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afewfantasies · 3 months

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🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - I - Nightmares

MASTERLIST

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.8K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: "Feyd-Rautha he's psychotic", at least thats what people say. Only, people forgot to add that your father's decided you were to marry. It's been over a decade and Feyd's committed to have the marriage and you with him as he ascends as heir and na-Baron of Geidi Prime.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: abduction, masterbation, voyeurism

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️

“Another one?” Your best friend and fellow Bene Gesserit sister asks as you wake in another cold sweat. Nodding you sit up in bed blinking through the darkness. Leia lights the lamp and a yellow glow shines into both of your faces. The first vision was a decade ago, you had been sleeping under the stars. Pale skin and a bald head. A large brute of a ban killed another. Then there was a boy clearly terrified but shaking with anger too. Black eyes, black teeth, pale skin, a temper. Year after year the visions became angrier, more psychopathic. Handing you materials Leia climbs into bed beside you and you begin your account of the vision.

“Will you tell the reverend mother?” She asks.

“Not yet” you confess ordering your thoughts and placing the coded message on the scroll. Leia watches in silence. This vision was in a black room probably on Geidi Prime. You were asleep on a larger black bed with four posts. You were asleep only to wake up to the black eyes looking down at you. He’d never spoken before but he’d said two words in the strangest grittiest words before. “You’re mine” unlike all the other dreams you felt him in the bed, felt the friction of him coming closer, felt his breath on your skin, the heat coming from his body.

“Are you alright?” Leia asks, handing me a glass of water.

“No” you confess as the two words haunt you. There’ve been all kinds of visions. Brutal murders, sick torture, murderous games with concubines, moments of tyrannical rage and now. Now he’d come for you. Stepping out of the bed you find solace in the coolness of the stone on your feet. Leia follows and you search your things for the herbs that dull your senses. It’s a necessity for sleep and reprieve. Since childhood you’d been careful not to share but as you’ve grown it’s only become clearer and clearer the subject of your dreams. He was tall, strong, angry, well off, psychotic and some would say handsome. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the na-Baron and your original betrothed.

“What is it?” Leia asks.

“He’s coming for me mother must teach me the way” you say against your training with fear and foreboding.

——-

Feyd’s earliest memories were of you, he’d been with his father on your home planet looking into your cradle. Your mother was beautiful and your father kind. You were peaceful and little and he’d held you in his arms. He felt protective and during the commitment ceremony he’d meant every word. As a second son your world was promised to him. Even as a child the differences between your two cultures were glaring to him. The freedom to play and be a child, the kindness of the people and you was something to look forward to. But then Rabanne had murdered his father, and his mother had been indifferent and after a few years it enraged him to no end. In a fit of anger he’d killed her. Even with all of his concubines he’d never felt as peaceful as he had with you in his arms as a child. He’d stopped a genocide in your home world looking for you only to find your mother’s kind eyes fearing for her life. He’d done right by sending her to a peaceful planet instead of taking her life. He learned you had been taken by the Bene Gesserit sisters which meant you could be anywhere. No matter where, he intended to find you.His heart felt like a displaced magnet. Angrier still was the fact that he imagined you living a full life without him. Unbothered, not tortured by the distance as he was, happy and serene. Still he could not disclose his search to anyone in fear for your life. He would have to move carefully to keep his commitment to you.

Another planet, stepping off the ship he’s given respect by the procession awaiting his arrival. His heart races; he knows your close. Sticking earplugs into his ears he applies the fasteners having his guards to the same. No one would use the voice on him today. He moves quickly spilling no blood. He can feel you. He’s getting warmer. He can feel it. Moving quickly he heads down into the belly of the academy moving quickly through the bunkers. His heart pulls as he passes an entryway stopping when he has a familiar sensation. Heart racing violently against his chest he stops Turing to face the steel door, he stops breathing allowing the violence of his heartbeat to reverberate through him like a war drum. Feyd-Rautha signals for his men to wait outside. Using the code scrambler he gets into the door. Hiding you hold your breath ducking down into the thick of your clothes, the sound of the alarms system’s failure are blaring. Fear racks through you as you try to keep calm remembering the Bene Gesserit mantras. Fear is the mind killer. The noise stops and you relax a little waiting for an announcement. Heavy boots hit the floor forcing you to freeze, the steps come closer stopping in front of the closet. Leis screeches and its muffled, trembling you contemplate your next move. The steps come closer and you see the door open, light filters in. You cover your mouth hoping for safety until a black eye meets yours. Familiarity and horror paralyze you. Pale skin and a bald head. The face from your nightmares. Feed-Rautha Harkonnen. Pinching yourself you discover he’s finally free’d himself from your dreams and is now material. He steps in separating the close from around you leaving you crouched against the wall with no cover before sitting on your bed and watching you like he has all the time in the world.. His smirk is unsettling and it takes a moment before you stand feeling silly and all too vulnerable crouched in the deep closet.

“Get dressed” he croaks but you’re shaking like a leaf. Snarling he procures robes from the closet placing one over your head. The trembling intensifies. And he steps back feeling rejected. Leaving he has his men pack up your things and then there’s a barrage of people asking you all sorts of questions from what you like to wear and eat and do and it’s all so much. You’re loaded onto a Harkonnen ship and placed in a room alone. Looking through the window you gaze into space. When a few hours have passed you hear the door open and know it’s him before it closes. He takes a seat in his leather robes. You turn to face the man who moves like a snake. He’s more terrifying in person than in your dreams. His eyes watch your every move drinking you in. Parting his lips and showing his black teeth.

“Are you comfortable?” His words come as a surprise. It’s the thing you’ve least expected. It takes a moment before you nod, trying not to be rude as you look around the room.

“Yes, thank you” you respond.

“We are heading to my home world. I understand you have different needs. The Mentats are sourcing food and clothes if there’s anything you need let them know” he explains sanely.

“Ok” you respond, your hands begin to shake again. You sit on them trying to hide the true fear you feel. House Harkonnen is known for many atrocities.

“I’m sorry” you apologize, terrified and embarrassed.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks.

“A Harkonnen” you confess and his snake-like eyes look displeased.

“Do you know who I am to you?” He asks, forcing you to frown.

“Nothing” you respond only to regret it instantly. Feyd-Rautha takes a breath inflating his chest as he trembles with rage, the paleness of his skin flushing as searing anger bubbles to the forefront. He stands stepping back from you in fear of hurting you.

“My father and yours promised us to each other” his fierce voice cracks as he struggles for control. His terrifying blackened teeth make your eyes shut. He’d done terrible things to people, slight and then slash that's how it went. He was one with his knives and happy to use them. You wait for life to end, your breath to hutch and everything to fade into darkness but it doesn't happen. You hear boots hit the floor three times. Bravery, curiosity? Perhaps it was so quick and painless that this is purgatory? You open your eyes and see Feyd has given you more distance. He’s recalled his anger and he stands stoic, fierce and regal.

“Do you not remember?” He asks because that day had been so monumental to him.

“I had heard heard whispers but …” you trail considering the realities and the odds. Your visions, how you’ve been in hiding. Out of all the things they call him; liar isn’t one of them.You consider the possibilities and it comes to you. Your heart begins to race, you feel stinging in your thumb, like a pinprick. A commitment ceremony was held. The realization is dizzying. “You wish to be married?” You ask and he nods. “To me?” You specify and he nods again. “But I’m nobody from an extinct world. I’m not even a high ranking member of my order” you declare in truth.

“No, you will be na-Baroness Harkonnen” Feyd says, taking a step in your direction. He watches you try to make sense of it. He’d never considered your reaction to being found, he hadn't expected fear or reluctance. He expected your inherent trust in him for you to cling to him for support and comfort as you once did, for you to relish his touch and be most comfortable in his arms.

“na-Baroness” you whisper, looking up at him. Pride fills Feyd at the sound of the words coming from your lips, utter perfection.

“My wife” he rasps and somehow your fear seems unfounded. “I made a vow that I do not intend to break” Feyd says recalling you in his arms as a babe. Your eyes looking up at him without fear in your swaddling helpless, innocent, true and his. A knock at the door causes him to withdraw, he turns standing in front of you. The guard tries looking around to you until Feyd stomps a foot. The man averts his gaze telling Feyd your landing is imminent. Nodding he straightens his gown as he stands tall. Feyd-Rautha holds out a hand. You take it with a deep breath and it seems to amuse him. The heat of him feels familiar. “There will be a crowd, I will send you along in a pod”

“With who?” You ask standing with him.

“My men” he specifies and it's unsatisfactory. Grabbing your head dress you place it on your head and move forward that way. You hold his hand he secures yours warmly walking at your side. You keep up with him and as the door descends you start to tremble. He stands in front of you as you try to overcome your fear. His eyes are reassuring, his strong hands gripping yours in solidarity. There's no weakness in him. He’s all strength, cunning, volatility, rage and psychopathy. His eyes urge you to get a grip but the roar of the welcome party is unnerving. Your fathers reign ended to a crowd. Soldiers came and there was shouting, there was cheering and you had no time to say goodbye before your mother put you into an escape pod with a scroll. You arrived at an outer planet to find out your father had been beheaded. It’s why you hate crowds to this day.

“Not today” he whispers motioning for someone to come get you. The roaring is violent and you follow them into a pod lighting up at the sight of Leia. The two of you embrace each other warmly. In moments you’ve deemed each other okay. The guards watch the two of you closely. Sitting beside her you take a moment to check the beauty mark on the inside of your thumb. It had been there as long as you could remember. You should be terrified by your current predicament, inadequate training, no preparation, playing a part of an unsanctioned plot of sisterhood, at the mercy of perhaps the galaxy’s most unbalanced man. But he’d been nothing but reasonable thus far outside of your abduction.

The cheers from the people are thunderous, they celebrate his return with conviction. Once outside the pods you become acquainted with the sprawling palace halls. Uneasiness fills you and your hand clasps Leia’s for comfort, something your guards eyes settle on. Saying nothing you follow behind him seeing a Mentat among your escort. You’re brought into a grand hall with a stately black stone table. Fresh colourful food is on one side while rare organic meat is on another, the sight of the bloody dishes and iron rich aroma sickens you and Leia.

“I wish to retire, I am exhausted” you declare unable to sit. The silent guard turns to you nodding. He motions for a Mentat to guide you and Leia to your quarters. You're separated from her after a long hug. Your room is far grander than your quarters at the academy. It has a familiar quality of the ones from your home world. The colours are less sterile, the hues less grey. Pulling open the drawers you find lush vibrant fabrics, the sort of robes you remember your mother wearing before the fall of your house. It's a strange thing. Turning you lean against the dresser puzzled by the days events and not nearly as scared as you should be.

Finished and energized by his warm reception Feyd-Rautha heads to the dining hall. He waits against the door when he hears no chatter. Bracing himself for anything he pushes open the doors to find the room empty with the exception of the Mentat and a few guards charged with your care.

“She wished to retire” the Mentat explains.

“Did she eat?” Fey’d asks.

“No” The Mentat responds. Feyd’s mood sours, settling into a rage, if it were anyone else he would have dragged them back out of the room, placed a collar around her neck and forced her to do as he pleased but it wasn't anyone, it was you.

“Set the table in my quarters” he demands heading into his rooms. Undressing he removes his armour until all he has on are slacks and a tunic. Feyd dismisses his staff sitting at the table and pressing a button. A screen emerges from the wall with a wide panoramic view of your quarters on display. He watches you as he eats, watches you let your hair down from the ornate style of the Bene Gesserit sisterhood. He watches the sway of your hips as you go from room to room. He watches you admire the artwork that's been placed there. Feyd-Rautha watches you with pride and admiration, you weren't trying to run as far as he could see. He watches as you return to the sleeping chambers. He feels himself stiffen as he watches you undress, standing he drops the rare meat drawn to the screen with a crooked grin as you make your way to the cleansing chambers. The bounce of your breast, the softness of your skin, everything has him solid as stone. He watches you step in and the misting of water commence, the beads of water glisten on your skin, he zooms in to get a better view of you unguarded. The surprise in your expression as the automatic system goes through the washing ritual.

His thoughts are heinous and depraved, his need for dominance, ownership, acceptance and submission are more than he can take. Releasing his manhood from his plants he begins stroking it roughly. For the first time he doesn’t call his concubines to satisfy him. They would all fail miserably, no one but you would ever again, but this night he would have to do. He needed you so bad he felt desperate. Stroking himself faster he’s practically salivating as the chamber begins drying you, the way your hair blows, the surprise in your eyes, the suppleness of your skin. It takes everything in him to contain his hunger for you, control his passion, his need. He wanted to be inside you marking you, claiming you with his seed. Watching your expressions change as he takes you further and further into the pleasures of passion. You would be his wife soon enough. His hands would never leave your warm flesh. He would keep his manhood sheathed inside you training you well. Coming hard from his own fantasies Fed’s shallow breaths bring him to a stark realization. He would do anything to have you stop trembling at the sight of him, he’d try to be as patient as possible. He needed your submission, your acceptance of him, and he needed it to be real, to want to share his bed. Looking up at the screen he watches you dress in sheer bed robes. Climbing into the large bed he watches you find comfort in it.

“You’re mine” he says to the screen as a promise.

🖤

Thank you so much for reading 🩶 let me know if you enjoyed, want to be added to the taglist or anything else on your mind 🩶 comment, like & reblog for more Feyd. xx

TAGS: @elf-punk @dvmb4ssbiatch @thegabbyh @fanfiction-addict22

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leclercstars · 23 days

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advantage, zweig.

college!art donaldson x college!patrick zweig x reader based on this request

Summary: You've been into Art for years, but after he misses out on your senior awards ceremony, your feelings completely disappear. Seeing you out with a new guy certainly didn't help Art feel any better either. Warnings: mentions of alcohol, drug usage, kissing, mentions of sex.

You had been friends with Art and Tashi since you all were in the 5th grade. Spent hours on the playground together and in each other’s backyards before tennis consumed all three of you. When you all committed to Stanford, the joint going-away party your parents threw was unforgettable for quite a few reasons.

There had never really been any romantic tension between any of you. You and Tashi always had different types, and Art was sort of a self-proclaimed fuckboy so neither of you wanted anything to do with that. At least neither of you ever let it show. You had a sort of evergreen crush on Art, that seemingly persisted through every phase of your lives. From playing spin the bottle in basements to sneaking out for real parties in high school, the silent yearning you had for his touch never fully went away. Even when you had other boyfriends, shamefully, you always caught yourself thinking of Art when you listened to playlists they had made you. So when you walked him out to his car alone after your party, both of you single, Tashi preoccupied with talking to the adults, you knew you couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Bathed in the yellowy light of the street lamp, you leaned up against his car, wearing a low-cut white mini dress that did a good job of showing off your assets. Exactly what you wanted in this moment. It was 10pm, and the summer breeze had picked up, making your nipples pique through the thin fabric of the little dress. Art slowly stepped towards you, saying nothing, the lighting making his features dark, shadowy, lustful. His hands found the curve of your waist and pinned you against the chrome car door, tongue snaking its way down your throat with a passion that you had never experienced before. You tangled your hands in his hair, never wanting to let go of him or this moment. You kissed for what felt like hours, but as soon as he pulled away you already missed the taste of his lips against yours. He rested his forehead on yours, eyes closed, thumb rubbing your cheek. And then he got in the car and drove off.

And that was it. You never spoke of that moment again. You never told Tashi. That was it. And it was eating away at you. Your insides were constantly being mauled by a hunger for the feeling of his hands on you again. It was like a drug. A moment that had happened two years ago, and you constantly wanted another hit of that feeling. You all stayed friends, and you started to wonder if Art even remembered that it happened. It became harder and harder with each passing day to just act like things were the same, even when you had boyfriends of your own. You felt awkward bringing them around Art, knowing the way you felt. You still texted him all the time, hoping every notification was one from him. He had never been able to tie down a serious girlfriend, but spent quite a bit of time going on dates, which Tashi thought was trashy. “You can’t just keep leading girls on!” she would constantly groan. Boy, if only she knew. You kept yourself distracted from your own emotions by throwing yourself into school work, knowing that would at least pay off eventually. You excitedly texted Tashi and Art when you learned you were earning a distinguished senior award, and both of them promised to come to the ceremony. Tashi showed up 10 minutes early, always eager and overly punctual. 5 minutes passed, then 10, then 20. No sign of Art. He wasn’t responding to either of your texts, and Tashi started rubbing your back, knowing how excited you were about him being there. You had all done everything together for so long, and Art was missing out on the most important moment of your college career. How could he? This man you had loved for so long suddenly exposing his true colors sent a shock throughout your entire body. It was like waking up from a deep sleep, your feelings for Art slowly dissipating into the air around you. You heard a knock on your apartment door late that night. It was Art, standing there with flowers, wearing his sweat-stained Stanford tennis t-shirt.

“I am so sorry.” “I don’t care Art,” you snapped, starting to close the door when he put his hand out to stop you, forcing himself inside. “Get out of my house,” each word dripping like venom off your tongue. “At least let me apologize, I overslept.” “You don’t get to just oversleep an important moment in my life and then expect me to act like it never happened,” you were choking back tears, not wanting to appear vulnerable in front of the man who hurt you so badly. “You’re gonna throw 10 years away for this? For one moment?” Art’s emotion was visceral, slicing through the thick tension hanging between the two of you. “I loved you Art,” you said matter of factly. “But this isn’t the only time you’ve “overslept” and no one who is wasting my time is worth any of mine.” He stood there, mouth agape. Tears welling up in the bottom of his eyes. He looked like a sad puppy, which was making it harder and harder for you to remain stone faced.

“What?” he said softly, voice quivering. “Get out, Art.” you choked. You couldn’t do this right now, just wanting to push him out of your apartment and out of your life. He threw the flowers on the table and left, slamming the door behind him. The wilted flowers still sat there two weeks later when you were bringing Patrick through the door, drunkenly stumbling with him to your bedroom. Tashi had set the two of you up after you spent hours crying to her about Art. “You can’t spend the rest of your life buried in a pint of ice cream,” she said. Obviously, it went well, as you watched him slip the condom out of his wallet before you shut your bedroom door.

Things were far from serious between you and Patrick. You couldn’t stand the thought of experiencing real emotion for anyone at the moment. Patrick was fun, he was sexy. He loved going out and he was always happy to provide you with drunk cigs. Patrick showed up right at the perfect moment on Friday night. You were already drunk and all that tequila had gone straight to your clit. It was like he had a magnetic field around him, pulling you closer and closer with each passing minute. You met on the dance floor, your ass finding his crotch pretty easily as he pulled you in, the bumping techno song intoxicating you even more on him.

“Oh hey that guy over there sits next to me in class!” Patrick waved and grinned before getting back to feeling you up. It was Art. Standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching you bump and grind with a guy who he thought was a random classmate. Your phone pinged and you sneakily pulled it out to read the text. It was from Art.

“I’m pretty sure he does coke.” You rolled your eyes and glared at him.

“I don’t really care Art.”

“I’d be a much better dance partner.” he shot back

Your stomach fluttered a bit at that, but you suppressed it. Remembering why you had distanced yourself from Art in the first place. “Let’s get out of here” you whispered to Patrick.

The two of you waded through the crowd, hand-in-hand, and you were sure to choose a path that led you directly by Art. You walked past without glancing at him. Once you reached the door, you saw him standing there still, watching, mouth drawn in a tight line, brows furrowed.

You had never felt so satisfied.

dividers by @.cafekitsune

tags: @fangirlinc @nuhteyam

#challengers #challengers movie #challengers fic #art donaldson x patrick zweig x reader #challengers throuple #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x art donaldson #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig x reader #challengers x reader

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sunnitheapollokid · 5 days

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🦕💒 ┊ ༉‧₊˚✧ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!

↳ hoo boys x reader ; married life headcanons!

characters in this thread : percy jackson, leo valdez, jason grace, frank zhang. ೃ࿔₊•

☀️ sunni’s notes : HEEEEYYY!! GUUUUYSS!! okay, so with my literal requests piling on top w/ one another i dunno why i’m doing this BUT IVE BEEN HAVING THIS HEADCANONS IDEA FOR FAR TOO LONG i need it neow. and i shall be providing <3 so! how would it be to be married to one of the hoo boys? (can yall tell who my actual hubby is) happy reading!! luv ya!! 💝💝

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 ੈ♡˳

୨୧ percy jackson bf material? WHAT ABOUT HUSBAND MATERIAL?

୨୧ actually the clingiest hubby ever.

୨୧ it’s probably because of the quests he’s had to endure and go through his whole teenage life..

୨୧ but whenever he’s around, he can’t keep his hands to himself.

୨୧ his hands are either on your waist, interwined with yours, on your arm.

୨୧ “baby, i need to turn the blender on.”

୨୧ “you can still hold my hand while you do that.”

୨୧ probably scared he’ll lose you, now that he has you.

୨୧ the way percy proposed was very intimate and so sweet.

୨୧ you two were babysitting estelle, percy watching you play with her hair and style it.

୨୧ and when you two left the jackson apartment,

୨୧ “i wanna marry you, (name).”

୨୧ ALSO THE WEDDING WAS AMAZING AND SOOO BEAUTIFUL??

୨୧ of course he was crying.

୨୧ this man was bawling.

୨୧ HE WAS CRYING OCEANS.

୨୧ (har har get it!!)

୨୧ he kept telling you how beautiful you looked <3

୨୧ AND HOW LUCKY HE WAS?!? JSBSHBSBS maybe i’ll go insane.

୨୧ will be pretty busy with work / school, but he’ll manage to give you his time through beach trips and dinner dates.

୨୧ you two were actually the first to get married in the friend group.

୨୧ or actually— all of camp.

୨୧ “give it up for mr. and mrs. jackson!”

୨୧ he’ll make you something special in the morning and pack you something in your lunch bag for work.

୨୧ it’s a very much, lovely dovey married life!

୨୧ like this man,, CANTTT get enough of you.

୨୧ MORNINGS ARE THE BEEEST!!

୨୧ besides the baked goods, he always likes to pepper you with kisses and tight hugs.

୨୧ “percy! tight!”

୨୧ “just one more second.”

୨୧ “okay i lied. five more seconds.”

୨୧ loves head rubs,

୨୧ PLEASE GIVE THIS MAN HEAD RUBS.

୨୧ will not waste a second to go and take care of you on shark week or if you’re sick.

୨୧ long drives are the best with him!

୨୧ he’ll never make you drive, and he definitely does that lil stunt over the hood just to open your door.

୨୧ there were moments where a thought of—

୨୧ “he’d be an amazing dad.”

୨୧ would cross your mind.

୨୧ but for now, all that mattered, was your clingy son of poseidon husband and his need for head rubs.

𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐳 ੈ♡˳

୨୧ IF THERE IS HUSBAND MATERIAL,, there is LEO VALDEZ!!

୨୧ a kissing machine.

୨୧ he was already a crazy pda guy before the marriage,

୨୧ but HE WAS WHIPPED FOR YOU??

୨୧ stealing kisses left ‘nd right like a hermes kid.

୨୧ “okay, gotta go—“

୨୧ smooch!

୨୧ “okay bye le—“

୨୧ smooch!

୨୧ “LEO!—“

୨୧ smooch!

୨୧ makes you so many cute gifts,,

୨୧ mechanical flowers, even just fixing your car for you!!

୨୧ love languages words of affirmation and acts of service go crazy?!?

୨୧ the way leo proposed was very him.

୨୧ but it was so sudden and funny, it was hard not to talk about it and just laugh.

୨୧ you guys went out to the amusement park for leo’s birthday,

୨୧ and he insisted, on going on the rollercoaster.

୨୧ and before the big drop, your hand gripping his,

୨୧ “(NAME) WILL YOU MARRY ME?!?”

୨୧ “WHA— AHHHH!”

୨୧ the day of your wedding, i’m just gonna put this here…

୨୧ THIS!! READ ZURI’S FIC!! THIS IS EXACTLY HOW IT WENT!!

୨୧ he still gasped during the ceremony as if he hadn’t seen you already.

୨୧ ALSO. this man is actually ‘dancing infront of the refrigerator light’ but instead of the refrigerator light—

୨୧ it’s his work space’s light lamp.

୨୧ he’s seen you naked multiple times right?

୨୧ it’s just the married life way!

୨୧ BUT.

୨୧ whenever you walk out of the bathroom to hurry and grab something, he’s on the bed,

୨୧ he darts his eyes towards you from the tv screen and he whistles and goes,

୨୧ “HOT MAMA IS THAT MY WIFE?”

୨୧ you throw sock piles at him.

୨୧ your house that the two of you share is always echoing with music.

୨୧ it could be the spanish music he grew up with, the music you might’ve grown up with, maybe new songs you both truly love.

୨୧ dates among the two of you are usually at home.

୨୧ sometimes just like game nights of movie nights, and you guys cuddle together like any normal night.

୨୧ you two are very competitive in uno.

୨୧ oh! and smash bros <3

୨୧ but sometimes, something chill like stardew valley or animal crossing keeps you both awake late on a saturday night.

୨୧ “hi mrs. valdez, chicken picotta tonight or pep pizza?”

୨୧ amazing fucking chef.

୨୧ I WILL NEVER SHUT UP HOW MUCH OF A COOK THIS GUY IS!!

୨୧ he cooks, and cleans, only for you, obviously.

୨୧ “hey! kiss the chef, (nickname)! look at the apron!”

୨୧ just two married demi-gods, one son of hephaestus that adores his smoking hot wife.

𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 ੈ♡˳

୨୧ the calmest lil hubby ever.

୨୧ he will always find a way to cheer you up, or make you feel better if you ever feel really bad.

୨୧ when you’re prone to anxiety / panic attacks, he is the perfect person to call for.

୨୧ ALSO AN AMAZING SLEEPING BUDDY??

୨୧ he loves to wrap his arms around your waist and nuzzle his nose in your shoulder while you two nap.

୨୧ but! he’s a sleeping-in kinda guy.

୨୧ a GREAT baker.

୨୧ he’ll make you anything you want,

୨୧ cinnamon rolls? done.

୨୧ chocolate muffins? already making ‘em.

୨୧ macarons? you got it.

୨୧ “honey, i’m really craving cupcakes right now.”

୨୧ “got it. i need payment though.”

୨୧ he’d never asked for payment, so you raise a brow.

୨୧ he then leans over his cheek to you, and you giggle.

୨୧ the way he proposed was very creative, and very romantic.

୨୧ it was during a library date,

୨୧ BECAUSE I KNOW FOR A FACT THAT ALL JASON GRACE GIRLIES ARE READERS!!

୨୧ he peeked at the book you were reading, a giggle escaping his lips.

୨୧ it was a wedding scene, and you were bawling.

୨୧ “hey, hey,” he wiped your tears.

୨୧ “what will make you feel better? maybe we should recreate it?” and he pulled the ring out of his pocket.

୨୧ it was a beautiful night for the two of you.

୨୧ the wedding was more private, with only your friends and a few family.

୨୧ his wardrobe consists of lots of button ups.

୨୧ he likes to style you too, you can’t deny, he’s got really nice style.

୨୧ when he works at home, he likes to put you on his lap while he does.

୨୧ “(name), love, try this top with that white skirt i got you.”

୨୧ KRAAAHHH IM KICKING MY FEET

୨୧ there was also this tiktok i saw, of a woman cutting her husband’s hair.

୨୧ AND THE HAND PLACEMENT?!? ITS SO JASON GRACE I AM DECEASED.

୨୧ I CANT FIND IT BUT—

୨୧ when you cut his hair, since, the barber is very expensy!

୨୧ he’ll pull you closer with his hands laced around your hips.

୨୧ if you’re a reader, (which you probably are dont play with me)

୨୧ he will heavily support that hobby of yours.

୨୧ he’ll spoil you like crazy with books.

୨୧ he’ll read to you before bed sometimes, and it’s the most comforting thing ever.

୨୧ or sometimes he’ll just lay his head on your chest and read along with you.

୨୧ well you know! just a son of jupiter and his book-reading, sweet of a wife.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐳𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠 ੈ♡˳

୨୧ SUUUCH HUSBAND MATERIAL.

୨୧ frank zhang is the type to have your photo in his wallet.

୨୧ he will spoil you ROTTEN with your food cravings.

୨୧ and he’s the best person to have on shark week.

୨୧ he will not hesitate to buy his wife her cravings, her needs, and give her all the bear hugs she wants.

୨୧ likes to watch the sunset on your apartment’s balcony with you,

୨୧ his coffee in his hand (with tons of cream), and his other hand on yours.

୨୧ he really couldn’t ask for anything better.

୨୧ the way frank proposed was pretty extravagant, but so romantic and sweet.

୨୧ he asked you to a candlelight dinner date.

୨୧ it was very beautiful, and after finishing up, he popped the question.

୨୧ only to find out everyone in that resturant were your friends disguised.

୨୧ likes to go on your salon days with you!!

୨୧ he’ll get a pedicure with you, and he’ll admire the new nails you got.

୨୧ of course he’ll pay.

୨୧ frank was mostly quiet and collected at home, so stay at home dates were a major part of the relationship.

୨୧ he’d let the world burn for you?

୨୧ 100%.

୨୧ your guys’ apartment is so cozy, all your friends like to crash and just chill out there.

୨୧ (IM SORRY I DONT KNOW WHAT ELSE TO WRITE FOR MY BOY I HAVENT GOTTEN TO HIM YET)

୨୧ and there they are!! the son of mars, and his beautiful collected wife.

‧₊˚✩彡. tags! @lavisenri @love-xoxojules @starrynightmovietheatre @canonfeminine @maybxlle @oceanlover3 @lara20aral @chocolatemilkfan @urmomabby @kozumesphone @puffoz @taytaylvr

#— sunni hyperfixates on demi gods ( ੭ ･ᴗ･ )੭ #hoo boys x reader #leo valdez x reader headcanons #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez pjo #jason grace x reader headcanons #jason grace x reader #jason grace #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus #pjoverse #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x reader headcanons #percy jackson #frank zhang x reader #frank zhang x reader headcanons #frank zhang

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murdrdocs · 1 year

Text

saber tooth | f. odair

description. just two days out from the Games, your mentor and best friend, finnick odair, comes to your room late at night in a mutual fit of insomnia to fulfill your (potentially) dying wish

includes. SMUT 16+, fem!reader, oral f!receiving, fingering, loss of virginity sans p in v, canon-complicit angst, mentions of finnick’s trafficking, best friends to lovers, reader’s a tribute, finnick’s her mentor, extremely brief misunderstandings, soft dom finnick, pleasure dom finnick, brief mention of drug use (one line), finnick and annie were never together but he mentored her, he rlly cares abt r :((, giggly sex (sometimes), throw away line abt lack of body hair but i rlly like body hair

a/n: whaddup whaddup! this started as a blurb but it um ,,, clearly expanded. there’s no p in v simply bc im so tired rn however i would like to continue this in the future if my mind would allow it :) also the title has nothing to do with the fic i was just listening to easily by chuck inglish

word count: 4k+

part 2

A week of anticipation, festivities, and celebration for the Capitol, was a week of anxiety, tears muffled into pillows, and wishing to be somewhere else for you.

The week leading up to the 72nd Hunger Games.

The Reaping, Opening Ceremony, and the three days of training that followed were mostly a blur. Your body picked up on the techniques you would need to survive, and with the help of Finnick, you’d managed to commit them to memory. You remembered the way you’d been trained to sit and talk and the jokes you should slip into conversation with Caesar tomorrow night.

All of their training was working, and Finnick had told you that you had a high chance of making it out of that area. A high chance. Nothing was guaranteed at this point in your life. Which is why you needed to do a few final things.

The door to your bedroom slides open. You lift your head from the pillow and squint. There’s a little light coming from the hallway, and it backlit the figure. But even without it, you would know who was coming to see you. The only person who’d been coming to see you since the arrival at the Tribute Center.

“Hey, Finn,” you mumble, resting your head back against the pillow that’s always cool.

Finnick takes a few steps into your room, stopping to flick a switch that only turns on the lamps beside your bed, and the two ambient ones in the corners.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is raspy, as if he’s tired, but not to the point of already greeting sleep. It’s a little later than it should be, you were recommended to have gone to sleep two hours ago but you couldn’t. There was too much going on in your head, too many unsaid words and undone actions. You couldn’t sleep with your consciousness this awake.

Finnick voices the matter. “You can’t sleep, can you?”

You shake your head, deciding to sit up a little, your bare lower half still secure underneath the thick comforter. Your room was always cold, and the silk sheets mirrored the temperature. Physically, you were the most comfortable you’d ever been, wearing the softest cotton undergarments, and a silk button up nightshirt, your toes warm beneath fuzzy socks. But the weight on your mind was the complete opposite.

With the way Finnick looks at your face, he can tell just how exhausted you are.

“Want something to help with that?” He asks as he sits at the edge of the bed, close but entirely too far from you. “A drink? Pills? The Capitol has it all, you know.” The way he says it is the opposite of marveling, the words laced with annoyance and frustration. His tone prompts a small smile from you.

“‘M okay. I trust my body to do what it’s supposed to.” Finnick’s head is turned down, but you see the way the corner of his lip curls up.

He lifts his head to fully smile at you, one of sympathy and pity and sadness. His hand reaches out and his palm rests over the outline of your shin. Far too many layers are between the bare skin on both of you, but you don’t say so. You just give Finnick an equally sad smile, expressing your dismay for your situation, and you begin to pick at your nails in your lap.

“What’re you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Finnick shakes his head. “No such luck for me either.” He shrugs as if he’s used to it and you remember that he’s been in this position too. Just a few years ago, a young boy, your best friend, was sitting in this bed, with similar thoughts weighing on his mind. And now his best friend was in that position.

You push the sheets back, exposing the beginnings of the skin on your thigh, and you pat the space beside you. “C’mon,” you encourage, not ceasing your patting until Finnick scoffs and slides his slippers off, crawling up to slip under the covers with you.

The bed is larger than you’d ever seen, something your escort called a ‘bed fit for a king’, but Finnick chooses to sit right beside you, the heat of his body warming yours.

“We could watch something. What plays on the television in the Capitol?” Finnick’s sitting so close to you that you can feel him shrug. Whenever you reach over to the bedside table, pulling the drawer open to grab the remote, you come back to sit even closer to him, where your arms are pressed flush against each other.

“Mostly shows about the lives of celebrities here.”

You gasp, turning to face him. “Is that rumor about you appearing on some reality show true?” Finnick’s ears redden and that’s enough confirmation that you need. Your head throws back with a hearty laugh, and you click on the TV with hopes of finding an episode.

Finnick sits quietly beside you as you click through the channels, reading the titles and watching maybe a second or two of content before you decide to try the next thing. When you’ve gone through most channels, you land on the one that will play the Games.

He says your name, as a warning perhaps, but you click it anyway, seeing that they’re talking about you.

“Now the odds of this one making it out are pretty high. She’s pretty, smart, and trained by the Finnick Odair,” a clip of you and Finnick appears, one that must’ve been taken backstage during the Opening Ceremony. He’s standing close to you, crouched down just enough to meet your eye level. You’re obviously nervous, and he’s obviously attempting to soothe those nerves, cracking jokes with a hand held to your heart, both of yours over it. “The Capitol’s Prince.” The announcer pronounces those words clearly, enunciated, making sure every late night viewer understands Finnick’s alternate title.

Clips of Finnick throughout the years show and you grow silent, watching how he commands a room better than you ever could.

“If she were to make it out, I’m sure she could become the Capitol’s Princess, right?” The announcer smiles just as the remote is snatched from your hands and the TV is clicked off, ridding the bedroom of the colorful hues and leaving you and Finnick with the yellow light from your lamps.

“Why did you–?” Finnick’s interrupting. He’s thrown the remote to the side of him and he’s turned to face you.

“I want you to make it out of the Games, I really do.” You nod, watching the way his chest rises and falls with breaths that fill the hesitant silence. “But, I don’t want what happened to me to happen to you.”

“What do you mean? You don’t want me to be loved and adored by the Capitol?” You say it a tad bit sarcastically, but your tone dulls down when you notice how serious his face is.

He shakes his head. “No, I really don't.” You scoff, beginning to get upset over the idea that a night that was turning peaceful, began to turn on its head. “Because everything comes with a price here,” he says your name, making sure you’re listening. “The ‘love’ the Capitol has for me is ingenuine, they love me like I’m an object. Not a person with thoughts and feelings.”

“Finnick, I don’t think I understand.” But you do, you really do.

He tells you as much, that same sad smile from earlier on his lips.

Before you can speak, he does. “Look, I came in here to ask you what you want.”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“Before the Tributes I mentor get sent off, I like to fulfill their wish. In case they don’t…”

“In case they don’t make it back.” He nods. “So a dying wish?” Another nod.

“So, what d’you want?”

You know what you want. You’ve wanted it since you were a teenager, watching Finnick, the most loved victor, leave for the Capitol and come back weeks later. Since you watched him train Annie Cresta and everyone, including yourself, believed there to have been something between them. Since he walked into your room just 20 minutes ago.

“What I want, I don’t think I can ask you for.” You speak low, your voice a whisper. Your head rests on the headboard behind you, turned to face Finnicks.

He shakes his head gently. “I have connections. I can guarantee almost anything.”

“No, Finn.” You don’t think you can ask him for this. Especially with what he’s essentially just told you. It would be selfish, it would be insincere, it would ruin the friendship you have between you two.

“I can’t.”

His head’s already facing yours, and he brings one of his hands up to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing the skin.

“Yes, you can.”

“No, Finn, I can’t.” Your eyes sting, as does your nose, and you know there’s no use in pretending the tears aren’t there. He’s seen them, he’s acknowledged them by swiping his thumb under your eye, catching the first drop.

“I would do anything for you. Just say the word.”

You search his eyes, his face, the tip of his ears, his Adam’s Apple. You’re looking for his tell. But it’s not there. It’s just Finnick. Your Finnick. And he wants the best for you.

You’re the most vulnerable you’ve ever been at this moment; sitting in a bed in the Tribute Center, just two days out from the Hunger Games, a period of uncertainty that is life or death; your best friend, and unrequited crush, as your mentor, having to hold your pieces together at least until the end of this.

There’s no point in hiding anything. You know you need to lay it all out. So you do.

“Even take my virginity?”

The air is still. Stiff. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t breathe. His thumb halts. He doesn’t blink.

You sit there, watching him, holding in the sob that threatens to wrack across your body.

“Forget it. I’m sor–”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

There’s a moment where you don’t act. A moment where disbelief trickles down your body like the tears from your eyes do on your face.

“Finn…”

“I would do anything for you. I have wanted you since we were young, but I thought…”

“Doesn’t matter what you thought then. Not anymore. We go from here now.”

And there is the nagging possibility that all of this could be because of your potential fate. Maybe he’s humoring you, or letting you in on that final step of human intimacy before your life ends. You prefer not to think about it. Especially whenever Finnick’s moving closer to you and you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your lips are almost touching, the tanned skin of his face is right in front of you, the same goes for the pink of his lips. He’s almost there, then he says, “Are you sure?”

“‘M sure.” And Finnick is kissing you. Finnick Odair is finally kissing you.

He kisses you softly, sweetly, with precision and a gentle nature. As if he’s afraid that he’ll do something wrong and hurt you.

You kiss him back in a similar fashion, just with added timidness that Finnick doesn’t possess.

Your hands raise slowly, in choppy motions that are both due to your uncertainty, and the distraction of finally having the man of your dreams kiss you like you’re made of porcelain. But you manage to get your hands to Finnicks torso, palms pressed flat against his thin shirt so that you can feel the abs along his torso.

You’ve felt them before, in time of play fighting, or whenever he would have you replicate his breathing or form. But touching along his torso in this circumstance is different. Now, your touch ignites a fire within you. It makes Finnick grip the back of your neck and pull you closer with one hand, the other sliding the covers away and hooking his hand at the back of your thigh, pulling your left leg over your right.

Your hands slide down to the hem of his shirt, slowly starting to slide it up until he gets the hint and pulls away just enough for you to slide the shirt between you two, up and over his head. Then he’s back on you.

When you sigh blissfully into his mouth, he starts to kiss you like he’s desperate to have you close. Like he wants to engulf your entire being until you’re intertwined.

The best you can do is physically move closer to him, letting the hand on the back of your thigh guide you to straddling his lap.

It’s then that Finnick pulls away from you. Your hands trail up to cup his cheeks, moving back to play with the golden blonde locks that seemed to never be out of place.

He stares up at you, sea-green eyes pulling you even further into a state of enchantment. Whenever he tilts his head, eyes stuck on you, and kisses into your palm, you melt. His hand lifts to gently circle around your wrist, nimble fingers rubbing little circles into the skin.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Finnick speaks. “I need you to remember that even if I’m doing the work, you set the pace. You tell me what you like and don’t like. You tell me when to go and when to stop. Okay?”

“Okay.”

And then you’re back at it. His hands circle around to your lower back, pushing into the curvature to bring your chest closer to him. He uses the position to his advantage, dipping his head to kiss at the exposed bits of your skin; your neck, collarbone, the starts of your cleavage. He quickly becomes frustrated with the lack of skin, and you bite back a smile as you gently nudge his head back and begin to undo the buttons.

He watches you in a trance-like state with a look that seems akin to awe. You can’t help but tease him just a bit, shifting in your position atop his crotch and slowing your work on the buttons.

Finnick groans and his hands leave your lower back to push your own hands away, deciding to undo your buttons himself, grumbling something under his breath about you being a tease.

When you giggle above him, Finnick has you pushed onto your back in what seems like the blink of an eye. Really, it did happen quick, but your eyes were already closed from giggling so hard, so reopening them to Finnick above you, your shirt opened and your barely confined tits in Finnick’s eyeline, is disorienting.

“Jesus, look at you,” Finnick mumbles. And he is. His eyes are hungirly skirting over your figure, taking it all in. From your eyes, to the bra that you wear, all the way to the cotton panties that hug your hips.

His gaze stops at your lower half for a while, watching your stomach rise and fall with your breaths and the way there’s definitely a little wet patch on your panties.

“What am I gonna do with you?” He mumbles under his breath. The question is rhetorical, and meant only for him. But, in a fit of nerves, you answer anyway, needing to do something other than lay there.

“I don’t know, Finn, there’s a lot that you can do. You can go down on me, give me your fingers, your cock.”

His eyes lift to yours, shock evident within them. “Did you just say the word ‘cock’?” He laughs between the words, that perfectly pearly white smile greeting you.

“Yeah,” you say, laughing through the syllables too.

Finnick shakes his head with that smile still present.

He swears under his breath but then his fingers are playing with the hem of your panties and you’re back under, focused on what he could possibly plan to do next. He hums, eyes on you, eyebrows raised.

It takes you a second to realize what his intentions were, but you do soon enough. “Keep going. Please.”

The tips of his fingers reach below the band of your panties. He begins to pull them down, just until your hip bones and the start of your mound becomes visible. At first, you disgraced the Capitols groomers' work of ridding your entire body of hair, but you can’t help but feel a little grateful that they did. You knew that Finnick wouldn’t care either way.

You lift your hips, letting Finnick pull your panties over the curve of your ass. When they sit at the halfway point of your thighs, he lowers his head and presses his lips to the area right above the waistband. And he continues to do so, sliding your underwear down and kissing through the journey.

The last kiss he gives you is on the arch of your foot, right before he guides the garment over the remaining part of your body, throwing them off to the side of the bed.

Finnick sits back on his heels then, just looking at you, looking at your legs which are just almost crossed at the knee, your ankles together and one knee raised slightly above the other. You’re shielding the most vulnerable part of you, hiding it almost. But when his green eyes meet your center, briefly meeting your eyes, you slowly part your legs, allowing him to see you in all of your glory.

Finnick sucks in a sharp breath of air, his chest rising with it. He doesn’t let it out until your legs are completely opened and bent at the knee, inviting him in. You sit halfway up on your elbows, watching him, waiting for him.

It’s not long until he makes a move, just a few tense moments and then Finnick’s kicked into action.

His calloused hands on your knees, sliding around to the back of your thighs as he lays on his stomach, directly facing your cunt.

When he speaks, you can feel his breath on you. “I wanna taste you, sweetheart. Just for a bit. Is that alright?”

His eyes are visible over your mound, but they’re not focused on you just this once. They’re focused on your cunt, scanning it, taking it all in almost as if he’s committing this moment to his very strong memory.

You’re a little starstruck, reckoning with the notion that Finnick wants to give you head. Therefore, you sit there in stunned silence, attempting to find the words to deliver your over enthusiastic agreement. But Finnick takes your silence negatively.

“You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to, honey. Just wanna make you feel good. That’s what I’m here for.” And there are those eyes again. They’re pleading, but also making you feel comfortable, reminding you that you’re in charge.

You smile gently, nodding. “Yes.”

And the first lick has your head spinning. His tongue is warm, and wet, and he licks a long stripe from your leaking entrance to your clit. It’s slow, and methodical. He licks your juices up, but they’re coming back tenfold by the time he’s pressed a kiss to your clit.

A surprised moan pushes up your throat. The feeling has your hips pushing into his face on their own accord, your elbows slipping out from under you and your head throwing back onto the mattress.

Finnick disconnects from you for just a second to let out a pleased groan, but the absence is too much for you already. You’re wiggling your hips, searching for him.

Finnick laughs and the sound has heat rising through you. “‘M still here. Not leaving this pussy anytime soon.”

He lives up to his promise immediately. His mouth’s back on you, licking and sucking on your most sensitive parts.

It’s now that you remember how experienced Finnick is. How knowledgeable he is about the general spots of someone’s body. And he’s able to apply that knowledge to your body, with the help of your zealous responses.

You’re moaning, your back arching, your hands gripping the sheets. Your knees bend more, your legs spread more, it’s all more and more and more. You want more from Finnick. You need more.

You’re communicating that fact when you finally have enough courage to fist a hand into Finnick’s hair, and it’s like he’s rewarding you when he slyly begins to probe a finger at your tight entrance.

You’re clenched, far from relaxed, but with a deep breath, you’re loose enough for him to slide in to the first knuckle, then the second, then all the way, his single digit comfortable within your walls.

Finnick fucks you with his finger, aiding the penetration with his pretty pink lips around your pink nub. He sucks, the pressure making your head spin, your consciousness in the clouds to the point where you don’t notice another of Finnick’s deft fingers teasing your entrance.

“Another?” he asks, voice barely able to be heard due to his proximity to your cunt.

“Uh-huh,” is all the affirmation you can give.

It’s a little tight and uncomfortable at first, but once his digits are evened out and curling in you, and his tongue is lapping up your juices like it’s water, you’re riding so high in a blissed out state that discomfort is the last thing on your mind.

Your approaching orgasm becomes known to you quicker than you can anticipate. It’s like all of a sudden there’s tension in your lower abdomen, begging for your attention, begging to be released.

“Finnick, Finn,” he hums, not stopping any of his ministrations. “‘M so close. Almost there.”

You hadn’t thought it to be possible but Finnick gives you more. His fingers fuck you faster and harder, his cheeks hollow as he alternates between sucking along your nerves and stroking his tongue is the areas that you’re most sensitive.

It feels so fucking good, a pleasure you’d never experienced in your life. You couldn’t imagine being in this position with anyone other than your best friend, someone you trusted with your entire being. It’s as if he knows your body better than you do, because sooner than you would’ve liked, your back is arching and your legs are lifting off the bed and your nails are digging into Finnick’s scalp, all signs that your orgasm is right there and you cum with a loud cry that melts into breathy moans.

Finnick pulls his fingers out of your cunt but his mouth stays on you, placing gentle kisses and kitten licks along the slicked area. When your legs have lowered and your breath has evened out, he pulls his head away from you, a wince leaving his lips.

“Darling,” he starts, receiving an affirmative hum in response. “You’re pulling my hair out.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Your hand lets go of his hair, your body burning with embarrassment. But Finnick’s bright laugh and content smile soothes you.

“‘S okay,” he mumbles as he leans up and presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. Your lips mold to his like they were created for each other, and the kiss is slow, methodical, loving.

You whine when he pulls away, but his hands have already hooked under your thighs and he’s pulling you with him as he starts to sit back.

You end up in the position you started in, sitting on Finnick’s lap, your hands on his shoulders.

Under you, you can feel his bulge confined in his pants. You shift a little over it, your throat beating with your heart rate due to the anticipation.

Finnick’s eyes close softly and his head throws back. Your hand rises to push back the bangs of his hair which lay on his forehead, in favor of resting your skin against his.

“Sweetheart,” he groans. “We …. We can’t.”

Your heart drops.

“Huh?”

“I wanna feel you, sweetheart, I swear.” His eyes open to stare at yours and you notice the sincerity in them. It doesn’t do much to lift your spirits, though. “But we can’t. Not yet.”

Your eyebrows furrow, waiting for further explanation. It comes from him quickly.

“I need you in your right mind in the Games. You need to be focused, and only thinking about survival. Nothing else.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

He chuckles. “Maybe. But we have to play it safe.” A beat. “You trust me, right?”

And you do. Wholeheartedly.

#finnicksworld!#celeste writes thg #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #the hunger games smut #finnick odair x you #finnick odair #the hunger games

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fire-lizard-ro · 5 months

Note

Ohoho Sunday thoughts you say? >:D this is loosely based on the prior ask? But I was just thinking how Sunday would probably try (keyword try) to remain pure and abstain from s*x before marriage, yknow? But when he finally does have you as his own, all bets are off. Angel boi is horny and wants you :( in his mind: it’s pure and simple yet beautiful lovemaking between two souls :( and in my love deprived ass I would melt because I know he’d be big on giving and receiving praise fjgjgjgj even would enjoy the idea of extending the Family if you were down for it (whether or not you could, he enjoys the idea of it) ((also he likes control so))

And don’t get me staarttteddd on his sweet aftercare and pillow talk D: oml you’d quite literally be on cloud nine!! He is too tho :) and he cannot help himself from just being so sweet and genuine orz

ohhHHHHH- Y e s I like this quite a bit. Need this to take a break from the angst I’ve been cookin up with a certain someone (you know who you are OTL).

Fair warning y’all are gonna end up seeing me write a fic about him that is blatantly blasphemous with religious themes (pretends like I’m not already working on one like that with Argenti).

Anyways- Back to this.

Thank you so much for the ask~ I love Sunday so much. <333333

CW: possessive behavior, cumming inside, fluff!!! (crazy I know how very almost off brand of me-), maybe some blasphemous thoughts? (idk that they count with aeons but hey-), marking, breeding kink (he’s saying it regardless of whether you are able to have children or not bc regardless it’s h o t -), praise

Reader gender: gender neutral (I tried not to say anything that would be too telling about what sex the reader is so please read it as such! I don’t think I said anything that was like that-)

So going off the last ask, we’re going to assume that he likes you enough to feel great affection for you. Enough to want you. To feel his own carnal desires rear their head even before you’ve married. It manifests in his seemingly innocent yet wandering hands. A hand on your waist as he passes by you. His hands drifting dangerously low when you hug. Leaning in close to talk to you. Lips making their way down from your forehead to your cheek to the corner of your lips. The placement of his kiss making its way to your lips slowly with every goodbye kiss.

But at some point, he can’t really stop himself from at least using those pretty hands of his on you- Along with that silver tongue and sinful mouth. He’ll make you feel so incredibly good, plunging his long fingers into you and taking you into his mouth. He’s lick and suck at you and even slide his tongue inside you. Perhaps the taste of you would be enough to tide him over until you were properly his- Married to him. It would have to be enough because you deserved to have a perfect wedding and perfect wedding night.

But aeons that doesn’t stop him from pleasuring you with what he can before then in order to hopefully keep himself in line. Even as his cock aches with the need to have you, he’ll just hold you down and whisper sweet promises in your ear. Even if you beg him, he won’t. Just wait for him baby just a little longer-

But after the ceremony is over and the afterparty is done and the guests all leave-

Oh dear. You’re finally left alone with your hungry fian- husband. You’re finally left alone with your absolutely famished husband. And you’re on the menu.

It begins like how many of your other encounters of sexual nature begin.

Sweet kisses that make it seem like he wants to swallow you whole. Gentle hands taking in the feel of you in his arms. Trailing kisses down your throat, eyes closed in ecstasy because you were finally his now. He can have you with no regrets. All that waiting was for this moment. When he could finally have you wholly. And that makes this moment in the warm light of the bedside lamp and the cooler shades of the moon all the sweeter.

Wetted fingers stretching you in preparation for something larger, taking their time in their task despite knowing you well by then. Because even if this was to get you ready to become one with him- He’s wants to draw as much pleasure from you as possible. This is a special night for the two of you. One he will cherish completely and one he wants to make perfect for you. His arm would be holding him up, cradled behind your head for you to lean on while he molds himself to your side. Even as you whine and roll your hips into the curl of his fingers inside you, pressing on that special spot inside you, he kisses your cheeks gently with soothing words. “Good… very good, my love. Just a little more- I want you to finish on my fingers first. Can you do that for me, my sweet? I know you can-”

Just as he gives you your first orgasm of the night, he takes your lips once more while gently coaxing your through the waves of pleasure. He’s so soft, guiding you through the dance even while your mind goes blank for a bit as he watches your expression. “That’s it. I’ve got you.”

It’s then that he kisses you almost chastely before beginning his journey down your body to have his prize. The prize being whatever he’s managed to pull from you. He’d lick it from your body in broad strokes as though he were tasting honey dribbled over your form, caressing your every curve as he went.

Sunday would dribble lube over himself, a hand slathering the viscous substance over his cock in pumping motions. It was almost erotic watching him. The way he'd squeeze just a little at the top and you would watch his hardness twitch and drool between his fingers. But when you look up, the angelic man would only be looking at you. Gazing lovingly- longingly at you.

That's how it always was. Ever since meeting, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off you. You were simply radiant to him. Unlike anything or anyone else he'd ever seen.

Leaning over you to settle himself between your legs, Sunday would give you another kiss before asking if you were ready. While waiting for your answer, he'd go back to nip and lick at your neck. He wanted to mark you for all to see- You were his. His lover, his spouse, his soulmate. His. No one else's. He would love and care for you in every way, he'd think to himself.

And no- Don't just nod at him. "I need to hear you say it, dove. Please? For me, my dear?" Once you'd given him your clear consent, he'd bring you into a deep kiss while lining himself up with your stretched out, wet entrance. He can't even bring himself to tease you a little. Though the thought crossed his mind, he knew he'd been waiting far too long for this.

Once he was in the proper place, he'd rest his forehead against yours, the two of you breathing in each other's air while he looks down at where the two of you would be connected, fingers drifting to fondle you in order to distract from any possible pain you may feel with a gentle hum.

As Sunday would finally push in, cockhead popping inside, he'd gasp against your lips with twitching hips he had to force still. "Are you alright, love?" Taking a moment for himself to regain his composure and steel himself, he'd hide away in the crook of your neck to breathe in your scent and feel your pulse beneath his soft lips. Once you were ready it would be but a slow rock of his hips, moving gently inside you, to eventually sheath himself completely inside. As he worked himself into your tightness, Sunday would whisper sweet words into your ears in a whisper, as though the words were only for the two of you despite no one else being around- The words would come in between kisses while he rubbed a hand up and down your side to comfort you, the hand occasionally straying to rub your sex or pluck at your nipples to distract you from the strain of this part of the night.

Once bottomed out, your ass resting in the cradle of his hips with his body covering yours, he would ask you if you're alright and give you time to adjust. It's all praises here, the man telling you just how good you are for him and saying that you're doing wonderfully. After some time passes and you rock your hips against his to test your comfort, a small moan would be startled out of him before it devolves into a chuckle. "Are you ready, my love?"

It'd start with hip just grinding into you, firm but slow and accompanied by a pleasured sigh from him. He'd hold back none of his sounds because he wanted you to know how good you made him feel. Then he'd pull out only just a bit before thrusting himself back in. At some point he had begun to properly fuck you, the push and pull like the rocking of a boat on a gentle sea. This was making love. And after angling his hips, he found your sweet spot he'd only ever touched with those pretty fingers of his.

It'd be a struggle to not lose himself in you. In your all-consuming presence and the pleasure you gave him- In the love you showed him as you reached up to bring him close with a whimper of his name. It was like hearing the gospel fall from your lips. And they might as well have been. For now you were his everything. His god, his true Harmony. Were you to say it, it would be so. And right now, you were telling him that it felt good and asking him to keep going. So, he would.

With teeth gently marking all the places he'd been, his darkened eyes would watch the way you arch your back and moan to the heavens (they were yours anyways). Sunday is something that knows how to hide its teeth and disguise itself in the form of a man. He was careful to dull his claws so he would not hurt you when he held you close. Careful to veil the violence that was part of him, showing in his eyes, when he was with you. But he was a beast who knew the taste of blood. And yet you, his pure and lovely dove, loved him and accepted him. You said he was a good man and that you loved him. You were his truth. So, it must be so.

He wanted to claim you so wholly that none could ever deny that you both belonged to one another. That none could mistake that you were his deity and him your humble and devout servant who worshiped you here in the temple of your bed, giving you his offerings in pleasure, loyalty, and love. That brought another idea to mind of just how he could claim you and show you his deepest love.

"I want to breed you, my love. To carry on the family and mark you inside with my cum. Would that be alright? Do you want that as well, dove?"

He would speed up now, thinking about how he could have a family with you. How lovely you would look with a child tottering around behind you. He would make it happen no matter what so long as you wanted it as well. When you agree, he'd smile so wide his face hurt and shower you with kisses. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, my love my heart my everything-"

He can hardly fathom how he'd lived without you before.

Touching and kissing you all over he drove the two of you to your peak, the both of you moaning and whining against each other's lips as you kissed through the high. His hips continued to rock into yours to prolong the waves of pleasure that washed over you before slowing to a stop when you both became overstimulated.

"Thank you, love. You did so well- So very good for me. I love you so much," he'd praise and declare between kisses that he planted all over- Everywhere he could reach while wrapped up in your arms and holding you so close you wondered if the two of you could fuse together. "I love you, too," you'd mumble against his lips as he came back to them for a proper kiss. The chaste peck turning into a sensuous slide of lips, unhurried and full of undeniable love.

Even when he withdrew from your now cum-filled hole and began to clean you up, he would praise you and ask you how you felt while pressing kisses every place he touched. Once everything was done and he'd had you drink water, he'd lay down and pull you to lay on his chest. While stroking your back and pressing a kiss to your hair, he'd bid you goodnight and say yet another "I love you" before quietly humming to help you drift asleep.

Hopefully that was to your liking~ I had fun writing it! Thank you for the idea and for letting me write more about Sunday! <333

Feel free to send in another request if you want, hehe.

#Roro writes #gn reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x gn reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader #sunday smut #hsr sunday smut #bottom reader #top character #asks answered

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fourmoony · 5 months

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hi! i just thought of this and i think it's sooooo cute. so imagine james and reader get married, the ceremony ends, everyone goes home and reader and james go home as well and they just order take out and eat in their wedding clothes with bunch of fluffy dialogue!! thanks!!

this is such a cute idea! thanks for requesting <3

james x f!reader | 1k words | masterlist

James is pressing buttons on the television remote, mumbling angrily to himself when it won't switch to the channel he wants. You smile over at him, heaving a breath, collecting the white tulle beneath you so you don't step on it.

"Gimme," You make grabby hands, ring glinting against the lamp light in the corner of the room. "You're too heavy handed with it."

James rolls his eyes playfully, but hands the remote over with a look so lovey and dopey, so sticky sweet that it halts the breath in your lungs for a moment. Never in your life did you think you'd end up being the girl lucky enough to marry such a handsome man, with a heart so big it consumes his entire being, who is so passionate and caring and hysterically funny. But here you are, ten minutes home from your beautiful reception at Potter Manor, married to your amazing, lovely, handsome husband, and your heart feels so full it could burst.

James is still dressed in his suit, buttonhole flower bent at the head and his hair messier than usual. His shirt is rumpled and his tie is half loosened, his glasses askew, but he has never looked more handsome. He lifts his left hand, runs it through his hair and the gold of his wedding band catches your eye. You smile, a secret little smile just for yourself, and change the channel. James switches to rummaging through the paper bag on the coffee table, pulling out boxes and bags of food.

"Did you order chips and cheese?" James asks, frowning into the tub in his hands.

"No." You hum, sitting in your previous place on the floor.

Your dress puffs out around you, a sea of white and tulle and James smiles over at you. It's a knowing smile, a smile that you've shared multiple of all day. The 'I'm so happy, I love you so much, this is the best day ever' kind of smile. James slides down from the couch to sit beside you, setting the mystery container of chips and cheese onto the coffee table.

"Well, they sent us some." He shrugs.

"Nice."

It's domestic and it's nice. It's better than the 'thank you for coming' and the 'oh, I'm over the moon, it turned out beautiful' conversations you've been having all day. It's chill and comfortable and it's just you and James in your tiny little cottage after a busy day filled with love and laughter and energy.

"Here." James passes you your container, a donner kebab.

You smile, "Thanks. Don't get me wrong, I loved the menu we picked. Seriously, best Balmoral chicken I've ever had. But I have been craving this all bloody day."

James nods in agreement, mouth too full of chicken pakora to say anything. He's leaning over his container to avoid spilling on his suit, but you don't have the same thought, biting into your kebab and gasping when the sauce spills out and onto the white fabric of your dress.

There's a moment of stunned silence between you and James where the TV show you both love drones on in the background and you just stare at each other. You assume James is waiting for you to have some sort of meltdown. Instead, you purse your lips, eyes alight with amusement and James cracks first.

You're both laughing so loud it overshadows the sound of the television, collapsing in on each other until you can't breathe.

"Oh, baby," James sighs, "Your dress."

He has the decency to sound deflated for you but you shake your head, smiling like the cat who got the cream. "It's okay, handsome. I already had the perfect day in my perfect dress."

"It was a pretty good day, huh?" James asks, returning to eating straight after.

You follow suit, leant over your container this time, "Yeah, it was. You know what beats it, though?"

James hums in acknowledgement.

"This. Right here."

James looks at you like you've lost your mind and you laugh.

"Today was perfect. I love you so much, and I couldn't wait to be your wife. I love our friends and our families, I loved celebrating with them. But my favourite moments always end with us back here. Me and you, sharing a kebab, watching shitty TV, and laughing until we can't breathe. That's what I couldn't wait to spend the rest of our lives doing." You tell him, eyes shining with emotion.

James sets his box on the coffee table, reaches out for you and you go because there will never be a time when James Potter calls and you, his wife, don't go.

"You looked beautiful today, you know?"

"I did?" You muse, settling into his lap, his arms warm and strong around you.

James presses his lips to your shoulder when he nods, sure and firm, "Yeah. But you look etheral right now."

"Covered in kebab sauce?" You ask.

James laugh, low and sweet and your stomach flutters, "Oh yeah."

"Hm," You hum, "You look pretty handsome."

"That's 'cause you're on my lap."

His eyes are big and brown and full of love and all you can think to do is kiss him. It's sweet and soft and it's all of your love for each other wrapped into one. He squeezes your waist, pulls you further into him and it all just feels perfect. You're so full of love you could burst.

"I love you, Mrs. Potter." He tells you, eyes so open and honest and it brings tears to your eyes.

"I love you, too, Mr. Potter."

It's sickeningly sweet and cringey and you wouldn't have it any other way. The guests have all gone, the wedding is over, you're home, with James, your husband, and you're married and you're happy and content and in love.

"Eat up before it gets cold." You urge James, handing him his pakora before reaching for your kebab.

You stay there, in his lap, curled in on each other, for hours. You'd stay there forever. And now, you can.

#james potter #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #james potter oneshot #sirius black #james potter x reader #sirius black fic #james potter fic #remus lupin #remus lupin fic #marauders #marauders era #marauders fic #love #fluff #regulus black #fourmoonysasks

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simp4konig · 7 months

Text

Halloweens with König headcannons 🎃🍂

Gender-neutral Reader

*Slow burn

Word Count: ~3246

*FLUFFFFFFF😿😿💖✨🩷🩷💘

*Soft König☺️ (but also König is a smug bastard + asshole 🙄), Established relationship, Single mention of (ambiguous) age gap 😮‍💨

🧡Happy Halloween guys!!🧡 I don't celebrate Halloween myself , but im feeling 😈in the mood😈 so i hopw this can suffice for this ooky kooky spooky season 😰😰

Gos i wanna kms ive veen so uninspirws AAAHAHAHAHDHDHDDH this is literslly. Me rn--->💥💥💥💥💥🙂🔫 fuckijg FINALLT GOT sometjing OUT 🥳🥳 rest asusred iwont kms i need to finish my rqs first ☺️💖💖✨ i will feel SO euphoric when all the WIPS will become Completed Works !! 😍😍Im just gonna not post until i gdt smth donw bci hate giving false promises its the same as lyijg,🗿🗿

Tag List ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @abysslovesyou ♡ @puff0o0 ☆ @rustic-guitar-notes ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @reyner-lee ☆ @lotionlamp ♡ @trepaika ☆ @luci4theminorannoyance

...

König wasn't really one for Halloween.

Hadn't ever been, really, as he hadn't been raised to celebrate it.

In his household, he hadn't had much exposure to the Western "Hallow's Eve".

Besides, even if he was familiar with the tradition, his parents didn't bother celebrating those kinds of trivialities; after all, they certainly weren't going to bother wasting hard-earned money on trifles like pumpkins, just so they'd rot on the front porch, or candy that would rot your teeth, or on vulgar masks that depicted serial killers and monsters, too blasphemous to bear.

Plus, his neighbourhood didn't partake in "Trick-or-treat'ing" at all, and wouldn't leave any candy for any children — wouldn't do anything, really.

Nobody decorated their house with ghouls and ghosts, nobody dressed up as vampires or murderers, nobody jumped from behind corners to shout "Boo!".

None of that, as these ideas were childish. Infantile. Juvenile, even.

Thus, October 31st, König's Austrian villiage was quiet. So eerily quiet you'd had thought it was a ghost town had it not been for hundreds of cloaked figures in the cemetary — as, for König, "Halloween" tended to be a more sombre occasion in comparison to the American/English versions.

Instead of running around and knocking on people's doors with a broad, lopsided smile like other children ought, he was brought along to visit the graves of his family members: graves of his ancestors, which he'd be told about in detail, details of the person buried six feet under the stone slab; information and stories passed down from generations.

He would be taught to honour those deceased in his family and respect their memory, to remember those in the afterlife and what they sacrificed to get there.

Carrying a lamp, he'd light candles on those decrepit gravestones, text faded and illegible, while his parents left boquets of flowers, and pulled up their long black cloaks. Silently paying their respects.

While it wasn't necessarily a day of mourning — König never needed tissues to wipe any tears or blow his nose, and neither did anyone else in the family — it was far graver when compared to the Halloween holidays elsewhere.

However, König's memories of Halloween were few, far, and in-between.

Whenever he'd hear of other people's experiences, he was never nostalgic, as, the times that he did attend those familial ceremonies he was either too young to understand what was happening, or knew too little of the deceased[s] in question to be moved by the heavy atmosphere.

Not only that, but the time period was overwhelmingly solemn, with people flooding the burial grounds, some murmuring prayers, others with tears in their eyes.

There was no laughter, no treats, no fun costumes. Not even tricks. Just suffocating depression all around.

So, he didn't really associate the celebration with something to celebrate: what, celebrating the deaths of your family? That was quite morbid, when he thought about it, and he wasn't going to dedicate an entire month every year to remind himself of death with so many other operators around him falling on the battlefield, and having had faced the grim reaper himself several times already.

Hence, every 31st of October, he did nothing. Didn't acknowledge it at all.

But all that changed one fateful day in September. When he finally acknowledged it, all right (with a little of your help of course)!

You had asked König in passing if he had considered dressing up as something for Halloween. Maybe what he had considered doing on the evening. Or if he had plans to attend the autumn fair sometime soon.

His response? A blank look. Distant recognition.

For a quiet moment, you thought he was scowling at you, silently ridiculing your childish suggestion.

Then: "Halloween? Ah!" An amused chuckle, endeared by the child-like curiosity in your eyes, and a silent sigh of relief from you.

"I don't celebrate it, myself, meine liebe. But you're welcome to tell me what your costume is. I'd love to hear all about it, maus."

Mortified by this revelation, you couldn't let this go.

"What do you mean you "don't celebrate it"? You have got to be joking!"

Wide eyes, and jaw agape, you were in disbelief.

He simply shook his head with a strained smile. "I've just never seen it as something to celebrate, you know? No reason to."

Taking it upon yourself to prove him wrong, you wasted no time converting this skeptic into a believer. "Oh no, there is. I mean, it's Halloween! Everyone is crazy for it!"

Suddenly, your eyes lit up. A wave of adrenaline crashing into you, you tugged König's arm in direction of the couch.

"That's where we'll start! We're gonna watch Halloween! That'll surely get you in the spirit."

You winked at him, satisfied. Then, a sudden snort and a suppressed chortle, hand cupped over your mouth as you laughed at your pathetic attempt at a joke.

König cocked his head to the side in confusion, but let you hastily scramble for blankets, pillows, and to microwave bowls of popcorn, as he made himself comfortable on the couch cushions that sank in protest under his weight.

Initially, he was reluctant. Not necessarily looking forward to being forced to watch movies from the 80s–00s, over-the-top movies with subpar acting, to say that he was looking forward to it would have been a stretch.

However, seeing how passionate you were about the holiday, your interests, König didn't want your sweetness sour.

Yes, he was a little older than you, and perhaps didn't grasp what there was to fuss over, but he wasn't about to spoil your good mood, or dampen that excitement just because he didn't personally understand or was interested personally. He wanted to make an effort, for you.

Vowing to take part in your silly shenanigans, he swore to become involved in the festivities in order to see you smile. To keep seeing you smiling.

After that, every October evening you'd watch a movie — a (usually) corny horror classic, though spending most nights binging all the Screams, Halloweens, Chuckys, The Shinings, Saws, and Evil Deads, — huddled under moutains of blankets and stuffing your faces with toffee-flavoured popcorn.

Watching horror films with him was like being lectured on common-sense and taught self-defence lessons in real time, though. Not like you minded, but it really got rid of the edge and the tension in its entirety.

Instead of paying attention to the storyline, it's more likely König would catch on to the stupid decisions the characters and the shitty attempts to fight back, and he wouldn't be able to help commenting:

"Why did she leave the knife in him? In his abdomen, of all places? Now the murderer has a weapon! Should have taken it out and left him to bleed out. But noooo, nein, leave the knife there."

"Going into the forest on his own? In the night? With a killer on the loose? Mein Gott, he is such a dummkopf! Bring a friend, why don't you?"

"Liebling, why is there so much gore? Isn't this rated "15"? Wait, and why is there a lady with no shirt? This is supposed to be scary, ja? I'm very scared. Scared you'll slap me, actually, if I don't keep looking at my lap."

Angrily ranting at the television, you'd gently reassure him, that, "Sweetie, this is fiction. Sometimes, the scenes are unrealistic." "But it said "based on real events"! I swear, liebling, if I watch another ten minutes of this I'll have a headache. I can't comprehend the stupidness."

Tough crowd, that couldn't really immerse himself in the plot, but you took a note or two for the sorts of horror movies König wouldn't dislike.

Although he insulted all the characters for being stupid and ridiculed all the characters for being so brainless, he would begrudgingly admit that he enjoyed the movie, pointing out some of his favourite scenes.

Self-aware comedic slashers meant he could suspend disbelief and laugh out loud a little, while, movies with an omnipotent monster meant he couldn't criticise any inaccuracies. He didn't winge at those as much in comparison to major blockbuster films. In fact, he even preferred low budget movies, ones that were pure comedic relief and so self-aware that he wouldn't be able to help but laugh along, unable to hide his amusement.

Afterwards, at exactly midnight, you'd be huddled together in the dark under a thick blanket, gorging your mouth with sugary sweets and bite-size chocolates (also indulging in chocolates that were far from bite-size), giggling like lunatics (well, that was mostly you, but König joined in to keep you company).

Later, face serious, with a torch under your chin, you'd be whispering hushedly with a tone of foreboding, voice low, and words ominous:

"Drip. Drip. Dripping water. She had checked the bathroom taps, the kitchen taps, and they were twisted tightly closed. A leakage, perhaps? Or, perhaps, something else. As she roamed the corridor, the drip-drip-drip of liquid grew louder. And louder—"

"Ah, she should call her plumber, then, shouldn't she?" A sure shit-eating smirk that was obscured by his mask, but the way his eyes were squinting you knew he was taking the piss.

Of course, storytelling was not as haunting as you would have had liked it to be: König would interject, interrupting the aura of mystery and the medatitive atmosphere, with sarcastic remarks. It made the narrations really melodramatic in the end, and frustrated you to no end.

Still, you would groan, and, undaunted by his immature antics — as, mind you, this was a grown-ass man, a 6'10 wall of muscle messing around like this, teasing you not like the cocky Colonel he was but a snarky teenage boy — continue:

"—she walked on — despite having been rudely interrupted moments prior — and her heart sank. Blood. A puddle of it, on the floor, looking like gallons upon gallons of it had—"

"Maybe she was — ah, what's the word?" A thoughtful pause, hand where his chin was under the fabric "— menustrating? Was she wearing white pants, maybe?"

"—Menstruating, König — and stop ruining my horror narration! Now I've lost the plot! Okay — against her will, her eyes moved up the wall, following the dripping blood. To her horror, it was coming from the attic. Swallowing the heavy lump in her throat, she pulled open the hatch with jittering fingers, grip slackened by the warm sweat on her palms, knees threatening to buckle. And, when the trap door released, she gasped. Blood draining her face, she saw—"

An exaggerated gasp from König, as he clasped his hands over his mouth in mock shock. "She— she saw— your mother! Mein Gott, the horror!"

"Shut up, König!" An annoyed huff, and shuffling away. "Honestly, you're such a killjoy..."

König, scooping you into his arms when you turned around with crossed arms, pouting lips, and furrowed brows, nuzzed his masked face into your neck, chuckling heartily. You squirmed under his hold, fabric tickling your sensitive neck, and you'd desperately hold back your giggles, trying hard to keep a straight face.

"Ja, ja, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Es tut mir leid, meine Liebe. Please keep going. What did she find in the attic?"

"No! You made me forget the grand reveal, now! I forgot what was up there, anyways..."

Walking around the house, you'd have the fright of your life when a huge shadow would jump in front of you at odd hours of the day.

"Boo!" König's voice resounded, loud and reverberating.

And you screamed, damn near verging on a heart attack.

"Shoving" him in frustration — you became actually even more frustrated when the man was like a solid wall and did not even budge a millimetre — König was quick to console you.

Doting over you, a wide smile on his face that the mask couldn't hide, he would be so overly lovey-dovey with you in an attempt to win back your affection that you'd roll yours eyes so far they'd end up in the back of your head.

"Meine liebe, I'm sorry for scaring you. I couldn't resist. You'll forgive me, won't you? You will, right? Please say yes."

You insisted you would, seemingly unassuming, then schemed to startle him at odd hours of the night as payback for losing your dignity in that moment.

At one point, you had even waited half an hour in the wardrobe while he was showering, only to jump out and see König in only a towel.

Yeah, you were the one that got jumpscared instead, face erupting in red despite you two being together for months at that point. You gave up trying to spook him then, bitterly accepting defeat.

Though, going along with your silly little activities, like going shopping for Halloween decorations, made König's heart swell seeing you bounce around excitedly and point out all the ornaments.

He didn't quite consent to you buying a life-size skeleton to call him Greg and place him in your shared bedroom. That was one step too far.

Still, seeing the wonder on your face, in awe of all the masks, costumes, decorations, and animated mannequins that'd cackle after triggering their mechanisms made his steel-blue eyes soften, melting into pure love and devotion for you.

So, to humour you one day, and to lift your mood after scaring you that one morning, König made two eye-holes in a white blanket, running after you around the house, almost tripping over it in his haste.

"Ooooo-ooo!" he moaned in over-dramatised agony, voice low yet playful. "This is not König, but his ghooost! Run, liebling, or you'll be neeext!"

Hearing him say that in his Austrian accent was so hilarious that were tears running down your cheeks from how hard you'd be laughing, and your sides splitting with the laughter, struggling scramble away, giggling.

Those moans of agony would become genuine cries in pain when he'd accidently hit his head on the doorframe when he forgot to duck in his excitement. The one time that bulky helmet of his could have come to use.

Despite all that, you'd be cornered against the wall, with nowhere to run, and König would pounce, tickling your sides viciously.

That broad smile on your face and the expression was worth fooling around and making a fool of himself.

He even didn't mind having you coo over his "injury" just like how he had when he was doting over you, because he loved you so much.

And, he loved you so much, that he even allowed you to "decorate" his gear. "To make it appropriate for the spooky season!" you had insisted, and he'd comply, not wanting to dull that sparkle in your eyes.

So contented with painting an intricate monster on his mask with fluorescent orange paint, you didn't notice König watching you hunched over the desk from behind, leaning against the doorframe with a loving smile on his face.

You hadn't expected that he'd wear that gear on base — veil, knee pads, helmet, and all — strutting his stuff. Just to remind everyone that their Colonel had a lovely spouse back home.

What you hadn't anticipated was how quickly König would start enjoying the season. Unexpectedly, he became obsessed with Halloween — his favourite tradition, second only to Christmas.

Carveling hollowed-out pumpkins of all shapes and sizes was one of his favourite past-times.

You'd think that with his size he'd struggle to cut through the orange crust without crushing it into pumpkin-coloured mush in his fists, but you'd be forgetting that he was skilled with a knife.

That said, König wasn't artistic. At all. The best he could produce would be a lopsided smiling caricature of... something. A nondescript creature, which you had complimented him on being so cute, only for him to angrily insist that it was an evil monster, and not cute at all.

Still, you would snap a picture before he could object, and give this pumpkin the spotlight on your front porch, soon many more following suit. Jack'o'lanterns illuminating your front step, glowing gold.

The sweet scent of cinnamon, ginger, and vanilla extract filled your house, new freshly-baked treats from the oven laid out on the kitchen island daily.

Delicious aroma of sugary pastry, homemade banana bread with small hints of vanilla and sprinkled with icing sugar, candied oranges and sour, sherbet lemon cakes, crunchy cinnamon sugar pumpkin seeds ("Made from the pumpkin guts!" you exclaimed with a smile of pride, König's eyes smiling in delight of your enthusiasm).

Crumbly shortbread in the shape skulls and bats, round cookies with orange and black icing resembling pumpkins, sponge cakes that oozed thick raspberry and strawberry jam when you bit into them ("Because they were bleeding blood," you proclaimed, a devilish smirk on your face — or, something like it, as to König you were the cutest angel he'd had ever been blessed to be around), and so, so, so much more.

So much that your weekly trips to the supermarket became biweekly, until you two found yourselves stocking up on sugar, flour, eggs, and butter far too often to keep track of.

The house was so inviting, especially to little ones from the neighbourd, that their mouths were agape and their eyes sparkled as they passed your "haunted house", holding the hands of their parent(s).

Mentioned in an earlier post that König has a soft spot for children, he'd stock up on Halloween candy and treats, and lug bucketfuls of sweets on the doorstep for any little ones that'd knock on your door to cheerfully cry out in unison, full of glee: "Trick or treat!"

He'd welcome them with open arms, but, with most of them being so little, they'd point with bulging eyes the giant on the doorstep, to be harshly reprimanded by their mothers and fathers for their ignorance and rudeness.

Few would say much after seeing König the giant, and after daring to scoop a handful of confectionary, bowing their heads and avoiding his eyes would mumble a shaky "...Th-thank you, s-sir—!"

One of them, however — a little girl with rosy cheeks donning white stockings and a gold tinsel halo — beamed brightly, albeit shyly, at König, thanking him for the treat and his generosity. An innocent, toothy smile that made her squint from how high it reached her eyes, her front baby teeth missing.

When she had her back turned to you two, she ran as fast as her chubby little legs could take her, and exclaimed, "Mommy! Mommy! That giant is a big and friendly one! A big, friendly giant. Can we go again, please? Please?"

It was only when you nudged König with your elbow, grinning, when she had skipped happily away, that he had realised he had tears in his eyes.

Moreover, maybe the memories König had of Halloween weren't so cheerful, or ones even worth remembering in the first place; after all, his childhood wasn't so cheerful. Joyless, and with little life.

But, with the way that Halloween was shaping up to be, he was already looking forward to the special celebration.

So full of life the you two were, you would laugh at the irony — animated and living the dream, while celebrating the day of the day. It brought you two to more laughter.

And, with you, König could make new ones, ones that you'd look back on fondly years from now, and those grueling months on deployment.

...

Note: Went off experience here for the beginning, guys🫡🫡 for the mowt part i have never celebrated Halloween😰 only a couple times in Poland, and once in England when i drank tomato juice and prwtended it was blood and i was a vampire🤪,

, but I Googled "Halloween in Austria" /Germany" to clarify whether I wasn't just speaking outta my ass and König here would have celebrated it differently to how I had in Poland 💀cuz, yknow, im not egocentric ajd the world doesnt celebrate things the same way Poles do 😘...

...And, no, I wasn't !☺️✨✨(... sort of😅... As far as I know, Germany has adopted the West's Halloween, ans theres pumpkin carving competitiomsn stuff, while Austria does indeed celebrate it slightly differently) .

Because I have no fuckijg idea of König's nationaloty anymore as it KEEOS CHANGING, I got the vest of both worlds 🥲🥲

Also been really busy guys😰😰😰by busy i mean stressing out ovee not writing then proceeding to NOT write bc im stressed❤️❤️🥰 you know jow it is!! 🤗(🔫) its ok tjo❤️(no it isnt) ill work tjis oit somejow🥹(no i wont im gonna kms) 🥰🥰

Have a very spooky halloween guys<3Feel bad foe those that are buying candy bc not onky is it smallwe than last uear but its more expensive 💔😟

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overtaken-stream · 3 months

Note

Do you have any writing plans involving Katakuri or the Big mom pirates?

Monster's Voice Is Sweet To Hear

Charlotte Katakuri x F!Wife!Reader

! !NSFW! !

This is from ao3, last year, sorry for any grammar mistakes, as well as my different writing, this is also the first time I wrote filth, aside from the love-making in the Ace fic from Ao3. I want to write something for him but the ideas are just not coming to me. I also didn't specify readers race. Just that it's a female and tall/stronger then a human since we all know Big Mom won't just toss away Katakuri and make him marry a boring human with no specialties. this could work on all shapes and sizes of reader, chubby and skinny.

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: Rarely in the dead of night, a monster such as Katakuri needs love. It's something you can't say no to. After all, how can you deny that unnerving voice of his.

Warnings: Size difference, POST-WANO SPOILERS, multiple rounds.

In the quiet night, where only the humming of your voice is heard.

Light from the cake-inspired lamp bounces off the pink walls the shadow that's in a silhouette of a woman falls onto the giant bed in the center of the room.

On a quiet night, a married girl takes her jewelry off and places it in one of the drawers the magenta bureau contains.

You stand up from the chair, getting closer to the bed. Getting out of your clothes and putting on a modified (F/C) nightgown, you straighten the hot pink details running over your tall figure as you lie down on the heavenly bed.

Only at the sound of a door opening did you quickly get under the blanket. The sound of metal and leather rubbing against itself notifies you of the person who walked in before they can even say anything.

``(Y/N).``

``Katakuri.`` You shyly show your face from the covers to see the sight of your husband of 3 years now, even after all this time you can feel the blush creeping up your face, no matter how long you will never get used to seeing a man that's able to look down at you. That stoic and firey gaze always unleashed the butterflies deep inside your belly.

``I apologize for startling you, I've seemed to... Be distracted lately.`` This was his way of saying I forgot to knock on the door. With much time you start to learn the ways of Katakuri's speech patterns. Start to recognize what words his pride was holding back even from you. Apologetic wasn't one of them. It isn't like he's trying to hide something after all you've seen his biggest weakness in action multiple times, gobbling all kinds of sweets. But never have you thought forgetting was something Katakuri was capable of. It wasn't until after the incident at Pudding's wedding involving the Strawhats that Katakuri's mask, which he had been carrying since marrying you (probably much, much longer than that) truly shattered. Thanks to his younger sister Flampe not keeping her mouth shut about how horrid her big brother is physically and then about his treatment towards her, after what she did. The brat even tried to approach you to run her tongue about Katakuri. Your husband.

Honor is off the table when faced with a person with that kind of mindset. Never mind the respect when facing a worthy opponent.

``Mind if I join you?``

``No, not at all.`` You smile as you watch him carefully get out of his uniform. Never did you imagine you would smile at Katakuri, compared to the sad bride and groom the two of you were. The new life treated you both kindly, it wasn't fast but it wasn't slow-paced either.

The stiff and awkward interactions turned into small conversations about interests and they blossomed into what can only be fondness. The road came with its fare-share of bumps, and both of you dived head first in this with only your families in mind, ready to throw away what little freedom both of you had for your parent's satisfaction.

At the wedding ceremony, walls were built. Walls that cracked the more time you spent with each other.

``Y'know, Luffy was announced as an Emperor today.`` You fill in the silence. Knowing Katakuri's favorite topic you slide in the information.

Katakuri stops mid-changing and raises his head at that. He had told you about Luffy a couple of weeks ago, finally emptying his head to you about the topic he was trying to tell you the moment he returned to your room injured. You didn't push him back then.

The time will come when he'll bring it up. You would tell yourself. It's his calculations of reactions that hold him, little insecurities eating him up and even if the conversation was late, you are happy that he was finally opening up. To you at least.

``Is that so?``

``Yeah, it was in today's newspaper. It said he defeated Kaidou, impressive huh?``

You watch as he nods his head. You debate for a second if you should tell him the next sentence, but he is her son, after all, today he dedicated himself to the library (A time he cherishes since it happens so rarely. A battle with the Straw Hat sure tired him out. You wonder if it's a blessing in disguise sometimes. If it is you wouldn't be surprised.) and judging from his lack of knowledge about the feat Luffy accomplished, you might as well tell him now...

``Surgeon of Death and The Eustass kid from the Worst Generation were involved... They defeated Big Mom.`` At that, you can feel how the temperature drops in the room, his movements to put the clothes back in their place slowed down until they came to a stop. It almost felt like time had stopped.

``I've heard about that. All the commotion in the palace this morning was from Perospero's call. They needed a backup to retrieve them.`` He says as the heavyweight is lifted off the room, letting go of the fabric he was holding onto, the time begins to roll once again.

You don't bat an eye at Katakuri's actions and his casualness. You doubt he would mourn his mother.

You quiver as the blanket is thrown off of you, the chill biting your arms and chest before he joins you on the bed. You fix your body position as the natural warmth his body carries sends shivers down your spine. Your back facing his chest as his giant hand creeps up to cradle your waist.

You shy away or try to. But the moment his fingers softly graze your pelvis, a tight knot starts developing, his shy yet soothing and careful touches sending the blood up to your face.

He's mindful of his heaviness, even if you are taller than a human should be, more tolerant and powerful, he treats you the same as he would to his child siblings, with feather-light touches. It's instinct at this point. It makes you nervous. Makes you red and sad, as well as happy that he also wasn't the only one with bad habits.

Habits that differentiate you two are rare. Since most of them are dependent on higher-than-an-average-human height.

``Is this okay?`` his open eyes travel over your face devoid of any skin color except red. You nod.

``...May I?`` The awkwardness in his voice is precious. Sweet as a mochi should be. Not how a monster's should be.

It makes your heart skip a beat and your core to pulse.

The impatience takes over when he's leaving lingering touches closer and closer to where you would like the itchiness to go away. The temptation to grab his hand and drag it to your genitalia is strong. Biting the bottom lip you feel his hand cup your crotch, and it's a feeling you'll never get tired of.

He shoves the gown's bottom piece up to your belly button, getting the cue you grab the (F/C) silky cloth. It's tacky but it was one of the more subtle ones that Brûlée has picked for you.

You shift your left thigh to the side when the tips of his finger flex on top of your clitoris, a thin layer of fabric stopping him from intruding, yet he is still making you pulse and drowning you in the electric shock of pleasure. The fingers slowly run over it, again and again putting no pressure behind the movement.

When his right-hand digs behind your back, your flushed face barely turns around to ask him what he is doing.

``Changing position...`` Katakuri says as he carefully scoops your neck between his forearm and upper arm, his left hand grabs onto your right hip.

His show of strength as he gets you on top of him in a second, leaves your knees shaking. At first, you lay on his chest with your back pressed against him.

Even with your superior height he somehow manages to make you feel as if you were a human, it makes you doubt your reality for a millisecond, his right hand balancing you and the other one going down your body a bit too fast, your suspicions are confirmed by the impatience with which he tosses the blanket off of your bodies. The room temperature now no longer poses a threat to your skin.

This time he isn't as slow with his actions, leaving the undergarments on, he rubs up and down your slit, feeling its warmth escape onto his sweaty hands.

The quiet room was momentarily full of little gasps and beating hearts of both parties. A squeak leaves your mouth as you rise from your position on his chest, leaning on your elbows that are still... On his chest. The coldness that sudden separation brings on your back is forgotten as you look down to where Katakuri is making laps around you. The moisture grows in seconds when he presses his thumb on your clit, slowly rocking it sideways and tightening the knot deep within you.

You try to bite the bottom of your mouth to not let the noises escape but as Katakuri flattens his hand so his index and middle finger are sliding and tickling your entrance, the task to stay quiet becomes very difficult. You feel the way he snakes his second hand up your breasts while the other separates the undergarment from your folds. Little moans sneak past your lips as you look straight down, the bulge that shows from underneath your thighs just makes your heart beat out of your ribcage.

Katakuri lays his forehead on your shoulder as he feels the wetness coating the surroundings of your entrance, he knew the smaller hands were coming before feeling them pull down the owner's panties, momentarily stopping for her to take it off before he continued infiltrating it. His right hand fondling with your breasts squishing them but not rough enough to hurt you.

For a split second, you felt the pain of the stretch, arching your back and tossing your head over his shoulder as Katakuri's other hand played with the silk-covered nipple, he pushed his forehead down on your cleavage, it wasn't in his intentions but the size difference was really making your mind mushy.

You could feel him shaking from below you as you rest on top of him, closed eyes and clean mind absorbing your movements.

For a couple of seconds, you lay like that, panting breathes and already sweat covered. He won't move. He won't hurt you. He'll give you time to adjust.

Your hand lands on his crimson hair, fingers run through the short pink layers devoid of grey. It startles him, eyes snapping open he looks to his left shoulder where you are resting your head and meets his beloved's smiling face staring back at him.

Pink dusted his cheeks and as his heart jumped, his mouth opened and closed, this nervous feeling is shameful to him. The big brother Katakuri was still getting used to his new-not-so-new feelings towards new-not-so-new his wife, and expressing them to her face turned out to be the most complicated and difficult part. (Aside from Brûlée, she has seen him at his worst. It's a new feeling, a new type of embarrassment he hasn't experienced with anyone, not even Brûlée. The thought of this ever getting out almost frightens him. It frightens him.)

At last, he chooses to look away as you chuckle.

``C-can you move now?`` He nearly forgot.

``Are you... Sure?``

``Yeah, now c'mon... I was so close...``

He continues his motions with soft pink shades over his face, and slowly the two fingers slide deeper into your gummy walls. The clenching makes him wish it was some other part of his inside of you instead of his fingers. He listens as hisses leave your lips from the painfully nice stretch, the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes being wiped away by Katakuri's other hand that took a break from playing with your breasts, he feels his boxer get tighter when your legs shake around his massive thighs, for a second he feels glad that you aren't super tiny, it makes this feel like the first time both of you did it. It holds a special place in his heart, the lovely touches have never been that satisfying. And every time you take your time to show affection to him during it- he falls further and further in love with you. Even if he doesn't show it, or return them, he appreciates the gestures.

He knows it's time to start the actions of love and that you would certainly never reject it. It's the childish fear keeping his head and eyes locked away during them. Is he shy? Maybe. Does he wan't to return the gesture? Some would think that he doesn't.

The whimpering noises fill his head as he finally went in knuckle deep, he lifts his head from your cleavage and brings your face closer for a kiss, eating the deep moan that leaves your mouth when he pulls out his finger and pushes it back into the warmth. Watching with open eyes how your eyebrows point up in pleasure twisting into a lustful picture he'll love for the rest of his life. The fact that he is the only one who's allowed to see it makes his head dizzy with what other expressions he could steal from you.

He slowly fastens his pace, making and leaving your walls a mess before he gets back in and fixes it with his fingers, finding that spongey spot was easy, having it memorized Katakuri curves his fingers upwards and pistons into it, barely taking his fingers out.

One after another lustful noises (now louder than ever) escape before you can bite your tongue. At some point, drool started coming out of your mouth. Eyes closed you can feel how Katakuri milked your sweet spot brutally, making your cunt weep and sting oh so impossibly delightfully.

His hand and your thights are all wet now.

``Just aah little m-more...!``

You were so close. So incredibly close.

The moment Katakuri forced his hand to dig deeper in your cunt, to get past the line of his knuckles, and pushed upwards into your belly, forcing you to arch for him harder was the moment you were seeing stars.

Your closed eyes were going into your head and your wide mouth was slack as he held your hip with one hand and rubbed your clit faster than ever with the other one. Throwing you off the edge and finally loosening the knot that was tied at the start, slick now not-so-unclear dribs down your slit, he doesn't let you have a break, hand still accompanying you even after your orgasm.

You don't complain.

He slowly pushes your pelvis down with his forearm to meet his hips, not slowing his fast-paced rubbing. Your moans are now as free as they can be, but you limit yourself, wanting to hear little grunts and deep slow moans from Katakuri. You honestly think you could cum from his voice alone.

He's beautiful you think.

His eyes are closed, the furrowing thin eyebrows holding onto the sweat drops that are covering his face in a thin layer of gloss. His eyes are closed yet he seems so concentrated to make you cum again. The vein in his forehead is on full display for you. His naturally long eyelashes adorned his hooded eyes.

``You're Beau...tiful... Kata...``

The way he hides his mouth in your cleavage and not in your shoulder because of his big size, the way he is avoiding eye contact the moment you whispered those two words. The way your heart shattered, is like no other pain you've felt. Because this boy is so... So incredibly sad. You want to kiss the pain away, the worries to be crushed under your tall figure. You want to shield him because he deserved so much more than this family.

``Sooo pretty... C-can you look...at me?`` Exhausted, you reach out.

You don't pay attention to the second orgasm, too busy complimenting him about his beauty. You miss how he is rutting his clothed hips right on your naked ass. You don't miss how he turns his face to the opposite side from you, you don't miss the red-colored ears as you hug his neck. Biting his ears as you are getting closer yet again. You notice how he's gone quiet the moment you praised him. How he is listening to your moans right in his ear.

Suddenly he crashes his hips into you, stinging sensations of him losing grip on his strength lays mockingly on the prints he has branded on both sides of your hips. Even if you were drowning in an indescribable pleasure you didn't miss the way he threw his head back, he almost roars a held-back-moan as wetness spreads on your ass. You don't have to look down to know that both of you guys's cum is wetting the sheets below.

Did he cum by pleasuring you?

Shit... That's so... Hot.

You've known there were ten million ways to love somebody and this. This was one of them.

Katakuri relaxes on the pillow behind him, coming down from the high he tossed both of you in, your arms still around his neck. He opens his eyes looking down at your face, It's a mess really, with sweat and hair sticking on your forehead, swollen lips from the previous kiss (he spends extra seconds looking and feeling the breasts resting against his own skin) but it doesn't matter to him, all he sees are the fruits of his labor. He finally removes his hands from your hips, his gaze falling on a now-covered-by-your-nightgown spot.

Did he leave a mark?

A giggle escapes from your lips before you can stop it, earning a playful glare from his direction. What's so funny?

``Aha-I'm sorry, it's just. You're so red!`` He looks through you, unfocusing his eyes before turning his (now red from embarrassment) face away from you.

You rub your cheek against him, feeling the stitch scars that lead to his mouth hole.

``Awh! C'mon don't hide from me!``

``...You're getting brave (Y/N)...``

``I don't have to be brave to call my husband beautiful and handsome! Plus you're so cute right now!``

``I'm not cute...``

``Sure you're not.`` You're pushing it. You are sure as hell not sure where this confidence came from but you aren't complaining.

Putting your hand under his chin and turning his face toward you.

His eyes settle on your lips before you pull yourself up to make your (S/C) lips land on his monstrous mouth. Like a beast, he doesn't close his eyes, unlike you.

Yet again choosing to make up for the time he closed his eyes during the sex. Staring into your wet eyelashes.

His left arm drags you so impossibly closer to his chest, in a hug while his other hand puts a strand of (H/C) hair back over your ear. When you try to pull away he follows your lips down. Cherishing the strawberry residue that the lipstick left.

A couple of moments last of you two in a romantic kiss before it turns into playful pecks across each other faces. Katakuri was careful with his fangs, still getting used to having someone get as close as he was to the white knives. He calls them and judging from the sharpness you can't exactly call him wrong.

It lasts like that for more than necessary. The sweet touches turned harsh from him is a normal feeling for you, pain tolerance is one of your specialties. It's in your blood. There is nothing he could do from the outside that could hurt you. From the inside, it's a different story.

It's the reason why Charlotte Linlin chose you to be the bride for her second son.

``He's a monster in humans skin,`` She said.

``Better have that scarf around you at all times Katakuri, don't frighten the soon-to-be bride.`` She said at one of the tea parties she had invited your family over.

It was humiliating for him to hear those words, let alone in front of a different kingdom's royal family. Those words were enough for you to have an opinion set on Big Mom.

And Katakuri too. It was respect, you respected him for putting up with people like his mother daily. Another thing to add in the similarities chart besides the height.

``Don't you think your genetic powers would make lovely children for my boy here darling? Wouldn't that be wonderful?``

You pity the children you have to give birth to. Because you know it will happen.

Her piercing gaze and a change in tone was the only reason you nodded your head. It was how the entire party went actually, with you acting like one of Big Mom's homies. Bobbing your head to every compliment she would say about you and your powers.

Maybe that's what left a sour taste in Katakuri's mouth. Why he avoided you for a couple of months after the wedding, he probably saw you as a fragile bimbo who was swayed by fear.

You would hate to say it but the truth is always hard to swallow.

It was what you were before the wedding and after. No doubt about that. The fear of upsetting a bomb that was Big Mom terrified you to your core. You could take Katakuri ignoring and avoiding you but you could never say no to them, the strings she had on your family were too tightly tied around their necks to risk it. Not to mention the thousands of people's lives each of your family member represented.

``The more you fuck around the more you're gonna find out`` As your diplomat father would say in all kinds of situations. It's just that in this instance it wasn't comedic.

It was a psychological thriller. And fucking around you couldn't.

It was a sad start to your relationship with him, an unwanted marriage both of you were against at first, maybe in another lifetime one of you would have had a voice to protest it. But for now, you enjoy the soft embrace of his arms around your shoulders. A loud banging of his heart against your ear.

The chill of the aftermath leaving your body and replacing it with a sticky feeling between your crotch and the smell of sex that wasn't visible at the time.

``Well then, don't you want to clean yourself up?``

``No, I don't.``

``W-why not?`` Usually, Katakuri loves his cleanliness, organization, and tidiness. He showers after coming home, often he's the one running to the bathroom with towels in his hands before you can even process that you've arrived home.

``...I just don't want this to end.``

``... You...`` And you thought Katakuri had run out of his surprise factor. It makes you want to toss your feet in the air with tiny kicks, giggles and everything, it makes you blush.

Seriously? Why are you acting like a schoolgirl with a crush on her upperclassmen?! Have you lost all your marbles in you, woman?! Where is the royal blood?!

You can practically feel the inner, secondary or tiny voice in your head yelling at you.

``Y... You do...?`` Unbelievable.

A nod from him is all you need.

``Y'know, we don't... Have to end it...``

``What?`` God his obliviousness makes you want to strangle him.

``We can... Continue it instead...I-i mean... If you... Want..?`` You run your index finger over his chest, tracing the tattoo with half-lidded eyes and lips in a kissing position. If this isn't lustfull, you don't know what is.

``...``

``... We can?`` His shocked eyes leave you once again, speechless.

``Of... Of course, we can! If you have any energy left that is... What made you think that we couldn't..?``

Sex is something that rarely happens between you and him since both of you most of the time are sent out for missions separately, however, If your memories aren't lying to you there are a total of four times (not counting this one) that you guys have slept together. How many times did he want to cuddle after sex? 2 times? 3 times?

Such a bad wife you've been to him.

WHAT DON'T THINK LIKE THAT!

Your questions go unanswered. Instead, he gently turns you onto your back, his hands balancing himself like a pole, they shut off your field of vision 'till you can't look anywhere instead up.

And up you look.

You think it's a sight any fair lady would go feral over. So what if you've seen this many times before, it never fails to make you nervous, the confidence dripping off of him, even if shaky eyesight proves just how unconfident he is.

Swoon over him you do.

The feeling you got at the start of the night coming back ten times stronger and filling up your heart until it's back to the pace it was before, this time maybe even shaking sideways for dramatic or. romantic effect.

Your breathing quickens as his head follows his body that was leaning on his thighs which were usually heavy with accessories of any kind, mostly following his gothic style with minor changes. Now he stands on top of your legs with his free-of-any-weight ones, caging yours with his knees. He has a charm in the way he travels his hand down on your skin, giant fingers ghosting over the most sensitive of places. The size difference isn't much but staring at your squished thighs and comparing it to the thickness of his knees makes your breath hitch, gulping you look up towards his face.

Katakuri's sharp crimson eyes glimmer down at you.

He had never once failed to make you feel so unbelievably small under his gaze, you find this exact moment perfect to take off your sticky nightgown that's wet with substances from both of your bodies. It turns out to be a good hiding device for your face, too bad it only lasts a couple of seconds before Katakuri gets suspicious.

Once over your head, you toss the (F/C) fabric somewhere on the floor. Presenting your fully naked body to him.

You don't know when or how he got the boxer off, but he now stands in all of his glory. One would think he was flexing his muscles, and he was. With how heavily Katakuri was breathing, you would have run your fingers up his tattoo if he didn't grab your legs first, taking them out of his leg jail, it was an awkward struggle to pull them over his thighs but he managed to not stretch it out for too long.

It felt so right, you against him fitting like puzzle pieces, your warm legs clinging onto his hips that are the perfect fit for your long legs.

It's your fantasy coming to life and so is his.

Katakuri pulls your hips near his pelvis to get you in a comfortable position. His fingers play with your now relaxed entrance. His other hand strokes his sex in front of you.

Shyness is thrown out of the window.

``I'll... Be slow.`` He always says that. But he can not help the roughness come into play the moment you get used to having him inside you.

You shiver as his head presses against your folds, hiss as it's slowly getting past the cold surface and into the warmth your insides bring. You hear him let out a grunt of his own. The shakiness of his hands on your hips calms the arch your back has been put into.

Katakuri pushes in with slow motions.

He tries to distract you will little strokes up and down your arched back.

You try to not tense up, you really do, but his fingers weren't enough for you to have been ready for his cock. It has that extra length and thickness his fingers weren't capable of having.

The sting leaves you panting and watery-eyed.

Katakuri looks down at you, completely stopping his actions when the walls around his girth close his pathway to bliss.

He lets you relax and adjust to his length. Looking at your face when you wipe your not-yet-spilled tears. Feeling the walls grip and loosen around him makes him close his eyes, ignoring the sparks of pleasure that are signaling him to just rut into you. He turns his face back to you, opening his eyes.

Katakuri doesn't ask you to relax, he knows you're already doing that and he knows you'll signal him to move onward, there is no need to remind you of what's obvious. So he stays quiet, humming and touching you elsewhere across your body, a gentleness he didn't know was capable of, coming forward and dripping honey over your pain, sugarcoating it with his lips that are kissing up your neck.

You put your hands over his shoulders, feeling the pain go away only for it to be replaced by numbness. calming down you nod your head against his scarred cheek.

``You can go on... Now.`` And he does. Slowly and surely with the help of the previous round. He bottoms out.

Your walls surround him, while his grunts surround your head. Both of you stay still for a moment, him going back to kissing your shoulder while you hug his neck, lost in ecstasy.

The world is summed down to only him and you, even if you are running your eyes on the walls of the room, you're still breathing in his leftover cotton cologne, lingering on his skin for just a bit longer.

He starts moving, god he starts moving.

Rocking into you slower than ever, stickiness in your crotch area goes unnoticed. The feeling of him moving and dragging the pleasure away only for him to slide back in, adding the rubbing against your clit with his shortened pubes is soul-shattering in a pleasing way, making your brain mush and your mouth full of unholy sounds.

Sweat dribbles down the side of his face still buried in your shoulder. He is not a man who leaves hickeys. Even though It's impossible since he can't exactly hurt you, although he enjoys leaving marks with anything else, they don't last long, only a couple of minutes before it's back to the way your skin was. But he likes having your signatures on his back especially since that's the only place covered by his jacket in the public.

Even now you leave tiny trails with your nails on his back, not strong enough to break the skin but just enough for them to look like a part of his tattoo gone wild. it just sums up more blood on the southern side of his body, getting him harder than he was before.

It's too much for you when he starts setting a fast pace, his hips meeting yours midway through your grinding, it's too much you tell yourself.

The way he is holding his wide torso with his elbows right beside your shoulders since you didn't let go of his neck since you grabbed it. You feel silly, sticking yourself onto him this way but he doesn't have any complaints. Even if it's too much how you cum yet again with shaky legs and slick dripping down your crack and onto your arched back. Too much of him rocking into you. The mattress below you squicking and rocking with his thrusts. Not only the mattress, but his thrusts also drag your entire body with him, meeting him halfway through his pulling. Too much moaning coming from your side, it's too good.

Too good to tell him to stop.

You can't tell when you came again, the shakiness is blending in with his hips crashing into yours, and you can't tell what is your natural body's doing and what is Katakuri making your body do.

Him finding the sweet spot was the last thing you wanted him to do. You wanted him to find it.

But judging from the electricity hitting you full force again and again and again, making you cry out in all kinds of movements to push him away, you can't be sure.

Katakuri takes advantage of your vulnerability and pulls you away from him so you could relax on the light pink pillow almost swallowing you whole. Allowing him to thrust at a slightly different angle, an angle that also relieves tension from your back.

He straightens himself, now standing on his knees as he looks down at where your bodies are connected, he lands his hands on your hips setting an almost inhuman pace you aren't able to keep up with.

Not with your body and not with your mind.

He pays no attention to your face, you've had enough of that before. Instead, he watches as his hands slam your hips to him, and your poor clit swollen and sad, lies helplessly. Taking him with no problems.

``A-ah little more..`` he moans out. You want to cry at how much he wants to drag this out.

You can tell by the way his hips stutter before calming down completely, going back to the slow pace he did at the beginning.

It's too much.

``Katah-kuri, please!-`` Your voice cuts off by a scream that left your mouth when he slammed his hips back into you unexpectedly.

You can hear him chuckle lightly at your trembling figure lying under him.

It's like he is teasing you and himself.

Tears drip down your face as he repeats it a few times more, before grinding his pelvis when fully entering you cleanly. Your abused cunt beats against the few pubes it has stuck in the wetness surrounding it.

He doesn't let your wobbly legs slide down his thighs, holding them harshly and not letting your bottom parts get away from him.

You can feel it before it comes. The way a vein in his dick starts pulsing and throbbing. Filling your insides to the brim.

You don't look down, instead, you pay attention to Katakuri's Addams apple bobbing up and down in his thick throat accompanied by sweat drops, the way his heavy jaw comes up and down, and the way his eyes are closed and tensed as are his eyebrows. How the other shoulder free of any tattoo (one which you were previously gnawing on) is red colored. It's shiny with spit, tears, and sweat.

It's as far as you get before your heart finally calms down, forcing your eyes to close and your body to pass out, exhaustion finally catching up to you. The last thing you see is a blurry figure of Katakuri looking down at you.

His worried voice calls out to you.

And here you thought you could endure a monster's sweet voice.

#Katakuri x wife reader #wife reader #Katakuri x wife!reader #one piece #anime #one piece spoilers #one piece x reader #.my writing.#op katakuri #katakuri x you #katakuri x y/n #katakuri x reader #anime x reader

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nerdazzler · 2 months

Text

Royal Sword Academy Au

Welcome to the good guys team! Pt. 1-2

“Why is it so stuffy in here?”

It’s dark, and kinda cramped, but oddly…soft at the same time? You can’t see a thing…why can’t you see anything? You hear shuffling around you, then an unknown voice speaks from the darkness.

“Dang it!…people are coming…gotta get into uniform before they see me!”

You hear a small creaking noise from within the comfortably cramped darkness. “Aghhhh! The lid is too heavy!…maybe if I…” Sparkling flames erupt around you, making the cramped space a lot more warmer. “Out! Too hot!” You yell before shoving open some sort of lid, finding yourself on the cool floor of a nice, dimly lit area with fancy crystal lamps illuminating its pristine white walls. Crystals you would normally find adorned on a chandelier hang on the ceiling, almost as if they were imitating fairy lights. Boxes that look like white, steel coffins floating off the ground.

“Gahhh! Why are you awake!?l” A small, weird looking creature stands…well..floats before you, bewildered by your conscious form; like it was expecting you to be dead or asleep.

“What the hell? A talking roach!?” You say, pointing at the creature in front of you. “Wow, Rude! I’m not a roach, thank you!” it puts its hands on its hips, puffing out its cheeks. “I’m a fairy!”

You continue to point at the flying roach in front of you, while slowly backing away from it. “Why is it still talking?” The bee-like creature huffs in annoyance and crosses its arms. “Whatever!” The mosquito points at you.

“Changing subject, I’m going to need you to hand those clothes you’re wearing over to me, please.” Squinting at your outfit

“Although they are a bit big…oh well! That’s what magic is for.” You continue to gawk at the creature.

“What?! No!” defensively attempting to cover yourself up, much to no avail.

“I’m not giving a yassified flying roach my clothes!” The roach’s face goes as red as a tomato.

“OI! For the last time I am not a roach!” The flying roach starts flying at you. Letting out a small yelp of fear you turn and attempt to run away from the flying thing before running into something, or more maybe, someone.

“Oh! What is going on here? You’re yelling and it’s disrupting the entrance ceremony, not to mention causing the students to worry.” You haven’t heard this voice before, this one is new. Backing away from the person you bumped into, you see it’s an elderly man with short white hair that’s covered by a pointy hat, a beard, with small circular monocle glasses framing his face, slightly covering his gray eyes. His clothes are well…something. He wears blue robes with a long white scarf tied in a knot with some sort of emblem on his shoulder, with light blue socks and blue shoes to match.

You point at the flying creature behind you. “That Thing is trying to attack me!” Said ‘thing’ points back at you “I am not!”. Looking back at the ‘thing’ you retort, “Yes you are!”. It argues, so you argue back. You two get so wrapped up in your back and forth banter that you forget about the third party in the room.

“You can understand them?” Abruptly stopping your debate with the roach you turn and face the third person with confusion written all over your face. “Yes? Can you not?”. The elderly man shakes his head, “Apologies, I don’t have my fairy communicator on me at the moment.”

You’re very confused right now, what’s a fairy communicator? The man looks as if he just recalled something important “Right! Silly me,” you snap your attention back to him. “You’re a new student, and the entrance ceremony is underway.” Entrance Ceremony?

He smiles brightly “Let's get you to the mirror room, yes?” Quickly ushering you into the other room, motioning for the flying ‘fairy’ to follow behind. Yeaaaa…you’re still confused. Looking up at the elderly man leading you somewhere “Hey! Who are you? And where am I?” He smiles again before responding “Well, I am Ambrose the 63rd. Headmaster of Royal Sword Academy, which is where you are now!”

This response causes you to raise a brow in confusion “Royal Sword Academy?” Ambrose nods in response. “One of the most prestigious magic schools in all of Twisted Wonderland! Talented young magicians chosen by the looking glass are welcome to attend this school.”

Okay…more stuff you don’t know. Which means more questions that need to be answered. “Uh…huh…” you reply as Ambrose continues his rant. “Those from around the world who have been chosen to attend RSA use a gate to make their way here. A pearlescent pumpkin carriage carrying the gate should have gone to greet you.”

A memory of a pumpkin shaped carriage riding off comes to mind. How odd, the carriage reminds you of something you’ve seen in a Fairytale. What was it called again?

“I think I remember that fairytale carriage…” you mumble out unconsciously. Causing the elderly man to chuckle at your response, “The pearlescent pumpkin carriage goes around greeting every new student chosen by the looking glass, they are special carriages used to carry the doors to the academy.” Nodding in response, he continues. “The market decided long, long ago that carriages should be used to welcome people on special days, which I think is quite lovely!”

The market decided on this? What kind of market??

“Heyyy! Are we there yet?!” Oh yea. You had a ‘Fairy’ Flying behind you. Ambrose momentarily looks at the fairy before looking back at you. “What?” You say, tilting your head slightly.“What did they say?” He asked in response. “I wanna know if we’re there yet!” The fairy yells directly in your ear, causing you to flinch in response.

Momentarily glaring at the fairy for your ear strain. You look back at Ambrose to answer him, “He wants to know if we’re there yet.” That being wherever there is.

The old man chuckles “You’re absolutely right! We have no time to waste. The entrance ceremony is waiting for us!” This makes him start speed walking ahead of you so as to not waste any more time. For a man quite older than you, he’s surprisingly very fast.

“Wonder what this entrance ceremony is all about…” you mumble to yourself before speeding up behind Ambrose.

In a room full of people, everyone is whispering amongst themselves. About what? You might ask, no one may ever know. The room has the same interior as the place you woke up in, the only difference being a smaller number of steel coffins and a giant glass mirror standing in the middle of the room. The people in the room are wearing white and yellow cloaks; the hoods obscuring their identities.

A blonde haired boy speaks up from the crowd. “Soooo…is that everyone?,” he looks around the room “Are we done now?” clapping his hands together before standing in front of the crowd. “Alright new Wondreation students! We have rules here but we are not above nor below them, just have fun and all will be well!” He gives a warm yet playful smile to the crowd giving off a lighthearted vibe to himself.

A short man with animal ears stretches his arms out. “Thank the Great Seven this is finally over!” popping his back, “I was starting to get stiff.” He looks at the crowd. “Ima head back and get some rest now,” He waves a hand in the air, getting the attention of the crowd. “All Sunlione dorm members are with me!,” he motions towards the exit “Let's go!”

A curious looking boy in the crowd says his share of words, flashing a smile to everyone. “Hello-Hello! And congratulations to all of the new students of the academy!,” happily clapping to himself “You all are going to love it here! As the dorm leader of Atlarine I’m happy to help you in any way I can!”

A cute boy looks around the room, a worried expression on his face. “Did anyone see where the headmaster went? It’s not like him to walk out on such an important event…” A tall, buff-looking dude looks around as well, “Hey, you’re right! Where’d he go?!” A boy with bright purple eyes pops up behind the tall man, leaning against him despite their height difference . “Hmmm…maybe he had to use the bathroom?”

A loud bang of a door opening can be heard in the room, the source of the sound being Ambrose. “Oh there he is.” The blonde haired boy comments, subtly pointing at the old man. Ambrose rushes into the room with you and the fairy not far behind him. “Sorry for walking out everyone! It seems we were missing one student, so I went to go find them.”

The elderly man turns to you. “You still have time to be assigned to a dorm,” he motions to the flying cockroach, “Your fairy companion will be watching from the sidelines while you step in front of the glass mirror.”

The cockroach huffs in annoyance before standing, floating? By Ambrose. You step up to the mirror. An androgynous voice speaks from within the mirror “State thy name.”

“(Y/N).” you respond.

The whole room falls silent as you wait for the mirror’s response. “The shape of thy soul is…'' the mirror pauses, “I sadly cannot tell…'' the crowd gasps in disbelief. Ambrose confusedly looks at the mirror “Pardon?”. The glass mirror responds, “I sense no magic within this one.” The crowd begins to whisper, you’re sure it’s about you. the topic being most likely about you.

The mirror speaks once more, “The soul’s color, shape, essence, it’s all nothing.” The whispers are getting louder. “Hence they aren’t suited for any specific dormitory.” the stares on your person become more intense as the whispers continue to grow louder. Ambrose shakes his head in disbelief “The pearlescent pumpkin carriage would never make the mistake of bringing someone who can’t use magic.”

“In all my years,” (Lol) “There has never been a mistake in the student selection.” He puts a hand on his chin “Then again, mistakes can happen…” The fairy flies in front of you, standing in between you and Ambrose, shoving something in the elderly man’s hands. “Me! Me! I can take their place!”

“Unlike them!” Proudly thumbing towards themselves “I can use magic! Let me take their place, I promise you won’t regret it!” The little fairy looks like it’s about to burst from excitement, “Here I can even prove it to you right now!”

The short man with animal ears yells from the crowd “Hit the deck!” As the fairy pulls something out of his pocket and throws it on the floor, causing a fire within the room. Screams of fear and panic are heard throughout the room, as people try to flee the scene. The tall, buff looking man is flailing his arms around and running all over the place, “AHHHHHH! My butt is on fire!! Hot! Hot! Hotttt!” You snicker to yourself at how dumb he looks, flailing his arms around like an idiot.

Ambrose looks like he’s on the verge of panicking. Pointing to the flying creature, “Someone catch that fairy! Before the whole school gets burnt to a crisp!”

The blonde haired boy sighs, putting his hands on his hips. “Mannn…and here I was hoping to have another easy day.” The curious boy looks at the blonde in confusion “But I thought you always wanted to meet a fairy? Wouldn’t you like to catch and befriend him?” The blonde takes a minute to consider it, ultimately deciding not to. “Naw, I’m good.”

The boy with Bright Purple eyes raises his hand from the panicking crowd “Headmaster Ambrose! I can get him!” He proudly places his hands on his hips, “I’ve dealt with fairies before so I know how to handle this!” The cute boy giggles, “That’s Raheel for you. Always stepping up to help those in need.”

The buff man with his butt still on fire speaks up again “Um! Hello?! Can someone please help me put out my butt fire…please!?” He attempts to stop, drop, and roll to extinguish the fire but surprisingly it doesn’t work, which causes him to panic even more.

Ambrose is slowly panicking while trying to keep everyone else calm “Everyone! Remain calm!” The blondie places his arms behind his head, “It’s just a small flying roach. How hard can it be to catch it?” The roach turns towards the blonde, “I am not a roach!” angrily flailing its limbs around like a child throwing a tantrum. “I am a fairy! And I have a name!”

The boy with Purple eyes also known as ‘Raheel’ crosses his arms. “Uh-huh, and what might your name be then?” He says in a mocking tone.

The man with animal ears stands beside Raheel placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Well that isn’t very nice, Now was it?” Purple eyed boy shrugs before pulling out something that looks like a broach, aiming it at the fairy. “Probably not, but hey! It never hurts to tease.”

The man with animal ears shakes his head in disapproval; grabbing a similar looking broach, aiming it at the fairy as well. “Let's just get this over with.”

part 3-4

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afewfantasies · 3 months

Text

🗡️ Feyd's Blade 🗡️ - Part I (Snippet) - See you in my nightmares

Plot: "Feyd Rautha is psychotic", What if you were betrothed to that psychopath as an infant while he was only a boy before the psycopathy. What if the betrothal was forged by your fathers, both of whom are now dead? What if no one told you of the betrothal? What if you've only heard about it in whispers? What if Feyd Rautha Harkonnen is set to marry the Princess according to your Bene Gesserit order? What if the only thing that brings the unbalanced Harkonnen heir peace is the memory of holding you in his arms as a small boy during the betrothal commitment ceremony where he'd promised to keep you safe above all else? What if you've been having visions of the malevolent cruel figure? What if he's been searching the galaxy for you?

“Another one?” Your best friend and fellow Bene sister asks as you wake in another cold sweat. Nodding you sit up in bed blinking through the darkness. Leia lights the lamp and a yellow glow shines into both of your faces. The first vision was a decade ago, you had been sleeping under the stars. Pale skin and a bald head. A large brute of a man killed another. Then there was a boy clearly terrified but shaking with anger too. Black eyes, black teeth, pale skin, a temper. Year after year the visions became angrier, more psychopathic. Handing you your materials Leia climbs into bed beside you and you begin your account of the vision.

“Will you tell the reverend mother?” She asks.

“Not yet” you confess ordering your thoughts and placing the coded message on the scroll. Leia watches in silence. This vision was in a black room probably on Geidi Prime. You were asleep on a larger black bed with four posts. You were asleep only to wake up to the black eyes staring down at you. He’d never spoken before but he’d said two words in the strangest grittiest voice. “You’re mine” unlike all the other dreams you felt him in the bed, felt the friction of him coming closer, felt his breath on your skin, the heat coming from his body.

“Are you alright?” Leia asks, handing me a glass of water.

“What is it?” Leia asks.

“He’s coming for me mother must teach me the way” you say against your training with fear and foreboding.

PART I

Thanks for reading, 🩶 if you enjoy please leave a comment to let me know if i should continue with this concept 🩶

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #dune part 2 #dune part two #feyd rautha #feyd x you #feyd x reader #feyd oneshot #austin butler imagine #black authors #feyd x black reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x black reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you

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blueberrypancakesworld · 4 months

Text

Stalker/Obsessed Michael Gavey

He knew it was wrong, but wasn't it natural to want to get closer to a beauty like her? It's only biological, he had thought over and over again when his eyes had landed on her.

Ever since he had seen her at the ceremonial dinner, he had enrolled in every course she had taken, just like anyone else, whether it was of any use to him or not. That sweet, almost innocent smile, the joy in her eyes as she chatted with the others, the unimportant, clueless hookers who belonged to the "rich and popular".

But she was different, he knew it as his bright eyes continued to watch her from behind his glasses, and with every bite he took, with every sip of tea he took, everything he took did not seem to taste in the least like her. Oh, he had imagined it a hundred times when he tasted her, how she smelled, how she sounded when he touched her.

She didn't even need an occasion, she was simply beautiful, whether it was now in the hot summer in the short skirts, the top that showed her belly, the boots and the bright make-up on her eyes. In his mind, she was an angel, his own personal angel who had lost her feathers.

It was easy for the best student on campus to gain the trust of the professors, even if they didn't mind anyway, as long as they had a success rate and the rest was nothing. So it was easy to get her file, the picture of her key, the replica, and finally get into her room.

,,I'm here at last... my love," he had muttered as he casually closed the door behind him, a glance at his wristwatch and a push up of his glasses later he knew he had about ten minutes before his favorite came back from her break completely changed her racket for sports he put on the cute pink skirt and the white sports top underneath no bra which he had found on the bed as he had watched from one of the opposite windows with a TV when no one was there in the morning, at noon in the evening at night.

Someone has to take care of you, he thought as he started to walk around her room.

The smell of sweetness was insatiable, as if ice cream was everywhere in the room and he could finally touch it. His hands gripped a slight tremble when he opened the drawer in front of him, he saw that it was her t-shirts and underwear.

A gasp passed over her lips as he felt his cheek heat up and he slid his fingers over the soft fabric knowing he didn't have much time but it was enough for the blond-brown haired man to grab what he needed to get what he wanted and let himself down on her bed.

For a moment he imagined what it would be like to lie here with her, but he would still have enough fanaticism at the latest when the moon rose again and he had his rest and the fabric in his hands had a use.

However, he rose only a few hours later and walked through her room one last time before disappearing from her room with something new that he could not only add to his collection, but he also had something to enjoy being a little closer to her.

When he reached into the drawer of his nightstand, as he did every night, he could choose between underwear, t-shirt tops and even socks. He collected all his pride from her, even if he knew it was morlaishc defensible and what he did was punishable, in the end it was only natural. Because he knew that if someone like Felix got his darling, she would be lost forever and he could never have her for himself.

But soon after he had decided to take the black lacy underwear, as the light of the lamp dimmed in his room, it didn't take much to feel the tingling excitement in his stomach. ,,So-ngh pretty sweetie" came over his lips as he stroked his hardness, the soft fabric of his underwear providing a measure of variety between his fine lines.

His thoughts replayed the day over and over in his mind it was easy to imagine her his beautiful angel as he slowly jerked off that sweet smell of her clothes still seemed to cling to him his glasses flashed in the moonlight as his hair became slightly tangled as he tried to suppress it with the back of his hand.

Normally he turned on the music but today it was too much fun to see her like this she had even said ,,Hello Michael" to him as she walked past him in math to sit in his seat. A twitching through his hips caught the hint of the fabric moving faster around a hardness.

The thought she had taken him in just a little more and he would feel her the way she was around him...her body against him, the soft pretty breasts pressing against the fabric of her top as she hugged her friend. ,,So-ah soft," he murmured as he continued to imagine her, the thighs he would love to touch with his fingers, kissing and biting lightly as he made his way to her center, finally tasting her.

He would fulfill her and bring her to every ecstasy, whether with his tongue or his fingers, he would do anything for her just to finally be able to taste her and touch her.

To feel her hands in his hair when she pulled him closer and pressed his body against her, telling him that she needed him, that he was so incredibly good.

A thought that made him feel the tingling in his crotch increase and, with a suppressed moan of her name, he poured himself into the fabric that was now wet with cum between his fingers.

His breathing slowed only slightly as he looked down at his hand, the lust he felt for her was real and so was the love, ,,It's only a matter of time before you do it too...my love," he murmured, looking up at the dull moon shining through the curtains and out into the night.

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

@ateliefloresdaprimavera , @valeskafics , @aemonds-holy-milk , @moonygirlsworld , @blog4horror , @palomam18 , @sapphirespiders

#saltburn #saltburn movie #michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #ewan mitchell #saltburn michael gavey

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sugar-plum-writer · 5 months

Text

The Serene Peony Of Winter

Paring: Sukuna!King of Curses x Fem!Geisha Reader

Tags: Slight! mention of violence; Fem!reader; Sukuna!imagines; will be 18+ as more chapters come; slow!burn, [I want to have a good build up!], an ancient Japan romance through time with darling reader~, A chapter by chapter series, It will be a bit long maybe 10 chapters. So~ enjoy~

[If you all like it, please heart and reblog the post! to know you want to read more~ and follow for chapter updates! or leave a comment to tag you when I put out new chapters~ I will do my best to roll out UPDATES ASAP!]

New chapter update! @naoyagasm @janeaugustine @teonawrites @periwinkless-universe

CHAPTER - 2

The array of lamps and candles illuminated the beautiful room, like the night of a banquet, the wooden carvings engraved the room-like the hand bearing a legacy of love. Silk scrolls, delicate picturesque vases sat. As the scent of rosemary lingered, in prayer.

He sat as he gazed at you, looking into your eyes into your soul

Suddenly snapping back to reality― You closed your eyes and bowed your head, looking at him as if you just weren't about to run out screaming

"You, flatter me", a soft smile donned your face as your sleeves rustled― the grinding of tea leaves resounded― a perfect tea ceremony, it had been ingrained into your bones, even in death you could do it flawlessly

"I pray you like the tea I have prepared, especially gotten from the first harvest my Lord", placing the piping hot porcelain cup of tea in front of him as you looked him in the eyes

It is okay, it is fine, I will be fine, deep breathes, Y/n, treat it as any other, oh god why can't my heart calm down- oh how hard you tried to convince yourself

"Flattering?"― he laughed, taking up the cup of tea in his hands- holding it near his face, inhaling the aroma as his lips touched the rim

"You know, for a mere human, you sure look quite calm― by now 1 out of 2 would have fainted" he placed the cup down, and before you knew it―

you felt a great force grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look up, eyes widened in terror as you looked into the blood-red eyes illuminated by evil, fueled by desire, and― living in a world beyond yours

"Look me in the eyes when I speak to you woman, it's your face I want to look at"― devilish grin dripped from his eyes to his lips, forming a smirk on his face, a color― unfamiliar

Pulling you close― his hot breath on yours, Inches away― the poor porcelain tea splattered across the mat, spanning to the silks drenching the precious fabric― leaking to the tatami mat― As a gust of wind made all candles fade out not daring to light up.

Eyes locked into yours― burring holes into your skin, so deep your heartfelt dug out from the depths of your chest―

"I have been very patient", his hands going down from the wisps of your hair to your earnings brushing it― untangling it, as his lips kissed the lock of your hair

"Tell me, what's your price woman?"

"Afterall I didn't expect- to see such a beauty tonight"

Heart pounding― breathing shaking, not an inch of your muscle moved because of the sheer terror you felt, a terror digging― clawing deep into your very bones, you felt you had 1000 swords around, glistening, near your neck, threatening to perforate it mercilessly

"I-"

You dug out from every nook and cranny of your existence― Every ounce of strength you had― and looked him in the eyes

"I, Y/n do not offer such services Ryomen Sukuna-sama, for I am a Geisha"― freeing yourself from his grasp, you lowered your head onto the ground, joining your hands in front― you bowed deep on your knees, head lowered enough to snap your neck

"I have no price- for, the Sakura have not bloomed yet, and my Peony's have not wilted-,

Taking a sharp breath- piercing your lungs, your voice louder

not wilted enough to be thrown away as an arrangement of a Higanbana", with a solemn tone, the last words rolled out your tongue- into an air sharp enough to cut lives, you raised your gaze again looking into his

Silence

Utter suffocating silence

Chuckle― no rather a cackle echoed throughout the room

"Really? How amusing, even after knowing who I am, How I can rip your skin to shreds, dig out your pitiful guts, and throw them to dogs", his sharp nails grazed your cheek, and it stung as crimson blood dripped down your cheek to your chin

A crimson rouge of a unique kind, a rouge he loved to see, a rouge of death- as red as death

"Yet, you said no, not screaming, rather, in a way I Sukuna have never been spoken to, quite a woman you are", resting his chin on his hand, his legs crossed

"Is that mere dignity of yours― worth more than that pathetic life of yours woman? Should I call you a fool or an insane fool", looking down at you condescendingly, how pathetic you are

"For too many―their lives sure are worth it, but to me"

"Is life worth living as a person with no dignity? Even if I die, it is fine, for, I think― I have lived long enough. I don't wish to give away the last part of me that I have left", voice cracking as a stream of sorrow started to roll down your cheeks, only it knowing the pain― the horror you bear

"My face, my voice, have already been tailored, my Lord. Who am I? I do not know, but, until my dying breath I wish to keep this pathetic dignity of mine, I am foolish, maybe the biggest fool in the world"

The sadness in your soul, the tragedy in your heart, that circulated through your veins, all black like ink dripping from your eyelashes down your cheek gently falling down your neck

"Please, if you wish― if it will satisfy you", taking the last hairpin from your hair, raised it holding it between your palms as you lowered your head

"End me"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Your mind does not remember what happens next, for your emotions were too much all over the place, but what you do remember is― the words that shook you to your core

"Didn't you say- you aren't to be thrown away as a dry arrangement of Higanbana? Raise your head"

Vision hazy, clouded by tears, not even able to make out your own hands, you looked at him

"You won't be, For I Ryomen Sukuna, am interested― what your story is woman, I will make sure―

His devilish eyes glistened as if he found a new toy

"To taste the tragedy in your heart, the piercing pain― Let me eat it, swallow it down my throat into my veins, into my brain forever as I live Y/n, to make it mine"

Footnotes:

>Peony: It means bravery and honor. Today it is used in decorations at weddings to promote good fortune for the bride and groom. It is referred to as "the king of a hundred of flowers"

>Sakura: It represents a time of renewal and optimism, as in Japan during the blossoming of Sakura- it marks the end of winter and beginning of a new start.

>Higanbana (Red-Spider Lily): A flower of death and sadness

Hence-

"I have no price- for, the Sakura have not bloomed yet, and my Peony's have not wilted-

not wilted enough to be thrown away as an arrangement of a Higanbana"

Means:

"I have no price- as, happiness has not bloomed, a new start has not arrived, my dignity and honor have not wilted- not wilted enough to be thrown away as an arrangement of death and sadness."

I hope you like the explanation~ <3 Footnote: Check out masterlist for all chapters!

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eff4freddie · 1 month

Text

Touch | Part Seven

The aftermath of the aftermath, an absence, and an arrival.

Words: 6k

Warnings: depiction of strangulation, grief and trauma, brief mention of suicide, no smut in this one, angst angst angsty angst, fuck Joel Miller but not in the fun way. Minors DNI.

Part Six | Series Masterlist | Part Eight

It was like the weather knew. As Jackson was dropped into mourning the weather turned colder, grey clouds now permanently blotting out the sun. The light turned silvery and feeble, the days short, and it felt appropriate, and earned. Your punishment for demanding more than this broken world could meter out.

There was a quick ceremony in the town square, five wreaths laid down at the gate, a handful of words spoken into the wind. You didn’t go. You stayed with Ray, slept on his couch, sequestered yourselves in your home of death, and of loss. You took your punishment for having hoped for something better.

And you were tired. Your bones hurt, your joints. You could swear you could hear the creaking protests of the blood pushing through your rusted, unwilling veins. You just kept getting up and getting food for Ray because he wasn’t going to, because Simon had abandoned you both, because if Ray died of cold and starvation in the middle of the most civilised town going for thousands and thousands of miles the irony would be enough to take you out, too.

He didn’t speak much. He slept less, waking at all hours to scream and cry and thrash at his pillows. You would haul yourself up the stairs, turn the lamp on, hold his arms and wait for him to come back to himself. You knew he was drowning in the guilt of it, in having interpreted the message, in having breathlessly passed it on. You knew that he was firm in his belief that the town blamed him, that he had been the one to set the dominos to falling. You wanted to throw him a lifeline, wanted to pull him to the bow of the boat, but you were totally unable to lift your arms, to hold the rope. You dropped it by your feet and watched the ocean take him. Borrowed all the power you had not to jump in and go under, the same.

It wasn’t just for Marla, this weight on your chest, and you knew that. But you also knew that it would be selfish of you to bring anyone else into this house now, to crowd the place with ghosts. You waited until Ray was asleep again, until you were back under your thin blanket on the couch, before you let yourself consider your own wounds.

Fuck Joel Miller, you decided. He was wrong, he was wrong in so many ways; about what kind of person he was, about how you saw him, about why you went for him that night. But you didn’t care to explain that to him, didn’t feel the need to go out of your way to reassure him when he had barely taken two steps from his.

Of all the fucking things to be fucking worrying about right this fucking second, you were furious that it was Joel who was taking up so much of your mental space. You didn’t cry for him, refused to, and when you felt the ache at the back of your throat, the downturn of your mouth, you thought instead of Marla, of your dad, of your sister, sometimes even of your mum.

You weren’t sleeping at Ray’s so that Joel would maybe panic if he came for you and discovered you were gone. You definitely didn’t lie in the dark until the dawn broke imagining the fear, his heart dropping into his stomach, at the realisation that he had wronged you and also that you had left, taking with you any chance for him to grovel, to get down on his knees and plead for your forgiveness, to beg for you to come back to him.

You also didn’t speculate as to whether he was looking for you. Whether he was thinking of you, wondering if you were OK, regretting anything. You didn’t speculate because you knew that he wasn’t. That he wouldn’t. It would have really hurt if you thought about it. So, you definitely didn’t. Fuck that guy.

A handful of days after the wreaths, you couldn’t say how many exactly, you and Ray ran out of food. You pulled on your jacket, the cold biting hard at your cheeks when you stepped out into the early morning air for what felt like the first in years, and you felt no warmth in it, no gentle caress. It was too bright, and you lifted your arm to shield your eyes, and you could just make out the shapes of people huddled against the cold, holding their jackets to their bodies, as they stumbled, heads down, to the mess hall. You followed them, putting your feet into their footsteps in the snow to try and conserve effort. You had no appetite, but you could feel you were weak, and you knew you needed something other than stale toast.

The mess hall was quiet, even with all the people in it. You joined the line for breakfast with your head low, your eyes on the tray in front of you. Behind you, two older gentlemen struck up a conversation. You didn’t turn, but you recognised the voice of one of them: Ben, who worked the greenhouses and had terrible problems with his mid-back as a result. You’d shown him some stretches, some strengthening exercises, and let him lie to you that he’d done them at his next visit. He’d been sorry when he swore with the pain of your elbow in his scapula. Had been kind about it.

‘Hasn’t felt like this in a while,’ Ben said, and you heard his friend mumble in agreement.

‘Haven’t lost this many in a long time,’ the other man said.

‘In one go,’ Ben clarified.

‘In one go,’ the other man confirmed. You felt your arms shaking under the weight of the tray, which was still largely empty. You wondered how long it took for malnutrition to set in. If grief made it faster.

‘The Council’s done a good job,’ Ben said, after a few moments of contemplation. ‘Been a while since most of us have had to fight.’

‘Too old for that,’ the other man laughed, a wheezing thing that brought a handful of splutters with it. ‘Think they just don’t ask us anymore.’

You heard Ben chuckle. You kept trying to remember his last name. Couldn’t.

‘That Maria, she’s a clever one,’ he said. You heard his friend agree. ‘Maybe if she’d been part of it-‘

‘Don’t,’ you said, spinning around on your heel and surprising them nearly as much as you had surprised yourself. ‘The trip was planned right, they were just ambushed. And Maria was busy pushing out a human, so you can’t turn this on her.’

‘Wasn’t trying to,’ Ben said, with his arms lifting slightly in defence.

‘It was just shitty luck and desperation, and general apocalypse,’ you went on, undeterred. You had raised your voice without realising, didn’t hear that the mess hall had gone from quiet to deathly as you spoke. ‘They were strong, and they were smart, and they still got fucked over and there aren’t any stupid little words that will make that less true, or less shit.’

You felt, to your horror, that you were about to cry.

‘Hey now,’ Ben said, and he was still being kind to you even as you unfairly ripped him a new one in the middle of the mess hall, with half of the town watching on.

‘They were good people,’ you said, your voice wobbling as traitorous tears appeared in your eyes. ‘Everyone here,’ you faltered, your cheeks flushing hot, ‘everyone here is good people,’ you finished, running out of steam and suddenly just so tired. You had forgotten, had somehow managed to forget, how exhausting grief is, how hard to keep one foot in front of the other with the anchor dragging in the mud at the rear.

‘We’re sorry, miss,’ the other gentleman said to you, as if he were defusing a bomb. You dropped your tray on the way out, eyes scanning over the crowd for the nearest exit, thinking you might have seen a flash of forest green flannel and ignoring it, folding it up and sliding it between your spleen and your pancreas, hoping your bile would degrade it, your bile and everything else so acidic and corrosive inside you.

Food appeared on Ray’s doorstep that evening, and then every morning for the next week. Soup in a thermos, pieces of fruit, sometimes butter and crusty bread. You gave most of it to Ray, spooned it into his mouth and watching him swallow, assuring him you wouldn’t let him choke when he panicked that it wouldn’t go down. His anxiety had morphed over the sleepless nights, over the nightmares, such that he had started to check his body each morning for bites, had started to worry that the food still had spores in it, that he would turn. Countless times he tried to push you out of the house in case he was infected and just didn’t know it, despite not having left the house, despite watching you eat the food first to prove to him it was safe. Sometimes he panicked that Marla was still alive out there, that she had only been wounded and so had, in fact, turned, that she had become twisted and gnarled like so many of the runners and clickers you had all slaughtered over the course of twenty years. He howled at the thought of it, rasped agony into the air around him when his voice gave out. These were the times you held him to you and promised him she was gone. Gone, gone. Which, in this world, was the far better option.

You assumed the food was from Tommy. When this was over, whatever ‘over’ turned out to be, you resolved to go and thank him properly. As the days wore on you noticed Ray slipping, just as you were starting to feel exhausted by it, by caring for him, as much as you also hated yourself for it. His paranoia was unabating, mixed in with misery and self-hatred, as his eyes darted around the corners of the room, over the skin on his arms, on yours. You knew that it had gone too far for you to be able to pull him back on your own, that you were running, fast, out of ideas, but you were reluctant to bring in Dougie, to ask for any help. So much of this, so much of what Jackson now endured, was because of the three of you. You felt you had to be the one to solve it, even though your prospects were rapidly running out. Out the window you could see that Jackson was slowly coming out of its fugue, while you stayed held under by the tide.

On the last night, he called you on it. You spooned soup into his mouth, and he watched you, his eyes unusually sharp, as you steadied your hand to keep from spilling any on his bed sheets.

‘You hate me now, don’t you,’ he said, and you paused, spoon in mid-air, letting a long breath out through your nose. He asked you this nearly every day. You were getting close to having to lie to him.

‘Of course I don’t,’ you said, and you wondered how many more turns of this conversation you were going to have to have.

‘No, not about Marla,’ he clarified, and he took the spoon out of your hand and let it clatter down into the bowl. ‘You hate being here, now. My sadness is too close for you. You can’t outrun it.’

You set your jaw, bit down on so much of what you could have said. ‘It’s been hard to see you like this,’ you said, settling on a truth that carried with it more meaning than you hoped he felt like decoding.

‘You wish I was bitten,’ he said. ‘Instead of her.’

‘I think you wish you were bitten instead of her,’ you said, plainly, bluntly. ‘I think you know I wish I was bitten instead of her, too.’

‘You kept saying you know she’s gone,’ he went on. ‘How do you know?’

You hadn’t told him about Joel, about running to him to end it before she turned, about needing him to do it because you couldn’t bring yourself to, not while she was still her.

‘It was taken care of,’ you said, and you hated that you made her sound like a sick cat being put out of its misery.

‘Who took care of it? How was it taken care of?’ Ray was different now, you realised. He wasn’t paranoid that she was still out there. This wasn’t grief-induced delirium. This was something sharper, pointier, something with more intent.

You faltered, having wondered blindly into quicksand. ‘It was…it was done well,’ you said, trying to think ahead of all the myriad pathways this conversation could go down, struggling to head him off at the pass when there were so many.

‘Who did it,’ he asked again, and you wanted to protect Joel, even if you didn’t fully know why, but you didn’t want to lie to Ray and tell him it was anyone else, pin it on them, because in this moment you weren’t sure what he would do to them.

Instead, you hedged your bets. ‘I did it,’ you replied, watching his face twist from shock to sadness to incandescent fury.

‘You,’ he repeated, quiet and deathly, and you steeled yourself for whatever was going to come next.

‘Yes,’ you said. In a way it wasn’t a lie. You had run to Joel knowing what he would do. Knowing he wouldn’t hesitate.

Ray regarded you for a long moment. You saw the way he took a shaky breath in, gripped the edge of the bowl in your hands, eased it from you to set it down, gently, on the floor beside the bed. Then he slapped you, came up hard and fast from the ground, his arm swinging with the full force of it, so that it hit you hard across the cheek and threw you sideways, landing you on your arse on the ground. You barely had time to gasp before he was on top of you, hands on your throat, and you felt your skin stretch and spillover trying to find space under the squeeze. You were surprised by the pain of it, the way you suddenly wondered if he was going to shatter the vertebrae in your neck with his grip alone, saw a flash of the way Jacob’s neck was bent when he came back strapped to Marla, wondered if that was how they got him, too.

For a long moment you didn’t fight it. Your hands flew to Jacob’s, both of them wrapped hard around your throat, but you didn’t claw at them, you didn’t try and pry his fingers from you. You gasped out of reflex, sought air where it was being pushed from your body, but with what oxygen you still had in your brain you contemplated for a moment just letting him do it. The pain wouldn’t last, you reasoned, and you wondered what type of flowers they’d use for your wreath, how long before they wilted under the weight of melting snow. You wondered if you would see your sister, your dad. If Marla would be waiting for you so you could talk shit about Ray well into the afterlife. You imagined her joking about haunting him. You almost smiled.

You couldn’t even really see Ray anymore, were barely in the room with him. You wondered if you would see your mum. How you would explain to her what the last 22 years of your life had been like without her, if she would wrap you in her arms and hold you warm and safe for the first time since you were 15. If she would have hair, wherever she was. If you could be together again, the four of you. If she had missed you like you had missed her.

You felt tears on your cheeks, and you were sure that they were yours, and that you were crying for your mother. That if you could speak you would call for her, raise your arms up to the ceiling and let her take you up. You were amazed by how deeply you wanted it, how you could feel the tug in your stomach, in your chest, the want to pull up and away. Before she got sick, she’d taken you on a plane to Florida, to Disney World, and you had felt the rush of the plane pushing you back into your seat as you sliced the clouds in two. She had held your hand in hers as you ascended. You felt you had left your fear on the tarmac.

You saw her, buckled in to the seat next to you, and you realised she had aged and so had you, and she was reaching her hands out to cradle your face, and you let her, and as she sucked in a breath so did you, down on the ground with Ray over you, you sucked in some air, and she screamed over the sudden roar of the engines, that you had to fight.

Your hand left Ray’s and flew to his cheek, where you drove your thumb into his eye socket, felt the give and pop of it. He howled, let go of your throat to reach for his face, and you scrambled out from under him, kicking away at the ground until you found purchase, pushed yourself up until you were backed against the wall and could leverage it to get to your feet. You gasped for air, held your throat as if you thought it would fall to pieces, spluttered and felt the burn of your lungs. Ray rolled on the ground, his hand covering his eye, and you could see that it was bleeding heavily, blood running through his fingers and onto his shirt, and with his good eye he was looking up at you, shocked and hurt and betrayed, and you left him there, kicked and broke the bowl on your way out without seeing it, took the stairs two at a time to get out.

Ray was escorted out of Jackson the next morning. You hadn’t told anyone what happened, but you had gone to the infirmary to see if they had any painkillers, and Dougie had seen the bruises, and then you mentioned he should probably go check on Ray. Two and two got put together without you having to pull out the abacus. Without Marla you didn’t care that he was gone.

Word got around and Tommy visited. He appeared on your doorstep holding a pot of stew and you thanked him for it, thanked him for all the food at Ray’s, and he seemed not to know what you were talking about, and you decided not to press it, because that little flicker of hope was too much for you right now, too dangerous, and despite all of the lessons you were still learning how treacherous hope could be.

Tommy brought you over to the window to inspect you under the light, and you felt the softness of his hands, the warmth of him on your skin, and you thought about Joel until you worried you might cry, and you wanted to crack a joke but couldn’t think of any.

‘It just feels like everything has gone further to shit, and I didn’t think that was possible,’ you said, trying to keep your smile fixed in place. ‘I think we ruined Jackson.’

Tommy shook his head, waved the words away like they were flies buzzing in front of him.

‘Bullshit,’ he said, with his eyes so brown and warm and meaning it, really meaning it.

‘But all of this…Marla and Ray…’ you went on, and he shrugged.

‘You cut that out,’ he said, suddenly coming on all Southern and bossy. ‘That’s the kinda talk Ray was going on about while we threw him out of here. No good comes from that talk. No good.’

You nodded your head. Knew that he was right, of course, but didn’t have anything else you could say.

‘It hurts,’ you said, in the end, and he furrowed his brow.

‘You been to the Doc?’ he asked, and you shook your head, dismissed it.

‘Not that,’ you said, waving to your bruised throat. ‘Everything else.’

‘Oh, Sugar,’ he said, and you would have melted into him except he was the wrong fucking Miller. ‘Maria told me once, people don’t get sad about somethin’ ‘til it’s over. ‘Til they feel safe, then they can get sad.’

You sniffed, the tears really starting to threaten now, and you curled your hands into fists to try and force them to retract, to just fucking behave.

‘Ray said I run from my feelings,’ you said, your face crumpling.

‘Do you?’ he asked, reaching out to hold you in place, somehow just knowing you felt like you were about to dissolve in front of him. You thought of the Little Mermaid, the proper Grimm one, where she turns into sea foam at the end.

‘I think I do,’ you spluttered out, and he threw you into his arms then, pulled you forward into his chest, and you wanted to wail but you couldn’t, didn’t. Joel had made you feel safe. Joel had given that to you and then ripped it away, and now it was just you and the sad.

‘Wondered why you and Joel got on so well,’ he said, and you gasped even though he was trying to help, and he immediately tried to backtrack. ‘Woah, woah,’ he said, as if you were a horse that he hadn’t properly broken, ‘it was a joke, I’m sorry, Sugar.’

You pulled away from him, feeling guilty and foolish. You willed your breath to settle, firmly instructed your stomach to stop rolling. You reached up to Tommy and wiped at the scant tears you had deposited onto his shirt.

‘I’m OK,’ you said, willing the moment to pass. You took in a shuddering breath. ‘I’m just so tired,’ you said, after a minute. You wiped your nose on your sleeve and ignored Tommy’s grimace. Surely Robin had done way worse shit three times already and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

‘You know I still think about you with Maria, and Robin,’ Tommy said, and you were pulled out of your misery for a second. ‘You just…you gave me the strength to be there for her, I guess. You were so calm.’

‘Yeah, well one of us had to be,’ you said, and you were grinning now. You reached out to hold his bicep, so that he knew you were only kidding, but he was smiling too, and you he knew that it was coming from a warm place, and it felt so good to have him smile at you, in your home by the window, where you he could better see your bruises.

‘Were you running from your feelings then?’ he asked, ‘with Maria and Robin?’

You weren’t, and you knew it as well as Tommy did, but you didn’t know how to tell him it was different. You thought about Joel hovering in the doorway, how he held you in his gaze so you could bear it.

‘Tommy, I have so much to thank you for,’ you said, after a while.

‘Don’t thank me yet, I need a favour,’ he said, and his tucked his hands into his pockets and looked genuinely contrite.

‘Oh,’ you said, and you worried that you didn’t have anything to give, that you were about to let him down, the fear that now he wasn’t going to like you anymore crashing onto your shoulders.

‘It’s Ellie,’ he went on, oblivious, while you tried to remember what breathing is. ‘Joel left her with us because she can’t be on her own, but with Robin and Maria, I mean we’re up all night. I don’t want to mess with her schoolin-‘

‘Left her with you,’ you said, your brain catching on the words. ‘Where did he go?’

Tommy shifted on his feet, looking out the window as a few people wandered past, still huddled against the brutal cold. You swallowed.

‘It’s...well, the pharmacy,’ he said, and you felt your heart hammering in your chest.

‘He’s going back out there?’

‘A few are, yeah. The supplies… they could really help.’

‘The ambush!’ you said, horrified and furious at what you were hearing.

‘We spoke to Matthew,’ Tommy said, and you realised he meant the other rider, the last of the six. ‘He reckons they got most of them, that even if they didn’t the clickers they had with them, they would have.’

‘Tommy, no…’ you started, but he waved a hand at you to stop.

‘I know, but the town council had a vote.’

‘He’s going to be killed like the rest of them!’ you screeched with your ragged throat. ‘You don’t even know if there’s really anything out there. Ray could have been wrong!’

‘Joel’s strong, and we know where they are now. We figure they were going for the same honey pot.’

‘They won’t have stayed there, Jesus Christ, Tommy,’ you said, wanting to push him over, shove him against the wall, hit something with something hard. ‘They could be anywhere, they could be…’ You trailed off, something clicking into place. They could be coming here.

‘Sugar,’ Tommy started, and you stopped him almost immediately.

‘Absolutely fucking do not call me that,’ you snapped.

‘It was good intel,’ Tommy went on, undeterred, but you didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to entertain it, didn’t want the words hanging in the air anywhere near you.

‘They kept clickers to kill people with, Tommy. They were…that’s like, super raiders or some shit. God, what have you fucking done?’ you asked, rounding on Tommy now, who looked shocked and hurt for a moment, before he steeled his features, and you saw the family resemblance, and you wanted him out of your house.

‘Can you take her?’

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ you asked, realising you were now pacing up and down in front of your couch, and not fucking caring.

‘Joel said if we got stuck, that she mentioned you, that she…’

‘That she what?’ you snapped at him. ‘Trusts me? I don’t know her. But if this is what her family does I can fucking see why I’m the better option.’

You were so angry, and you had no idea why, but it felt good and you wanted to stay that way, wanted to punch a pillow and rip something in half, because finally you weren’t feeling so fucking greyed out anymore, finally you weren’t just radio static and snow.

You thought about Ray with his hands on your throat, about Joel throwing your clothes at you, at Marla so scared and so sad right there in front of the fire. You winced away from that memory. That one wasn’t allowed.

Tommy watched you, scared to move, and you could feel it slipping out of you now, the fight. Protective like they will lock you out in the cold to save you from the monster under the bed.

‘I have no idea how to look after a teenage girl,’ you said, after a while, and you heard the defeat in it, the give.

‘You were one once,’ he said.

‘I said what I said,’ you replied.

Ellie arrived, sullen and sad and fourteen, on your doorstep the next morning. Tommy stood behind her with a bag of her things. You stepped aside and ushered her in, slipping the bag from Tommy’s hand and closing the door on him. You felt cruel doing it, but you were also taking in Joel’s kid, so you figured you’d earned some shittiness.

Ellie moved straight to the couch and was genuinely surprised when you told her she could have your room.

‘Where will you go?’ she asked, standing rigid in your living room like she thought you were going to just up and leave her there.

‘I’ll go on the couch,’ you said, simply. ‘It’s fine, for years I went without a mattress, I can do pull a few more nights.’

‘You’re giving me your whole bed?’ Ellie asked, her voice rich with incredulity. You smiled at her, hoping she couldn’t see the desolation in you if you papered over the cracks.

‘I just want you to be comfortable,’ you said. ‘You’re welcome here anytime.’

You had no idea if you meant that, but you imagined it was something your mum would have said. You let yourself sink heavy into the cushions, your hand going up instinctively to pull at your turtleneck. As you pulled it away from the skin you realised Ellie could see the bruises. You looked up into her pale, drawn face.

‘Tommy said there were an accident,’ she said, quietly. You rolled the turtleneck up again, nodding at her.

‘That wasn’t an accident,’ she said, simply. ‘Or did you try and string yourself up from a tree?’

You remembered she had grown up in an apocalypse, in a QZ of all places. She would be desensitised. She would be insensitive. She would be fucking fourteen.

‘It wasn’t…’ you started, and then you remembered that at her age you could always tell when an adult was lying to you. ‘I was attacked,’ you started again, and you saw the way her face fell. ‘I’m OK,’ you said, reaching your hands up to her, but not close enough to touch. ‘I fought him off, and he’s gone from Jackson now.’

‘How did you fight him?’ she said, sitting down on the couch beside you, her face studying yours.

‘I poked him in the eye, well I…I kind of punctured his eyeball, I think? I’m not sure, I didn’t get a good look. But he let me go and then I made a break for it.’

Ellie seemed to think about this for a while, and you let her digest it. ‘Did you like it?’ she asked, quiet, and you shook your head almost immediately.

‘No,’ you said, ‘but I don’t regret it either. He would have killed me if I hadn’t.’ You went quiet as you thought, flexing your fingers, looking at the thumb you had pushed into Ray’s eye socket. ‘I guess, I regret being in the position to have to do it, but I don’t regret doing it. Y’know?’

Ellie nodded, and you watched her face and could see that she did know, that she knew exactly.

‘People have to do to shit to stay alive,’ you said. ‘It’s not like the before times. I mean, you weren’t born then. But back then we would never…I could never imagine, wouldn’t even know how to. We’ve still got all these morals and guilt and hang-ups from the before times, and sometimes I think we need them and sometimes I think they hold us back.’

‘Sometimes they make us feel guilty for doing things that didn’t exist back then, when the rules were written,’ she said, and fuck she was smart.

‘Yes,’ you said. Suddenly you were sad, and you wondered what your mum would make of you now, how you could ever explain. From the ashes you had not emerged a phoenix but something far wilder, something with far greater claws.

‘I think I get that,’ Ellie said.

‘Sometimes, I just try and forgive myself for the things I did to get here,’ you said. ‘Sometimes I try and thank my younger self, my previous self, my yesterday self, for getting me to today.’

‘That’s fucking weird,’ she said, and you giggled.

‘I never said it wasn’t,’ you replied. You nudged her with your shoulder.

‘You don’t want me here,’ she said, so matter-of-factly that you weren’t sure you heard her.

‘I…don’t?’ you asked.

‘No, neither does Tommy and Maria.’

‘They have the baby,’ you reasoned, and she nodded. ‘What makes you think I didn’t want you here?’

She shrugged. ‘You didn’t speak to Tommy,’ she said, eventually, and fuck she was a little too smart, actually.

‘That’s not about you,’ you said, quickly.

‘It’s about Joel,’ she said, speaking the quiet part out loud. You looked away from her, not wanting his name spoken in your sanctuary. You had moved the coffee table to the corner of the room.

‘We shouldn’t be trying to get to that fucking pharmacy,’ you said, and then realised you’d sworn in front of her, and apologised.

‘I don’t give a fuck,’ she said, and you gave her a half-hearted smile.

‘Just don’t tell Maria I swore,’ you said, and she rolled her eyes.

‘Maria will already know,’ and you snorted, then. ‘I didn’t want him to go either,’ she said, more quietly. You felt like you wanted to put an arm around her, but also didn’t know how she would react, if it would be too weird, reminded yourself that you didn’t really even know her that well.

‘Tommy says he’s strong, that he’ll come back,’ you tried to reassure her.

‘How do you know if someone’s lying to you?’ she asked, and she didn’t mean generally, she meant you, specifically. You floundered for a moment.

‘Uhh…I dunno, I guess I listen for things they say that don’t make sense? Sometimes they won’t look you in the eye?’

She turned to you, swivelled her whole body to face you, and fixed you with an unwavering, unnerving stare. You were completely disarmed in the wake of it.

‘Do you think Joel’s a good person?’ she asked.

You briefly wondered when exactly your entire life had become about trying to decipher that grumpy old man. The truth was that you hadn’t really spoken much, even in the time you’d spent together, and that you felt an attraction to him, a yearning and an ache right at the core of you, that was almost independent of you both. You became someone else with him, and all this time since you had wondered if that person was the person you were supposed to be if you weren’t so afraid all the time, if you hadn’t had everything and everyone you cared about stripped from you, if you feeling safe and warm and protected with Joel bore a version of you that was free and unafraid, and she felt so fucking unfamiliar that you ran from her, pushed Joel away just to make her disappear, before you disappointed her, before you lost her, too.

‘I know he’s done things. I mean I don’t know what things, but I know he would have done things. To survive.’ You thought for a moment longer, her gaze still on you. ‘To protect,’ you tried again. ‘I think he will do bad things to protect the people he loves, and that might makes lines blurry.’

‘You don’t doubt him?’

Fuck, did you? You tried to remind yourself you didn’t care.

‘I don’t know if I really know him, Ellie,’ you said, settling again on a vague kind of truth.

‘I spent a lot of time with him,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I know him really either. I don’t think he knows himself, so I don’t know how I’m s’posed to.’

You nodded your head, wondering when exactly this kid had turned 45 years old. ‘Ellie, I…’ you started, but she butted in.

‘I still love him,’ she said. ‘He’s basically my dad. But he does things that don’t make sense to me, and I don’t think he really tells me everything.’

‘Do you doubt him, Ellie?’ you asked, and she took a second to think about it.

‘He says he told me the truth,’ she said, after a while.

You wanted and didn’t want to ask what she meant. She didn’t sound convinced, more just resigned to the not-knowing.

She shrugged, suddenly. ‘I do want him to come back,’ she said. You slumped back against the couch, your back creaking as you curled your spine.

‘Me too,’ you said. Fuck Joel Miller. Fuck him and his perfect fucking face.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

@anoverwhelmingdin

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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fayes-fics · 2 years

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Innocence: Pt IV

Innocence series masterpost

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict finally takes his wife's innocence

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, innocence/corruption kink, sex education, loss of virginity, dirty talk, smidge of exhibtionism, oral sex (m to f), vaginal sex.

Word Count: 6.2k (oops)

Authors Note: Here we are, it's the wedding night and sex finally happens. I hope you enjoy <3 Thanks as always to makaylan for the beta read.

There’s a persistent feeling the whole of your wedding day. As if, in some ways, you are waiting for it to be over. Yes, your ceremony is lovely and emotional, and yes, the reception after is a terrific party filled with family and friends, but it’s not what you are anticipating.

A wedding lasts but one day; a marriage lasts a lifetime.

You are eager to get to the part where it’s just the two of you; starting the rest of your life together.

So, as you ascend into his, now your, horse-drawn carriage to return to his, now your, London home, the wait is finally over. His hand feels warm through your glove as he assists you, well-wishers waving you farewell as the carriage jolts to life.

He is smiling at you, sitting in the opposite seat, and you pout at him.

“What’s wrong, Mrs Bridgerton?” he teases, knowing how much you love your new title.

“You are quite far away,” you huff with mock indignance. “Can you not sit with me?”

There is a brief chuckle. “I am but a foot from you,” he points out, your knees touching, “and this carriage ride will be five minutes at most. It would be rather cramped if I were to sit next to you, and I doubt you would be comfortable. Now that I think on it, this is a carriage designed for one, really. We need to upgrade now, especially if we start a fam….”

He stops mid-sentence, his mouth falling open fractionally and his pupils rapidly dilating. You have quickly straddled him and sat on his legs, just like you did on that fateful night of the Bridgerton Ball.

“Husband,” you purr with a raised eyebrow, enjoying the look of surprise and desire on his face.

A large hand lands on your thigh, warm through your silk dress. “Is this how it’s going to be?” He fires you a lopsided grin. “My wanton little wife just climbing into my lap on every carriage ride?”

You tilt your head with a knowing smile and a raised eyebrow. “Is that a complaint or a compliment I hear, Mr Bridgerton?” you volley playfully, champagne making you louche and just a little bold.

His eyes sparkle in the low light of the passing street lamp as his face erupts into a proper grin. “Oh, I married so very well,” he opines and leans in to capture your lips with his.

You shuffle forward as the kiss deepens, and he makes a noise into your mouth as you rock the apex of your thighs on his crotch.

“How long did you say this carriage ride would be, husband?” you check as you break the kiss.

“Five minutes, more like three now,” Benedict replies, sounding almost rueful.

“Pity. I was rather thinking of fulfilling your wish,” you tease, running your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck.

“What wish?”

“For me to suck your cock in our carriage,” you breathe right into his ear.

He makes a low noise, and his fingers dig into your hips.

“Another time, my love,” he murmurs, “tonight is when you truly become a woman. Are you looking forward to it?”

“Yes, husband,” you whisper, diving back in for a hungry kiss as the carriage jostles you slightly to the left; you have to shoot out a hand and hold the roof to keep on him. His hands band around your bottom and pull you snugly over his rigid cock as you again plunder each other’s mouths. Endless kisses as you grind each other unhurriedly, building a simmering tension that threatens to boil over.

So engrossed in each other, neither of you realises the carriage has stopped moving until there is a polite throat clearing as a footman stands expectantly outside the door.

“We are here, my love,” he coos softly, not a shred of embarrassment about being caught in a passionate clinch.

In his arms, you duck down to look through the carriage window at the red brick townhouse that will be your London home. It looks homely, handsome even.

“It looks wonderful, Benedict,” you exhale, turning back to face him and placing a light kiss on his lips before detangling yourself from his lap.

He assists you down the steps to the pavement, but as you move towards the door, he sweeps you off your feet bridal style as you squeak in surprise.

“Do you honestly think I wouldn’t carry you over the threshold Mrs Bridgerton?” his tone honeyed with an undercurrent of heat, his body solid against you.

You stare at him mesmerised, your mouth open in surprise as he shoots a lopsided grin and takes a few purposeful strides towards the now-opened door.

“Thank you, Smith,” he nods to his valet as you enter. There is a friendly-faced elderly gentleman already in his outdoor coat and hat, “Provided all is how we discussed, you may leave for the night.”

“It is all set. Thank you, sir.” The elderly man bustles away, closing and locking the front door behind him.

“Should I not have been properly introduced to your valet darling?” you ask as he moves towards the stairs, your attention pinging around the hallway, admiring the decor of your new home.

“You will,” he guarantees, “but I have given all my staff the night off, so we may have our privacy. Mr Smith is well aware that our attention will only be on each other tonight. He will meet you when it is appropriate to do so. And that moment isn’t while I am so hard and eager to be inside you,” he whispers.

You giggle into his neck and kiss the warm skin there, enjoying the flex of his body as he carries you upstairs.

“Your home is beautiful, Benedict,” you sigh, craning your head to look around.

“Our,” he corrects, “our home. And if there is anything not to your liking, we can change it,” he offers as he moves down the corridor and sweeps you into a large room with a roaring fire and a four-poster bed. “This is our bedroom, my love,” he explains softly as he delicately pulls off your shoes and places you back on your feet.

“It’s so lovely. But I shall not have my own chambers,” you query in surprise, cataloguing the room, already enamoured with it, “as my parents do?”

“If you wish it so, you may,” he shrugs, “there are other rooms, but… I was rather hoping you would always lay with me,” his face suddenly tinged with a touch of vulnerability.

You look up and throw your arms around him. “That is what I want more than anything,” you rush out. “I am just getting used to being married, and I only have my parents to go on. I have no idea how all this works, Benedict; you will need to teach me,” you confess ardently.

“I will, but I think there are some more important things I need to teach you tonight, my love,” he says duskily, his voice dropping to a tone that vibrates right to your core.

Thoughts of anything else scatter as he walks you backwards, his lips ghosting over yours, the room suddenly notching up a few degrees as heat prickles over your skin, making the little hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You feel your spine brush solid wood and realise he has pressed you against a pillar of the four-poster bed.

Still kissing you, you feel his large hands unfastening the dress buttons between your shoulder blades.

“This wedding dress is stunning,” he murmurs, “but it is time it came off.”

You nod as he moves his lips down to your throat. Nudging your chin upwards with his nose and delicately nipping the skin over your windpipe, moving around to the side of your neck with soft gossamer kisses as his hands pull the fabric from your shoulders. Your dress relents, falling to a heap on the floor,

“Benedict,” you gasp his name as he tugs you roughly to his body, just in your chemise now. Fingers spider up your spine through the thin material.

“What is it, my love?” He asks, his breath hot on your skin, his teeth gently worrying the spot below your ear as his fingers push the chemise loose from your shoulders.

“Am I supposed to feel so, so overwhelmed?” You whisper, your body a riot of sensation. You feel flushed, and the ache between your legs has not been this intense before when still this dressed.

He chuckles richly, the sound vibrating into your bones as he surrounds you.

“Oh yes, my love, you should feel overwhelmed, drunken almost on sensation,” he explains, his words gusting into your ear, your earlobe between his teeth. “If I do this right, I don’t want a single thought in your head; I want you chasing the feelings your body is giving you. Don’t think, my darling, feel,” he advises, and with that, your chemise floats down to the floor to join your dress.

He grabs your hands and steps back; you watch as his gaze runs down over your body, just your stockings and stays left now. You feel somewhat self-conscious under his heavy appraisal, but he is holding both your hands out so you cannot cover yourself up.

“Am I still acceptable to you, husband?” You check, same as you had a few days before when he visited your bed chamber.

“You already know the answer to that,” he answers, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he places one of your hands over the bulge in his trousers.

You smile back at him as you splay your fingers out and squeeze him through the rough material.

“May I?” You ask coquettishly as you move to unbutton his trousers.

The hand over yours bats it away.

“Not yet,” he smiles.

He brings your hands high above your head, forcing you onto tiptoe like a ballerina.

“Turn around, my love,” he instructs, and you do so, his grip changing to your wrists as you turn your back to him. “Wonderful,” he compliments, stepping forward, so your bottom rubs against his rigid cock. He guides both your hands onto the wooden corner post of the bed. “Hold on here, and don’t let go until I ask you to,” he orders, releasing his grip as your hands grasp the wood as asked. It’s polished, smooth and warmed by the nearby fireplace. It feels solid under your palms, something reassuring to cling to.

His hands run over your arms, then over your back, until he reaches the lace of your stays.

“Tell me, darling,” he enunciates languidly as his fingers pluck the strings, “are you wet for me?”

“Yes, husband,” you reply, already feeling your hot, slick desire dripping onto your thighs at the mere mention of it.

“Do me a favour, as my wife?” Anytime you are wet for me, tell me. I don’t care where we are; I want you to lean over and tell me quietly right into my ear. Will you promise to do that for me?”

“Yes, husband,” you whisper.

“Good girl,” the way he says those two words has you in a jumble, and a sound leaves your throat before you can stop it.

“Oh my goodness, what was that delightful noise?” he teases, kissing the back of your neck almost as a reflex, as your stays come loose from his unlacing. “Is that because I called you a good girl?” his voice impossibly low as your last item of clothing falls from your torso.

You nod and bite your lip.

“Oh, then I shall always call you that in the bedroom,” he opines. “I need to hear that noise the way I need air.” There is a desperation to his tone that makes you lightheaded and frantic. As if he is as affected by you as you are by him, and you want to know it, to feel it in every fibre of your being—a mutual burning passion.

Your body is naked now except for your stockings, and his hands feel huge as he smears them down the expanse of your bare back, taking his time, trailing goosebumps in his wake, making you pant in anticipation and hold onto the pillar for dear life.

He drops to his knees behind you, and you feel him plucking the ribbons that keep your stocking over your knee. When they relent, his fingers trail over the back of your calves, taking the white silk with them. You are utterly naked now, yet he is fully clothed; his jacket is still buttoned up.

“Please take off your clothes,” you implore, even though you can’t see him.

“I will, my love,” he responds, “and you will watch me. But first…”

His hands grab your ankles and push them apart. You gasp in surprise as he kisses the back of your knee, and his tongue runs wet and wide up the back of your thigh until he reaches the globe of your bottom and bites it.

“Benedict..” you tense a little, realising he is pushing his nose into the crease between your cheeks.

“Shh, do not be concerned,” he soothes, the sound muffled against the back of your thighs. “Now bend over some more, please.”

You do as asked, your grip lowering on the pillar as you bend.

“That’s perfect” you feel his breath over your damp inner thighs and then feel blinding pleasure as he buries his face between your legs from behind.

“Benedict!” this time, it’s a loud throaty cry as his stubbly chin raps your clit, and his tongue unfurls, requesting access to your channel.

“Yes, wife, yell my name,” he growls into you, “tell the whole world you want me.”

Your knuckles go white from gripping so hard, eyes closed as he literally eats you from behind. His teeth nipping at your labia, his tongue gathering your moisture and drinking it down. You are sure this must be the most debauched tableau, and a thrill ripples over your skin at the realisation that the curtains around the windows are still open; with the sconces lit and the fireplace roaring, you are visible to the neighbouring houses all around the square.

“Benedict, we can be seen!”

“I know. Let them watch; maybe they will learn something,” he replies huskily, then sucks your clit between his lips. It makes you moan hard and push back.

“Yes, moan for me, writhe on my face,” he encourages.

He was right; you are drunk, drunk on sensation, drunk on him. You are dancing close to something amazing and feel it tingling across your skin. He keeps pushing with his tongue spiralling you higher, and then he sucks your clit hard between his teeth, and you are gone. Your legs shake as you drive back onto his face riding the shockwaves that emanate from your core. Waves of bliss tensing and releasing your muscles. You know you are calling his name and a litany of other words, but it’s all a blur as you fight to stay upright, sagging against the bedpost.

Just as you start to float, you are snapped back into the room as he pushes a finger into your fluttering channel, and you squeal at the sudden invasion.

“Oh my darling, I forgot how deliciously tight you are,” he groans into your thigh, “and how delectably wet you get.”

“Oh my god, Benedict, your fingers feel huge. Please go slow,” you plead, breathing deep, still fizzing from your orgasm.

“Darling, that’s just one finger; I will add a second and a third. Then you will have some sense of how my cock will feel.”

With that, you feel a stretch and keen as he gradually adds another finger and rocks into your fluttering channel.

“How’s that, my darling?”

“Fr…From this angle, it feels di…different than when I was in your lap,” you pant, confused.

“I’m reaching a little deeper, that’s why. You are halfway down my finger now, you brave girl,” his voice rough, the pressure inside feeling different.

“Is this what your cock will feel like?” You ask, clinging desperately to the bedpost.

“No, my cock will feel much bigger and go much deeper inside you,” he preens.

“Oh god, Benedict, I don’t know if I can take it,” you fret.

“Yes, you can, and you will do so beautifully.” He insists, “we just need to go slow, my darling. I can do that for you.” He promises and adds a third finger.

“That’s so much. I’m so full, Benedict,” you almost wail.

“Oh darling, you have no idea,” he chuckles against your bottom, teething the skin there.

You breathe in deep as he rocks his fingers in and out of your body, making the most carnal squelching noises, his fingers coated in your juices.

“Well done, darling,” he praises gently. “I won’t push any deeper for now, but in the future, you will take the length of my fingers and love it.”

Suddenly his fingers are gone, and he’s standing up behind you.

“Turn around,” he orders softly, and you do. The post digs between your shoulder blades as you lean upon it, your legs still wobbly. He waits until you look up into his eyes before he places the fingers that were inside you into his mouth and sucks them clean. You watch, mesmerised, until he pitches forward and kisses you deep, the tart, almost sweet taste of you blooming on your tongue.

“Now it’s your turn, my darling,” he declares calmly, “you may undress me.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach as you reach for his jacket and fumble slightly as you slide the buttons loose. He looks down at you with a gentle expression as the jacket hits the floor with an audible thump. Next, you undo his waistcoat, starting to feel the warmth of his skin underneath as your fingers brush his shirt between buttons. Once that is discarded, you decide to surprise him.

You kneel and remove his boots one at a time, taking his socks too. When you glance up and see his gaze hooded, his chest moving up and down more rapidly than before, a warm feeling slides down your spine, and on instinct, you sit up on your heels and pitch your face forward, rubbing your nose over the rigid cock straining under his trousers.

He practically howls as you close your mouth around it, knowing your saliva is seeping through the material onto his heated steely flesh.

“Fucking hell, y/n,” he gusts, and you flood all over again, this need to please him so potent and intoxicating. “Your mouth feels like heaven, but please, no more; I need all my concentration to make this good for you.” You pout up at him, and he affectionately cups your cheek. “I love how enthusiastic you are to have me in your mouth, my love. Believe me. But this is for your benefit, just for tonight.”

You take his proffered hand and stand up.

“Why don't you remove my shirt?” he suggests with a knowing little smile. “You have yet to see my body nude.”

You perk up at that thought, and he lets you peel off his shirt, revealing pale skin with a smattering of freckles. When the material joins the growing pile on the floor, he takes your wrist and guides your hand onto his chest. You feel the play of muscle movement as he breathes. Fascinated, you run fingertips over his contours, his torso so very sculpted and appealing. His skin is warm and smooth.

“Do you like what you see?” He queries, almost demure.

“Very much,” you respond honestly, crawling your fingers up from his abs to his left nipple, puckering as you scratch a gentle fingernail over the nub.

His eyes track you as you begin to circle him, placing a kiss on his bicep as you pass. You trail your hand over the plane of his back, watching as there is a ripple over his skin where you touch.

“I like your body, husband. I feel the urge to touch it, kiss it,” you confess.

“You may,” he offers over his shoulder and somewhat on instinct, you crowd against him and kiss a notch on his spine, your peaked nipples pressing into the curve of his back as you do so. He makes a sound thick with desire. Your tongue shoots out unbidden and licks a line, your hands grabbing his clothed bum as you do. His skin has a salty tang that is irresistible.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters heavily.

“Did I do something wrong?” You whisper over his warm flesh, unwilling to remove your lips.

“Not at all,” he assures, “I love how instinctive you are. So inquisitive and so very carnal. It’s just delicious, wife,” his low tone rumbling from his ribcage.

“I like the vibration when you talk. I want to lean against you and have you read to me,” you sigh, “I love your voice, Benedict.”

He chuckles richly as you complete your circle around him, your lips landing on his pectoral muscle right above his thumping heart.

Two large hands cup your jaw and tilt your head to look at him. His pupils are blown, and his breath is slightly ragged. “I will talk to you as much as you want, my wife. I notice how your eyes darken when I whisper filthy words to you. Do you want me to tell you what comes next?”

Hypnotised, you sway a little in his arms and catch your bottom lip between your teeth as you nod.

“Once we are both naked, I am going to lay you down on that bed and climb between your legs. You will need to spread your legs wide, like when I held you open on my lap in front of the mirror. Are you ready to do that for me?”

You nod again, chewing the lip now, the tingle between your legs morphing into a full blooming ache.

“Good. Girl.” each word is a sentence, and you feel a shiver race down your spine.

“I felt that,” he gusts, tilting his head closer. “I will never ever tire of your body responding to my voice. It’s so very alluring,” he exhales, his hand flexing on your jaw.

“Then what will happen, husband?” you ask, enchanted.

“Then I will take my cock and push it gently into your body.”

You whimper at the thought.

“I still don’t think it will fit, husband,” you worry.

“Darling, a baby can come out of that channel. Believe me; I will fit in.”

“It does what?!?” you exclaim in shock.

“When you have our baby, my love, it will come out of there.” he lectures, a hand moving to caress your hair soothingly. “They really do teach you absolutely nothing.”

You try to put the thought out of your mind as it’s too much to contemplate—one thing at a time.

“Well, perhaps, husband, it is a good thing we are so very ignorant,” you reply, a tick of amusement on your lips.

“Why do you say that?” his tone becomes light and teasing, the hand in your hair slides to the back of your head, fingers stretching wide to cradle you.

“Because if I knew what it was like to suck your cock or have your tongue inside me, I would think of precious little else,” you respond seductively “in fact, I have thought of little else since.”

He makes a needy sound, crushing your lips to his; he devours your mouth as his other hand tugs at his trousers. As your fingers run covetously over his body, his tongue slides over yours, and his wedding ring catches your scalp as you feel his trousers slip away. You are both naked now, his cock searing your belly.

Before you can touch him, he breaks the kiss and picks you up as he did when he carried you into the house, placing you carefully at the centre of the bed. His lips find yours again as he hovers over you.

“Open your legs, darling,” his voice velvet and honeyed.

Slowly you open your legs wide, and he climbs between them. You see his engorged cock bob close to his body as he does so, and nerves fire in your belly.

He settles over you, his naked flesh covering yours, and you stop breathing for a moment. So much heat, and his natural scent floods your senses. You thought it was overwhelming when he laid on top of you fully clothed, but now without a stitch of fabric to separate your skin, it’s even more so. You don’t have adequate words to describe it. His weight pins you down, his cock brands the patch of hair between your legs, his arms cage your body, his hard chest solid against your soft breasts.

“Oh my god, Benedict,” spills from your lips.

“Do you like having my naked body between your legs, wife?”

“Yes,” you hiss as his teeth grab your earlobe and suck it insistently.

“Are you ready for me, darling?” It’s a dark whisper in your ear as a hand trails down over your skin and cups your core. “You certainly feel it to me.”

His fingers tease your bud, and your hips cant towards him, his hipbones digging into your flesh as you do so.

“Please go slow,” you murmur, and his eyes soften.

“Of course, my love,” he reassures, and you feel his hand slip away from your folds and grab his cock.

You feel a sizeable blunt pressure between your legs and gasp.

His other hand caresses your cheek. “Look into my eyes, darling; that way, I’ll know everything you need,” he promises.

You hold his gaze, your body alight with anticipation laced with a silky thread of fear. You feel your body open up a fraction, and the tip of his cock slips inside you. Your world tilts. It is so hot, so hard, so big.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyes going so wide, barely able to blink.

“You’re doing fantastic, darling,” he confirms, breathless and shaky from the effort of holding himself back so much, the instinct to plunge into your body so strong.

There is a stretching sensation inside, and you groan as he slips in further, the skin all around your cunt pulling taunt at the invasion. Then you feel a weird tugging resistance, and he stills.

“Darling, I can’t pretend this next part will be pleasant for you,” he admits quietly, “but it will be over momentarily, and you will not have to endure it ever again. This will be your maidenhood gone. Are you ready?’

You swallow heavily, the feeling already so intense. “Alright, husband.”

Sweetly, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it as you feel a sharp stab of pain that makes you whine. It feels like something inside you has snapped.

He is still again. “Well done, darling,” he coaches, “you took that so well. Do you still hurt?”

“A little,” you concede, feeling a residual dull ache around where he broke through.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “It will go away momentarily, I promise.”

Then he pushes in a little deeper, and the feeling is so strange. Not quite painful, but just so much pressure—like you need to burst.

“Relax, my darling.” he tutors, touching your ribs, “it will hurt less if you release your muscles. Breathe out for me.”

You do as asked, and he slides the last few inches more easily. You feel a tickle on your clit; it’s his pubic hair brushing you, his balls resting on your bottom, And you feel so very, very full.

He groans lightly, “See, I told you I would fit”, his voice delicate and soothing.

“Are you all the way in, Benedict?”

The pressure simultaneously feels completely alien but somehow pleasant.

“Yes, my love,” he responds, not moving as you adjust to the sensation.

“My god, it feels like you are in my tummy.” you blurt out, and he groans again.

“Yes, darling, I’m deep inside you now. As far as I can go,” he rocks a tiny spurt forward, and you moan at a different tugging sensation, this one pleasurable.

“That’s your hilt, my love. I’m at the very top of your channel. You see, as I told you, we fit together perfectly.” He smiles and leans down to give your lips an affectionate kiss.

“Now, what happens?” You ask softly.

“If you are comfortable, I will start to move.”

You take stock of your body, and other than the feeling of being so viscerally invaded, so held open in an entirely new way, you feel fine, well, even. The bloom of pain that you felt subsided. “I am comfortable,” you confirm.

“Wonderful,'' almost a sigh of relief. “I shall go slow at first, but I will go quicker when you tell me to.”

Your axis is thrown again as you feel him withdraw, your slick channel clinging to his cock, trying to draw him back in. You feel the ridge of his tip drag over your walls. Then he is surging back in, and all you can do is pant and cling to his body.

“Fuck Benedict,” it’s all your say.

“Does that feel good, my darling wife?” You thought his voice was dangerous before, but now with his cock buried inside you and his lips hot on your ear, it’s genuinely lethal; you feel your heart pounding.

“Oh my god, I never knew… nothing could prepare me for this; it’s breathtaking,” you effuse.

He laughs, and you gulp as you feel the jolt inside you. “Just you wait,” that killer voice expresses throatily.

You twine your arms around his body as he builds to a leisurely pace now. And you go with him, pushing up against his strokes into your body.

“Oh yes, that’s it, move with me.” he compliments and kisses you lightly as he rocks you.

The bedding rucks under your shoulder blades as he speeds up a little, and you both breathe heavily into each other's mouths. Every stroke makes your eyes want to roll back, your feet flexing against the mattress.

Then he changes angle, and suddenly you can’t help the sound that escapes you. It’s a moan and a cry all at once. A blinding surge of pleasure races through your body from your cunt all the way to your scalp.

“Oh, look what we’ve found,” his tone smooth as silk and rich as dark chocolate.

“What is that?” you rasp.

“That, my darling wife, is the spot deep inside you that I’m going to hit repeatedly to make you come so hard you won’t ever want to do anything else for days; just stay in this bed and fuck me,” he gloats, the confidence oozing out of his every pore. If you weren’t so far gone and dazed by that one spike of sensation, you would pull a disapproving face at that line. As it is, you feel your body clench around him and gush down his cock as he says it.

“My god, I love you,” he growls as he wheezes from the pressure you exert.

“You just love my cunt,” you riposte cheekily, grabbing his bum cheek and digging your nails into his tight flesh, then suddenly biting your lip, horrified by what slipped out without conscious thought.

He stills and pulls back. His expression is wild, his mouth dropping open in shock. “Fucking hell, wife. Where did this wonderful filthy mouth come from? And how can we ensure it never goes away?”

The last question is pitched low, and you know, on instinct, he wants you to grab his bum again, so you do.

“We are not leaving this bed for a week,” he snarls, grabbing both your hands and pinning them onto the pillow. “By the end, you will know everything I do and talk filth to me. I can’t wait for you to do that. My darling little innocent becoming my darling minx of a wife. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Good. My god, you were made for me. And I was for you.” He stutters.

He guides your hands back onto his shoulders.

“Are you ready to feel something truly extraordinary, y/n?”

“Yes, Benedict.”

And then he starts to move again, and it’s a blurry tide of carnality. His cock nudges that spot inside with each movement, and you cry out every time, your nails digging deep into his flesh, your legs hitching up around his hips, chasing the high, wanting more. Always wanting more.

You are drowning in him; he is inside and all around you. Pounding into your body now with a force you didn’t think you could ever withstand, but all you feel is incredible fullness and blinding pleasure as each stroke tugs at your clit, filling you up perfectly.

You rasp his name, and he grunts hard, the slippery dew on your skin making you slide against each other. His scent captivates you most; it makes your taste buds prickle and salivate. You want to bite him and soothe his flesh with your tongue. You want to mark him, have him mark you, a primal want of mutual ownership.

“Tell me this is good for you,” his voice implores with a tinge of ferocity.

“This is wonderful; I’ve never felt anything like this,” you answer truthfully, your voice surging with the push of his body roughly into you, wanting more than anything for him to believe you. “Please don’t stop, I feel something building Benedict, and it’s so, so magical.”

He groans deep and long as you tell him that, and you can tell he is hanging by a thread, waiting for you to break so he can too.

“Touch yourself, my darling, just like I taught you,” he breathes, guiding your hand so it is trapped between your bodies.

You curl your fingers into the top of your folds just as he showed you, shuddering as your knuckles brush his moving cock. Blinding, searing pleasure races through your body. Then you can’t stop the noises you are making, the white-hot intensity notching up your spine from your core and turning your thoughts to nothing but this, and now, and oh god, more.

You know your other hand is gripping his back hard, pushing up to meet his thrusts, writhing on his cock, calling his name, but it’s a distant second to the feeling exploding inside and the spots dancing behind your eyes as you screw them shut and scream. You hear him lavish praise on you, a chorus of yes, yes, yes, but the rush of blood in your ears makes everything so muffled.

He is thrusting hard now, feeling impossibly large as your cunt clenches in waves around him. Still floating, you hear his voice call out; he stills and makes the most guttural call against your neck, his mouth slack and hot on your skin.

Then there is a warm bloom of something deep inside you as he reaches his peak.

“Is that you, Benedict? Your seed?” You chant, still feeling under a spell.

“Yes,” he slurs near your ear, “milk it all from me, my darling.” And you do, cunt still fluttering and clinging onto him, as you tumble down slowly from a high you didn’t think possible.

After a few moments of shared panting, he slowly withdraws from your body, and you grunt softly as he slips from inside you, feeling a trickle of wetness leak out as he does so.

As he rolls and tucks you against him, you glance down and see a trace of blood on the pristine bedsheets.

“Don't be alarmed, my darling,” he murmurs in a reassuring tone, “that will not happen again; it was just your first time.”

You nod your understanding and settle into his hold.

“Did you enjoy becoming a woman?” he inquires, although you suspect he already knows your answer.

“Very much so,” you confirm with a satisfied sigh.

“I am so very glad,” his voice soothing as he runs his fingers through your hair.

“What do I learn next, husband?” You drawl a few minutes later, swirling a fingernail on his shoulder.

“In the morning, my love, once we are rested, you will learn how to ride me.” He smiles crookedly at you.

“Is it like riding a horse?” You ask bright with curiosity.

“Somewhat,'' he laughs lightly, “but much more pleasurable.” He kisses your lips chastely. “But for now, let us sleep, my love.”

As he says the words, you feel your bone-deep satisfaction transitioning into a drowsy pull, his body warmth making your limbs feel weighty. And as he twines around you like a vine, your eyes droop.

“You wish to sleep in each other’s arms? Naked?” You check, a little taken aback.

“Oh yes, we shall do this every night from now on,” he states, his chin resting on your head as you curl into him.

“Then why did my mother insist on so many nightgowns for my trousseau?’ you ponder out loud.

Benedict guffaws at that. “Those are not just for sleeping in, darling; they are for me, mostly to rip off your body before we have sex.”

“Ohhhh,” your eyes wide, now understanding the gleam in the eye of the married ladies in the shop as you picked them up.

There is still so much to learn.

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