to him, pressing his lips to yours in a fuller, hungrier kiss. He’s all tongue and teeth, devouring you while spurred on by the soft, vulnerable sounds that escape your throat at the way he entirely overwhelms you.

Despite the distraction of his teeth pulling on your lower lip, you’re not too far gone to not notice the way his fingertips roughly push underneath the hem of your panties and dip into the soaking heat of your pussy. “Haaa-“ you slur his name against his lips, drunk on the acute pleasure building between your legs.

Pushing your hand under the hem of his shirt, the flat of your palm brushes against the coarse hair on his chest, the act pulling at the threads that fasten the buttons to the shirt he wore. Hannibal seems unphased by the strain on the fabric, entirely consumed by his most prized possession, the way your cunt weeped deliciously around his fingertips.

The slick, soaked sound of his fingers brushing through the cleft of your pussy causes your hips to jolt, losing control of your own muscles. You quietly apologise, the words of remorse dying on your tongue as you watch Hannibal’s fingers slowly sink inside of you to stretch you open. God- Did your eyes just roll back? Fuck that feels so good.

You both feel it, the content hum that rumbles from Hannibal’s chest indicating he was pleased by the way there was no give, his fingers just slipping inside you to the knuckle as you lift your hips. You sounded so fucking wet it was almost grotesque, but mixed with the shaking moans he would draw from you with each brush of his fingerprint over your clit it was a consonancy.

Your trembling hands reach forward to undo the buckle of his belt, the rattle of the metal impossibly loud as you desperately try to unhook the prong from the belt hole. You need him to fuck you, so desperately needed to feel him fuck you, stretch you open. “Hannibal, please?” You beg, voice hoarse as you struggle.

Hannibal doesn’t answer, still. Instead, he moves his hands to his belt, swiftly unhooking and pulling it from his pants loops. It just highlights the control he exerts in comparison to the already trembling mess he had made of you.

His fingers are still buried deep in your cunt, stretching you open. You can see the way he feeds off of the view before him as he pulls the zipper of his pants down, shucking them from his hips and letting them slip down his thighs. He wastes no further time, pulling his cock, throbbing and leaking at the tip from his boxer shorts.

Hooking your calves over his hips, he settles between your thighs. You stare, slack jawed as you watch him slowly slip his fingers from your cunt. They’re glistening under the light, soaked. He gives you little time for embarrassment, lifting them to his lips and tasting you with a broad stroke of his tongue over his digits.

You forget to breathe as you listen to the deep groan that vibrates in his chest, evidence of his approval at the way you taste. You hear, in the silence, him quietly mumble a word, in what you assume is his native language. That, or you’re so far gone that you no longer understand English.

When he looks back to you, his eyes are dark, pupils having dilated so far they have practically swallowed the chocolate of his iris’. You moan out his name like it hurts, the sight alone making you tremble even before he takes hold of your thighs with that crushing grip that will leave splotchy bruises in the morning, the ones that would begin purple, fading day by day yet still a daily reminder.

The head of his cock slips inside you with such ease it’s almost obscene, Hannibal’s top lip pulling up to expose his teeth in a snarl. You’re so warm and slick, fitting around his dick so nicely.

Eyes closed, you whine as Hannibal fills you. He feels incredible, and you swear you can feel him twitching inside you as he slowly inches deeper inside you. You’re clenching around him, hips rolling in an attempt to chase that high, but Hannibal would not be moved.

His hands slowly release the intense grip he’d held on your hip bones, one palm slowly sliding upwards, above your pubic bone. Those same dark eyes flick to your own, holding your gaze as he begins to thrust achingly slow.

Despite lacking speed, there’s a level of intensity that the steady rhythm has. The friction, the intimacy, the feeling of his palm pressing into your abdomen to feel the way he stretches you out, feel the way he’s making space in your cunt for him. You hum, tilting your head back to rest the crown of your skull against the dark wood.

Senses overloaded, you keen at the way you can still taste the wine you had both shared on your lips, the scent of sex floating on the air. You could watch Hannibal from this angle, see the way his hips moved, witness the evidence of his exertion as a slight sheen of sweat on his brow.

With each easy thrust, Hannibal hits a different spot inside of you. Each is enough to curl your toes with need, begging silently for a quicker pace. With the meat of his palm, he slowly begins to apply pressure above your pubic bone, watching with bated breath and he feels each gentle push of his cock.

You gasp out loudly when the head of his dick brushes up against something that causes your back to arch. Sparks jolt down your spine, settling and coiling between your legs. It’s like Hannibal had found what he was looking for, as it all seemed to snap inside him, suddenly setting a brutal pace that has your hips jumping up the table.

Cries bounce off the walls and you dig your nails into the grain of the tabletop, tears welling in your eyes as he savagely pinpoints that one spot that causes your heart to skip a beat. The view of Hannibal is blurred through your weeping eyes, your jaw slack with the increased pleasure aching between your thighs.

You’re clamping down on him, your own body betraying you as it chases the euphoria Hannibal was teasing you with. “H-Hannib-“ you’re choking on your own whines, trying to focus on the rhythm, his face, anything other than the rapidly increasing pressure.

You hear him now, the puffs of air escaping his nose, quiet groans as you clasp him tighter. The tears roll down your temples and into your hairline, sobs rising in your chest at the sheer enormity of the orgasm he was building inside of you, simmering and threatening to spill over with each thrust that seems to hit an impossibly deeper part of you.

And then he just fucking breaks you. He pushes his thumb against the swollen flesh of your clit, causing you to brace all the muscles in your body so much it hurts, bordering on cramping under the strain. You’re sobbing ugly now, shaking your head quickly as it begins to crest, going and going as you slur Hannibal’s name.

It hits you so hard you let out a scream. It shatters hot white, bursting through you with such intensity your vision blurs. Pulses of ecstasy radiate from your core, leaving a blisteringly hypersensitive sensation in its wake. You can feel your pulse thrumming through you, echoing in your ears as you slump into the devastating obliteration.

Hannibal strains against the way your cunt grips him like a vice, fluttering around him and coaxing his orgasm. He listens to the way you whine his name, watch as you convulse on his cock and the muscles in your abdomen jolt with each wave of pleasure.

You can hear him, his breathing ragged as he hurtles towards his own orgasm. He’s focusing so hard on it, building the pace and digging his fingertips into your thighs to anchor him to your cock as he fucks you senseless. A jagged groan of pleasure spills from his lips, and he’s cumming inside you, warmth spilling inside and pumping you full of him. You can feel him pulse, filling you with his cum as he braces himself with his hand splayed across the table for balance.

It’s debilitating, the afterglow. You can feel your whole body buzzing with the subtle shockwaves, the way your cunt still flutters around him, Hannibal’s cum seeping from your pussy and dripping onto the table. The sound of each other’s breathing mingles, a duet as one inhales and the other exhales.

You let out a nervous giggle, cutting through the relatively quiet room as you glance up at him, bleary eyed and aching. You can hear him chuckle too, gazing down at you and brushing your hair from your face. When he pulls out, you feel more of him spill out of you.

Dressing himself, Hannibal gazed down at you with chocolate eyes, his gaze much warmer and more typical of him than the carnal stare that had overcome him before he’d pounced.

“I will fetch water and a towel,” he murmurs, his accent even thicker with the exhaustion of your activities seeping into his muscles. You nod shyly, slowly sitting up as you try to cover yourself as you watch him leave and enter the kitchen. In the silence, you can’t help considering the switch in him that had taken you so much by surprise. Analysing the way it has initially frightened you.

You had always considered Hannibal Lecter a symphony. Among the french horns and the stunning cello, the perfectly orchestrated tempo and timbre, there is a terrific sound. A horrendous shrill of a bow pulled taught across the cured cat-gut strings of a violin, symbolising that deep dark part of him you never saw but knew he had. That dangerous side of him reflected in that feral gaze.

END

Notes: Fever dreams in writing.

Tags: @leatherboundbirate @star-killer-md @xwing-baby @historyandfandoms50 @paper-n-ashes @jynz-andtonic @mylifeisactuallyamess @mariesackler @pansa-1-san

#hannibal #OH MY #this is pure art

[imaginarydesires]

Light Through the Dark - 100 Followers Ask

This ask was sent via pm from @gallowsjoker: responding to your follower’s achievement…how about some whump with Pero, Din, or Frankie and 4 “Can you feel this?” hmm ... could also be whump at first and smut at the end with some tender caring in between

Light Through the Dark

Pairing: Pero Tovar x f!reader

Word Count: 6634 (oops)

Rating: M- Mature. 18+ ONLY! This one starts off dark and violent.

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Prompts: (4) “Can you feel this?”

Notes: I’ll be honest - I had to look up what whump meant. I hope this works! I’m picking Pero because I’ve written for Din and Frankie already with this same prompt! Plus our grumpy Spaniard needs some attention. Fun fact: I realized after I wrote this entire fic that I'd completely forgotten to add the prompt! So I added it in when I did my read through.

This was for my 100 followers thank you prompts! If you’d like to participate, it’s open until the end of 2021 and I’ll link it here!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

-------

Pero was a strong man. He’s had a hard life and had to grow up fast, becoming a mercenary at a young age when his family was taken by a fever. He’s had to kill more than his fair share of people and has missed death more times than he can count. He’s been stabbed, shot with arrows, tortured, bitten by animals (and humans), nearly starved, nearly drowned, and a whole slew of things most men wouldn’t come close to. But this?

This was agonizing.

They had swooped down on the company in the middle of the night, taking out their guards in one fluid motion. Pero barely had opened his eyes before a knife was at his throat. All around him he heard his fellow mercs being snuffed out, like they were mere candles. Pero could put up a fight but he also knew when it was best to surrender and live to fight another day.

And so he had surrendered to the mysterious people. They had taken him, put a sack over his head, bound his wrists in shackles and chained him to the back of a cart, forcing him to walk. His wrists ached from the metal scraping new grooves into his skin, his legs and feet threatening to give out with each unsure step, and he was hungry. Again. But even so, even though he would love to sit down and sleep for a solid 4 days, he knew he was better off than whatever was happening in the cart in front of him.

They had taken several of his fellow mercs and chained them like Pero, but one by one, they disappeared into the cart. At first he could hear arguments and the mercs telling off the kidnappers. But over the course of several days, the yells would turn into screams of pain, of terror, and then eventually pleas of death. It would take several days for one of the mercs to be silenced forever and the next one to be pulled into the cart. As this went on, the smell that came wafting out of the cart was putrid and rotting - it was the smell of death left out to decay. Pero had no idea what it was they were looking for but he knew he had to find a way out and fast - he was the last one left.

They stopped to camp for the night, leaving Pero chained to the cart. They removed his sack for a short bit to shove some food and water at him before roughly shoving the dirty sack back over his head. He could hear the pleas of his last fellow merc from inside the cart, whispering and whining their way through the slats. Pero pulled at his restraints but they remained strong and unmoving, just as they had been since the first day they clamped shut around his wrists, binding him to his fate.

It took 3 more days until he could hear his fellow merc no more.

Pero knew they would be coming for him. He knew fighting was futile, as he was vastly outnumbered, not to mention weak from hunger and all the walking. He knew he was the strongest of the mercs he had joined up with, but right now he wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

They came for him the next day, saying nothing but undoing the chain from the cart and yanking him around, shoving him inside the cart and closing the door behind him and sliding the wood beam lock into place. The sack was still over his head, which added to the sense of nervous horror that had settled on him over the last few weeks. The floor was sticky and a little wet and Pero knew it wasn’t from rain as it had been dry since he was taken. The smell of death wasn’t as bad as he anticipated, but it still crawled in his nose and settled there, like a bad omen.

He was left to sit there for a few hours. Pero knew it was to build the tension in him, to make him snap. He had intended to take a nap, just grateful for a chance to sit down, but the anxiety that had set up camp in his brain wouldn’t allow him to settle. So he waited.

The door beam slides open, wood grating on wood, and Pero hears heavy boots step into the cart. The door closes behind the boots and the beam is slid into place again. The cart starts to move and Pero shifts side to side in his seat with the motion of the cart. A few minutes pass and the sack is lifted from his head. Despite the darkness inside the cart, Pero blinks in the light that shines through the slats. His eyes adjusting, he stares at the figure in front of him.

Pero assumes the figure is a man, judging from his stature. His face is covered mostly in a mask, and he wears a hood so his eyes are cast in shadow. He wears black leather armor and matching pants, his boots also black. They look nice, which makes Pero sick to his stomach. If someone who is obviously going to spill blood is wearing nice clothes that they obviously don’t care about, what they’re looking for must be infinitely more valuable.

The man simply sits there watching Pero, as if waiting for him to make the first move. He takes advantage of this and takes a quick glance at his surroundings. There are no windows on the cart, simply uneven slats allowing some light and air to permeate the cart. It is bare, except for a small table bolted to the floor by the man with a fabric roll on it and a couple of empty buckets underneath it. There are hooks on the ceiling that look menacing and oh yes he was right about the wet - the floor is dark, patches of bright red flickering as the light shines on it from between the slats.

The man waits a few more moments, rocking side to side with the motion of the cart. He leans forward slightly and says something in a tongue Pero doesn’t understand. He says nothing, not knowing what the man wants. Unsatisfied, the man grips the end of Pero’s chain in his hand and yanks it, causing Pero to slide off his seat and hit the floor on his knees, groaning as he stops himself from falling forward. The man repeats the question in the same tongue.

“I do no understand you,” Pero grunts out. The man cocks his head and repeats the question.

“Saying the same thing again does no make me know what you’re saying.”

The man yanks Pero’s chain again, this time sliding it through one of the hooks on the ceiling. He pulls hard and Pero is forced to stand, arms being pulled above his head by his wrists. His hands are clenched into fists, shoved into the wood of the ceiling. He cannot stand fully so his knees hover several inches from the ground, his legs behind him, feet slipping in the blood trying to find purchase.

The man gets close to Pero and repeats the question in his face. Pero tells him he doesn’t understand again, but this time in Spanish, hoping the menacing figure in front of him at least understands that.

He doesn’t.

The man pulls out a knife and leans forward in his seat. Pero braces himself for the blade but is surprised when the man simply cuts away his tunic, leaving him in just his pants and boots, his chest exposed to the elements. He unrolls the fabric roll on the table and Pero sees an assortment of what he would call tools. They look like tools used to carve and he supposes they are. The man grips a thin handle, holding up the tool for Pero to see. The other end has a small curved blade, sort of like a miniature sickle. He sits back on his seat, which is right in front of Pero, and repeats the question inches from Pero’s face.

“I want to tell you but I can no understand you!” Pero hopes that the man would understand the sentiment at least but if he does, he doesn’t let on. The man stretches his arm out and slowly carves a line into Pero’s flesh. He grunts in pain as this is done to him, feeling the blood slowly dripping down from the wound. This is repeated several times before the man stops and asks his question again.

Panting, Pero repeats “I…want to tell you…what you want…but I…can no…understand you.”

The man tosses the curved tool into one of the buckets and picks up a straight blade, not big but not small either. He repeats the question and again, Pero repeats his response. The man raises the blade to Pero’s left eye where the arch of his brow is and slices down. Pero is sure he will lose the eye but the man doesn’t directly cut it. He simply cuts a line through his eyebrow and then under his eye. The thought of him saving his eye was horrifying - this means he’s saving that torture for down the road.

The man repeats his question and slices at Pero for a little while longer before the light outside grows dark and the cart comes to a stop. The man picks up the other bucket and tosses the water at Pero’s face, letting it drip down his body as it mixes with his blood. He leaves him chained up as the door beam grinds across the wood and the man steps out of the door, sliding the beam closed behind him.

This process repeats for 4 days and Pero understands why the men would scream in terror. He’s sure that limbs are about to be torn from him or his eyes plucked out. He’s not sure what the morning will bring but he’s positive that it will be quite unpleasant. His arms still bound above his head, he decides to try and get some sleep while the cart is still and no one is around.

A few hours into his slumber, he hears the door beam quietly sliding open. Pero opens his eyes and sees that it is not his torturer that enters but someone of a smaller frame, hooded, and wearing a half cloak. They wear pants and boots, 2 daggers swinging from their sides and a quiver strapped to their back, a bow in hand. They close the door behind them so as not to alert the camp and then move to stand in front of Pero, reaching for the chains jammed into the hook in the ceiling.

Pero isn’t sure if this is some ruse or not, but he figures he’ll go with it. If this is all a twisted torture, maybe he’ll get at least a few minutes of fresh air before his death. He hears the chain being pulled from the hook and his arms fall in front of him, but before they can clang to the ground, the figure holds the chain, preventing the loud clank that would have happened had it not been stopped. Pero’s arms had been above his head for 4 days - he simply did not have the strength to prevent the fall.

The figure kneels down and places Pero’s shackled wrists in their lap. They pull out a metal pin and get to work on the lock, opening it after just a handful of seconds. This impresses Pero because he couldn’t get it to unlock and it was definitely the strongest pair of shackles he’s ever worn. They open the shackles slowly, checking to make sure no skin was attached or growing around the metal. Satisfied, they removed the shackles fully and set them in one of the empty buckets so they wouldn’t be knocked around. They take their gloved hands and flip Pero’s wrists over, checking the depth of the wounds while rubbing his hands a little to wake them up.

Their face is hidden in shadow, but they scan Pero’s body, seeing the numerous scratches, carves, and bruises spattered across his torso. They study his face and look closer at the cut over his left eye but say nothing. Apparently, it can wait.

“Are you…here to kill me?” Pero croaks out. It had been a couple days since he last had water.

The figure brings a water skein to his lips and Pero drinks from it greedily, choking a little as the skein is removed from his lips.

“Thank you,” he says, a little less croak in his voice.

The figure makes a shushing motion and then points to their ear. Pero sits as quiet as he can while they both listen, hearing the snores from the men camped outside. Hearing no other sounds other than the forest, the figure points to Pero and then to themselves, gesturing out the door. Pero nods and he moves to follow the figure.

They open the door slowly, eyes scanning the field for any sign of movement. Most of the men have set up tents and are fast asleep in them. A few are passed out drunk around a fire, not able to make it back the few feet to their tents.

The figure waves to Pero to follow and he does, imitating the crouch the figure does as they quietly creep across the camp, sticking to the shadows. Pero’s legs groan with the movement but he wills them to work, placing one foot in front of the other. They make it past the edge of the camp and the figure takes Pero’s hand to lead him in the dark. They quietly walk several paces, the camp’s fire light starting to fade.

He sees a horse up ahead, patiently waiting for the figure who walks up and pats his nose. The figure gestures towards Pero, indicating he should mount the horse. Pero starts to move, one hand gripping the saddle when he hears it - the camp has woken up.

The figure gestures quickly and Pero mounts the horse, the figure quickly mounting behind Pero. He’s about to protest, as he is much bigger than the figure and should be riding in the back when the figure grabs the reins and kicks the horse into action. The horse springs forward and takes off down the path at a rapid pace. The figure’s body is wrapped tightly around Pero and he swears he feels breasts at his back but he can’t be sure. He’s also amazed at the horse - he knows the figure can hardly see from around his broad shoulders but the horse seems to know exactly where it’s going.

He feels an arrow whoosh by, barely missing the horse. Some riders from the camp have got within shooting distance and they must be closing in. The figure grips the reins and taps Pero’s hands. He opens them and the figure places the reins in them, closing his fingers around the leather. He nods, gripping them tightly and being extremely grateful of the fact that the horse seems to know where it’s going because he can hardly see. The dark forest seems darker now that he’s in control of the horse.

Suddenly, he feels the figure shifting behind him and he glances back to see they are completely turned around, notching an arrow. The figure draws back and releases, one of the riders immediately falling off the horse and tumbling to their death. The figure disperses of all the riders easily, except one. He is the torturer that has plagued Pero and his fellow mercs, the one who has left his mark permanently etched in Pero’s face. He is an expert rider, knowing when to twist with the shadows to avoid the figures' arrows.

Pero takes a quick look back at the path in front of him to make sure the horse is on track, which he is, and then turns around, his jaw nearly dropping from his face. The figure has pushed their hood back, grabbing an arrow from their quiver and notching it, their hair whipping around their face - her face. Pero realizes his saviour is a woman but has no time to think on it as he watches her arrow glide through the air and land her target - straight through the torturer’s neck. He grabs at his neck in surprise before sliding off the saddle and falling to his final resting place.

A little disappointed he didn’t get to kill the man himself, Pero turns around to face the path in front of him as the horse takes a quick left turn. He gallops a while longer before a small village comes into sight. The horse slows as he nears the village but instead of going into town, he heads to the right up a small path. As if he senses home, he trots quickly, unable to fully run anymore as he’s exhausted. He comes upon a wall of leafy greens, twisting and winding their way around the surrounding boulders and trees. The horse stops in front of a particular patch and the figure slides off, motioning for Pero to follow. He notices the hood is back on the figure’s head but says nothing as he slides from the horse, crumbling to his knees on the dismount. He feels the figure grab him and he begrudgingly takes the assistance. The figure clicks at the horse as they walk into the wall of vines…only it isn't a wall. It’s a path through a cave, dark as night, but that seems to matter very little to the figure or the horse. With sure feet, he’s guided around the short path through the cave, hearing the sounds of the horse's hooves echoing off the walls.

He’s hit in the face again with vines that he didn’t see before and he’s in a clearing surrounded by giant craggy boulders and big beautiful leafy trees, sprouting some kind of flowering fruit. The sun is barely starting to rise but he can still see the bushes that sprout beautiful flowers and some that bear even more fruit. Down the dirt path you all walk and Pero sees a home with a thatched roof, not large but big enough for a few rooms plus a kitchen and living area with a small barn out back. The horse gallops forward excitedly before the figure clicks and he’s back, standing still but practically bouncing in place. The figure removes the reins and slides the saddle off, giving the horse a quick nose rub before placing their head to the horse’s as if in thanks. The horse huffs out some air and the figure backs up, the horse running down the path towards the barn area where Pero can now see sparkling water from a creek or lake behind it and grassy fields running along its side.

The figure grabs the saddle and the reins and heads to the barn, dropping them off inside and then returns to the front of the house where Pero still stands, taking in his surroundings. He’s not entirely sure he hasn’t died and gone to heaven - if he even deserves such a place. The figure stands in front of Pero, studying him. Pero feels heat rising to his cheeks despite not being able to see the gaze of the hooded figure.

Before he can say anything, his legs give out and he falls to the ground, his circumstances finally catching up to him. The figure moves and grabs him, throwing his arm around their shoulder as they lead him into the house.

Inside is simple. The figure brings him in through an entryway and into the kitchen, helping him sit at a wooden table. Pero closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. He hears water being poured into a bowl and cloth being gathered up. He feels the bowl and cloth being set down on the table but then hears the figure clatter around and he opens his eyes to a flagon of mead and a hearty bowl of stew with a roll set on the table before him. Pero looks down at the meal, his first actual meal in months and decides he doesn’t care if it’s poisoned. He eats feverishly, as if this may be his last meal. He doesn’t pay attention to the figure moving around the table and sitting next to him.

He feels a small hand on the arm that’s hastily ladling stew into his mouth and he glances down at it, realizing it doesn’t have a glove on. He stares at the figures’ hand, your hand, and follows it up to your face. You had removed your hood and now are staring at him with a soft, welcoming expression. He is taken aback by your beauty and stops chewing.

“Am I dead?” He asks with a mouthful of roll.

You chuckle. “No sir. You are not dead. Although I don’t think you were too far from it.”

Even your voicing was alluring to him. “I am no knight. No need to call me sir.”

You nod. “What shall I call you then?”

“Tovar.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it, almost in disbelief.

“Why did you risk your life to save me, hermosa?”

Your expression saddened a little and Pero regretted asking the question.

“They took my brother and half the little village you saw a few months back. I tracked them, but was too late to save any of them.” You paused for a moment, gathering yourself. “I continued to track them, keeping a distance and observing.”

“Do you know what they want?”

You shake your head. “I’m not entirely fluent in their language, but I did catch something about magical black sand that can explode when lit with fire?”

Pero’s eyes grew wide. They were looking for black powder. They knew we were looking for it too.

“Ah well. Whatever it is, it must be very valuable,” you take a sip from your own tankard. “I’m sorry it took me so long to rescue you. I had intended to save everyone but I never had a safe opening.”

“Why did you bother saving me?”

“I-I couldn’t stand by and watch them murder more people.”

“But you were content to ride away in the night with me, not stopping any of them.”

You feel heat creeping up your face so you hide it by taking another long sip from your drink.

“That getaway didn’t turn out as planned.”

Pero knew you were avoiding the question so he put it aside to ask later. He finished wolfing down his food and you happily gave him seconds and thirds. After he was finished, you had him straddle the bench seat he was on as you did the same, facing each other. You dipped a cloth in the bowl of water and set about cleaning his numerous wounds. When you got to his eye, you scooted closer to him on the bench, mere inches from his face. He closed his left eye but watched you with his right as you dabbed around the cut. He could see the heat in your face when you inched closer but said nothing. He was feeling his own heat too.

Once he was cleaned up, you dabbed alcohol on the wounds and bound the deeper ones. You drew him a bath and left him to it, telling him you can rebound any bandages, and finished cleaning your room as there was only one bed. You intended to camp out on a roll in front of the hearth or out in the barn with your horse.

Pero bathed and dressed in the clean clothes you left him, realizing these must be your brother’s clothes. He limped out of the room, exhaustion settling in every bone in his body.

“Here, this is where you can sleep.” You showed him to your room. “It shouldn’t get cold but there is an extra blanket in the chest just in case. If you need me, I’ll be by the hearth.”

Pero looks at you. “Is there another bed there I did no see?”

“No. I’ll sleep on a bed roll. And don’t protest - you are injured and need your rest.”

“I have slept through worse, hermosa.”

You fixed him with a stern look. “Healer’s orders. Now get in the bed.”

Pero looks at you, realizing he won’t win this fight no matter how stubborn he is. “Who am I to deny a woman telling me to get in her bed?”

Your face is on fire as Pero gives you a quick wink, followed by a wince as he winked his left eye. He gets into the bed and he admits to himself that he needs this.

“Just..yell if you need me.”

—

Pero sleeps and sleeps deep, his body finally giving in the exhaustion and terror he’s felt over the last several weeks. When he wakes, he stretches and sees that a lot of his more superficial wounds have nearly healed. He flinches still, as there are some injuries that can’t be seen on the outside. His stomach growling, he gets up on shaky legs to find you.

He heads to the main living area and doesn’t see you. On the table in the kitchen he spots some fruit and grabs an apple, chomping on it. He looks out of the kitchen window that’s over the wash bin and sees you in the field, running around and playing with… your horse? He watches you smile and can hear your laugh, light and uplifting. A few minutes pass before he heads outside, walking over to where you’re still playing with the horse. You see him and give your horse one last pat before practically skipping over to him.

“You’re awake!”

Pero rubs the back of his neck. “How long was I asleep?”

“Nearly 3 days.”

“3 days?” Pero is shocked but also not surprised. “I suppose I needed it.”

“Hungry?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his grumpy disposition. “Always.”

You both head back inside and you make him a simple meal of meat, bread, and cheese with some mead. He eats with fervor and you laugh, reaching out without thinking to dust crumbs from his face. Your fingers brush his skin and Pero freezes, watching you as you realize what you’re doing. You yank your hand back.

“I- sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s ok. You have touched more of me than just my face.”

You get up quickly, trying to hide your flustered expression. You feel Pero’s eyes on you so you make like you were intending to clean up.

–

Later that evening, you each sit in front of the hearth, warming your feet as the embers pop and smoulder.

“How can I ever repay you for the kindness you have shown me?”

You look at him. “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing to me. It was my life.”

You study his features: dark hair that was unkempt, deep chocolate eyes that showed a lifetime of pain and hardship, golden tan skin now marred by cuts and bruises, and a new scar forming over his left eye. Still just as handsome as the first time you had laid eyes on him.

“I don’t want money from you. It’s what anyone would have done-”

“Anyone else would’ve left me to die.”

You nod. “I suppose you won’t accept not having to pay me back?” Pero shakes his head. “Yeah I thought not. In that case…stay here with me? At least for a bit and when you feel up to it, help me around the homestead.”

It’s Pero’s turn to study your face. “You want me to stay?”

“I-” You look away from his eyes, suddenly bashful. “I mean, I could use your help. You’re strong and I need someone. For the, uh, heavy lifting.”

Pero can’t help but smirk. “Heavy lifting?”

“Yeah, uh, the beams and such.” You gesticulate to the beams holding up your home. Pero continues to smile.

“Very well, hermosa. I will stay.”

–

Pero heals quickly and within a fortnight has started helping you around the homestead. You knew winter would be coming along and needed to rethatch not only your roof but the barn’s as well, not to mention making sure they were both insulated properly to keep out a majority of the winter cold. You finished harvesting the fruits and vegetables not only from your garden but the wild growing ones too. Pero turned out to be an excellent fisherman and would bring in fresh catch for dinner, eating whatever you made him with zeal. Once he was healed, he demanded you take back your bed, making a mattress for himself to have by the hearth. You protested but lost. That first night back in your bed you had an unexpected delight - it still smelled like him. He smells like rain and earth, dirt and sweat, and something very him.

Winter arrives and you’re so thankful that Pero has stayed to help with the preparations. It was cozy inside your home as you wait out the first of the winter blizzards, the wind whipping snow around in swirls outside. You knew your animals were safely tucked away in the barn waiting out the storm too.

Bringing out the mead, you decided you should celebrate not freezing for winter. You both ate a hearty stew and drank. You were feeling warm but not buzzed. You suspected Pero felt the same, although his tolerance was much higher than yours.

“Thank you again for staying, Tovar. I doubt I could’ve finished the preparations on my own.”

“I think you could’ve. You’re a very resourceful woman.”

You nod and take another sip.

“Why did you rescue me, hermosa?” The question had been on his mind since you had avoided answering.

Shy but emboldened by the warmth from the mead, you turn to him, meeting his inquisitive gaze. You had meant to give him another line, but your heart told you otherwise.

“I saw you, just before you got taken.”

“You were there?”

You nod. “I was, but I didn’t make it to your camp in time. I had intended to warn you all about the intruders-”

“You would’ve run into a camp full of mercs, men, to warn them of a terror they hadn’t even seen?”

Eyes meeting his, you answer simply. “It was the right thing to do.”

Pero doesn’t know how to respond. You would have put your life on the line to save an entire group of men you didn’t know, men who have done some terrible things in life, himself included…and you did put your life on the line to save him.

“But why did you save me?”

Your eyes softened and he watched you shift nervously, eyes darting around the room. You finally latch on to his chocolate eyes, boring deep into you and you have no words. You’re left gaping like a fish, mouth opening and closing, unable to put to words the pull you felt to him the moment you saw him.

Pero watched you search for words and all he could think about was how selfless you were, talented with a bow, caring, and beautiful. Gods, were you beautiful. Your eyes met his and his gaze shifted ever so slightly down to your lips. Before he could second guess it, before he could worry that you would kick him out of your home in the middle of a blizzard, he leans forward and kisses you lightly on the lips. A fire erupts in your body at the contact and you nearly recoil from its intensity. He pulls back to get your consent and you give it by kissing him back, this time with intent. His lips are surprisingly soft for one so hardened and you moan into the kiss as he grips the back of your head to pull you closer, his other hand coming to rest gently on your hip. You lace your fingers through the hair on the back of his head, pulling his curls ever so slightly. He moans and pulls back, putting his forehead to yours.

“Careful, hermosa. You do not know what you start with that tugging.”

“Oh, I don’t? I thought you said I was resourceful, Tovar.”

He chuckles into your kiss and licks at your lips and you open them, inviting him into your mouth. Your tongues start an age old dance and you find yourself moving your hands to the front of his shift, pulling at the fabric there. Pero pulls back once more and you audibly huff, causing him to smirk.

“Pero.”

“What?”

“My name is Pero. Pero Tovar.”

“Pero,” you say, lacing it with as much lust as you can. You swear you can hear him whimper before crashing into you once again.

You grab for the front of his shift again, pulling him close for a moment before your hands try to find the hem. They succeed and Pero breaks the kiss to lift his shift over his head. Your eyes take him in fully for the first time. You lift your hands to his chest and look to his eyes for consent. He nods once, watching your face. He knows his body is not pretty, littered with scars old and new. But as your fingers glide over his skin, stopping at the various scars and giving them each attention, he starts to feel attractive? No. Hot? No. Loved.

Your fingers trace his life story, etched into his bare skin by blade or claw, and you can’t help but be in awe that he’s even here. You touch each scar with reverence, admiring Pero’s strength that he could survive all of this. Unable to help yourself, you lean forward and kiss his chest, hearing Pero take a sharp inhale of breath. You kiss a path up his neck and across his jawline, continuing up his cheek. You make it to his left eye and hesitate - you’re not sure if you’re pushing a boundary. Pero takes this to mean you are disgusted by the scar, angry and red over his left eye.

“I know I am no sight to look at, hermosa.”

Determined to show him that wasn’t the case, you leaned forward and kissed the scar over his eye, tracing it down, placing kisses along the path that nearly half blinded him. Once you reached the end, you held his head in your hands and pulled back to meet his eyes.

“You are beautiful, Pero.”

It’s Pero’s turn to frantically reach for the laces of your corset, kissing you passionately as his fingers grasp and fumble with the ties. You break the kiss this time, reaching for the bottom of your dress.

“I can just lift my dress-”

Pero puts his hands over yours. “No, hermosa. I want to see all of you.”

Swallowing hard, you nod, reaching down to finish undoing your corset. Tossing that aside, your hands move to one side of your dress, loosening the ties there and then moving to the other side to do the same. You stand and pull your dress over your head, tossing it on top of your corset.

Pero takes you in, slowly looking up and down your body. You have never been looked at this intensely before - most men would’ve just had you lift your skirts and been done with. You become nervous and move to cover yourself. Pero stands up, towering over you with his broad, bare shoulders. He grips your wrists.

“Do no cover yourself. You are beautiful, hermosa.”

His hands near your skin and he looks to you one last time for consent. You nod and gasp as his calloused hands roam over your form, loving on every inch of your skin. He ends by staring into your eyes as he walks you backwards towards his makeshift mattress. Your ankles hit it and you lay down on your back, Pero quickly hovering over top of you, kissing you all over. He takes a breast in his mouth and you audibly cry out - no one has ever done that before. He spends some time loving each of them, licking, sucking, nibbling, until you’re a near puddle under him. He stands back up and unties his pants, pushing them down as he springs out. You take him in, all of him, and wonder if he’ll even fit. Pero returns to his place over you and places a gentle kiss on your lips, sandwiching his hard length between your bodies.

“Can you feel this? Can you feel what you do to me? Don’t worry - I’ve got you, hermosa.”

His hand snakes between your bodies and he touches you where you need him to, running his finger up and down the seam of you, gathering and spreading your arousal. You become a whimpering mess, having never been touched in this way. Pero lines himself up and catches your gaze as he slowly pushes in, watching you for any sign of discomfort.

“Oh! You-you feel so…Pero…”

He bottoms out and sits there a moment, allowing you time to adjust to him and he to you. It had been some time since he last laid with a woman.

An unspoken sentiment passes between the two of you as you gaze into each other’s eyes and the heat between you ignites into a frenzied fire. Pero sets a rapid pace, pulling out and slamming back into you as you writhe and moan his name beneath him, feeling your orgasm quickly building low in your belly.

“Oh shit, Pero..I think…I..I..”

Pero moves his hand to your clit and rubs on it, which is the push you needed. You scream his name as you clench around him, digging your nails into his already scarred back. Pero’s hips start to stutter and he pulls out, spilling himself on your belly, rope after rope coating you. Eventually, you both come down from your highs and he gets up, grabs a piece of cloth, and returns with a bowl of water, wiping you down. He sets the bowl aside and crawls in behind you, pulling you to his chest and breathing in your scent as he hears you do the same.

—

Winter and spring pass in this same manner, Pero and you sharing beds and living a simple life. He never thought he would be content to settle anywhere with anyone, not sure if he was deserving of such peace. But you pulled him from a darkness he didn’t quite grasp the depth of. He had been drowning in himself before he met you and he didn’t want the peace you brought him to go away. That spring, he asks you to marry him and you enthusiastically say yes, planning a quick ceremony in town.

You both settle into married life easily, as you had been living together for many months before then. It had been a small scandal in town when you rode in together for the first time and then left together without being married but you couldn’t care less.

Mid-summer approaches and you’re both in town for market day when you see a man enter the tavern at the end of the street. “No way!” you mutter, grabbing Pero’s hand and pulling him down the path leading to the tavern.

“Where are we going, hermosa?”

“I just saw an old friend, William. I haven’t seen him in ages! He’s the best archer I’ve ever met, outside of myself of course. Come on, I want you to meet him. I think you’ll get along great!”

—-----

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @astoryisaloveaffair @softpedropascal @marvelousmermaid @icanbeyourjedi @livingmydreams13 @theewokingdead @f0rever15elf @mesmorales @sarahmilesbendrix @swol-bear @mrsudontknowme @lovesbiggerthanpride @gallowsjoker @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @sunnshineeexoxo @sara-alonso @giggly-otter @dirtytissuebox @diaryofkali @adventures-of-a-noodle @punkerthanpascal @phandoz

Pedro Characters Taglist:

@beskarprincessjenny @jediknight122 @mishasminion360 @littlemisspascal @kirsteng42 @tanzthompson

One Shots/Prompts Taglist:

@itspdameronthings @tanzthompson

Pero Tovar Taglist:

@lowlights

#pero tovar #pedro pascal

[imaginarydesires]

Domestic Ezra from @iamskyereads' succubus instalment

#ezra prospect #pedro pascal

[imaginarydesires]

Game Over

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Karl Heisenberg x Female! Reader

✂ Word Count: 2,5k+

✂ Warnings: -

[Edited]

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

Keep reading

#karl heisenberg

[imaginarydesires]

Innocence need not tremble

Pero Tovar x f!reader (she/her third person, no name or description)

Summary: "I told you I don’t know how to fuck a maiden.“ Words: 3.3k

My Masterlist

Rated: Hella explicit. Warnings: smut. PiV. starts rough. but gets better.

This was perhaps the most foolish thing she’d ever done.

When she was four she’d climbed to the top of the apple tree behind the house, and once there, been unable to get down. Her father had tanned her hide for it.

At ten she’d followed an older local boy behind the tavern. She’d been lucky to escape that with no more than a torn dress and a bloody lip. He’d walked with a limp for a week.

At fifteen she’d fallen through the ice on the pond. It was a miracle she only lost a toe.

So when she stood outside the boarding house door, hand poised to knock, and thought to herself that this was an extraordinarily foolish decision - she had a fair amount of experiences to compare it to.

Why was she here again?

Oh yes, because she needed someone to relieve her of her virginity. And the man on the other side was the obvious choice.

Keep reading

#pero tovar #pedro pascal

[imaginarydesires]

rare

summary: dave just wants to help you with those awful cramps.

rating: E [oh my god this is PURE E; there is no back story; PERIOD SEX, so that means BLOOD, PIV, oral fem receiving, so many bodily fluids, squirting cause y’all know me, somnophilia, he’s only a little mean; he does ignore you saying stop at one point BUT THERE IS A SAFE WORD IN THIS COUPLE’S LIFE it’s just not here; faithful Dave, soft Dave needs his own warning]

pairing: dave york x fem reader

word count: ~2100

note: AGAIN, THIS IS PERIOD SEX. THERE IS BLOOD. THERE ARE CRAMPS. CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED. shoutout to @starlightmornings for beta and encouragement, and to @danniburgh and @wyn-dixie who are both directly responsible for whatever the full fuck happened here, i am not sorry.

REBLOGS ARE LOVED AND APPRECIATED <3<3

taglist | masterlist

~~~

A sharp noise jolts Dave awake. He feels you moving against him, hears you moaning. At first he thinks you’re touching yourself. Not that he’d mind it if you were—you’ve just never been so brazen about it. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and looks a little closer; eyes shut tight, mouth slack, and your hands aren’t anywhere near your pussy. 

A nightmare, he realizes.

Keep reading

#dave york #pedro pascal

[imaginarydesires]

Size Disparity ♡

Dave York x Fem Reader

Warnings: 18+, sexual content, dom/sub relationship dynamic, daddy kink, unprotected sex, p in the v, oral (female receiving), mentions of anal

Summary: the “it won’t fit, you’re too big” sub and the “I’ll make it fucking fit” dom

Reader Characteristics: afab; she/her pronouns. Only physical description is having hair (hair-pulling).

Word Count: 1.4k+

Notes: filth. that’s all. Dom Dave York makes me feral.

✧

“Fuck—Dave, I...” you whined, eyes locked onto his now unsheathed weapon.

“What, baby?” His hands gripped your thighs positioned on either side of his body and clawed at them, leaving lines across your skin. Your back arched off the mattress from the pleasant pain. He grabbed hold of his massive cock and teasingly ran the length up and down your folds, making sure it hit your clit before lightly pressing into your entrance. You sat up quickly, your hand gripping his wrist to stop his actions. His hand moved to your cheek, pulling your face into his as he stared at you with a questioning glare.

“It won’t fit, you’re too big,” you murmured.

An entertained expression fell over his face. “That’s adorable. I’ll make it fucking fit.”

He leaned over your frame, kissing you so fervently it pressed your back into the mattress. There was no hesitation; his tongue devoured the inside of your mouth as though he wanted to claim every part of it. His passionate touch fogged your mind, making you think only of the way his body felt so good against yours. Your fingers tugged at his hair and your legs wrapped around his waist. He bucked his hips into yours, the tip of his cock sliding up your folds making you remember your impending apprehension. Staring into your eyes, he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them before moving them downwards.

“We just have to get you nice and wet, baby — stretch you out for daddy.”

His fingers played with your folds before quickly pressing two inside of you. He laughed as you moaned, his low chuckle from his chest vibrating against your own. His fingers worked to stretch you and find that one sweet spot that made you cling to his frame.

“You’re such a good girl. You’re already so wet for me.” He praised you as watched your face contort to his actions. “But I think we can do better than this, don’t you?”

Better? You could already feel the pressure build in your stomach. He repositioned himself, sliding down on the mattress so his face was between your legs. He spit onto your sex before dipping his face down and ravaging you. His tongue dug into your entrance next to his fingers as his nose pressed against your clit. He inserted a third finger and quickened his motions, all three thick digits striking your sweet spot just right.

“Fuck—Fuck—Dave, oh my—“

Your hands nestled into his hair to encourage his actions. He ate you like he was starving, and he didn’t stop even as your legs shook. You screamed out his name as you came, your hands moving to fist the sheets beside you, yet he didn’t slow down. Your thighs naturally tried to close from the overstimulation, but he simply readjusted his arms to hold them open.

“Please, Dave,” you whined, tears welling at your eyes from the overstimulation.

He finally slowed, his tongue sloppily licking your sensitive bud to watch you twitch from the simple action. He pulled away, his lips glistening with your juices.

“Sorry, baby,” he cooed. “You just taste so fucking good.”

He climbed up the mattress to lean over you again, planting a wet kiss on your lips. You could taste yourself as his tongue slid into your mouth.

“I’m going to make you come again, baby, but this time you’re going to come on my dick.”

He positioned himself over you, placing your legs over his shoulders so he could easily hold them back and give himself the most access. He wet the tip of his cock by spitting onto his fingers.

"Are you ready, baby girl?" He asked as his tip gently pressed against your entrance.

"Slow, please."

He smiled and slowly pushed himself into you, pain shooting through your core as his thick girth spread you. His three fingers helped — but that felt like nothing compared to his cock.

"Fuck— You're so tight."

You clawed into his arms as your head fell back against the pillow and your eyes shut.

"Look at me, baby. I want you to look at me while I stretch that pretty pussy."

He kept pushing until your eyes began to water. Then, he stopped and began deliberately thrusting into you.

"I-It hurts."

He hesitated, looking you over his a concerned gaze.“Want me to stop, baby girl?”

He continued to move, but slower now, allowing you to feel each stretch of your walls as he gently guided himself in and out of you. You shook your head, hands gripping his waist to pull him closer — deeper — into you.

“Good. It’s good. Keep going,” you ordered breathlessly.

“With pleasure, baby.”

He smirked down at you as he pulled out almost completely and then slammed back in. The noise that fell from your mouth was ungodly, somewhere between a scream and a moan. It hurt, but fuck — it hurt so damn good. He thrusted over and over and over again. His eyes completely focused on your expressions, the way your face contorted with the idiosyncratic mixture of pain and pleasure.

“You’re doing amazing, baby girl. You take daddy’s cock so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, almost frantically, as your nails clawed into any skin you could reach hard enough to guarantee vicious red lines. He groaned from the pain of your markings and from the perfect tightness of your pussy.

He pulled out from you suddenly and pointed to the top of the bed.

“On your knees. Grab the headboard.”

You turned around to lay on your stomach, purposely arching your back to display your ass to him. His palm made swift contact, sending a stinging pain through your whole backside.

“Now,” he growled. “Or you can keep teasing me with that pretty ass of yours and I’ll fuck it next.”

You went to crawl to the top of the bed, but he grabbed your hips roughly, pulling you back to press the tip of his cock against your back hole — teasing you, threatening you, daring you to give him an excuse.

“I can already imagine the sounds you’ll make when I fuck your ass, baby.”

His cock in your pussy hurt enough, you couldn’t begin to fathom the pain of him fucking your ass. He released your hips, spanking you again before he allowed you to crawl to the top of the bed and grab onto the headboard like he ordered. He climbed onto the bed behind you, lining himself up again as he trailed his fingers down your spine to make you shiver in anticipation. You were already sore, already had that aching sensation between your legs, and you still wanted more. You wanted all of him. The pain was worth the pleasure. The pain was worth him.

“So perfect, baby. All mine.”

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked, pulling your head towards him and making your back arch.

“Hold on tight.”

Your grip on the headboard tightened as he slammed into you, filling you somehow even more. The new position caused him to hit that sweet spot beautifully. He fucked you, pounding into you again and again until you were practically screaming his name. The pressure built in your stomach. Incredible waves of pleasure flooded through you with each thrust. He curved his arm around your waist, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing just as fast and hard as his pounding. Moans, grunts, and near-screams echoed through the room.

“Come for daddy, baby girl. Come on daddy’s cock.”

You cried out his name repeatedly as you rode out easily the hardest and best orgasm of your life. Your legs shook and gave out beneath you, but Dave didn’t mind at all. He pressed your body into the mattress and continued to fuck you, now just using you as he chased his own high.

“Come in me, daddy. Please, I want you to fill me.”

Your words brought him over the edge, his cum coating your inner walls as he pressed into you as deep as he could possibly go. When he pulled out you could feel his juices slick your thighs and pool onto the sheets. You ached with a newfound pain, one that you liked and one that you wanted to feel again and again.

He collapsed onto the bed beside you, panting heavily, sweat sticking to his whole body. He pulled you into his chest and held you tight, kissing the top of your head sweetly and gently — the opposite of how he had just used you.

“You were amazing, baby girl. You made daddy so happy. Are you going to keep making daddy happy?”

You nodded and relaxed into his side, wrapping your arms around him.

“Always, daddy.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #dave york imagine #dave york #Dave York fanfic #Dave York fanfiction #the equalizer 2

[imaginarydesires]

Buttons

Summary: You were going to have fun pressing his buttons tonight...

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: fem reader, teasing in public, dom!frankie, bratty reader, dom sub dynamics, daddy!frankie, m and f masturbation, unprotected piv, rough sex 🦋, mild degradation, spanking, cum play 🌊, possessive frankie, no little girl dynamic, mention of collaring, no use of y/n.

AN: Co written by @beskarprincessjenny. Good things happen when we talk princess hehe 😜. Please consider donating to princess jenny's go fund me 💕

How it started:

"Mi amor, are you ready?" Frankie called from the door.

"Coming!" You adjusted your clothes, smiling to yourself. A thrill running down your spine just thinking about your plans. You bounded down the stairs to where Frankie stood with your coat.

He was freshly showered, in his usual jeans and t shirt ensemble. He was in need of a shave, his patchy beard was thicker and decorated with grey hairs. His mouth parted as he looked you up and down.

"Wow. You look nice." He smiled, scanning your sweater and skirt combo.

"Thank you, daddy." You replied innocently, squeezing his bicep through the flannel he wore. He raised his eyebrow at that.

"Careful baby girl or we might not make it out of here." He huffed through a tight smile. You shrugged while a warm cloud bloomed in your tummy under his gaze. He helped you into your puffy coat, always the gentleman.

"What's this?" He ran his finger over the thin gold chain around your neck.

"Don't you recognize it?" You turned around, holding up the tiny gold 'F' that hung from the chain. "You bought it for me, daddy. To always have you with me." You smiled as he swallowed harshly.

"Baby that's supposed to be- that wasn't on this chain." He stumbled over his words, not believing that you were really wearing a charm from your collar out in public.

"I know but I wanted to wear it. It looks pretty right?" You could not hide the pout, thinking Frankie was going to object. But he just smirked, taking the little pendant and placing it back down onto your sternum.

"I like it." He rasped. He kissed the back of your neck tenderly right where the necklace clipped in the back. Mine, the gesture seemed to say.

You were going to have fun pressing his buttons tonight...

Button 1:

You were two drinks into the night, laughing at something Santi was saying, when Frankie saw it. The neckline of your sweater slipped over your shoulder, revealing smooth skin and a familiar lacy strap.

You wouldn't, right? Not the one piece of lingerie that was saved for his eyes only. The one he explicitly asked you not to wear out. You wouldn't do that, right? Frankie felt the back of his neck heat up, though no one in this bar knew the things he did to you in that set.

He hoped you'd push your sweater back where it belongs, but you didn't. You leaned over the table to take a drink and the neckline slipped further until Frankie could see the top of the bodice peaking out. That little bit of pink lace that he knew the feel of by heart.

He huffed quietly into his beer. He needed to calm down. You could wear what you want. He didn't want to be one of those guys who controlled their partner. His eyes darted over to you as you sat back in your seat.

"Oops." You giggled, pulling your sweater up though not far up enough to cover the strap. It still lay against your exposed shoulder taunting him. You were doing it on purpose. Bad bad girl.

You're-engaged in Santi's story, shifting in your seat under Frankie's red hot gaze.

"Fish!"

"What?" Frankie blinked rapidly, looking around until he found Benny next to him in the booth.

"Let me out. I gotta take a piss." Benny pushed Frankie's shoulder playfully.

"Sorry." He grumbled standing up. His eyes flickered down to your shoulder again and you could see him grinding his teeth. Considering his next move. "Baby? you need to go?" He looked at you expectantly. Silent communication.

"Not yet." You chirped innocently. A little tiny voice of sympathy piped up when you saw him sit down and stare at the table. You hated being anything but his perfect girl.

Frankie was a patient man. It was one of the things you adored about him. You hadn't seen him get angry since you'd started dating him. Frustrated, yes. Annoyed, yes. Jealous, yes. There was always a passion burning under the surface at all times. It's not like you hadn't felt the warmth from that passion. You loved his fierce loyalty and tender heart. You had felt his stern grip, melted under his biting words. He was a natural dominant force, but always focused on your pleasure. And there was intimacy there that you cherished but you knew he was holding back. You could feel his grip loosen when he was right on the edge, hear him suck in words you were dying to hear.

Even now you could see him reasoning with himself. Trying to refocus on the conversation, ignoring you. And well... that just made you want to be even more of a brat.

Button 2:

Frankie and the boys migrated to the pool table but you felt like dancing, watching the small group of people swaying by the jukebox.

"Ooh they're playing Luis Fonsi!" You announced gleefully. You loved Fonsi, to the point you had a poster of him in your teenage bedroom. It was a playful sore spot for Frankie, who immediately rolled his eyes at this.

"He's muy sexy, no?" Santi smirked at you.

"Yeah. His voice is just so smokey." You sighed longingly, looking over to Frankie for his reaction. You saw the muscle of his jaw tick with annoyance and maybe amusement as he grumbled to himself.

"That despacito guy?" Will scoffed. "He's so corny."

"Yeah." Frankie agreed, happy to have someone on his side.

"No he's romantic and passionate." You retorted. "Come on, let's dance, Frankie!" You wrapped your arms around Frankie's waist.

"After the game." Frankie turned, stroking your cheek to placate you.

"But I want to dance to Fonsi." You whined.

"After the game." He repeated with more conviction, less sweet. He squeezed your waist and you squeaked a little at the pressure, biting your lip. Frankie ducked his head to speak directly into your ear, hiding your face from the rest of the guys. "You seem to be playing your own game, princesa. I saw what you're wearing..." He snuck a hand under your sweater to feel the barely there lace along your chest. "I think you've forgotten daddy always wins. Always." He kissed the shell of your ear lightly. "Now daddy is here to spend time with his friends and you're here to be his good girl. Can you do that?" He pulled back and looked into your eyes hopefully.

You about gave up then and there, melting from his warm tone. However it was the slight smugness in his voice that made something in you rise to the challenge. Daddy didn't always win...

"Fine I'll go by myself." You walked away, purposefully swinging your hips. You could hear Santi and Will and Benny teasing Fish.

"Oooh lover's quarrel..."

"Your girl is pissed, Fish..."

"Trouble in paradise!"

Frankie clenched his fists at his side, roiling waves breaking through the calm surface. Up until this point he wasn't sure if your teasing was all in his head. But now he was sure that you were messing with him on purpose. He was amused, ticked off, and turned on too. You were hardly ever such a brat with him but fuck was it sexy. He couldn't deny the way his cock twitched at the prospect of getting back at you.

Button 3:

On the crowded floor you started swaying your hips to the music, mouthing the words. You loved Frankie and nothing would diminish that but you did miss going out like this and letting go to the music. Hoping some attractive stranger would pick you out in the crowd. Now the person's attention you wanted most had his broad back turned towards you, leaning over the pool table.

You huffed in frustration. You were sure that would work. You were sure he would have hauled you to the door and taken you right against the car. Perhaps he was curious to see what you would do next. You danced your way to the jukebox to put on another Fonsi song when you felt a large hand wrap around your arm.

"Hey!" You whirl around but immediately relax when you see it's Frankie. "Oh hi Frankie!"

"What are you doing?" Frankie shouted over the music.

"I'm picking another Fonsi song." You smiled, reaching up and playing with the hair sticking out of Frankie's hat. "You know, Fonsi would have danced with me if he were here."

Even in the shit lighting of the bar you saw Frankie's eyes darken and his nostrils flare. He yanked you towards him until you collided with his chest and he leaned down until his lips brushed your ear.

“Be very careful what you say next, princesa.”

You were about to come up with a clever retort, despite his dark tone turning your legs into jelly, when someone tapped your shoulder.

"Hey- is this yours?" You turned to see a guy holding up your wallet. You must have dropped it.

"Oh thank you. Silly me." You laughed, taking it from him. The guy was pretty attractive, not as tall as Frankie, but a similar complexion.

"No problem. I'm always happy to be a hero to a beautiful lady." The guy winked. You felt Frankie's arms wrap around you, pulling you back into him and under his chin.

"Thanks, man. We’re good here." Frankie's voice was steel. He did little to restrain that possessive growl that bubbled in his chest. The guy had the nerve to look apologetic before booking it back to his friends. Frankie glared daggers at the guy until he was out of sight. Even when you were being a brat, you were still his brat.

"That was nice of him." You smiled up at Frankie. You saw his eyes narrow and his shoulders stiffen.

"That's it. We're going home." Frankie had enough. Pulling you by the hand, not too gently, back to the front. You skipped on your toes as you followed him, excited to see what was coming next...

You found the boys still at the pool table. Frankie grit his teeth through a lame excuse about an early morning tomorrow. He didn't even let you say goodbye, much to your chagrin, dragging you outside with your coat in his fist.

"Oh- bye I guess..." Santi shouted.

"Ten bucks says they're fucking." You heard Benny say.

The night air made you wish for your coat which was still in Frankie's grip. He didn't even look at you as you crossed the parking lot. You tried to pull your hand free but this only made him tighten his grip on you. You smiled evilly to yourself.

“What’s gotten into you tonight, huh?" Frankie stopped his fast pace when you reached the car. He turned and gripped your jaw. You swallowed, eyes widening at this version of Frankie who was far more authoritative than you had dealt with before. "You always gotta have daddy’s attention, huh? That’s not an excuse to be a brat.” His grip was so tight he was squeezing your cheeks together, making your lips purse like a fish.

“I-I just really need you daddy...” You turned on the pouting, egging him on further. You went to touch his shoulders but his other hand locked your wrists together in front of you. You saw his lips twitch up into a smug smile

“Then you should have asked like a good girl. I would have fucked you in the bathroom if you only said please. Now it’s too late. You pushed daddy over the edge.”

"I tried to be good, I really did. I couldn't help it, daddy." You whined, squirming in his grip.

"You didn't try that hard, princesa. Wearing that naughty outfit. Smiling at that man with my initials on your neck." He moved his hand from your jaw to your neck, squeezing it lightly. You gasped, squeezing your thighs together.

"I did try, daddy! You should have fucked me before we left!" You spat. Realizing what you just said you covered your mouth. But the damage was done.

"You just fucked up, baby girl." Frankie's voice dropped to a deadly whisper.

"I'm so-"

"Don't even try and take it back, naughty girl." Frankie had no idea what came over him. But this nagging annoyance and frustration mixed with his lust made his next moves come with dangerous ease. He picked you up right there in the parking lot, despite the ache in his lower back. He practically tossed you into the passenger seat. You immediately crossed your legs tight trying to relieve some pressure.

Frankie got in and started driving, silent. You could see the muscle in his jaw jumping as he thought of what to do next. You chewed your bottom lip, needy, wanting him to look at you and touch you.

For the first few minutes, you got some relief by rocking in your seat back and forth but soon it wasn't enough. You subtly shifted your skirt up until you could push your panties to the side. You were so wet. It was a miracle you hadn't soaked through to the leather seat below. You sighed quietly as you found your swollen clit.

“You’re trying to distract me but it’s not going to work." Frankie growled, looking over at you. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "Now be good until we get home or daddy won’t touch you all night”

“I can’t help how wet I get around you, daddy. Feel…” You took one of his hands and guided it to your pussy.

"Shit, baby." Frankie muttered to himself. His fingers explored the curve of your clit then down to your needy hole. "Shit-" In one movement he pulled the car over with a screech. You barely get a second to look around before he was hauling you over the center console into his lap.

You squealed in surprise as he smacked your ass, once on each side.

"You were very naughty tonight, princess...pushing daddy's buttons. Feel how hard you make me?" He took a handful of your ass and pulled you down onto his jean-covered erection.

"Mmm!" You threw your head back in pleasure. "Are you going to fuck me here?" You rocked your hips against him.

"No." He growled. He forced your arms behind your back before he moved his seat back. He pushed you back by the sternum against the steering wheel. Your arms stuck behind you. Now you were too far away to feel the curve of his cock against you. You huffed in frustration.

The window started to fog up with your combined panting, so no one could see him undo his pants. No one could see him fist his cock in his hands while you were unable to touch.

"Please!" You squirmed, watching his hand with envy. Frankie was not moved by your pleas and he groaned as the power went to his head. You were so pliable. Even when you tried to get the upper hand you let him manhandle you. It was because you wanted it, though you may not admit it.

“Naughty girls don’t get to touch." He rasped.

You could think of no worse agony, no better torture than this. You had to watch. Watch as his neck tightened and he panted your name. Watch as he pumped his cock til the tip went purple. Watch as he shot rope after rope of cum all over your thighs and pussy.

"Fuck..." He pulled your face into his, kissing you deeply. "Now sit back down and think about what you've done." He ordered, spanking you lightly.

"I-I'll be good." You whimpered. He had broken you down. You were going to obey now. You climbed back into your seat, your hand going to wipe off his cum but he stopped you-

He chuckled, "Nuh uh, you're wearing daddy's cum as a reminder to be his good girl."

You nodded, earning a smile from him. You sat in your seat like a good girl, watching him drive like nothing had happened. When you got home, Frankie came around and opened your door. You smiled up at him hoping all was forgiven.

"I'm not done punishing you." He cupped your face gently though his words were anything but. "Face down ass up on the bed and think about what you've done." You nodded, trying to mask your excitement with remorse. Frankie found that incredibly cute and it made his spent cock start to harden again.

You scampered upstairs, doing exactly as he said. You were anticipating how he was going to fuck you. Were you finally going to feel that uninhibited dominance you longed for?

You heard him banging pots and pans, cleaning up dinner and turning on the alarm. He was making you wait for it. You wiggled your ass in the air trying to get some stimulation on your poor pussy. You could feel the tracks of his cum drying on your thighs. You wanted to taste but you didn't dare be naughty again. Not when you were so close to getting what you wanted.

You perked up when you heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

Frankie smiled when he saw you, his cock straining in his pants. "Good girl." He cooed when he saw you in position. You were so desperate for his praise at this point you almost came at those words alone. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"Mhm. I'm sorry- please- frankie- I mean please daddy!" You moaned against the comforter. You turn your head to see him. He had taken off his flannel and was left in a tight grey t shirt that pulled around his stomach.

"What are you sorry for?" He pressured you, voice deep. You shivered.

"F-for being naughty."

He gave your ass a light smack. "What else?"

"For- for wearing the special set!"

"And?" He slapped you again, this time closer to your pussy.

"For dancing without you! Fuck!" You rocked in place.

"That's what I like to hear, princesa" He hummed in approval. He pulled your sweater over your head and tossed it into the corner of the room then made quick work of your skirt. You were left in your matching lace set. The panties were pushed off to the side and completely soiled, but it was still so pretty and delicate and light pink. His favorite.

He hummed, running his hands over the lace, watching your eyelids flutter.

"This is mine, right princesa?"

"Yes, daddy!" You replied instantly.

"This is mine, too." He cupped your pussy.

"Yes daddy!" You pressed against his hand. As soon as you did, however, he pulled away. "D-daddy?"

"You're going to stay just like this and take what I give you. If you move, daddy stops. Understand?" He said, unzipping his pants and peeling off his shirt.

"Mhm." You nodded fervently, licking your lips.

He joined you on the bed, knees planted next to yours. He slid his weeping head through your folds, groaning at how hot and ready you were. Your breath caught in your throat as he slid the very tip of his cock in and out.

"Daddy please..." You whispered, wiggling your hips.

"Ah ah-" He pulled away.

You froze.

"Good..." He groaned, pushing his length inside "girl..."

You moaned as your walls were pushed apart by his thick cock. The heavy curve molding your walls to take him. You fought the urge to thrust back or move at all. He pulled back then thrust in again. You jerked back against him and he instantly pulled out.

"I thought you were going to be a good girl now." He fisted your hair.

You just whimpered into the bedding, clenching some of the comforter between your teeth in frustration. When he was sure you were going to be still he thrust back in.

It was degrading and sinful to be fucked like this, like his personal toy. Like an inanimate sex toy there to give him pleasure. You screwed up a couple of times, jerking against him or trying to touch him. Every time he pulled out completely, leaving you empty and frustrated.

"Please daddy... please..." You were reduced to garbled pleas.

He leaned over you eventually, using his weight to keep you down how he wants you, and he picked up the pace, muttering curses and praise into your ear.

"Fuck, baby... is this what you wanted? To be fucked like a bad girl?"

"I-" You gasped "I wanted you to do-do what you wanted with me and make me- make me ta-take it."

"Yeah?" He taunted, his hips slapping against your ass, his cock rubbing against your most sensitive spot. "fuck- daddy needs that too."

You clenched your toes to keep still as your orgasm began to creep up.

Frankie continued to mutter filth into your ear. "You're doing- fuck- doing so well... letting daddy fuck you until he's had his fill. Fuck yes-Fuck I love you-" He devolved into grunts getting progressively louder with each thrust.

“I lo-” thrust “ove you-” thrust “too!” You manage to spit out.

And here's the thing about Frankie... he is dominant. He's filthy, but when he gets close like this... when he's about to cum inside of you, he gets needy.

"Look at me, baby-" He grunted, turning your chin with his face and capturing you in a messy kiss. His tongue filled up your mouth, leaving little room for yours to slide into his mouth.

You could feel his stomach expanding with his rapid breaths. Every thrust was accompanied by a push of his stomach and a grunt leaving his mouth that you eagerly swallowed. He was hardly thrusting in and out at this point. His thick arm wrapped around your waist using your weight to rock back and forth. The bed creaked with the effort.

"Frankie..." You gasped against his lips "Please can I cum?" Desperate tears stung your eyes from holding yourself back for so long. He was right there with you.

"Let go princess. Fuck-Cum for daddy." He ordered, bringing a calloused thumb to where you needed it most.

"I'm-oh!" You cried out, clenching your eyes shut.

"Yes, ah fuck yes that's it." Frankie hissed, as your walls fluttered around him. Your cum drenched his cock, smearing across his balls. His own orgasm was seconds away.

He wanted to cum inside of you, burying himself to the deepest part of you. But that's not what this was about… Instead, he pulled out, squeezing the base of his cock to stifle his cum.

"What're you..." You slurred, reaching back for him. He turned you onto your back and ripped your corset down past your tits.

"I'm not- fuck- I have to make sure you learn your lesson, baby. So you know what- fuck- what happens when you push daddy's buttons." He fisted himself above you, the tip of him hovering above your clit. His other hand played with your nipples until they were hard peaks.

"But-"

"Only good girls get my cum."

"But daddy..." You locked your legs around him, trying to pull him back to your heat.

"Daddy has to discipline you-" Frankie choked, wanting nothing more than to feel your walls milk his cum. However, that's not what you had wanted when you riled him up tonight. You wanted this; to be dominated completely.

"Fuck- gonna paint-look at me-" He grunted in broken tones. Your eyes swung up to his. Even though he was being mean, you could see the love in his gaze, the pure adoration that you let him have this kind of intimacy with you. Let him play out all his fantasies. You saw his gaze flicker down to your necklace with his initial, laying on your sweaty skin, and that lace he loved.

"Take it-" His words were cut off when his thighs trembled and he finally came with a broken cry. Your pussy was painted with his cum; your clit, your seam, your mound, your stomach.

You mewled as it hit your skin, your pussy clenching with longing. Frankie panted above you, his shoulders heaving, his dark hair curled over his forehead. He was so wide his shadow would have enveloped your form below him. He seemed to only get thicker as he came, chest pushing out. You think you might have cum right then from such a sinful sight.

He clutched your breast as the last of his spend dripped out of his cock and onto your pussy. His hips stuttered forward trying to chase that last drop of pleasure.

"Good girl... you did so-so well. Took daddy so well..." Frankie leaned over and kissed your lips and cheeks then down your neck. Each nipple. Gone was the harsh tone. His touch was light and reverential.

"Good girls get daddy's cum. You want some?" He scooped up some of the mess, smeared it on his sensitive dick, and pressed himself back inside your fluttering pussy. "Th-There you go... what do you say?" He bit his lip from the slight overstimulation.

"Th-thank you, daddy.” Your cheeks burned from the depravity of having been painted with his cum not once, but twice tonight. “Oh fuck... Frankie...that was incredible." You said with a breathy laugh.

Frankie chuckled as well, rolling over with you so he could cradle you against him. He hated to admit it, and he probably won't tell you, but the sex you had when you were being a brat felt more intimate. He was reminded how dependent you are on him for pleasure sometimes and how much you trust him. It makes his heart burst and his dick hard. He knew you only brat out because you were greedy for his attention. He can never resent you for that.

"Is that- is that what you wanted?" He asked, still catching his breath.

"Yeah. Oh fuck yeah." You giggled, kissing his jaw. "You're so sexy when you're riled up."

"Fuck...you were torturing me, baby. You know me too well."

"I think we can call it even."

"Until next time." He squeezed your ass playfully. "Have you ever thought that I may know how to rile you up?"

~~~~~~~~~~~

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#frankie morales #pedro pascal

[imaginarydesires]

Smut prompt 54:

“C’mere, you can sit on my lap until i’m done working.”

(Love this one because it’s like naughty/sweet and could be a fun jumping off point for so many different characters that you write.)

OOF. This one is shameless. I honestly have at least three other characters in my head that I started to write for this, but I landed on our boy Jack. He seems like just the right guy to deal with our slightly bratty reader. I hope you enjoy! I adore this prompt.

Friday Night at Statesman

WC: 1.1k, no beta

Pairing: Jack Daniels aka Agent Whiskey x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: Mature/Explicit. Shameless filth, so much dirty talk, inappropriate workplace activities, newer relationship, somewhat bratty reader.

--

“Ugh, Jack. It’s way past time to call it a day. Everyone’s left already,” you pout from where you have dramatically flopped on the couch in Jack’s office overlooking the city. Your relationship with the agent was still fairly new, but it was just the two of you in the office at this hour. You didn’t have to make up an excuse for why you were in his office like you normally did.

You had finished up your own work as an analyst almost two hours ago, but Jack was determined to finish all of his paperwork before the weekend started.

“Darlin’, you know I have to get this done so we can go away. No one will bother us that way,” Jack chides from behind his desk.

You know that he’s right, but it doesn’t stop you from crossing your arms over your chest and sighing. You’ve been looking forward to this getaway for three weeks, ever since Jack suggested it, and were so eager to get the weekend going. Boredom had long since set in, and you think maybe you can…entice Jack to hurry up.

You sit up fully on the tufted leather couch and cross your legs. “Hey, cowboy?”

Jack hums an acknowledgment, not looking up from where he is typing.

“Do you think we’ll make it up to the cabin in time to use the hot tub? It won’t be too late?” you ask sweetly.

“Sure thing, darlin’,” he says, not missing a beat.

You frown. “I’m awfully cold, maybe I’ll go sit in my car to warm up.”

“My coat’s hanging on the back of the door, sugar.”

The scowl on your face deepens. Jack hasn’t looked up at you once in the past thirty minutes. You know it’s childish, but you’re over it. You need his attention; you’ve been craving him all day.

“I bet Agent Pisco would be up for getting a drink with me at the bar around the corner while I wait for you.” You know how much Jack hates how Pisco flirts with you. He’s even more of a shameless flirt than Jack is.

Jack’s hands freeze over the keyboard, and he finally turns to look at you. “What are you playin’ at, hm?”

You pucker your lips in an exaggerated pout. Jack sighs, clearly defeated.

“C’mere sugar, you can sit on my lap until I’m done working.”

Your face breaks out into a wide grin and you bound over to Jack’s open arms. He helps you get situated as you throw one leg over his lap and settle around him, your skirt riding up. You tuck your head against his shoulder as you wrap your arms around his neck. He smells like the cologne you got him for his birthday, musky amber and spicy cardamom. You have easy access to his neck like this, especially since his trusty hat is sitting next to him on his desk, and you leave little kisses along his soft skin.

“You know this is only going to make the paperwork take longer,” Jack tells you as he tries to type around your body.

You kiss every freckle that you can see on his neck. “Don’t care. Want you. So warm.”

You’re so close to him that you can practically feel the goosebumps as they bloom across his skin. He’s so reactive to your touch, and it drives you insane. It makes you want to touch him more, just to see how much you can rile him up.

“I can’t wait for the weekend, baby,” you whisper in his ear. You punctuate your sentence by nibbling on his ear. “I’m thinking about where I want you to fuck me first. Maybe in front of the fireplace? Maybe against the kitchen counter?”

Jack growls, low in his throat. “We’re never gonna get the weekend started if you don’t let me finish up here,” he warns.

You smile to yourself. “Maybe we won’t even make it out of the truck before I make you take me right there.” You rock against his hips, feeling the zipper on his jeans press against you. The friction is delicious.

Jack grabs your hips and halts your motion. You lift your head to look at him.

“Darlin’, if you don’t behave you can’t sit on my lap.” His thumbs rub soothing circles on your hips, and you can’t help but moan softly. “Damn girl, you’re a needy little thing tonight.”

Jack’s cock twitches underneath you. Oh, I’m not the only one needy tonight.

You bite your lip and try to look innocent. “Do you like me like this, Jack? Do you like it when I misbehave? I just can’t help it,” you say seductively as you rub your fingers along the nape of his neck. “All I can think about is how good it’ll feel when you stretch me out with that big cock of yours.”

Jack slaps your ass with his large hand, eliciting a yelp and a giggle out of you. You slowly thrust back and forth against the growing bulge in his pants, and this time Jack helps to drag you across his crotch.

“I’ve got two more minutes of work and then you’re going to be in so much trouble, naughty girl.” Jack resumes typing around you, craning to look over your shoulder. You take advantage of the angle and dive down to nip and suck at the long expanse of his neck.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jack says, typing faster. Wetness spreads in your panties as you feel how he responds underneath you.

“Baby, I need you so bad. Maybe we could break our rule about no sex in the office and you can just bend me over right here,” you moan sinfully into his ear. His heart is starting to race, and you can feel his breath quicken underneath you.

Jack bangs his fist against the desk before he resumes typing. “I can’t focus when you run that dirty mouth of yours.”

You breathe out against his ear, and you can feel his cock jump underneath you as he shudders. “If you fucked my mouth right now, I wouldn’t be able to talk.”

Jack practically slaps the last few keys. “Done, I’m done! Everything’s filed! You’re in for it now, sugar,” Jack says with a wicked grin. You hop off his lap and gather your belongings.

Jack follows quickly behind you as you scurry towards the door. He catches you with a little pinch to your ass, and you let out a squeal as you twist around to face him. “It’s a long drive to the cabin, we better get on the road, cowboy,” you say with a faux-stern look as Jack crowds you against the door.

“What am I going to do with you, huh? Gonna keep your hands off me while I drive?” Jack says as he leans down to kiss you.

“Nope.”

--

A/N: SHAMELESS. These two were a ton of fun to write.

Tags: @coastielaceispunk @shiftingsands14 @littlemisspascal @fromthedeskoftheraven @tuskens-mando @scorpiowidow @Eri16 @amneris21@thevoiceinyourheadx @tintinn16 @castleamc @dinsangelx @the-blind-assassin-12 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi@kirsteng42 @practicalghost @scorpiowidow @kotemorons

#agent whiskey #pedro pascal

[imaginarydesires]

Can you please put me on the tag list, darling?

I haven’t been posting lately but as soon as I start writing again, absolutely lovely💛

[imaginarydesires]

omg thank you so much🥺💛 that was so sweet!

One Bed ♡

Ezra x Fem Reader

Warnings: 18+, sexual content (unprotected p in the v, m receiving oral, spitters are quitters), one bed trope, mutual pining, minor fluff and angst somehow idk, confessing love while one is ‘asleep’

Summary: Ezra and you are prospecting partners, currently aboard a craft waiting to embark on your next journey. Just one night and you’ll be back on solid ground again. Small problem — there’s only one bed.

Reader Characteristics: afab; she/her pronouns. No physical descriptions.

Word Count: 1.6k+

Notes: Who doesn’t like the one bed trope? I mean… come on. This is prior to the events of the movie, meaning he has two arms.

✧

It was normal for these boarding crafts to have only one bed. After all, most people that travelled together were family or spouses. Ezra was strictly a business partner. You both worked well together. Your skills complimented his and his complimented yours. There had been tension in the past, sure. After all, when you travel with someone for so long there is bound to be spurts of needed release… but the two of you had made it perfectly clear that was a line you would not cross. It made the work messy — and when it came to prospecting, messy was dangerous.

It’s not that you didn’t want him. That was not the case at all. Over the years of traveling together, you had grown quite fond of your partner — too fond, too messy, too dangerous.

So… one bed. One small bed. It could barely be considered a double size, and the pod available for renting did not even have room on the floor to sleep, so you could not even offer that to make it more comfortable. You took a deep breath and told yourself to not make it awkward. That would only make it worse.

You laid in the bed, Ezra laying next to you — shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the metal ceiling of the room. It was silent. Too silent. Ezra was definitely not known for his lack of conversation.

“Listen—“ You said at the same time Ezra began to speak.

“Starlight—“

You both sighed.

“Starlight,” he began again. “This need not be so uncouth. We slept together before, remember? The night of the freeze.”

You had nearly forgotten that — when you resided on a planet and one night had gotten so cold you nearly froze to death. You warmed each other using nothing but piles of blankets and body heat. You had forgotten because your brain had repressed the memory of that frigid cold.

“So, we act like it’s freezing, right?” You asked, uncertain.

He shrugged and then nodded shortly. He wrapped his arms around you and turned you over, pressing your back into his chest as he pulled the sheet up to cover your bodies.

This is fine, you thought to yourself. This is nice, actually.

It had been a long while since anyone had held you, even in a platonic sense. That’s why it was so nice, right? No— he always felt nice, you acknowledged. Any time you had touched briefly, any time you watched him work, anytime he made you laugh… he was why it was so nice. You eased into his grasp more and closed your eyes, ready to let sleep overtake you. Several minutes passed, you were in the state between sleep and barely conscious, relaxed by his rare comforting hold.

“Starlight,” he whispered.

You didn’t move. Just ignore him, you thought to yourself. It will be less awkward if you just act like your sleeping. One night and this will be over.

He seemed to realize you were sleeping now. His arm tightened around your frame, nuzzling your body into his broad frame even more.

This is fine. This is—

“I know you are sleeping, starlight, but… I need to express this once. I adore you — truly, irrefutably adore you. I recognize the harsh realities of our relationship, but… I needed to say it only once, even if you are unable to reciprocate.”

You turned over. Ezra’s wide eyes gazing into yours with a mixture of concern and fear.

“Starlight—“

“Ezra. It’s messy. It’s dangerous for us to allow emotions to cloud our survival.” You voice was barely a whisper, as though if you spoke any louder you’d shatter your demeanor completely.

He nodded, eyes filled with a sadness you had not seen before. “I recognize that and I apologize.” He shifted in the bed and then stood. You immediately felt the lack of his touch and you wanted it back. “I need a drink.”

He went for the pod door as you sat up.

“Do you mean it? Or are you just lonely?” You did not mean for your tone to sound so hardened, but you couldn’t help it in this moment of uncontrollable desperation.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and brought his hand up to brush against your cheek gently.

“I have never spoken truer words in my life. I adore you, and I apologize sincerely, but apologizing will not make my emotions for you dissipate.”

You should let him leave. You should both find other partners. It would be smarter, safer, but—

“I love you too, Ezra.”

You pressed your lips to his, feeling what you had spent many nights only dreaming about. He kissed you back immediately, his hand from your cheek wrapping around to the back of your head as his other arm snaked around your waist firmly.

He guided you back on the bed, laying atop you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gently brushing your bottom lip to ask permission which you eagerly accepted. His hand held your waist for a moment before gently grazing the skin between the hem of your shirt and pants.

“May I show you just how much I adore you, Starlight?”

You nodded as you found the edge of his shirt and helped pull it over his head. He then lifted your own, softly pulling up the fabric, letting his eyes linger over your body with an appreciated gaze.

“You are magnificent… exquisitely divine.”

He kissed down your neck, gentle and firm, as he let his hands wander across the skin of your stomach before tendering grabbing your breasts. His mouth connected with your nipple and you let out a soft moan, tugging at this hair as his tongue slid across your sensitive spots.

“Tell me how to express my love for you, Starlight.” He kissed your mouth again. “Speak your desires and allow me to fulfill them vivaciously.”

He ground his hips into your own, grinding against you wonderfully. All you could think of was him — having him completely, having him fill you, having him love you.

“I desire you, Ezra. I want you.”

You reached your hand down and palmed his bulge through the fabric, feeling how hard he was already, feeling how much he wanted you too. He tugged down your pants and then his own before climbing over you, trailing his cock up and down your wet folds, letting the head pleasantly rub against your clit as he kissed you.

“Ezra…” you moaned softly against his lips. “Please, fill me. I want you inside of me.”

A groan escaped his lips from hearing your sincere words. He reached down, lining himself up with your entrance. Your eyes locked onto each others, both expressions filled with the pure lust and pure love you had been repressing for far too long.

He pressed in slowly, allowing you the time to adjust to his size. He rested your forehead against his, mouth ajar from the ecstasy already overcoming you simply from the feeling of you being connected, of him sliding into you so perfectly.

“I adore you,” he said breathlessly. “I absolutely adore you, and your paradisiacal pussy, my love.”

He moved slowly, expertly grinding into you.

“Oh, you are heaven,” he moaned as he picked up his pace. “Pure divinity. Pure rapture. Pure— fuck.”

You lifted your hips to meet him each time, back arching from the wondrous sensation echoing through you each time he pressed back into you. Your hands wrapped into his hair, mouth desperately finding his, wanting to feel as close to him as possible, wanting to taste him as he fucked you.

He moved a hand down to your clit, rubbing circles on you. You moaned his name at the delightful touch. Your legs wrapped around his waist encouragingly. It didn’t take long for you to find your moment of bliss — the moment of overwhelming pleasure from his thrusts, his hands, his mouth, just — him. You clenched around him as you came, crying out his name as you scratched at his arms and back.

“Oh, my divine, I—“ he lost the words as his thrusts became more sporadic, nearing his own edge. “Where?”

“Mouth,” you responded simply.

He groaned out a sound you had never even known he could produce. His eyes filled with a new level of lust. He pulled out from you. You pushed him back on the bed, laying him down as you were, trying to move as fast as you could despite the shaking weakness of your legs. You bent down and took him in your mouth, tasting the delicious mixture of his juices and your own. Your hand pumped him sensually as your tongue toyed with his head. His hands gripped into the fabric of the bed, trying to make the amazing feeling of your mouth last as long as it could — it couldn’t last long, not when you felt so good, every part of you felt so right.

He came in your mouth, moaning a long series of discombobulated poetic words. You swallowed the salty substance, licking his sensitive cock clean, wanting to taste every bit of him. When you pulled away, he was staring at you with wide brown eyes filled with a new adoration you had always longed to see. He pulled you up to him, kissing you long and hard.

“I must concede, that was worth the wait, my Starlight. You are—“

“Divine?” You interrupted with a small playful smile.

He smiled back. “You are mine, Starlight. I love you and I will spend every moment proving my sincere adoration. Now, let’s get some sleep.”

You settled into his chest, his arms wrapping around you and holding you tightly.

You were grateful for the one bed.

[imaginarydesires]

Bronco Breakdown ♡

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x Fem Reader

Warnings: 18+, sexual content (unprotected p in v, f receiving oral, multiple orgasms, riding a cowboy), stranded-ish, lying (but like not in an angsty way)

Summary: After Agent Whiskey’s Ford Bronco breaks down in the middle of nowhere, Reader and Whiskey decide to help each other stay warm under the stars.

Reader Characteristics: afab; she/her pronouns. No physical descriptions. Reader is a Statesman Agent.

Word Count: 2k+

✧

“When you said you’d drive, Whiskey, I didn’t think you meant your shit box.”

Jack rolled his eyes but kept his focus on his current phone call to the tow company. Broken down in the middle of nowhere in the dark of night with your fellow agent was not where you wanted to be on a Saturday night. But Champagne had called you both in on a mission and Jack had graciously offered to drive you to the destination since it was only a state over. Now you were wishing you insisted on the taking the jet — or at least a newer vehicle.

Jack hung up the phone and turned to see you leaning against the side of his Bronco with your arms crossed irritably.

“Well?” You sassed.

“It’ll be at least an hour.” Before you could complain, he continued. “And she is not a shit box. She’s a vintage—“

“1970 Ford Bronco with leather interior and a beautiful custom paint job — yeah, yeah, I know.”

You tried to hide the slight shiver with a mask of annoyance, but Jack seemed to see right through you. It was autumn so it wasn’t cold, but when the sunlight disappeared the temperature dropped drastically and now that you didn’t have the heat of the car you were definitely feeling the chill of the night.

Jack reached into the back of the truck and pulled out a large blanket. He wrapped it around his shoulders and sat on the edge of the tailgate, holding out an arm to invite your embrace.

“Come on, darlin’. I know you’re cold too.”

You wanted to argue, but the blanket looked too comfortable and warm not to accept. Plus sharing body heat with Agent Whiskey didn’t sound like the worst case scenario. Although, you’d never admit that to him. You settled into his side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders securely.

“This is not how I wanted to spend my Saturday night,” you huffed.

“Had a date or something?” Whiskey laughed.

You turned your head towards him with a fake hateful expression.

“What’s so funny about that? As a matter of fact, I did have a date.”

His grip on your figure tightened slightly as he raised a curious eyebrow at you.

“Statesmen can’t date. Remember, sweetheart? It’s in the fine print.”

You shrugged. “Well, it was less of a date more of a hookup. Statesmen gotta get laid too.”

His eyes flashed down to your lips and suddenly your mouth went dry. He bit down on his bottom lip and you had to hold back the moan in your throat. Fuck — just seeing him look at you like that made your panties wet. You wondered what thoughts were going through his mind.

His gaze never left your mouth as he said, “I could help you with that.”

You scoffed and turned away from him, looking out towards the vast fields of nothing. “You wish, cowboy.”

“Oh, I certainly do.” His hand moved from around your shoulder to around your waist, pulling you in closer to him. He leaned his face down to whisper to you, his hot breath warming your ear. “Come on, sweetheart. Beautiful night under the stars. Beautiful girl. I’ll keep you nice and warm.”

You’d wanted him for a long while now, ever since the first time you had worked together. You both flirted relentlessly or teased each other to hide the affections you both not-so-secretly craved. You knew being with another agent was bound to get messy, but — fuck — he was worth it.

“No strings attached?” You asked, turning towards him, your eyes immediately looking to the lips you desperately wanted to kiss.

“Not unless you want ‘em.”

Whiskey moved towards your face slowly, as though to give you ample time to back out.

“You did cost me a date. I guess it’s the least you could do,” you joked, spreading your legs just enough for him to notice the gesture.

“Darlin’, I’ll make you forget all about that date.”

His hand teased the hem of your pants before unbuttoning them. He let the blanket fall off both of your shoulders into the bed of the truck and then led you to lay down on the soft fabric. He unzipped your pants and moved his hand inside to cup your sex.

“I’ll make you forget about every date you’ve ever had.”

You couldn’t help but buck your hips into his hand, craving more from his fingers, his mouth, his everything.

“Prove it, cowboy.”

His lips crashed against yours, his tongue immediately devouring your mouth as his finger moved small circles on your clit. He broke away from the kiss only to lick and suck a trail down your neck. He slid his hand down further and he chuckled into your skin, his facial hair tickling you softly.

“Already so wet for me, princess.”

He easily removed his own shirt and then pulled yours over your head and continued his trail downward, stopping at your breasts, kneading and sucking them, groaning delightfully as he did. He brought his face back up to yours, kissing you once sweetly before looking directly into your eyes with his beautiful brown ones, a sinister smirk plastered on his face.

“Let’s see if we can get you wetter.”

He pulled your pants off, tossing them to the side of the truck and admiring your soaked black panties. He moaned at the sight before pulling them down your legs too.

“Fuck, these are so sexy. I guess you did have a date tonight, didn’t you princess? Gotta say, I’m so glad I get to see them instead.”

He kissed the inside of your thighs, moving his way up agonizingly slow. You tried to press your thighs together, desperate for some release, some pressure. His hands gripped your legs harshly and pulled them apart.

“So needy,” he taunted.

He bit down on your thigh and you cried out from the electrifying mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Please,” you whined. “Please, Jack.”

“Please, what?”

You bit your lip and tried to press your thighs together again, but he easily held them open.

“Please, touch me.”

“I am touching you.”

You moaned as he ran his hands down the sides of your legs, leaving scratches along them.

“Jack,” you moaned, undeniably frustrated from his teasing. “With your mouth, your tongue.”

“I am, princess.”

He kissed your thighs again and you could feel the smirk as he did.

“Please, Jack, please make me come with your mouth. Please.”

“There it is. You sound so pretty when you beg. My good girl.”

“Pl— Fuck!” You cried out as his tongue dug into your folds and pressed into your entrance before running upwards for his mouth to connect with your clit and suck hard.

Your hand immediately found it’s way into his hair, encouraging him as he absolutely devoured you. You ground yourself into his face, desperate for every moment of blissful contact you could get. You were so close — just from the way his mouth and tongue expertly toyed with your sensitive nerves. He pressed a finger into you, curving it until he found your spot and then softly pressed into it over and over and over again until you were crying out and shaking unable to come down from the intense high.

He pulled away, lips upturned into a triumphant smile and fully coated with you. He climbed up and kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his mouth.

“Fuck me, Jack, please. I want you.”

“One more,” he said simply before his face was already back down.

He licked the length of you, taking in how you twitched at the sensitive touch.

“Come on my mouth one more time, and then I’ll fuck you, princess. I promise.”

It didn’t take long for you to be right back up there, almost tumbling over the edge again. His tongue on your clit, he pressed two fingers into you this time, earning a loud moan you barely recognized as your own voice. He returned to your sweet spot and then relentlessly drove his fingers into you over and over and over again until you were crying out his name, legs shaking, fingers pulling at his hair as you came.

“You taste so good, princess. I could eat you all night.”

You wanted to return the favor, desperate to hear him come undone the same way he made you, but your legs were so weak you couldn’t move yet. They still shook slightly, feeling the aftermath of ecstasy. He kissed you again, his tongue against yours mimicking the actions he made on your clit. You moved your hands to the buckle of his belt, quickly unfastening it and helping him push down his pants.

“You sure, princess?”

“You want me to beg for your cock now, cowboy?” You teased, but your voice was not nearly as strong as it had been two orgasms ago.

He smiled as he lined himself up with your slick entrance. “Still such an attitude, princess. I’m going to fuck that right out of you.”

“Please, Jack…” you whined, using an exaggerated desperate tone just to get a rise from him.

“Such a good girl,” he teased back and then pressed himself into you — not overly hard, but steady enough for your eyes to roll into the back of your head as you adjusted to his size.

“Fuck, princess. This pussy is perfect — and mine.”

He moved slowly, allowing you both to appreciate just how perfect it felt for his cock to be inside of you. He kissed your neck, and you pulled his face up, wanting to feel his lips on yours again, wanting to taste yourself on his tongue. You wrapped your legs around his waist and met his thrusts as they increased in pace. He slammed into you, hitting your sweet spot each time. His hips and stomach pressed against yours to add friction to your clit as he fucked you. You were close — again.

You flipped him over onto his back and straddled him, keeping the pace he had previously set as best you could. His hands gripped your waist, helping you move. His eyes wandered over your body, taking in every part of you he could. You kissed his neck, licking and sucking in the same ways he had done to you. You bit at his ear and tugged at his hair.

“You know what they say,” you flirted breathlessly. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

His nails scratched at your back and down your thighs as he moaned.

“You ride fucking beautifully, princess. Fuck, such a good girl. My perfect good girl.”

He sat up and moved to lean against the back of the truck. His arms wrapped around you to lift your figure and thrust up into you as you came down on him.

Both of your moans filled the nighttime air, echoing into the empty fields surrounding you. He clenched your figure tightly as his thrusts became more sporadic.

“Come with me, princess. Come for me.”

You nodded desperately, pressing your forehead to his as your legs began to shake, your third orgasm rippling through you. He thrusted upwards, harder than he had before, pressing you down on his length as he came.

He nuzzled his face into your neck, holding you sweetly against him as you both struggled to catch your breath.

“Do you forgive me?” He asked.

“What?” You pulled away slightly to look into his eyes.

“For making you miss your date.”

“Oh, I forgot all about it.”

You both laughed, and he kissed you again.

“Let’s get you dressed, sweetheart. We don’t want you freezing again.”

Once back in your clothes — your panties smuggled into the pockets of his jeans — he wrapped the blanket around your shoulders and led you back into the passenger seat, climbing into the driver seat after giving you another kiss.

“Let’s get out here, darlin’.”

“What about the tow truck?”

His chuckled softly and turned the ignition, the Bronco roaring to life immediately.

“I told you she’s not a shit box, sweetheart.”

#pedro pascal #agent whiskey #agent whiskey imagine #jack whiskey daniels #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey x you #kingsman golden circle #kingsman: the golden circle

[imaginarydesires]

Hi! I really like your Ezra one bed fic but since it's not under a read-more Im not comfortable reblogging it! Please make sure to put anything over like 200ish words under a read more, especially if there's smut 🥰

Noted! I added a read-more to that one fic and I’ll be sure to do it in the future as well. Thanks for bringing that up. I didn’t even think about it. 🥰💛

[imaginarydesires]

One Bed ♡

Ezra x Fem Reader

Warnings: 18+, sexual content (unprotected p in the v, m receiving oral, spitters are quitters), one bed trope, mutual pining, minor fluff and angst somehow idk, confessing love while one is ‘asleep’

Summary: Ezra and you are prospecting partners, currently aboard a craft waiting to embark on your next journey. Just one night and you’ll be back on solid ground again. Small problem — there’s only one bed.

Reader Characteristics: afab; she/her pronouns. No physical descriptions.

Word Count: 1.6k+

Notes: Who doesn’t like the one bed trope? I mean… come on. This is prior to the events of the movie, meaning he has two arms.

✧

It was normal for these boarding crafts to have only one bed. After all, most people that travelled together were family or spouses. Ezra was strictly a business partner. You both worked well together. Your skills complimented his and his complimented yours. There had been tension in the past, sure. After all, when you travel with someone for so long there is bound to be spurts of needed release… but the two of you had made it perfectly clear that was a line you would not cross. It made the work messy — and when it came to prospecting, messy was dangerous.

It’s not that you didn’t want him. That was not the case at all. Over the years of traveling together, you had grown quite fond of your partner — too fond, too messy, too dangerous.

So… one bed. One small bed. It could barely be considered a double size, and the pod available for renting did not even have room on the floor to sleep, so you could not even offer that to make it more comfortable. You took a deep breath and told yourself to not make it awkward. That would only make it worse.

You laid in the bed, Ezra laying next to you — shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the metal ceiling of the room. It was silent. Too silent. Ezra was definitely not known for his lack of conversation.

“Listen—“ You said at the same time Ezra began to speak.

“Starlight—“

You both sighed.

“Starlight,” he began again. “This need not be so uncouth. We slept together before, remember? The night of the freeze.”

You had nearly forgotten that — when you resided on a planet and one night had gotten so cold you nearly froze to death. You warmed each other using nothing but piles of blankets and body heat. You had forgotten because your brain had repressed the memory of that frigid cold.

“So, we act like it’s freezing, right?” You asked, uncertain.

He shrugged and then nodded shortly. He wrapped his arms around you and turned you over, pressing your back into his chest as he pulled the sheet up to cover your bodies.

This is fine, you thought to yourself. This is nice, actually.

It had been a long while since anyone had held you, even in a platonic sense. That’s why it was so nice, right? No— he always felt nice, you acknowledged. Any time you had touched briefly, any time you watched him work, anytime he made you laugh… he was why it was so nice. You eased into his grasp more and closed your eyes, ready to let sleep overtake you. Several minutes passed, you were in the state between sleep and barely conscious, relaxed by his rare comforting hold.

“Starlight,” he whispered.

You didn’t move. Just ignore him, you thought to yourself. It will be less awkward if you just act like your sleeping. One night and this will be over.

He seemed to realize you were sleeping now. His arm tightened around your frame, nuzzling your body into his broad frame even more.

This is fine. This is—

“I know you are sleeping, starlight, but… I need to express this once. I adore you — truly, irrefutably adore you. I recognize the harsh realities of our relationship, but… I needed to say it only once, even if you are unable to reciprocate.”

You turned over. Ezra’s wide eyes gazing into yours with a mixture of concern and fear.

“Starlight—“

“Ezra. It’s messy. It’s dangerous for us to allow emotions to cloud our survival.” You voice was barely a whisper, as though if you spoke any louder you’d shatter your demeanor completely.

He nodded, eyes filled with a sadness you had not seen before. “I recognize that and I apologize.” He shifted in the bed and then stood. You immediately felt the lack of his touch and you wanted it back. “I need a drink.”

He went for the pod door as you sat up.

“Do you mean it? Or are you just lonely?” You did not mean for your tone to sound so hardened, but you couldn’t help it in this moment of uncontrollable desperation.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and brought his hand up to brush against your cheek gently.

“I have never spoken truer words in my life. I adore you, and I apologize sincerely, but apologizing will not make my emotions for you dissipate.”

You should let him leave. You should both find other partners. It would be smarter, safer, but—

“I love you too, Ezra.”

You pressed your lips to his, feeling what you had spent many nights only dreaming about. He kissed you back immediately, his hand from your cheek wrapping around to the back of your head as his other arm snaked around your waist firmly.

He guided you back on the bed, laying atop you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gently brushing your bottom lip to ask permission which you eagerly accepted. His hand held your waist for a moment before gently grazing the skin between the hem of your shirt and pants.

“May I show you just how much I adore you, Starlight?”

You nodded as you found the edge of his shirt and helped pull it over his head. He then lifted your own, softly pulling up the fabric, letting his eyes linger over your body with an appreciated gaze.

“You are magnificent… exquisitely divine.”

He kissed down your neck, gentle and firm, as he let his hands wander across the skin of your stomach before tendering grabbing your breasts. His mouth connected with your nipple and you let out a soft moan, tugging at this hair as his tongue slid across your sensitive spots.

“Tell me how to express my love for you, Starlight.” He kissed your mouth again. “Speak your desires and allow me to fulfill them vivaciously.”

He ground his hips into your own, grinding against you wonderfully. All you could think of was him — having him completely, having him fill you, having him love you.

“I desire you, Ezra. I want you.”

You reached your hand down and palmed his bulge through the fabric, feeling how hard he was already, feeling how much he wanted you too. He tugged down your pants and then his own before climbing over you, trailing his cock up and down your wet folds, letting the head pleasantly rub against your clit as he kissed you.

“Ezra…” you moaned softly against his lips. “Please, fill me. I want you inside of me.”

A groan escaped his lips from hearing your sincere words. He reached down, lining himself up with your entrance. Your eyes locked onto each others, both expressions filled with the pure lust and pure love you had been repressing for far too long.

He pressed in slowly, allowing you the time to adjust to his size. He rested your forehead against his, mouth ajar from the ecstasy already overcoming you simply from the feeling of you being connected, of him sliding into you so perfectly.

“I adore you,” he said breathlessly. “I absolutely adore you, and your paradisiacal pussy, my love.”

He moved slowly, expertly grinding into you.

“Oh, you are heaven,” he moaned as he picked up his pace. “Pure divinity. Pure rapture. Pure— fuck.”

You lifted your hips to meet him each time, back arching from the wondrous sensation echoing through you each time he pressed back into you. Your hands wrapped into his hair, mouth desperately finding his, wanting to feel as close to him as possible, wanting to taste him as he fucked you.

He moved a hand down to your clit, rubbing circles on you. You moaned his name at the delightful touch. Your legs wrapped around his waist encouragingly. It didn’t take long for you to find your moment of bliss — the moment of overwhelming pleasure from his thrusts, his hands, his mouth, just — him. You clenched around him as you came, crying out his name as you scratched at his arms and back.

“Oh, my divine, I—“ he lost the words as his thrusts became more sporadic, nearing his own edge. “Where?”

“Mouth,” you responded simply.

He groaned out a sound you had never even known he could produce. His eyes filled with a new level of lust. He pulled out from you. You pushed him back on the bed, laying him down as you were, trying to move as fast as you could despite the shaking weakness of your legs. You bent down and took him in your mouth, tasting the delicious mixture of his juices and your own. Your hand pumped him sensually as your tongue toyed with his head. His hands gripped into the fabric of the bed, trying to make the amazing feeling of your mouth last as long as it could — it couldn’t last long, not when you felt so good, every part of you felt so right.

He came in your mouth, moaning a long series of discombobulated poetic words. You swallowed the salty substance, licking his sensitive cock clean, wanting to taste every bit of him. When you pulled away, he was staring at you with wide brown eyes filled with a new adoration you had always longed to see. He pulled you up to him, kissing you long and hard.

“I must concede, that was worth the wait, my Starlight. You are—“

“Divine?” You interrupted with a small playful smile.

He smiled back. “You are mine, Starlight. I love you and I will spend every moment proving my sincere adoration. Now, let’s get some sleep.”

You settled into his chest, his arms wrapping around you and holding you tightly.

You were grateful for the one bed.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #ezra prospect headcanon #ezra prospect imagine #ezra prospect #ezra #prospect film #prospect movie #prospect

[imaginarydesires]

Can I tempt you with a Din as King request. *Me offering you a crown made of beskar*

👑

(And clearly we’re fucking this King).

A/N: Din Djarin x F!Reader. Throne Smut.

He’s a reluctant King.

Your Din.

He rules in his way, which is barely at all. A curt nod met with a shrug of justice as he presses his trust into his advisors, but mostly into you.

“I’m a warrior,” he mutters into your shoulder when you’re soft and safe in his bed. His room is something else: warm silk blankets and hanging curtains and smooth white stones. “I’m not a ruler. Not even close.”

His hand is hot against your belly - the nimble stroke of fingertips as he mouths at your nape. You cover it with your own hand - sweep your thumb over the sun-tanned skin. He’s bare and you lick it up - his curls tickling your cheek - the hard line of his cock nudging between your thighs.

“You’re a good man, Din,” you reply - affection velvet on your tongue. “You’re good and that means more than the rest.”

“I won a fight,” he shrugs. He does this sometimes when he is alone with you. He’s struck with incredulity at his situation - your situation. He does not know how his life has become what it is now.

A King. A legend pulled from myths.

“You won a fight to save your son,” you correct - pushing back against his hips - ready to distract him in other ways. “You’re noble.”

He snorts and it reverberates through his chest - knocks against your spine. He eases his chin over your shoulder - his beard a rough rasp across your flesh. “I would have been happy with just you...just us.”

You know that Grogu is also in there - buried in his heart and throat. But the loss is too fresh. His voice cracking on that missing link - missing piece and part.

He’ll be back with us soon - you want to say. He’ll be back. You bite your tongue instead.

He trails his lips over your jaw as he collects you closer to him. There’s not a space between you. Just flame-hot skin and sweat.

You reach around and grasp his cock firmly - pump him once until he grunts into the shell of your ear. He clutches your waist - ruts against the swell of your ass.

“The queen wants to play?” he teases - his grip tightening with each stroke of your palm.

“Not the queen yet,” you quip as he slides his hand down and slips his fingers into your soaked cunt. His thumb is diligent as it circles your clit - the steady, strategized way he forces a gentle climax from your body.

***

You keep your distance as well as you can in public. You’re his and everyone knows it, of course. Still - the world is precarious and his position is so very high on thin stilts. He worries for you and your safety.

“They could hurt you.”

“Who?”

“Anyone? Everyone? You’re precious to me and that could mean - that could mean someone could use you against me.”

You glare at him. “I’d die first.”

He goes rigid.

His visor is pinned to your face - stark and black. His voice is flat and unemotional due to the modulator, but you can still sense the anxiety pulsing beneath it.

“Don’t you dare say that,” he growls. “Don’t even think it.”

You roll your eyes - stepping forward - flush against his cool Beskar. You grip his wrist lightly. There’s no one around to see - no one around to know. “I’m just saying that I wouldn’t let anyone use me to hurt you.”

“I know,” he submits - a sigh lost in it. He drops the front of his helmet to your brow - the pressure comforting. “But I’d never let them close enough to touch you.”

***

“Alright,” he grunts as he lifts his hips - his cock spearing deep and thick into your dripping pussy. His gloved fingers dig into your ass as he spreads your cheeks - shoving you back down onto his length again and again. “This might - this might be the only good thing about being king.”

Your knees ache against the throne’s seat as each brutal snap of Din’s hips lurches you forward. You’re straddling his lap and it’s an overwhelming storm of sensation. Din in all his beskar as he grips you hard and holds you to him. The skirt of your dress is gauzy and light as it flutters over your skin.

His cock is punishing - punching up against your insides - your core and tender parts. You’re slick with sweat as you cling to his pauldrons. You pulse and throb around him - his voice deep and guttural as he groans and praises you: perfect girl, gorgeous thing, that tight wet cunt is squeezing me so hard - taking me so well -

His gloved thumb scrapes across the peak of your sex and it jerks you forward. Your orgasm bursting in the pit of your gut as you cry out against the smooth surface of his helmet.

“That’s it,” he croons. “That’s my sweet girl.”

He angles his pelvis to push up and deeper - his cock unforgivably stiff and seemingly thicker due to your now raw pussy. Your walls are swollen with pleasure - wetter with your climax. Each thrust is met with a liquid squelch - a slap of skin as the noise echoes through the empty throne room.

His pace quickens - grows brutal and he knows you can take it. You can handle it as you have handled everything that’s been thrown at you. It is the both of you now - alone at the top of his kingdom. Few to trust or listen to.

Still - you feel safe like this. You feel safe with Din buried inside you to the hilt - with his armor and his hands on your tits and his dark saber beside his throne.

His hands fold over the hinge of your jaw - his visor glued to your flustered expression - your etched bliss. He’d kiss you if he could. For now, his stare is enough.

#din djarin #pedro pascal

[imaginarydesires]

I know this isn’t everyone’s thing but omggggg ddlg w/ Din is so precious😭💛💛 love this

3 and 45 with mechanic!modern!Mando🥺?

#3: “You’re not going out in that outfit.”

#45: “I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one will notice.”

♡ so, dins boss had organised a beach day for his birthday, inviting all the men from the garage.

♡ din had no plans of going, already scheming an excuse to pull out last minute so he could take the day off with you instead. however, just his luck — the boss came around on a day where you were visiting din at work, perched happily on a stool swinging your feet as you watched him slave away.

♡ his boss greeted you, before making a point to loudly turn to your man. “hey din, what do you say you bring this little one along to the beach trip on saturday? it’ll be fun?” he conversed and the two of you missed the way dins eyes closed in a silent groan, jaw clenching.

♡ “beach trip? what’s this about dinny?” your sweet voice sounded, small finger poking at his side as he pushed himself up from being bent over the bonnet of a car working.

♡ he couldn’t deny you. the look on your face told him you really wanted to go, and who was he to say no? so, he agreed to bring you.

♡ the weekend came around and he was stood perched against his car, waiting for you. his eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline when you bounced out the house, in just a tiny bikini and a beach bag on your shoulder.

♡ “you’re not going out in that outfit. go grab some clothes to wear on top.” he pointed back at the door with a frown making you stop and look down at yourself in confusion.

♡ “but we’re going to the beach?” you pouted.

♡ “yes and that’s where you wear your bikini. what if we go out to eat, hm? you gonna wear your bikini in the restaurant bunny?” he crossed his arms, sending you a stern expression.

♡ you stomped your foot and he tilt his head daringly. “bunny. do you want to go to the beach? i can just leave you at home and daddy will go and have all the fun by himself?” he warned and you huffed before trailing back inside, re emerging five minutes later with a sundress pulled over the top.

♡ “good girl. come on, in the car. i’ll let you pick the music, yeah?” he ruffled your hair as you climbed in happily, seemingly have forgotten your bratty episode already.

♡ you get to the beach finally, joining the group of men din worked with around a barbecue and a speaker, towels and umbrellas spread out as the sun beamed down on everyone, especially warm on that day. you shucked off your dress, and din pulled you in at the waist protectively as everyone converses, eyes ogling at you— even a few jokes about getting to see you without clothes on going over your head as you stare excitedly at the sea.

♡ the day goes on, and din eases up a little bit, seeing you having fun makes him happy and perhaps he had been a little over protective. it wasn’t your fault the men he worked with were creepy, you should be able to wear whatever you want without him dictating you. the two of you ate, chatting with some of the more respectful co workers din had before one wandered over, beer bottle in hand and eyes all over you as you tanned.

♡ “well, i gotta say din— thank you for supplying the eye candy today.” he joked, making din raise an eyebrow.

♡ “excuse me?”

♡ “come on man, i’m just playing around.” he waved off tipsily, but before din had a chance to say more you sat up, approaching.

♡ “can we go in the sea now? you said we could after we ate...” you whined, eyelashes fluttering temptingly.

♡ atleast in the sea no one would be able to ogle at her — he thought, and therefore agreed letting you cheer excitedly before running ahead towards the shore. before he followed, din turned to his co worker with a daring expression. “make a comment like that again, especially infront of her and you’ll regret it. are we clear?”

♡ the mans teasing grin dropped and he nodded, holding his hands up guilty. “my bad, man.”

♡ din tried to shake his irritation as he approached you standing at the shore, not wanting you to catch on. you watched him approach, taking a moment to appreciate his tanned skin, minimal tattoos dotted around here and there, his broad chest and shoulders leading down into his toned arms, sculpted from working away at the garage, connected to his large rough hands which could bring you over the edge again and again. you didn’t even realise you were practically drooling until he was right infront of you, stroking your hair back and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

♡ “you gonna stand there and check me out or are we gonna swim?” he smirked, but before you got the chance to shake yourself out of your trance, he was shrugging, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder easily. “i guess i’ll have to take you myself.” he joked as you squealed, squirming and giggling making him slap your ass playfully.

♡ “din put me down!” you laughed hysterically, knowing it was a mistake as soon as the words left your mouth.

♡ “put you down? okay.” he deadpanned, throwing you off his shoulder into the water. it was still shallow enough for you to stand, but you went under anyway, rising to the surface and spluttering with coughs, slapping at his chest and splashing angrily. “hey, hey, hey — i’m sorry bunny. did it go up your nose?” he chuckled, holding your shoulders back from his tall frame.

♡ “yes.” you hiccuped huffily, and he laughed good-naturedly, scooping you up into his arms so your legs were around his waist and your cheek on his shoulder. he rubbed your back as he walked a little further and you exhaled, relaxing as you felt the sun on your back and his warm body pressed against yours, soothing you. the water swishing around your lower body could have easily sent you into a slumber right there and then, feeling so safe and relaxed in his arms.

♡ “you look so beautiful today, bunny.” he whispered into your hair and you hummed sleepily into his warmth, pressing a lazy kiss to the salty skin of his chest, nuzzling into him.

♡ “thank you, daddy.” you mewled as he continued to rock you, swaying on the spot. he let you have your peace, before he adjusted you— seating you more over the bulge in his swim shorts. by nature, you ground your covered clit into it, accidentally whimpering aloud making him harden.

♡ “oopsie.” you giggled, looking around to see there wasn’t anyone near the two of you for quite a while, having taken up a more private sector of the beach.

♡ “hm? you humpin’ daddy?” he chuckled lazily, pushing his hips harder into you with more rhythm and the smile on your face dropped a little, jaw falling slightly agape as your browns knitted in pleasure.

♡ “a little bit, m’sorry daddy.” you shuddered, clit grinding deliciously against him. usually you’d get in trouble for your public teasing, but you were so loved up right now you wanted nothing more than to be a good girl for din.

♡ “it’s okay. we’re in the ocean.” he looked around before nuzzling his lips to your jaw making you tilt your head for his access. “i could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one will notice.” he whispered making you whimper and nod.

♡ at your given permission, he reached an arm down, pulling your bottoms to stay pushed to the side, before exposing himself beneath the water. you felt his tip rubbing through your folds. “now, are you gonna stay quiet for me pretty girl?”

#din djarin #pedro pascal