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kooktrash · 5 months

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million dollar darling | jeon jungkook

summary: jeon jungkook is well aware of how privileged he is to have been born into the life he was given. it was glamorous and influential yet close-knit and suffocating, something he thought he wanted to escape from. a trip back home to the circle of wealth and snottiness for his best friend’s million dollar wedding has reminded him of all the reasons why he wanted to leave in the first place… and all the reasons he should stay — the main one being you, the spoiled rich girl he knew was utterly perfect for him.

➣ genre/au: jungkook x model!reader [she/her, female anatomy], old money au, smut, plot [soft on the e2l/f2l tropes]

[loosely inspired by ‘crazy rich asians’ movie/book by kevin kwan]

➣19.7k words

warnings: heavy plot. smut. model oc. jk is a wander but he’s really just a rich guy in disguise. oc and jk got heavy tension but good banter. oc is kinda snotty but not really? namjoon x oc [not y/n]. rich, old money snotty bts. sex on a yacht. teasing. foreplay. oral [f and m receiving]. jk goes to town on oc. cunnilingus. unprotected. missionary. oc on top. jk is tatted up in a polo. heavy makeout. breast play. fingering. dirty talk. oc goes down on jk while he’s on the phone with hobi 😭. jk’s villain arc as he slowly turns back into a cocky rich boy hehe. jk gets sex flashbacks at dolce and gabbana

“Come on, it’s my wedding and I want you as my best man. Do it for your best friend.”

The sky had been clear when he landed, a bright blue cloudless sky that resembled the clarity of the sea he had left behind. The air already seemed stiffer and the bleakness of the airport brought his mood down almost immediately.

The only thing to make him somewhat happy to be home was the sight of the person in front of him, a huge grin on his face as he saw him. The man was dressed casual in a pair of sweats and a hoodie but the small details of his watch matched with the luxury car parked outside brought unwelcome attention to Jungkook when people stared.

“I was worried you bailed last minute,” Namjoon said with a grin as he pulled him into a hug, “It’s good to see you.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jungkook reached into the pocket of his oversized black hoodie and slid his face mask off, taking a cigarette and lighting it once they were outside the airport, “It’s been too long without seeing your beautiful face.”

“Yeah, don’t tell Yeonwoo, but I’d marry you if you weren’t such a man,” Namjoon joked, playfully flirting which Jungkook just laughed off.

“Too bad you’re not my type,” Jungkook patted his shoulder apologetically, “Besides, where is the bride?”

“Getting her hair done for tonight,” Namjoon said as they got into a Bentley Mulssane, “Also, please drive, I’m scared.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook scoffed, taking the keys anyway, “If you hate driving so much why buy an expensive car?”

“Yeonwoo liked the color,” Namjoon said as he got in the passenger’s seat of his own car, “Are you staying with your parents? I could still find you an apartment.”

“For a week? Don’t bother, I’m staying at a hotel,” Jungkook said, turning the engine on and driving out.

Namjoon sighed, “So you really are leaving again?”

“Was there ever a doubt I was?” Jungkook asked in surprise.

“Duh, kid. We miss you, you rarely call, you never visit, you barely respond and we know nothing that goes on with you,” Namjoon said, “I thought once you got your fill of life experiences, you’d come back.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything at that, sniffling uncomfortably as he tried switching the subject, “So, who’s my partner?”

This time Namjoon was the one to freeze up, staring out the window with sunglasses on and his jaw locked. With a shy smile, he asked, “Are you gonna bring a date?”

His brows furrowed as he looked at his friend, “Who’s the Maid of Honor?”

Namjoon released a nervous laugh, “Y/n L/n.”

The silence in the car was loud and from the way Jungkook’s jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed, it was easy to see he wasn’t happy about that. You? You were the Maid of Honor and his partner down the aisle?

“You know, her and Yeonwoo are close and Yeonwoo’s always thinking about who looks the best next to her on camera and obviously she’s gonna choose the runway model but listen,” Namjoon could barely catch a breath, “Y/n’s matured more now and she’s going to be there tonight so please be on your best behavior.”

“Tonight? What’s tonight?” Jungkook’s tone was sharper now and Namjoon huffed in annoyance.

“The rehearsal dinner on the pier, it was all in the catalog I sent you,” Namjoon said, “It’s for press. Our parents want to get it on Forbes and Vogue, they want to make it the Wedding of the Year.”

They both laughed at that and Jungkook sighed, “So there’s gonna be cameras?”

“Yeah but don’t worry they won’t focus on you,” Namjoon said with a smirk, “The attention’s going on me.”

When Jungkook pulled up to the hotel he would be staying at for the week, Namjoon left him to settle in with a promise that he would make it tonight so he had no choice not to. A letter from a close friend was sitting on the coffee table and he set his things down to get it.

It was a big envelope with a card and a few things rattling inside that made him curious. Jungkook turned the envelope down so the contents would fall onto his palm and a roll of condoms slipped out.

‘Welcome home buddy, enjoy the penthouse and may all your frustrations come undone — Jung Hoseok.’

The note itself made him scoff in disbelief. His womanizing friend making jokes before they’ve actually reunited. He left the things on the table and left to shower, doing what he could to make himself look presentable for tonight.

Tonight was the beginning of a soon-to-be hectic week of photoshoots, brunches, parties and finally the wedding. You were one of the ones front and center, never taking the limelight from the bride but carrying your own sense of grace that had people turning heads when you walked into a room—or in this case riverwalk.

You vowed to appear your best tonight and opted for a silk, powder blue Prada dress paired with Swarovski crystals on your neck. You did your part as Maid of Honor, directing all attention to your friend, polite smile and gentle assurance when needed in front of a crowd. Yeonwoo found it comical how well you fit into character when you need to.

“The perfect friend,” Yeonwoo joked as you dabbed smeared lip gloss from her lips, “What would I do without you?”

“Oh, I hope you never have to find out,” You said in a gentle voice that feigned innocence and longing. Yeonwoo laughed as she was called toward other people and you let her go as you found the nearest server holding a glass of champagne. You took a glass, turning toward the railing overlooking the shore, tipping your glass back and chugging as much of the drink as possible.

“So this is where the Maid of Honor will be spending her night?” A familiar deep voice spoke up from behind you and a mischievous smile grew on your face. You set the glass down, straightened your posture and turned to him with a soft gaze.

“Now you know that’s not fair, Joon, I’ve been with Yeonwoo most of the night,” you told him, already motioning for another server to give you a glass, completely ignoring the man standing beside him.

“I believe you, darling, now why don’t you come say hi to the Best Man,” Namjoon pushed Jungkook forward who just glared at him in response, “You remember Jeon Jungkook, right?”

“It’s been two years, not ten,” You said, finally looking at Jungkook with a glimmer of annoyance in your eyes, matched by his stare of unamusement.

“Alright well why don’t you two get reacquainted while I search for the gorgeous love of my life,” Namjoon said, making his escape as quick as possible.

“You counted?” Jungkook asked, taking just one step toward you, trying to stop his eyes from trailing down your figure.

“Of course,” You said sarcastically, “I’ve just missed you so.”

He couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes as he turned to the water, “You knew we were partners?”

“Obviously, I know everything,” you said with a scoff that had his tongue pressing against his cheek, clearly annoyed, “Like how you’re staying at one of the Jung’s hotels instead of home. How you plan on leaving still, where you landed, how long you’ve been her—“

“So you’re stalking me?” Jungkook asked, only half joking.

“Don’t you wish,” you laughed, “You’re all over the news.”

His smile dropped. When he had nothing to say, you grew bored and left him behind, making sure to lightly graze your fingers against his arm as you said, “And just remember, you’re the one who despises me, not the other way around.”

With that, you left without looking back and he was left watching the sway of your hips when you walked away.

Money rules the world, even when people want to say it doesn’t. The people who have it are living the dream and the ones who don’t, want the dream. It doesn’t even have to be the luxurious wonders of the world, it could be as little as financial stability or surviving. At the end of the day, it was a Rich Man’s world and this group of individuals were born lucky.

First, the groom: Kim Namjoon. The man with it all, the money, the family, the education, son of millionaires with three hospitals in their name and a line of pharmacies all across the globe.

The bride: soon-to-be, Kim Yeonwoo. The heiress to half a dozen airlines, an airport funded by her family for decades and a beautiful island in her name off the coast.

Kim Seokjin, practically a prince, generations worth of politicians, the highest education and a trust fund worth millions. He was the one you’ll see with the president or in Australia, golfing with men in charge.

Jung Hoseok, the hotel heir to a chain of ten thousand hotels across the globe. He was the one you’ll most likely catch partying in Venice with a princess whose name he couldn’t actually remember—or maybe giving a waitress the night of her life.

Min Yoongi, eldest son of an elite banking firm formed a hundred years ago. He was private about his life, similar to Jungkook, he only came out when he was summoned by one of the others.

Kim Taehyung was wild as Hoseok but more quiet about it. He’ll soon be heir of the billion dollar empire his family built in the Art world of museums and curations and performing arts.

Now, Jungkook’s story was a bit different from the others. His family worked in land development, most of the country being built on the backs of the Jeon’s who brought cities to rural areas and avoided the public’s eye.

They had the kind of old money that everyone knew, even when they tried to stay out of the news.

It was the kind of old money, people could never stop talking about and you understood what that meant most.

There was a mystery to the fortune of your family, it was old money, so old nobody knew where it came from. Some say oil, some claim aristocrats but it was too far back, and too private for any to know. All the public knew were the generous and loving philanthropists and their perfect daughter, the Nation’s Sweetheart, you.

You really were loved by all, the camera, the press, everyone. They all saw the kind, innocent girl in the public’s eye but only a few saw the snotty, spoiled and downright disrespectful side of you that was real.

Where Jungkook craved independence and isolation from his family name, you soaked in it. The attention. The money. The dependence, you were the complete opposite of him and it drew him insane.

One might ask why he was around you if he really did despise you, but for a long time it wasn’t up to him. The group didn’t all become friends one magical night when you compared your family’s net worth.

No, this bond had grown between galas, private academies, horse riding lessons at the country club and family businesses. It was a very elite, classist society where only the ultra rich could really only trust in each other and keep a country afloat off of it.

Do you think Namjoon would have been allowed to marry Yeonwoo if her parents weren’t as rich as they were?

Do you think Seokjin would have married his wife that he met at Oxford if her family hadn’t been international shipping magnates?

It was like a spider web, they were all connected in some way, all controlled and that’s what Jungkook hated.

He loved his friends, truly, but he hated the control. Not a single one of them had real freedom and every little thing they did came with a price and he couldn’t live that way anymore. He understood his own privilege and how lucky he was to grow up in such a way but he knew there was more to life than just that. When he left home for the first time, he didn’t expect to feel so free. It was like a sense of independence he’s not sure any of his friends have felt and now that he’s back he’s reminded once again of how suffocating it all is.

There had to be at least a hundred guests in attendance tonight and he couldn’t find a moment of silence. The suit he wore felt uncomfortable and he hated the way it seemed to confine him, make him more rigid and stiff.

“Please Jungkook, I was only being funny. Did it bother you that much?” Hoseok asked with a tinge of mischief in his voice.

“No,” Jungkook shrugged as he looked around the banquet hall, “I just found it unnecessary.”

“Really? I would’ve assumed the opposite considering you’ll be spending a lot of time with Y/n this week,” Taehyung said with a shrug as the three of them stood off to the side, talking amongst themselves as the guests of the charity banquet focused on your parents who stood on stage making some speech about the importance of giving.

As if on cue, the spotlight turned toward you where you smiled politely and acted shyly for the cameras.

A scoff left his lips as he pulled his gaze away from you, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hoseok chuckled, “Oh come on man, everyone knows you have a thing for her—you’re really bad at hiding it.”

With a roll of his eyes, Jungkook stepped away from his friends, “You guys don’t know anything.”

He didn’t have a thing for you.

Sure, you’ve known each other for a long time but that means nothing. He’s known them all for a long time and if anything he's made his distaste toward you pretty evident. When you were younger it was only because you were so spoiled and the attention had to always be on you. He hated watching everyone fall for your sweetness and do whatever you asked of them. He almost fell for it himself a couple times but then he would see the way you judged or looked down on people and he just despised you more.

There’s nothing about you that attracts him aside from your looks…

Tonight you were dressed more modestly in a Chanel sweater and skirt set that looked like you would soon be relaxing at the country club. You wore a black headband with a bow on it and satin gloves, looking as polite as ever while you talked to anyone who approached you.

You were the perfect, doting daughter and anyone with eyes could see that.

“So how mad are you?” Yeonwoo asked once you had settled back in your chair next to her and Namjoon. Even Namjoon seemed to listen in on the question, waiting to hear what you would say.

“What do I have to be mad at?” You asked with a tight smile as you reached toward her to fix a slight smudge on her cheek, “ Jungkook?”

“Well, we know you have some sort of disliking toward each other but…” Yeonwoo bit her lip nervously, “Joonie and Jungkook are really close.”

“We know you two don’t like each other but you should have expected this, right?” Namjoon chuckled nervously, “You’re both our best friends and…”

“Am I saying anything?” You asked.

They shared a look with each other, “I guess not.”

You smiled, “Okay, then let’s just make sure everything runs smoothly this week.”

You did in fact feel a type of way about Jeon Jungkook but you weren’t going to admit that right now surrounded by so many people always lingering around trying to listen. You’ve learned to be very careful about how you act in public and there’s no way your friends will get you to act out by asking about him.

Jungkook was not someone you wished to exhort so much energy on. He wasn’t worth anything to you and despite how many years you’ve known him, you’ve never wished to get to know him. You don’t care where he goes when he’s not home or who he talks to, nor what he does. He doesn’t cross your mind at all through your normal day to day and you surely weren’t going to let him in this week. All he has going for him is his money and his looks.

Ever since you learned he would be the Best Man you thought about what that would mean and accepted that he would be the one to walk with you down the aisle. Despite not being happy about it, you managed to hide your resentment quite well.

You know how he feels about you and over time that’s made you develop a disliking toward him which you find only fair. He might dislike you for being spoiled but you dislike him for being so entitled.

For some reason, he thinks distancing himself from this life means he’s better than everyone else and you hate that. He thinks that by moving away and making his own money suddenly makes him different than the rest of you but that’s not true. He just wants to act like he’s self made so he can feel superior to all of you trust fund babies and that is what annoyed you.

After some time third wheeling, you were getting tired and slightly annoyed watching the couple act lovey dovey. You hated couples, they grossed you out even if they were your best friends.

“Mind if I keep you company? You look like you need it.”

With a furrow in your brows, you turned to face the person who felt the need to whisper in your ear and get close to you without permission. A smile spread across your lips at the man standing directly behind you, his arm draping over your front and hugging you.

“Hello, darling, I’ve missed you,” Jimin’s voice was soft yet sultry and you gave each other kisses on the cheek in greeting as he moved to the empty seat beside you.

“I didn’t realize you were back,” You said to him, “How was Paris?”

He released a sigh, “Oh the usual, shopping… a few events here and there.”

“Mhm, and when’d you get back?” You asked, now intrigued by his presence.

“Just last night. I was planning on visiting you earlier but things came up,” Jimin said, adjusting the Swiss watch on his wrist, admiring the shine, “What has happened since I was gone?”

“Oh God, he’s back,” Hoseok rolled his eyes from across the room, “I ran into him in Marseille the other day and the guy wanted to act like he didn’t know me.”

“He’s been insufferable since Uni,” Taehyung muttered under his breath, “I don’t understand why Y/n puts up with him.”

“Who?” Jungkook asked, only half curious. He hadn’t been paying attention until he heard your name and his reason for hearing it was purely coincidental.

“Park Jimin,” Hoseok clarified, making Jungkook look closer at the man who sat very close to you, making you smile and touch his arms when you spoke.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” Jungkook seemed indifferent as he looked down at his glass of champagne, trying to resist the urge to look back at you.

“Not at all,” Taehyung said, “He’s just some guy we went to Uni with here. I don’t know how he met Y/n though, probably at some shitty party but he’s nobody that matters.”

Well… Park Jimin was the son of starlets. His great grandmother, his grandmother was an actress, his mother was an actress and he’s been in a few independent films here and there. He spends most of his time sailing on yachts or speaking of the Cannes Film Festival. He’s insanely rich, but he’s still not rich enough despite his accumulated generational wealth.

Unlike Jungkook’s wealth which held actual value especially in real estate, Jimin’s just didn’t compare to his or any of his friends for that matter. So why did you seem captivated by him?

He is aware he shouldn’t think this way, it’s only him reverting back to his old self which was all arrogance and entitlement. He shouldn’t think about how much wealthier he was compared to Jimin.

Unfortunately, Jungkook couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from the pair as he tipped his champagne glass back, liquid pouring down his throat.

“Do you think she’ll take him to the wedding? I doubt Namjoon or Yeonwoo would ever invite him themselves,” Hoseok said and the three seemed like a group of gossips, the way they huddled around each other.

In Jungkook’s defense, he was barely listening to his friends. He was too busy watching the interaction happening not far from where he stood, eyes narrowed trying to understand what was happening.

First, he didn’t like you. He found you unbearable and you were the epitome of everything he hated about the High Society he had been raised in.

Second, he was only looking because you were next to his best friends. Maybe he wanted to see how in love Namjoon and Yeonwoo were but he couldn’t see because of you and your… friend.

Third, he wanted to know how you managed to stand out in your outfit despite the room being filled with people in extravagant clothes.

“I’m not sure, actually, rumors say she might,” Taehyung said and Jungkook couldn’t help but look over.

“What?”

“We’re just wondering if the Maid of Honor would bring her little boy toy to the wedding,” Hoseok said, looking at Jungkook as his jaw tensed, “What do you think?”

“I don’t care if Y/n brings anyone, we’re just dates for the pictures and ceremony,” Jungkook said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“So are you going to take a date too then?” Taehyung asked.

“Maybe,” Jungkook said as a server came around holding a tray of champagne glasses and he switched his empty one out for a full one. He didn’t bother to look back at his friends as he began walking away, “I’ll be back.”

“It’s so hard for him to act like he doesn’t care.”

“Kook! Come here, man,” Namjoon said with a wide grin as he saw his best friend walking by them. Jungkook didn’t bother glancing down at you as he greeted his friend.

“Kooky, I haven’t seen you all night,” Yeonwoo stood up to hug him, “Please don’t seduce my future husband, everyone has already RSVP’d.”

“Oh Yeonie,” Jungkook softly caressed her cheek, tipping her chin up to look at him, “If I wanted him, I would have had him by now.”

“Joon!” Yeonwoo whined clinging to Namjoon who just winked at Jungkook, further amplifying his fiancé’s feigned sobs. Jungkook smiled watching her squirm and without him meaning to, he let his gaze fall toward you.

“Y/n.”

You met his intense stare with your own and you could hear Jimin say he was going to get a drink but you didn’t look at him. You looked down at what Jungkook was wearing—a plain black Prada suit, how boring. “Jungkook.”

“Is that who you’re bringing to the wedding?” Jungkook asked, looking back at the infamous Park Jimin who stood with Taehyung and Hoseok, all three of them pretending to enjoy each other’s company.

“Maybe, we do get along very well,” you said with a sly smile as you stood up, not yet reaching Jungkook’s height but he didn’t intimidate you, “Is that a problem?

“No,” Jungkook said, voice low and deep, “I was just curious.”

“And why were you curious?” You asked, a mocking tone in your voice that he didn’t like, “Do tell me, how often are you curious about what I do?”

A scoff left his lips as he looked away from you first, “It was just a question, don’t get ahead of yourself and think you matter to me more than you do.”

An evident pout appeared on your lips and for a second his expression changed with worry but the moment was fleeting. You just laughed [giggled, actually] and with a gentle touch to his arm, said, “No need to lie to yourself.”

His eyes narrowed, anger bubbling up inside him when he heard a shutter of cameras going off, flash in his face and without thinking, he took your hand in his and left.

“If you plan on kidnapping me, it won’t work,” You said teasingly as you left to some dark corner behind large pillars.

“I’m not going to put up with a week of your games,” Jungkook said as he let go of your hand, missing the way your eyes fell to the black ink on his knuckles—something you had never noticed before, not even on the yacht when it was dark out.

“Then stop playing into them,” you said with a laugh, “If I drive you crazy, why bother talking to me at all? I think we’re both very capable of ignoring each other enough to not have to say a single word.”

“What I mean is, you can put on this act of yours for the cameras but don’t drag me into it,” Jungkook told you, ignoring the idea you had thrown out there. He was referring to your strange smiles and touches you give him when in the public.

“I’m not dragging you into anything,” You rolled your eyes, “And you seem to forget all eyes have been on you since you got back—heir to the Jeon Corporation. What do you think people will say when they find out you dragged me out here all alone? The Big, Bad & Rebellious Jeon Jungkook and The Nation’s Sweetheart, me.”

His eyes shut with a hint of anger that he tried to subdue, “Sweetheart?”

“That’s what I said,” you smiled sweetly to prove your point making him scoff.

“You’re not a sweetheart, you’re a spoiled brat,” Jungkook said, looking down at you in your pretty clothes with your pretty jewelry and your pretty face.

“Nice of you to finally notice,” you said bitterly and with a roll of your eyes, you pushed into his shoulder on purpose as you walked past him, “But we’re all the same, aren’t we? Just some of us like to act all high and mighty because you leave home craving independence, ignoring your privilege to seem like better people.”

Jungkook felt the jab of your words but he let you walk past him without a rebuttal.

With a sense of frustration, he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to collect himself to rejoin High Society and finish the night with his head held high.

When Jungkook left his hotel the day of the Bachelor Party, he hadn’t been sure what to expect. Hoseok had done most of the planning for it since he had been abroad and when it comes to Hobi, you never know what to expect. It was almost two days of festivities and it was only toward the end that everyone would separate into their respective groups. That meant that once again he was forced into the same place as you.

The yacht sailed toward the private island the events would be at and as big as it was, he couldn’t escape you. There were the main group of friends that were always together and a few added guests, mostly Yeonwoo’s friends. Hoseok had already been hyping up the party tonight more than anything and everytime Namjoon would grow more worried. He didn’t need a big party thrown by his notorious womanizing friend.

“So what do the girls have planned?” Jungkook asked Namjoon as they sat at a table, looking at everyone aboard. Some people wore little clothing, others casual clothes, you wore something in between. It was casual yet attractive.

“ I don’t know, something probably calmer than what Hobi’s got for us,” Namjoon said but his friend had tuned him out after the first part, “Y/n planned it all and leant us the Yacht for the guests.”

“The yacht?” Jungkook asked, looking around at the luxury super yacht.

“14.7 million dollar yacht for Y/n’s birthday last year,” Namjoon explained to Jungkook, “She wanted a Booze Cruise.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but scoff, “So Y/n got a yacht?”

“It comes in handy, doesn’t it?” A soft voice spoke from behind him and his breath hitched. You looked over to Namjoon, “Yeonie is looking for you.”

“The wife calls,” Namjoon said with a cheesy smile as he left you two behind.

“So, are you ready to go party with Hobi tonight?” You asked with a laugh, “I heard he’s got some former Miss Universe models coming in.”

“Oh, fun,” Jungkook said, slightly sarcastic.

“Kook, you’re not old enough to not like partying with models,” You teased making him look over at you. For a moment he wondered if what you said had a double meaning considering you were a model but he didn’t want to speak up about it.

“I’m sorry, I’m not a party animal,” Jungkook said truthfully, only a hint of joking as he looked around at the packed floor, “I think even this is too much.”

“Wow, how could you be a former Socialite if you don’t like partying?” You asked, “Is it all that time in the jungle or desert you spent alone that changed you?”

Jungkook could hear the sarcasm in your tone but he knew it wasn’t in an offensive way. He had backpacked to a small village in Indonesia for a few weeks before leaving to Nevada or Dubai—and he hated that you knew it all. He enjoyed traveling alone and experiencing things alone; he doesn’t need parties with too loud of music or too many drunks. He’s like Namjoon, they want to celebrate with their small group of friends rather than a party full of strangers who don’t even know what the occasion is.

“It might’ve,” Jungkook said, clearing his throat and checked the time.

You didn’t say much else after that and he got the impression that you grew bored talking to him. He looked at you still waiting to see if you would say something else but instead, you just looked off into the distance, not bothering to hide the sudden boredom you must have felt.

He’s sure he could have found something else to say to you but it was no use when he could see you beginning to slip away when you looked down at your cellphone with a bright smile. You didn’t utter out a goodbye as you left him behind to answer your phone, “Chimmy, I’ve missed you. How’s Morocco?”

“Warm,” Jimin said, “I’ve just finished a shoot and I believe I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Oh I won’t be home, remember?” You said as the final thing Jungkook was able to hear from you before you walked away.

Jungkook couldn’t help but look after you, thinking about who might’ve called you and how things were handled and he had to be honest, he was curious. He wasn’t attracted to you but he found you attractive… He thought you were charming and charismatic but not enough for him to want you, maybe…

The two of you just seem so different. He’s seen as the Black Sheep of the group, not because he’s not wealthy or attractive but because his past decisions have apparently been awful ones.

He was never one for parties so he wasn’t wild and defiant. He did make a declaration to leave all the money behind and pursue his dreams—something rich people were not allowed to do. Especially not if you were next in line to inherit it all like Jungkook was.

You are more free than he is and yet you like being in your bubble. You like the glamor and the responsibilities because unlike him, you know how to play both sides. Do your parents care that you’re out wasted at European raves or sailing on your yacht with a foreign prince? No, why? Because you know how to act like the innocent, perfect princess you’re supposed to be.

Jungkook can’t pretend that well. He can’t hide his tattoos or piercings or signs of nonconformity.

So, yes, he finds you attractive but he can’t let himself fall for you when he thinks you’re too different from each other. It just doesn’t stop his brain from thinking about you though.

“Have you seen Y/n?” Jungkook asked Taehyung who had been sandwiched between two women he couldn’t name.

Taehyung, evidently drunk, shook his head no, “Are you ready to confess your undying love for her?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, scoffing as he said, “Fuck off.”

All Taehyung did was laugh, making the girls he had his arms around laugh too and Jungkook left feeling annoyed. He was just curious to know where you were, that’s all. Namjoon and Yeonwoo are busy making their rounds, greeting and thanking everyone on the boat and his other friends were off doing their own things. He’s already spent too much time sulking by the railing, staring down at the dark blue water that he can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t want to drink to the point that he’s drunk so really, his last hope is you.

“Have you seen Y/n?” Jungkook asked as he went to the rooftop where Hoseok was sitting in a hot tub full of strangers. Hoseok looked like such an asshole [something Jungkook had permission to say] with his designer sunglasses and Vacheron Constantin watch, just barely above the water surface.

Hoseok barely glanced his way as he said, “I don’t know, check downstairs.”

That was all Jungkook needed to know before he was heading down to find you. It took a while of asking any person he passed by, where you might be and through all this, he couldn’t remember why he was looking for you in the first place.

He had no idea where he was going, he just found himself walking down what felt like endless corridors of rooms, following the directions of whatever housekeeper he could find. The boat really was big, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that this was a simple birthday present.

“Now, who do we have here?” You looked down the empty hallway toward the man in front of you. It pained you to see just how attractive Jeon Jungkook really was.

You have to admit, he really knows how to dress for occasions. The rare times he’s photographed in some news article, he’s dressed casually, clearly trying to hide from the public eye but now that he’s back it seems his fashion has picked up. He wore a striped black flannel Dolce & Gabbana shirt tucked into cream colored slacks, and matching velvet black slippers from their newest collection.

“I’m just… wandering,” Jungkook cleared his throat, whatever excuse he had made up earlier, completely out of mind, “What happened to your dress?”

A large red stain adorned the front of your pink dress from the chest down your torso. You looked down at the stain with a roll of your eyes, “Some stupid bitch worker. She’s off the boat tomorrow.”

Jungkook widened his eyes, feeling you brush past him and down the hall, “So you’re firing someone for spilling a drink?”

“Um, this is Valento? Do you know how hard it is to get rid of a stain like this?” You asked with a slight scoff as you went to the door straight at the end, pushing your key card in to open it, “It took the dry cleaners ages last time.”

“I didn’t take you as an Outfit Repeater to be worrying about things like that,” he stopped at the door, already looking around at what was evidently the master cabin. The water out the windows was a dark, midnight blue and it reflected into the room of silver and gray. It had a walk-in closet, and king sized bed with a view of the open water and a private deck. He didn’t dare go in and put himself in personal quarters with you.

You gasped, stopping your movements of rummaging through your closet to say, “I am an environmentalist.”

He couldn’t tell if you were being serious or not and he had to fight back a grin at how un-woke you sounded considering you were ruining the planet with a private yacht of this size.

You pulled out an off-white dress, a Jaquemus piece, ‘La Robe Artichaut’, “Ugh, after this week, I am firing a lot of people.”

“What happened this time?” Jungkook asked, leaning against the doorframe watching you, waiting for you to kick him out but you just went toward the windows overlooking the dark blue ocean. As much as you claimed to not get along, you talked like old friends.

You reached your hands toward your back, attempting to undo the back of your dress on your own, “I told my assistant not to pack anything close to white and she packs this dress? I swear people can’t do anything right.”

“If people ask just say you’re supposed to match me,” Jungkook said referring to his slacks, “Yeonie won’t be mad her Maid of Honor is wearing off-white.”

“I guess,” you sighed, letting go of your dress and not bothering to look back at him as you said, “Undo the back.”

Jungkook stood silently at the door, staring at you with dark eyes. The fabric of your dress was thin and soft to the touch—he could just tell with the way your figure had so effortlessly shaped the dress. It is a real pity you had to change out of it, he’ll admit that, but now he’s been asked—no, demanded—to help you to take it off.

He has no idea why you think you could just boss him around but this seems to have always been the case. The two of you were never close in the past but the very few times you would run into each other… as much as he hated it, there was always some sort of tension there.

With your back to him, you hadn’t seen the way he silently made his way across the room, shutting the door behind him as he went right to you. You could sense his presence behind you, see his reflection in the dark window and feel his rough fingers brush against your back.

“I meant to tell you, I like your shoes,” You said casually, his fingers beginning to work the knot that tied the ribbon of your dress, “My friend wore them in Paris just a week ago.”

“Friend?” Jungkook raised a brow curiously, his eyes trained slowly on the ribbon he was ever so slowly pulling loose. His gaze shifted to your reflection in the window as he pulled a little rougher than earlier, “Is this the one you’re always running off on the phone with?”

“You mean Park Jimin?” You asked, not bothering to react at all to his roughness or his speed, “Yes, him.”

You could feel Jungkook’s deep exhale as he pulled it as loose as he could while still being appropriate, “Are you seeing him?”

A mischievous smile couldn’t help but make its way to your face as you turned to face him, holding your arms around yourself modestly, “Is that what you wanted to talk about all along? You could have asked me earlier instead of spending who knows how long looking for me.”

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself agreeing with you, and with a tense jaw he asked again, “Well, are you?”

“I’m going to get changed,” you motioned toward the door, telling him to leave, “Unless you want to help me with that too.”

A scoff left his lips as he took a step back, annoyed that you wouldn’t just answer his question and annoyed he even cared enough to ask. What did it matter to Jungkook if you took a date? He wasn’t in a relationship with you and he barely considered you a friend.

When he wasn’t here and he was traveling, he was perfectly fine not knowing a thing about you aside from whatever article or magazine you appeared in. Why now that he returns and he sees how… glamorously beautiful you are, is he curious about you?

“And just so we’re clear, no, I’m not seeing Jimin,” You told him as he walked toward the door, stopping midway to listen to you, “Because I know it would make you jealous.”

To be honest, you didn’t think he would actually be jealous, it’s just a joke. Something about you just gets under Jungkook’s skin and it wants you to push his buttons that much more. As obvious as it was that he wasn’t at all amused by your sweetness, it was your arrogant charm that seemed to get him every time.

You knew you were beautiful, you knew you had every right to be arrogant and as much as Jungkook could deny he’s attracted to you at all, it’s very noticeable. You’ve never been told no a day in your life. You’ve never been rejected either and you know Jungkook wouldn’t dare reject you if you actually went for it.

Despite how vocal he is about his distaste toward you, you can’t help but still get giddy in his presence. You just want to rile him up and know that he’s attainable to you. You’ve always had a thing for him, he was an absolute gorgeous man and he was wealthy, extremely wealthy. He was educated and had class but at the same time he was rugged and intimidating. You’ve seen the small glimpses of ink on his knuckles and you just know that under all his long sleeves, he had more to show.

Whether you felt seriously for him or if you just figured it’s a spur of the moment situation, you want him.

“Jealous?” Jungkook attempted to scoff but the word caught in his throat with some truth to it, “Why would I be jealous?”

“I don’t know,” You shrugged, sliding the strap of your down your shoulder, “Because then you would have to share my attention with someone else.”

Jungkook knows he should leave. You had asked him to leave yet you kept going back and forth, and it was stopping him from doing so.

He should go.

He needs to go before he does or say something he’ll regret.

If he caves in to your taunts then he’ll be disappointed in himself, like part of him was allowing his return to his old lifestyle of luxury and privilege.

“Y/n, you always say things you don’t know,” Jungkook asked you with a deep voice that had you smiling, practically feeling him give in. His gaze was dark and there was no hiding the growing tension, “And you must think you’re real cute trying to act out now that we’re alone.”

“No, I know I am,” you said, not backing away from the eye contact. “And you know it too.”

“I don’t,” Jungkook loomed over you, eyes tracing down the curve of your nose and to the slight part in your lips, “I think… I think you’re…”

You blinked up at him, “Well say it, or are you too busy thinking about kissing me?”

An annoyed huff left his lips as one of his hands pulled you toward him at your waist and the other tilted your chin up until his lips were grazing over yours. You reached toward him, making the first real press of your mouths together and there was no use in acting like he hadn’t been in fact thinking about kissing you.

Jungkook let his eyes fall shut as yours did and he pulled you closer into his chest with the hand on your jaw sliding down toward the curve of your neck, making sure you didn’t pull away just yet. You kept up with the pace he had set of slow yet hungry kisses, pulling on your lips or letting his tongue slide against yours tenderly.

“Well?” You gasped feeling his soft lips kiss along your jaw, his soft black hair brushing against your face, a light scent of his shampoo or cologne that left you feeling intoxicated. The hand he had on your waist tightened at your words, pulling away with a quiet grunt, he looked you in the eye.

“Don’t ask me any more questions,” Jungkook groaned, the taste of your lips still on his tongue and there was a light sheen of gloss coating his lips from yours.

It’s shameful for him to admit how easy it was for you to break him down into every other man who seems to fall at your feet when given the chance. This is exactly what he didn’t want and now he’s pulling the godforsaken stained dress he undid and watching it slip down your body, revealing your naked form to his hungry eyes.

Above your bedroom was a deck filled with people celebrating the soon-to-be newlyweds while the Best Man and Maid of Honor are in the master cabin, half undressed, and stumbling onto the bed.

Jungkook was gentle but firm, he wasted no time popping the buttons of his shirt open, exposing the toned muscles of his body and the ink covering most of his arm. Your eyes scanned the markings, surprise and wonder evident on your face with how well he managed to hide how much he’s gotten done since he left.

“Surprised?” Jungkook asked, eyes low when your hands ran over his slacks, pulling at his belt and nails lightly scratching at his abdomen. His voice dripped with arousal when you sat up from beneath him, pressing light butterfly kisses to his abs and tattoos.

“You always surprise me,” You admitted, not as teasing as before but with a hint of playfulness still there. You looked up from his chest, the height of your sitting form and his standing one looked endless as he towered over you. “For instance, I didn’t think it would be this easy to get you in my bed.”

You kissed along his neck now, sitting on your knees to reach him better and nipping at his sensitive spots. His hand tightened around the neck of your head, not pulling your hair but definitely getting your eyes on his, “Why do your words sound so dirty when you say them so… “

Jungkook couldn’t even finish his sentence before succumbing to you once more and kissing your lips. With little force applied, he was laying you back down on the bed with his tattooed and muscular body just melting into yours effortlessly. With one hand on your neck and the other sliding down to the curve of your thigh, it felt like he was all over you.

“Let’s take this off you,” Jungkook murmured between kisses down your neck as he began to finally take off the ruined dress that had been in his way since you got him to undo it in the first place, “You’ve been teasing me with this since earlier.”

“Maybe because I wanted to see you get worked up,” you sighed as you made yourself comfortable on the king side bed, your body slowly unveiled to his hungry eyes. Once he had pulled the dress off you completely and threw it to the side, sitting up between your spread legs and staring.

Jungkook didn’t bother with discreteness as he eyed down your naked body still in shock that he was seeing it before him. Your breasts were on full display and the only piece of fabric hiding you was a thin lace underwear that felt so nimble and soft under his fingertips, so easy for him to just tear off of you. You looked gorgeous laying so pliantly underneath him and he couldn’t help but let his hands slide down from your bent knees to your inner thighs.

“Did it work?” You asked just above a whisper as he hovered over you, leaving needy kisses between your breasts while he tugged at the hem of your panties until he was sliding them down your legs.

“It really fucking worked,” Jungkook groaned as he cupped your boobs in his hands, letting his tongue lick at your pert nipples and feeling the way they stiffened underneath him. Your hands went to his hair, legs nearly wrapping around his torso when you felt his teeth lightly press into your nipple, sucking and tugging when needed.

His kisses began to run down toward your navel with his hands replacing his lips and kneading your breasts in the palm of them while he moved down to lay between your legs, “I want a taste, pretty girl.”

“Then get one,” you said in a whiny tone that had his big rounded eyes turning to look at you with surprise. A knowing smirk falling on his lips as he lifted your knees and pulled your thighs apart as far as they could go until he was eye level with your pretty cunt. Jungkook was never one to stop and tease when he needed sex, he had a tendency to get a little rough and take what he wants but it’s so hard to move it along when he’s met with the sight of you laying so pretty for him. He could tell your patience was running thin with how long he was taking to do anything and just before he felt you close to snapping at him, he leaned into you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped in surprise with the sudden swipe at your clit by Jungkook’a flattened, long tongue and you’ll admit it caused goosebumps to form on your skin. You couldn’t see the way he smiled as his hands circled around your thighs, repeating his teasing flick of his tongue, feeling the way your folds began to react to him.

He felt your fingers run through his soft hair for anchor and for some reason that slight grip you had on him had his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he let himself get lost in the taste of your pussy. No longer up for any sense of teasing, Jungkook lets his mouth fall open, kissing your wet heat with his tongue pressing between your folds and finding your clit. Your hips were slowly bucking into his face, showing him just how much you liked his tongue and he knew just what to do to have you coming undone underneath him.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, his lips wrapped around the hard bud while his tongue swiped against the tip of it. He began a repetition of that and grazing his teeth ever so softly against your sensitive folds knowing he found your weak spot when he sucked your labia into his mouth and had your soft moans filling the cabin.

“Jungkook,” you moaned softly, fingers tugging at his hair roughly, “Oh god.”

He didn’t dare pull his mouth off you to give you a response and instead let his actions grow rougher. He unwrapped a hand from around your thigh and slipped it down to your pussy where he let his finger begin to draw patterns into your labia, so close to your entrance that he could feel your arousal quite literally leak out of you.

Your body was filled by pleasure that Jungkook was bringing you and you couldn’t help but bring your free hand to your neglected chest, trying to fill the void that Jungkook’s hand had left as you groped your breasts. Jungkook looked up completely enamored with the way you played with yourself while he ate you out and without any second thoughts, he pressed his long middle finger into your waiting cunt.

“That’s it,” he whispered, pressing a light kiss along your pelvis, “Cum for me, darling.”

“Jungkook,” you whined as he pushed a second finger in, hooking them upwardward just past your pubic bone and finding that soft, spongy spot with ease. With the way your walls fluttered around his fingers, he knew you were close and all it took was his lips around your clit while thrusting into that pleasure spot of yours, for you to wrap your legs around his shoulders and shake with release, “Oh my god.”

“Mm,” Jungkook groaned with pleasure, feeling your arousal flood his fingers in your release. He looked down at his wet hand, bringing it to his lips where he licked off the release that threatened to drip down his forearm, “Sweet.”

You looked like a mess trying to catch your breath and come to understand what had just happened between you to think too long about the fact that he was pressing his fingers into your waiting mouth till you licked your own release off him. He lifted a brow as your tongue circled around his fingers while sucking on them with your cheeks hollowed in. It had his breath hitching, trying to pull his fingers back out before he came just from that and began to pull at his own pants.

“Condom?” He asked in an unusually low and raspy tone. You blinked, “It’s fine, I’m on the pill.”

He didn’t press for more as he kicked his slacks and briefs off, hard cock pointed up stiffly. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it. You wanted to wrap your lips around him and take him deep in your mouth because his dick was surprisingly so fucking pretty you just needed it desperately.

With your mind decided, you attempted to sit up when he pushed you back down, cock in his hand as he gave himself a couple strokes to relieve some tension and pulled your legs apart, “I need you now.”

“Impatient, are we?” You asked with a laugh, making yourself relax when you felt his cock head brush against your exposed clit. Jungkook wasn’t paying attention to what you said as much as he was to the way his mushroom tip fit perfectly between your folds.

A soft gasp left your lips as he pushed it against your clit, playing with your labia and letting the clear liquid that dripped out of his tip, coat your clit.

“Fuck,�� Jungkook took a deep breath as his cock nearly slipped inside of you, playing with your earlier release to cover his length in it, “Such a pretty pussy.”

With an annoyed roll of your eyes, you grew tired of his teasing and with a quick hook of your leg around his slim waist, you pushed his cock into you eliciting a deep groan [almost growl] to slip from his lips, “Fucking hell, Y/n.”

“You were taking too long,” you moaned, legs falling back again as you tried to ease the slight pain that came from his thick member entering your tight walls. Jungkook’s hair was brushing against your face as he looked down at the way you took him in, “I was trying to be gentle.”

“Did I ask you to be?” You asked with a scoff. Jungkook rolled his eyes, spreading his legs further apart and digging his knees into the bed for support as he covered you with his body, laying down to plant a quick kiss to your lips. “Brat.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” your manicured nails traced down his back until your hands were under his thighs as if ready to make him move on your own, “Are you going to fuck me yet?”

He couldn’t help but scoff in disbelief, an amused smile on his face and without saying a word, he pulled out until on his tip was past your ring of nerves, and suddenly pushed back in. Your lips fell open in a silent gasp as your eyes locked with his and he smirked.

“You need it that bad?” Jungkook asked as he pulled your legs up, pressing them toward your chest and holding them down with his arms as he kissed your neck, dragging his cock back out, “How bad?”

“Jungkook,” you groaned, trying to move your hips but in this position it was useless, “Start moving.”

“Make me,” he kissed the tip of your nose, slowly sliding himself back in just a little. You rolled your eyes, moving your hand to hide your face as you felt yourself getting annoyed.

Jungkook was smiling like this was all just so amusing to him and with his lip pulled between his teeth, he thrusted in with little restraint, starting a slow yet steady rhythm, “Don’t hide your face, darling. I wanna see the Y/n L/n moaning for me.”

“Fuck you,” you shook your head feeling your pussy tighten around him with your legs pulled to your chest unable to escape his thrusts that were becoming more rough by the second.

“Come on darling, you can do it,” Jungkook groaned, feeling like he was on cloud 9 from the way your pussy took him in. He doesn’t know how to explain it but he felt really fucking good right now. He’s not sure if it’s that he hasn’t had sex in a while, or if it had something to do with the fact that it was you, but he was fucking you with all his energy, letting himself relax and just feel good in the moment.

“Jungkook,” you moaned his name, hand slipping from your face so you could wrap it around his neck, “Kiss me.”

“Kiss?” He asked, out of breath as his rhythm faltered and without thinking, he let go of your legs and let them fall back onto the bed as he tilted your chin up with a hand to kiss you. He set his other hand down on the bed for support, getting lost between your lips and your tight pussy.

Jungkook’s tongue licked against yours swallowing your moans, “Y/n, it’s s’good.”

“Mhm,” you circled your legs around him, “Fuck.”

Jungkook kissed down your neck, hands sneaking down to your waist and with one swift movement, rolled onto his back with you on top. He needed a change of pace because if he kept going, he would cum sooner than he wanted to and he needed you to cum one more time for him so if that meant letting you get in top, he would.

And it had been such a good idea because the sight of you sitting on his cock, leaning back and placing your hands on his thighs instead of chest, made him more excited. Your knees dug into the bed and with your fingers scratching at his muscular thighs and raised your hips, lifting yourself off his cock before plunging him back in.

“Fucking hell,” Jungkook groaned throwing his head back into the pillows, a hand on your hip but not daring to take control, “That’s it darling, fuck yourself on my cock.”

“Jungkook,” the new position was having him reach newer parts inside you that had your thighs shaking, “I’m so close.”

“Take it,” Jungkook growled, holding you in place as he dug his feet into the mattress and began to fuck up into you, “Take my fucking dick, fuck.”

“Oh my god,” you fell forward, hands scratching at his chest, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten, “I—I can’t. Jungkook, baby, oh my—“

“Take it,” he groaned, grabbing your hips harshly and moving once again so he was on top, thrusting into you despite how hard it was getting to pull out of your tight walls, “Take it.”

“I—I,” your lips fell open in a loud cry, pinching his biceps for stability, and felt your walls come undone. For the second time in less than hour, your orgasm hit you hard. Jungkook released a string of grunts, feeling your pussy convulse around him and his cock was greeted with a flood of warmth that had his legs shaking, trying to support him but he couldn’t take it. He barely had time to slip out before he was letting go, his cum dribbling down to your thighs as he let out one final moan of your name.

His body seemed to collapse down next to yours, panting and out of breath, “Fuck.”

The two of you were a mess, sweaty and sore and all you wanted to do was lay down and possibly sleep but where you were did not go past you unnoticed. You searched around for your cellphone, knowing you set it down somewhere before trying to change and found it on your nightstand with six missed calls from the Bride-To-Be.

Jungkook took a deep breath, sitting up and looking down at the mess the two of you made on the bed. He got up, not bothering with covering himself up as he found a towel and tried cleaning himself off with it while you got on your phone.

“Duty calls,” you joked with a sigh as he came to your side and began to wipe down your thighs. Yeonwoo sent you a dozen messages talking about a midlife crisis of some sorts. You sat up carefully, thanking him for handing you your robe and you slipped it on.

“What happened?” Jungkook asked with an awkward clear of his throat as he began putting on his clothes again. He’ll admit he was taking his time getting dressed and you left to the bathroom to freshen up.

“I don’t know, something with the gift boxes for everyone. I think Yeonie’s assistant forgot them,” you told him as you found new underwear to wear, making sure you were cleaned before putting them on. You left the door to the bathroom open to talk to him but you still changed into the white Jacquemus dress from earlier.

You walked up to him and he got the memo about zipping your back up and this time he couldn’t help but lean down to press a kiss to your shoulder blade, “Are you going up yet?”

“I’m gonna touch up my makeup first,” you told him honestly, “You go ahead.”

When Jungkook reached upstairs again, finding the party just as he left it earlier, it’s like nobody noticed he had even left for so long. They were all too focused on your new dress — which Yeonwoo absolutely adored on you. He found a glass of champagne and tried to escape from the swarm of people trying to hold a conversation with him when he wasn’t thinking clearly at all.

Unfortunately for the two of you, the matching off-white shade of your clothing and the sudden mark on his neck wasn’t lost on anyone else. Soon, pictures from every angle possible would paint a story neither of you wanted.

There was a sense of guilt that came with disassociating yourself from your best friend’s wedding plans. Jungkook could barely remember what they had done once they got to the island after a surprising night of visiting your cabin.

He hasn’t had an actual conversation with you since that night and he has to be honest and say, he barely remembers the actual wedding. He hadn’t seen you since the yacht before being dragged away by Hoseok the following day to do some activities for Namjoon’s groomsmen. You had gone to do your Maid of Honor duties and he’s felt out-of-loop since.

The entire day had been packed with things to do and he’s aware he looked dashing in every photo the photographers took of him in his 12,000$ Kiton suit. The matching suits they all wore made the groomsmen look classy and cohesive while the Balmain dresses the bridesmaids wore made them elegant and surreal—well at least for you.

That’s what he thinks is the problem.

His best friends got married and yet all he was able to think about was you. It didn’t help that despite the wedding being on a private island, there was still press everywhere, capturing every angle of this beautiful matrimony between nepo babies.

The reception had been filled with various questions from various interviewers that left all your shared friends staring at you suspiciously—especially when questions of the hickey on his neck came forward.

As awful as it sounded considering the 46 million dollar wedding in the mountains of an island was stunning, he could barely remember half of what hadn’t been photographed. He left the day after the wedding with an excuse that he had things to take care of where he’s currently at and his friends bid him farewell.

He got to the mainland a day before the others and it gave him time to return home before he left on another voyage alone.

“How was the wedding?” His older brother asked, swinging his mallet just slightly, trying to find his nail before shooting the ball through the hoop, “I can't believe I was caught up in meetings all week in Tokyo.”

Jungkook looked oddly bright today compared to how he felt and he didn’t want to say it was because his casual and boring clothes he wore abroad stuck out here in ways he didn’t like. That’s why today—his last day home—he visited his family’s 150 acre estate for a game of Croquet and possibly tennis, wearing a matcha colored Loro Piana cashmere polo with short sleeves.

“Um, it was great,” Jungkook said as he brought his cigarette to his lips and lighting the end before inhaling.

“That’s it?” JungHyun asked with a scoff as he motioned for Jungkook to take his turn and he took his brother’s cigarette, “Did you have an orgy with any models or were you your usual gentleman self that won the crowd against me?”

His older brother had been well known in his younger days for many reasons, his partying, his charm, his youth and education. When he was in his mid twenties, you could always catch him in some article their parents tried taking down in regards to driving under the influence or insulting a server. Unlike Jungkook who preferred a quiet life he could escape to, his brother did not and now he’s some big shot finance guy because his attitude growing up had ruined his chance of inheriting everything from their grandparents. Now it will all go to Jungkook—something they’re all aware of—and maybe that’s why JungHyun makes snide remarks here and there.

He’s not asking about the wedding because he’s curious, he’s bitter that despite his perfect appearance and Jungkook’s more intimidating kind, Jungkook was still the most well-mannered of the two and therefore the favorite—if only he stayed and fulfilled his duties.

“No orgy,” Jungkook said with a hint of disgust as he finished his round of the game, one step closer to winning, “Just Y/n.”

JungHyun had been mid-swing when he mentioned you and his aim went astray making him miss the next ring, “What do you mean just Y/n?”

“I slept with her—“

A loud and annoying laugh cut him off as JungHyun let his mallet go, “Ah, so you can’t remember the events of your best friend’s wedding because you were too busy sleeping with the nation’s sweetheart? Oh I cannot wait till father hears about this, maybe your wedding is next and then you’ll finally step up to the plate.”

Jungkook scoffed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means now that you’re back, and dating the richest girl in the country, there��s no way Father won’t hand you down the company now,” JungHyun said bitterly, “And everyone said you running away would be a bad thing, but clearly it’s reminded you of who you are.”

“I’m not… I’m not staying,” Jungkook said, “I leave tomorrow but I wanted to see you all. And Y/n and I aren’t going to date, it was a… um.”

“Mistake?” JungHyun asked, “Jungkook, don’t be an idiot. You’ve been obsessed with her for years.”

“I have not.”

“You have, you just don’t want to admit that all your talk about being independent and leaving the money behind to be free was complete bullshit,” JungHyun said with a scoff, “Or why would you mess around with her of all people. A relationship with Y/n is going to put you at the top once again and there’s nothing that won’t be handed to you—and she’s someone mother would approve.”

“You’re dramatic,” Jungkook huffed, “One night doesn’t mean we’re dating or getting married or any of that other shit. I still don’t want to run the business… I just want, I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you never know what you want,” JungHyun said, “But whatever, if you’re set on running away again, so be it. I’m tired of trying to make you see how you blindly follow along with everything you seem to hate.”

“Master, your wife is on line three and she’s wondering who is picking up the kids.”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” JungHyun groaned, annoyed and no longer interested in talking to his little brother, “The driver?”

Jungkook watched his brother leave him behind and with a defeated sigh, he left.

“So are you leaving?” Youngi asked him as he watched the bubbles in his pink champagne, “Or have you changed your mind?”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Jungkook said stiffly as he fixed the suit jacket he was currently getting fit into, “I’m just postponing my leave but I have a few things to take care of here.”

“Like with you and Y/n?” Youngi asked, making sure the fitting room at Dolce & Gabbana was empty aside from just them two. Jungkook didn’t even flinch at the mention of you. Since the two arrived at this store his vision has been filled with large framed photos of you and your dear friend Park Jimin all over the store. Apparently you were one of the brand’s favorite Ambassadors and they made it known you modeled their products. Right now he’s facing the mirror with a picture of you modeling a satin baldonétte bra and high waisted panties. You looked beautiful and seductive and its been hard for him to not just stare at all your pictures since he got here. Now Yoongi is attempting to bring you up and he refuses to give in to the extent his relationship with you has gone.

You haven’t even spoken since the wedding and even that had just been an exchange of pleasantries and no real depth to either of your words.

“No, with my father,” Jungkook said stiffly as he shrugged off the suit jacket and called in the stylist to find something else. Yoongi sat up in his seat slightly more interested, “Really? About what? Don’t tell me you're back in the running.”

“We're going to discuss it,” Jungkook mumbled to himself.

He wanted to make one thing clear, his decision to seek out his father and work out some sort of plan where he can get back into the job he had been assigned to do, while also having freedom had absolutely nothing to do with you. It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re here, and he’s interested in you, and that it would be his parent’s dream for him to stay and be in a relationship with you and also take over the business finally…

This was his decision because his brother’s right. He can't just keep running away.

“And what do you mean, with Y/n?” Jungkook asked, clearing his throat awkwardly as he glanced up at your five foot photo framed above the mirror, remembering the shape of your body against his, moaning his name and tightening your walls around him.

“Haven’t you heard the rumors?” Youngi asked as he got on his phone, “It seems as though you have competition.”

Jungkook didn’t need to be told more as he took Yoongi’s phone from his outstretched hand and read what was on the screen with furrowed brows.

At the end of the article, in big, fat letters, the conclusion said: ‘Now the question is, will L/n choose the best friend, Park Jimin, or the elegant and influential Best Man, Jeon Jungkook—possibly as the country’s newest IT couple?’

When he gave Yoongi his phone back, there was no denying the sudden irritation that contorted his features. It’s not like he expected this to not happen but… he doesn’t like what they’re implying. Yoongi studied him closely to see if he would get a response, but Jungkook gave nothing away. Instead he just ordered the tailor to pack the two suits he tried on so he could buy both, “I’ll meet you out there.”

Yoongi left Jungkook to get changed and while he stood alone in the fitting room staring up at your boudoir photos framed around him, he took his phone and dialed your number.

“Hello?” Your end of the call sounded hectic, louder and busier than his did. You were in the middle of an interview for Vogue and were taking a short break. It seemed like he called at just the right time since you were getting your makeup touched up.

“Are you busy?” Jungkook asked with a sharp tone that fell on deaf ears when the call went silent for a moment. He really did admire the photo of you, remembering just what it was like to trace his hands along your figure.

“Who is this?” You finally asked, making his jaw clench slightly.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

“Oh you see, I wouldn’t have known that considering you didn’t even say a hello or anything,” You told him in a sarcastic tone that made him want to smile but also roll his eyes, “Besides, I am busy.”

As if on cue, the call of your name in the background made your claim concrete. He bit his lip in thought, wondering what it was you were doing and how long it would take, “When can I see you?”

A smile played on your lips as you held up a finger to your assistant who was trying to hurry you along, “Did you make an appointment with my assistant?”

He couldn’t help but scoff as his gaze turned toward a glare, practically imagining that picture of you smiling at him, “I didn’t know I needed one, darling. When can I schedule one?”

“I’m not sure, i'll let you know,” you said and before Jungkook could respond, the call ended and he was left in shock that you just hung up on him. He gathered his things and met Yoongi outside to pay, completely bewildered by the fact that you just hung up on him so easily. He knows you haven’t spoken since the night of the wedding where you were forced to speak but this is all he gets?

“What took you so long?” Yoongi asked as they left Dolce & Gabbana with new things.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: Appointment scheduled for, 6:30 pm today, L/n Residence @ the Northbrook Estates

Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief at the confirmation of an appointed meeting with you tonight.

The night on the yacht had been unexpected yet also long-awaited and now that its done with, neither of you seemed to know what to do about it. You wont lie and say you didn’t enjoy that moment with him but you were also realistic. You and Jungkook would just never work out, you’re too different on the outside and that’s why you’re so confused now as to why he called you.

“So, Y/n, its been a busy season for you this year,” an interviewer said as the camera zoomed in on your expression as they continued, “Not only did you walk thirteen shows but I hear you also celebrated your close friends wedding. How was that? You must have been exhausted.”

“You know it was a lot but it was exciting, I hold my friends dearly and I’m just thankful I was able to make time for such an event,” you said and you’ll admit your response sounded scripted. You didn’t dive too deeply which is what you’re sure the interviewer wanted. You should have known that this stupid interview wouldn’t just be about your newly established modeling career.

Whether you’ve become Model of the Year for your catwalk, or for nepotism, you didn’t are much either way. All you cared about was the fact that the interviewer has found a way to slip in questions they didn’t need to know. It’s like you can just sense the things they’ll ask and have already prepared and calculated the exact responses you need to give.

“Of course, and what a star-studded party,” the interviewer continued, “The Best Man being Jeon Jungkook must have been exciting for you.”

“Well, we’ve all known each other for a long time now so…” You cleared your throat, looking a bit disinterested.

“Yes, of course,” the interviewer said with a nervous laugh, “And pardon me, Y/n, but I just have to ask, did anything happen between the two of you on this very intimate trip?”

Your smile strained but you never looked anything less than sweet as you said, “We are all just very close friends. Most of them have supported me in modeling.”

It was a clear attempt on your part to direct the conversation back to what it was supposed to be about. She ignored your last comment and said, “So… I guess we’re all curious, some pictures from the parties were released of the two of you awfully close in certain open waters, and an evident hickey on his neck—not to mention the matching clothes, please, is there something between you and the heir of Jeon Corporation?”

“Nothing that should concern you, no,” you smiled sweetly and the interviewer seemed to freeze up, unsure if she had gone too far in her questions.

Silence filled the space around them and there was no way to cut these parts out since it was a video shoot and after a while of the interviewer struggling to find which questions to ask, a person who worked for you stepped forward, “How about another short break?”

The interviewer released a shaky breath while the both of you made your way off camera and your glam team was quick to touch up your hair and makeup as the director of the shoot approached you, “Y/n darling, how are we feeling?”

“Annoyed,” you answered honestly, “I thought this was supposed to be about my modeling.”

“You’re absolutely right, darling, we apologize for any mistake we’ve done on our part, I—She must have taken it as an opportunity to ask her own questions and I promise you, we will have a deep conversation about this. We aren’t TMZ…” the director said and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m done filming if she’ll be the one continuing the interview,” You told him as you began to walk away from him, not caring for the excuses or whatever and you can hear your publicist repeat your words to him.

It wasn’t even that she was bad at her job or that she asked anything too deep but she just quickly got on your bad side with her persistence to not let the subject drop.

In the end you got your wish and filming ended smoothly before you were driven away to whatever was next in your schedule, trying not to think about the interview or the fact that there was a chance you would be seeing Jungkook later.

Things are evidently strange between you two and its not like you’ve been blind to the articles or posts about you but you don’t want to address anything. That night on the yacht seems like a fluke and like it shouldn’t have happened at all despite how you felt in the moment. Your parents aren’t the type to be invested in what is put in the tabloids but when their lifelong, country club going, friends call them and ask if there’s anything between you and Jeon Corporation’s Jungkook, they’re going to want answers.

It was just one night, one night where the two of you put aside whatever indifference you had toward each other just so you could release tension and this is the consequence for that. Of course everyone would want to know and of course no one was able to turn a blind eye to you. Even Yeonwoo managed to ask what you had been doing in the cabins withJungkook or so long that night and even when you tried to ignore her she kept pressing you for an answer.

In truth you had nothing to say. You were both adults and it didn’t matter if anyone else was dying to know if there was anything going on between you.

You resented each other.

You had sex.

Plus, he’s going to leave soon and you don’t think that bothers you?

When your driver pulled up to the tall skyscraper you called home, you headed inside alone.

“Good evening, Miss L/n,” the lobbyist held the door open for you, “You have a visitor waiting in the lobby.”

Your brows furrowed, checking the time before heading to the library where sure enough, Jeon Jungkook was sitting by the fireplace reading whatever magazine was set out for him. At the sound of your Miu Miu kitten heels, he turned staring at you with his big rounded eyes being the only thing you could see beside his face mask, “You’re early.”

Jungkook wrapped an arm around your waist as he pressed his lips to your cheek in greeting and you did the same, he joined you in the elevator and said, “I like to get to my appointments early.”

“You’re lucky my shoot ended early or else you might have had to wait outside like a dog,” you teased as you pushed the button for the top floor where your penthouse was located. As part of the infinite amount of wealth your family has, you also dabble in real estate, mostly in the country as luxury apartments but you do have some homes overseas: Paris, New York, Argentina, etc.

The place you call home is a top floor penthouse with terrace and rooftop. The floor in which it was located was completely shut off for just you and included a private gym, yoga studio, three walk-in closets, and on top of that an elevator parking garage with a Mary Kay Pink Rolls Royce sitting pretty inside it.

Jungkook has never stepped foot in your home before and it was overwhelmingly stunning with four bedrooms, two living rooms (one on the top floor and one on the main floor too), an open kitchen, poolside terrace, and five bathrooms. You lived in ultimate modern luxury with traditional themes throughout the home like its hand carved wooden furniture and expensive marble walls.

“Is this different from your little magic treehouse in the woods you ran off to?” You asked, tempted to push his buttons as you removed your coat and handed it to your housekeeper who waited at the door.

“Well, considering my magic treehouse is worth 2.6 million dollars, no I wouldn’t consider this that different from it,” Jungkook couldn’t help but boast, feeling like he’s competing. It’s like when he was in school and the students would brag about whatever exotic trip they got to go in the summer and he would have to make sure to tell them what he did was better. “Maybe I’ll bring you with someday.”

Fuck. Why did he say that? Why is he indulging in any of this in the first place? You and Jungkook should never be together, right?

“Speaking of which, I thought you would have ran off now that the wedding is over,” You said as you mumbled something to the housekeeper making her leave, “Drink?”

“Water is fine,” Jungkook said as he made his way down to your 70’s inspired talking pit of suede Anabei sectional couches, “And I thought I would have been gone by now too”

“What changed?” You skied curiously, “Don’t tell me it's because you would miss me.”

You held your hand to your chest as if to seem touched by the thought and Jungkook just rolled his eyes as you continued, “How would all the other girls feel knowing I’m keeping you here?”

Jungkook scoffed as he practically pushed your legs off his lap, “Can you not joke for just one second?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even if part of you felt confused wondering if this was supposed to be a serious moment or not. Jungkook huffed, running his fingers through his black hair, “I’m here because I wanted to talk to you about all those articles. My parents are working on taking those down, are you okay?”

Your eyebrows knitted together with confusion, “Me? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I’ve never seen anything bad written about you and suddenly you’re being painted as a two-timer by spending a night with me while also… doing whatever it is you do with that friend of yours.” He was not jealous. He swears.

To be clear, there really is nothing going on with you and Jimin. You’re just two friends in the modeling world who happen to like attending secret parties together and maybe making out drunkenly every now and then. That’s it. You’ve never slept with him and Jimin has too many girls on his line for you to ever consider him.

“I’ll survive,” You mumbled as you looked over at him, seeing him in deep thought.

“I’m thinking of staying a while longer,” Jungkook said suddenly with a clear of his throat.

Jungkook was not the shy type and to be honest he’s not even sure why he’s letting you know [as if it made a difference] but the words just slipped out.

He did not like you.

Well, he didn’t like you like that. It sounds harsh he’s well aware of that but he was never romantically attracted to you before so how is he going to suddenly feel that way after only a week in contact again. Maybe it was just unresolved sexual tension after years of feeling that way but that can’t be the only thing that’s making him want to revert back to what his life was like before he left to live on his own.

He escaped all this so that he could live somewhere quietly and do what he really wanted to do without worrying about anything else. Now he’s contemplating moving back and possibly involving himself with his father’s business again. Too much is going on for him to understand why.

“For how long?” you asked as your fingers began to softly run through the ends of his hair making him look at you. You couldn’t hide your curiosity and how close the two of you are.

When he had pulled you down to sit with him, it was with your legs thrown over his lap which he had been caressing every now and then.

An arrogant smirk formed on his lips as he licked them, tapping your calf lightly, “How long do you want me here?”

Fuck, Jungkook is staying to get back in business… not for you.

It’s not for you.

It’s not for yo—

His breath hitched as a sudden weight shifted to his lap, his hands immediately went to your waist, helping you get comfortable on him. It’s embarrassing the way Jungkook didn’t hesitate to reach for you when you sat on his lap feeling your arms thrown around his neck, “Here as in…”

You looked down at the short skirt you wore which rolled up a little from how your legs straddled his thighs and said, “Under me?”

A scoff in disbelief left his lips as he couldn’t help but laugh, sliding your hips closer, “Yeah.”

It was attractive the way your conversations never seemed to fall unless you wanted them to. It was a constant cat and mouse game, banter back and forth and he catches on quickly.

You couldn’t help it, okay. Anytime you would see pictures of Jungkook since he left, he was always in a hoodie and sweats or something that just hid his entire body. Right now he’s wearing this Christian Dior white button-up shirt [which he rolled the sleeves up at some point since he got here] and it was messily untucking from his black slacks and he looks so hot right now. His hair was messy in a sexy way and he looked just like he used to, except this time with tattoos and a different sense of maturity.

Without wasting another moment debating if you should or shouldn’t, you leaned down and kissed him. Jungkook’s lips parted against yours, stretching his neck to kiss you with more need. Unlike the first night you kissed, this one wasn’t as rushed and angry. He took his time longer, pulling your bottom lip between his and doing it over again.

You pressed your chest against his, with your tongue swiping against his lip teasingly until you met his. Jungkook’s hands pinched the satin fabric of your skirt, feeling it tighten and rise, unable to stop the growing desire he was feeling for you. His briefs were getting tighter every time you shifted on his lap and whatever he had been thinking before you started making out.

“You want to play?” He asked, shifting his head to deepen the kiss without bumping noses. You pulled away feeling desperate to catch your breath as his kisses began to travel down toward your exposed neck, licking and nipping under your jaw while beginning to make

“Maybe,” you sighed in pleasure, running your hands through his hair when you felt him kiss down your collarbone, closer and closer down the deep-v in your Miu Miu chiffon top. The strap to your shirt slipped down your shoulder as Jungkook’s rough fingers traced down the side of your arms.

You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to go back to kiss your lips as you felt his growing erection press into you. It was hard for him to ignore the fact that the only thing covering what was under your skirt was a flimsy, thin piece of lace he shifted you closer until his bulge was tucked between your legs, placing your hips right over where he wanted them to be. Now that he moved you, his outline was more evident and had you grinding along him.

Jungkook released a groan with a sharp breath once he felt that sudden move and he couldn’t help but buck his hips against you, feeling the fabric of his briefs constrict his hardened cock. It was a frustrating feeling yet he felt so eager with his tongue down your throat and his covered dick tucked nicely between your covered folds that he couldn’t even think to stop and remove the layers.

His lips were feeling swollen against yours yet he didn’t want to pull away, the friction he was getting from the way you humped him was turning him on with how needy it felt. You kissed along his jaw, grinding against his aching dick while your nimble fingers began to unbutton his shirt.

“God damn,” Jungkook groaned as he threw his head back, relishing in the way your hips moved expertly against him while kissing down his naked chest. He slid his ass down your back, stopping over your butt and pulling your skirt out of the way for him to get a better feel of you underneath. With firm hands, he turned your sensual grinding into harsher and more deep movements that he met with his hips.

He’s not sure he could take just this any longer. Anytime he’s with you now it’s like he can’t do anything but fall for you and despite how annoying it is, he doesn’t do anything to stop it. Instead, he welcomes it and right now all he wants to do and rip off the remaining layers between you so he could have your legs wrapped around him once more. It’s only been days since the first time and he has not been able to stop thinking about it.

The day of the wedding he had been so distracted by you that he barely remembers any of it and now his best friends are on their honeymoon and he’s here thinking about you again.

Giving up on arguing how much he wants to have you, he wanted to get your clothes off and you were letting him. His hands had barely made it to the end of your top, ready to pull it off, when a loud ringtone cut through the living room, echoing off the walls and hard to ignore. The two of you looked at each other confused.

He sat up, reaching his hand into his pocket and pulling out his phone, annoyed that someone had thought to call him.

“Answer,” you said breathlessly as you looked at the caller, already sliding yourself off his lap.

“It’s just Hobi,” Jungkook said, letting out a huff in annoyance as he set his phone back down, turning to kiss you but it rang once again. Your eyes met his and he begrudgingly grabbed his phone and swiped to answer, “Hello?”

“Hey man, I just got off the phone with your Yoongi,” Hoseok said as he sat in a large closet filled with designer clothes, “And why am I always the last to know if you’re leaving or not?”

“What?” Jungkook looked visibly annoyed with his scrunched brows and tense jaw and for some reason that made him hotter to you. His shirt was undone completely and his belt was halfway pulled off and with his legs spread, it was very hard to ignore his hard on.

Your eyes softened with curiosity and you couldn’t help but bite down on your bottom lip as you decided to just go for it. First, your hand rested on his thigh as he listened to whatever Hoseok said, but slowly you made your way toward his bulge.

“You’re gonna start working with your dad again?” Hoseok asked, unaware of the way Jungkook’s attention had drifted down to the palm of your hand, right over his dick. Your fingers pressed against the underside of his member, massaging your palm into it and feeling the way his hips raised. “What happened to not caring about the money and the company and all that blah blah blah?”

Jungkook couldn’t help but roll his eyes, snapping back to his friend instead of what was going on. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, tightening their grip as if in warning. It was a useless attempt considering he tried helping you pull his belt off and saying, “Come on man, it was never like that.”

He could hear his own tone falter somewhere between lying and having his cock free from the confines of his tight briefs with your hand feeling him.

Hoseok laughed, debating what suit he should wear, “No, it’s exactly like that.”

Jungkook’s hand went to your head, softly caressing you as you kissed down his navel, your hand wet with spit, jerking him off while licking just above his dick. He didn’t bother with a response to his friend as he continued speaking anyway, “Is it true you and our princess are messing around? It’s all over the tabloids.”

Sarcasm was evident in Hoseok’s tone but Jungkook was too focused on your tongue licking up the length of his hard cock, wetting it with spit that made your hand movements smoother.

“Look I get it, you’ve had all this tension something was bound to happen but damn, why didn’t you tell me that either?” Hoseok asked with evident shock, unaware of the blowjob his friend was receiving on the other end. Your lips were wrapped tightly around his length and with your hand too, it was hard for Jungkook to keep his reactions to a minimum.

“Hobi, I—I, yknow I just,” Jungkook cleared his throat uncomfortably to hide an evident groan. He was beginning to fidget under your ministrations, especially when you squeezed under his cock, massaging his balls, “Sorry.”

“Sorry?! That’s all you gotta say after chewing me out for giving you condoms as a joke.” Hoseok was lying in a pile of Louis Vuitton suits on the floor, engrossed in his one-sided conversation, “Our friendship seems one-sided buddy. I thought when you came up to me… I thought, ‘Hey, maybe my good buddy Jungkook will get in this dandy hot tub with me’ but no, you know what you do instead? You ask where Y/n is! God I should’ve known—“

Jungkook threw his head back in a mixture of pleasure and obvious irritation that he couldn’t take it anymore. His finger pressed into the red button and the call was cut to end suddenly. As soon as his phone hit the couch, you pulled off his length with a deep huff for air, “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“He’ll get over it,” Jungkook mumbled as he reached for your hand to pull you toward him, “Come here.”

“I’m not done,” you leaned away from the kiss he was trying to give you but his hand held your head in place, not caring to kiss the lips that had just been around his hard dick. Jungkook wasn’t as gentle as his need grew heavier and with a strategic pull at your top, it ripped down the back, “Jungkook!”

“What?” He asked with a giddy smile, tempted to be playful, “It was in my way.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting up to take your skirt off yourself and prevent another hazard while Jungkook finished undressing himself. “It was custom, asshole.”

Jungkook’s smile dropped with worry, lips parted in surprise until you burst out into a laugh and fell onto his lap, “You should see the look on your face.”

“Ha ha, don’t scare me like that,” Jungkook chuckled, “I was already thinking about the fortune I would have to pay to fix that.”

“Jungkook,” you ignored the fact that the two of you were naked, in the middle of an intimate moment and asked, “What did you mean earlier?”

“When?” Jungkook asked, caressing your leg, “About staying? Yeah, I’m serious.”

“You are?” You crossed your arms over your bare chest, “Why?”

“Why?” He was visibly taken back, “What do you mean why?”

“I mean… just a few days ago you were adamant on leaving right after the wedding and when you left the resort before everyone else we all kind of figured you had left but you’re here now and…” You took a deep breath in thought.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jungkook asked, sounding more hurt than he intended to. All this time pushing and pulling his feelings for how he felt about being here and seeing you was getting to him. He’s very aware how confusing he is and spending a night with you shouldn’t have changed his mind this quickly while he also refused to admit.

“We didn’t talk about what happened at the party,” you said suddenly, feeling Jungkook drape his shirt over your naked figure as the conversation shifted drastically.

“I know,” he dropped his head, “I’m sorry, I was really confused and I couldn’t tell what I was feeling or how you were feeling and I was mad and… I thought you probably didn’t care.”

“I mean, I didn’t,” you shrugged, “But because I figured it was just a one time thing since you were very obvious with how little you thought of me and now you’re saying you’re staying longer while visiting me at home and it just… I don’t get it.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Jungkook was in his slacks again, trying to fix whatever mess he might have made over time, “I just… I was just being dumb. I wanted to act like I wasn’t into you at all because I was mad at everyone else and it wasn’t fair that I took it out on you but I thought you didn’t like me either.”

“And you’re right, you were mean to me,” you nudged him with your foot, “So really, I shouldn’t even be in this position with you right now.”

Jungkook didn’t dare argue when you called him out, “You always pretended to hate me even when you’d get jealous if someone else talked to me and you could never take your eyes off me.”

His brows furrowed, reminded of the trip and how everyone always joked that he wanted you when he was so stubborn on saying he didn’t. He didn’t like how predictable his life was.

“Because I knew everyone thought you were perfect,” Jungkook tried pulling you toward him, “And they didn’t know how you liked to push my buttons and say things you knew would get to my head and how you were actually so unbelievably perfect that it pissed me off everytime I let you get to me.”

“Don’t sweet talk me now,” you teased when he leaned over to lay between your legs, content with the sight of you in his Dior shirt, “How are you gonna repay me for being such a dick?”

“Whatever you want,” Jungkook admitted, “Say the word and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“I have everything I want,” you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Come on Y/n, don’t make this hard on me,” he whined playfully, “Everyone else is already making it hard and I just want to spend the night with you. I’ll let you use me.”

Your brow raised and with a soft laugh you pulled him toward you for a kiss, “I get to use the Jeon Jungkook? What will everyone say?”

“That they saw it coming,” Jungkook chuckled as he pressed his lips to yours, “So don’t stop the inevitable.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling your arousal from earlier slowly make its return, “You’re so spoiled.”

“I know.”

Jeon Jungkook now knows what an awful liar he’s been these last couple of years. All of this talk about wanting to be different, break free from his family’s influences and the world of money and power, was meaningless in the end. He tried, he really did but his rebellion of running off and doing whatever he pleased, refusing to acknowledge the company, the wealth and the people in it was short lived because he never actually wanted to escape it.

He was still going to be friends with the people he grew up with and fall back to his old routine of country clubs and parading on yachts or private islands.

He was still going to take over his share of his father’s company and dress himself up in designer Kiton suits that he used to despise wearing.

He was still going to fall for you, the person he despised simply for being an exact reflection of himself. You were perfect for him in every way on paper and that made him want to push you away but in the end, he still fell for you like he knew he would.

Some people dream about having the life he does, or growing up the way he did and yet here he was selfishly wishing it all away. It was perfect, it was so insanely perfect and unfair that Jungkook ever thought he wouldn’t be happy with what he had been handed down to him for simply being born.

“This person gathered valuable experiences in the world and has shown such a strong will to portray it all into commitment for the company and that makes me a proud father,” A deep voice spoke from behind a podium with an echoing mic that had the attention of over a hundred people, “Please, welcome the newest V.P. for Jeon Corporation, my youngest son, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook had an arrogant smile on his lips as he walked onto stage, thanking everyone for congratulating him on his quick and easy advance in the company—even surpassing his older brother.

“Honestly, it is a big thank you to everyone close to me, for helping me see how ready I am to step into this role and fulfill my duty as a member of this corporation,” Jungkook said confidently, looking at all his friends who had a mixture of confused yet knowing smiles on their faces.

“What a brat,” Hoseok joked with Namjoon, “And I blame you for this.”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen someone get pulled back into the country’s good graces so easily,” Namjoon laughed, remembering all the articles about how my ridiculous Jungkook was for publicly stating he would never be a part of the company.

“That’s because he’s spoiled,” Jungkook��s older brother chimed in, “Even after he says he’s gonna walk away from it, he’s still gonna be welcomed back with open arms.”

Taehyung released a playful sigh, “I want to be Jeon Jungkook when I grow up, the perfect life just handed to me and I’m just too blind to appreciate it.”

“Tae, you’re rich,” Yeonwoo whispered to him, Taehyung grinning at her reminder and sitting up straighter.

“How was it?” Jungkook asked his friends as he looked around the table.

“Well rehearsed,” Taehyung gave him the thumbs up, “Also, where’s Y/n? I thought she’d be here.”

Jungkook checked the time on his watch, his leg already bouncing underneath the table, “Yeah, I thought so too.”

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal to him. This was all just some flashy way for his father to make Jungkook’s debut in the business widely anticipated and you had other things to do than be here. The two of you aren’t even officially together yet so it’s not like you owe it to him or anything.

“Y/n,” Jimin whined as he watched the valet open the limo door for you, “Please don’t ditch me. I’m your best friend, imagine how much fun we could be having. Everyone’s going to ask where you ran off to after the dinner.”

“Well you can tell them,” you hurried to finish applying your lip gloss, “That I had more important things to do than get drunk at some fashion party.”

“Right, just throw me to the side like I mean nothing,” Jimin said dramatically, “Is this how you treat friends now?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, knowing he was only trying to cause a scene. Jimin knew you would be calling it an early night but he just wanted it to be difficult. With a small sigh, you double checked that you looked fine in the mirror and said, “Okay, wish me luck, I’m hoping I get laid tonight.”

“I also hope you get laid tonight so that I don’t have to listen to you talk about how much you want to see him,” Jimin said as you made your way out the car, “Goodnight.”

By the time you got to the banquet, the cameras had been long gone from the entrance and so you were able to make your appearance quietly. You would have been here earlier if there hadn’t been an ambassador dinner tonight that you had already agreed to do before Jungkook decided on staying and you just couldn’t miss it.

You felt bad because Jungkook had asked you to come be his date but he understood why you couldn’t make it right away. If anything he should be happy that you hurried over from dinner to the banquet without an outfit change. Despite the number of attendants, it was really a private affair with only a couple people from the press but nothing too grand and over the top. It made arriving late less miserable and finding Jungkook and your friends much easier.

And when you first involved yourself with Jungkook in this way, you should have known it wouldn’t all be easy. You were now somewhat seeing the most eligible bachelor in the country and nobody knows about it aside from speculation. Speculation won’t stop spoiled rich girls who want him to themselves and that’s what you saw when you found him.

“It’s so great to have you back Kooky, it’s like… the best thing to ever happen,” some girl gushed at him from the once empty seat to his left. She seemed unaffected by the stares she received from around the table and didn’t care at all that Jungkook wasn’t even glancing her way. He doesn’t know her, she’s probably just the daughter of some wealthy couple who thinks she has a chance with him.

Jungkook stared forward, watching his friends’ faces as their eyes softened, no longer listening to the girl who said, “Maybe we can get together some time.”

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, soft lips brushing against his ear as you said, “Maybe we can get together some time too.”

There was no denying the smile that grew on his face as he turned to look at you and how close you were to him. Jungkook’s lips parted in pleasant surprise, ready to talk to you when someone else spoke up.

“Excuse us, sweetheart,” Namjoon said to the girl, “It seems our table is full, maybe you can try somewhere else?”

She left with an annoyed scoff, making room for you to sit down, “Sorry I’m late, did any of you miss me?”

You had a sweet smile on your face, a camera clicked somewhere else in the distance surely capturing how close you were to Jungkook specifically, who was tracing his hand along your thigh.

“Dearly,” Jungkook said as he leaned into you for a quick kiss on the lips, “Thanks for coming.”

“I told you I’d try and make it,” you said to him, “I missed the speech didn’t I?”

“It was nothing special,” Jungkook’s hand began to slide down the space between your legs—or at least as far as your dress would let it, “Just the usual talk about how amazing I am, it was all very boring.”

“But I love talking about you,” Your tone was sarcastic yet flirty, your hand falling over his in warning when he began to pull up your dress just a little. You were sitting at a table with a large draped tablecloth that hid your legs underneath but you were still very aware of the fact that your friends were all around the table.

“Y/n,” Hoseok called for you from across the table, “How does it feel to have the Jeon Jungkook wrapped around your finger?”

Jungkook turned to his friend with a harsh glare, knowing he was just poking fun at it all but still managing to get under his skin. You looked at Jungkook with a knowing grin, “Like nothing I didn’t expect.”

He scoffed, squeezing your thigh possessively, “I think the feelings are mutual, darling.”

You leaned into him, not caring for being around so many important people with cameras trying to capture whatever moment they can, “They are.”

::.

a/n omg it took me literally forever to write this and idk how I feel about it but yknow what 😭it’s finished and that’s what matters. I was in the mood for some rich kdrama feel fic and I hope I managed to pull that off at least a litttlleeeeeeere

thanks for everyone that waited patiently and please feel free to lmk what you think <3

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover @saweetspoiled @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802faves @skzthinker @unnatae @beautywine @lilliankoo @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @whoa-jo @marvelbun @sunnikthv @kochycooky @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @watermelonjuice15 @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @dream-cvtcher @jksjx @kissyfacekoo @joyjunk @caro134340lina @hyunjinswifeee @oldermenluverrr @caro134340lina @olivialeesstuff [taglist is too long so I’ll have to make two versions of it]

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nanaslutt · 6 months

Note

imma need a part three to the orange fic....it's soooooo gooooood!

the highly demanded part 3~

pt. 1 & 2

contains: fem reader, teasing, dirty talkkk, oral, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, praise, pull out method, dry humping, teasing, talk of pregnancy, gojo has a breeding kink, spanking, rough sex, dacraphillia, squirting, soft at the end :3

MDNI

"I have so much to teach you." He grinned, caressing the side of your face as you closed your eyes, and leaned your face into his hand.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

“Come back here,” Gojo said, grinning when you leaned forward and allowed him to connect your lips once more, slowly slotting them against each other as he moaned at the taste of himself on your tongue.

Gojo wrapped his strong arms around your body and pulled you snugly against his chest, making your cunt sit directly against his cock as you made out with him. The man underneath you jolted in sensitivity at the unexpected warmth on his bare cock, making him twitch back to life.

“Awww,” he cooed, pulling back to look between you, “They’re kissing.” He giggled, watching your slick drip against his cunt. You bit your lip when you tipped your chin down to look at what he was referring to.

The sight was so erotic, your slick was dripping onto him, leaving a trail of your cum against his dick as you rocked back and forth on him while you made out. You pouted out your bottom lip as you kept your eyes between the two of you.

“C-can you teach me how to have sex too?” you asked, finding your voice. Gojo’s eyebrows shot up, a smirk slowly creeping on his face as an idea popped into his head. “Ohhh~ I don’t know, I’m kinda tired, I’ve already taught you enough for one day.. don’t you think?” he said dramatically, making your bottom lip pout out in disappointment.

"O-oh I just thought.." You started quietly, "You're so greedy for a newbie~" He teased, making you hide your face in his neck, while his big hand came up to caress your nape, jolting your body as he laughed, "Baby I was just kidding~ no need to get all shy on me," He cooed, sliding his large hands under your arms and making you sit up fully on his lap.

He intended to tease you for longer, but how cute you were acting combined with how fucking addicting your cunt felt pressed against his now stiff cock, prevented him from continuing his teasing. "So.. you'll show me how to have sex?" Your eyes beamed as you asked, voice full of hope.

"Of course, I could never say no to you~" The white-haired man admitted, his warm hands finding their home against your thighs once more as he rubbed soothing patterns into your skin. "But before you get ahead of yourself, I still have to teach you about the other kinds of foreplay~ can't have you getting hurt because we didn't prep your tight cunt properly." He explained, squeezing the fat of your thighs.

"Others kinds of forplay?" You asked, excited for what was to come. "Oh yeah, I still gotta show you what getting your pussy eaten feels like," He smirked, "If you want I can show you how to suck a cock too."

You swallowed hard, feeling yourself clench around nothing at the thought of Gojo performing something on you that you thought only happened in porn. "D-do you actually enjoy doing.." You gestured vaguely in front of you, referring to performing oral, "that..?" you finished meekly. "Why don't I show you how much I love it," Gojo answered, a smile spreading on his handsome face.

He gripped your hips in his large hands and raised you up, switching your spots, and placing you down on the bed so you were laying comfortably against his soft mattress. He situated himself between your thighs on his stomach and threw your legs over his shoulders. "I always hear guys complaining about this kind of thing.. are you sure you're not forcing yourself?" You asked insecurely, which made him scoff in disbelief.

"Now who's saying that? I could cum just from eating pussy alone." He exaggerated, making your worries wash away at his honest words. "Making you feel good makes me feel good." He continued, "You're a smart girl, you saw how hard I got from just fingering you, do you think my dick would lie to you? huuhh?" He questioned teasingly, making you cover his penetrating eyes with your hands as your face heated up. "O-okay you're right, it was a stupid question," you said, embarrassed.

"Mhmm," Gojo agreed, making eye contact with you once more when you dropped your hands from his face, holding them against your chest as you waited for him to do whatever he was going to do to you.

"Im gonna lick your pussy now, kay?" He said, starting to drop his head closer to your exposed core after you nodded at his words. "Good girl," He praised before you felt his teeth nip at your thigh, making you wince. He smoothed over the spot with his soft tongue, licking your skin and humming at your quiet wines.

He continued peppering teasing kisses on your inner thighs, getting closer and closer to where you needed him most before he was pulling away, dropping his attention back to your inner thighs, and leaving bite marks and little purple hickeys on your skin. "Toru.." You whimpered, not being able to take it anymore, you could feel your clit throb, and your juices drip down from your hole from the delay.

"What do you need baby?" He asked, playing coy, as he kept up his ministrations, maintaining eye contact with you with that piercing gaze of his. Was he really going to make you say it? You swallowed hard, biting and releasing your lip as you tried to muster up the courage to ask him to lick your pussy already. "Don't be embarrassed about asking for something during sex, sweet thing, how else is your partner gonna know what you want?" He smirked against your skin.

Logically you knew he was right, it made total sense, but it still didn't mean that you didn't have the right to be a little shy about it. "P-please eat me out Satoru." You mumbled, just barely loud enough for him to hear it, but boy did it ring oud and clear inside his head.

"Anything for you sweet girl," He grinned, finally giving you attention where you were craving it. He closed his eyes and flattened his tongue against your pussy as he slid the appendage across your folds slowly, back and forth. Your body curled in on itself, twitching when he made contact with you. Your body jolted harder every time his tongue slid across your sensitive bundle of nerves, applying just the right amount of pressure.

Gojo moaned at your taste and lewd reactions to his tongue. The man opened his eyes again to get a good look at you, your hands were gripping the sheets hard enough to rip at just a couple seconds of stimulation from his tongue, and your head was tipped back into the pillows, pretty mouth open in a small o shape while you squeezed your eyes shut, really feeling what he was giving you.

"If you need a place to put your hands, feel free to put them in my hair, pull as hard as you like~" He informed, giggling against your cunt when both your hands came down immediately to burry in his soft strands for support. His plush lips suckled against your clit, and he used his soft tongue to expertly dart against the little bundle to add extra stimulation. "F-fuck Satoru-" You wined at the intense feeling.

You already felt like you were going to cum from the way he was treating your pussy, "Satoru w-wait," You dug your nails against his scalp, getting a good grip on his hair before you pulled him off of you, his soaked tongue hung from his mouth, "I- I was gonna cum," You said breathlessly, trying and failing to squeeze your thighs together as they were kept apart by his shoulders.

"Ohh~ you like edging yourself? How did you know about that?" He teased, licking your juices off his lips. "Huh? Edging? No, I just.. you just started.." You blushed. "Aww, are you about to compliment my pussy eating skills? If you woulda let me finish I could've made a new record," He giggled to himself, feeling his chest swell with pride, "Under two minutes, phew!" He smirked, patting himself on the back.

"Oh my god shut up.." you rolled your eyes at the man between your legs, his silliness easing the tension in the air and giving you some confidence back, "It just felt good was all, I didn't want it to be over so soon." You explained, absentmindedly playing with his soft hair between your fingers. "Who said it has to be over when you cum once?" He asked, raising his eyebrows at you. "Ill keep fucking you with my tongue till you tell me to stop, cum as much as you'd like." He said like it was obvious, fully ready to be between your legs all day and night if that's what you wanted.

"So can I get back to eating your pussy now orrr?" He asked, poking his tongue against your inner thigh and tickling you with it. You opened your mouth to speak but opted to just give him a short nod of approval instead. He instantly jumped back into action, he snaked his thick tongue into the tight ring of your cunt, slurping up any juices he fucked his tongue in and out of you, as his slender nose rubbed at your clit deliciously.

"S-shit ngh- S-satoru-" You wined his name repeatedly, using his hair as leverage to grind your clit harder against his nose while he tongue fucked you like his life depended on it. Gojo alternated between using the appendage inside you and sucking your little clit into his mouth, occasionally pulling his lips away to spell his name against the bundle of nerves, making your body jerk underneath him.

Only another couple minutes had gone by and you were already about to tip over the edge again, "Fuck I-im gonna cum-" You warned, moaning his name repeatedly as he moaned his aproval against you, encouragement in the form of "mhmm, mhmm," could be heard from the man between your legs.

You rode your orgasm out on his tongue, bucking your hips against his nose to stimulate your clit as he licked up all the juices that squirted from your pussy. Gojo rolled his eyes when your thighs squeezed around his head. He tried his best to work you through your orgasm while your tiny hole pulsed greedily around his tongue. Your whimpers were like music to his ears and he couldn't hold himself back from humping his own hips into the mattress for some relief.

When you started coming down from your orgasm, he didn't stop his ministrations on your pussy, instead, he increased them. He brought a heavy hand up to press down on your pelvis, keeping you in place as he sucked your clit into overstimulation, "S-tor-u-" you croaked out, your voice coming out choppy at the intense stimulation you were feeling. "W-wait It- nghhhh!" You weren't able to tell him to stop.

Gojo's cock was twitching at your body's constant jerking and twitching, trying to escape the painful pleasure of his tongue. He was well aware of what he was doing to you, but the thought that you thought he didn't know he was currently overstimulating you, was driving him crazy, he had his corruption kink to blame for that.

He pulled his mouth off of you, bringing a hand down to replace his tongue as he easily slipped two fingers inside your hole at once, the slide being eased by how fucking soaked you were. Gojo started up a brutal pace as he scissored and curled his fingers inside you, "You like that? Like when I touch your fucking pussy like this?" He breathlessly spoke, groaning when you just nodded against the sheets, barely able to mutter semi-coherent words of his name and 'yesyesyes's'.

"Good, because I'm nowhere near being done," He groaned, dropping his mouth down to your cunt once more as he sucked your clit back into his mouth and massaged it with his tongue, all while his fingers still kept their bruising pace against your g-spot inside you. Gojo was feeling pussy-drunk. He thought his cock ached when he was fingering you earlier, but now it was almost unbearable. How he felt earlier was a cakewalk compared to this. He needed to be inside of you and he didn't know how much longer he could take it.

Your head jerked from side to side against the pillows, occasionally tipping forward and cracking your teary eyes open to watch him eat you out, noticing each time that he always hd his eyes on you.

When your overstimulation died down, you didn’t get so much as a moment of rest as he quickly built you up to another orgasm. His name spilled from your lips hurriedly and slightly panicked as this orgasm felt different. It felt like it was coming from lower and deeper inside you.

“S-satoru W-ait- gonna cum, nghh! f-feels weird!” you pressed your teeth together, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to overcome the intense new feeling.

Gojo spoke against your clit as he continued to curl his fingers inside your walls, “Think you’re gonna squirt honey,” he informed you, making you internally freak out.

You’ve watched porn before before, and squirting always looked so messy and intense. You were worried gojo would be grossed out by the mess. A stupid thought considering how he was currently burying his face as deep as possibly into your cunt and smearing your juices all over the bottom half of his face and your thighs alike in the process.

“Fuck! f-ffhaaah-“ you whined, digging your nails against his scalp to ground yourself as he gave the same treatment to your thighs, his fingers sure to leave bruises at his strong grip; but he wanted you to know it was okay— he was there.

Your orgasm crashed over you harder this time, your cum released out of you in spurts as you came hard on his tongue. Gojo groaned against your clit as he fucked his fingers harder in and out of your hole, trying to milk all the squirt he could from your body.

You felt like your soul had left your body, touched the heavens, then returned when you started to come down from your high. Even though Gojo had told you he wouldn’t stop until you told him to, he read the room, you might actually see heaven if he kept going.

He raised his head up from between your thighs, kissing the plush of your legs, your tummy, your breasts, as he made his way up your body, allowing your shaking legs to wrap around his hips and press his body firmly against yours.

“Good fucking girl,” he praised, pressing his soaked lips to yours as he kissed you needily, spreading your wetness on the bottom half of your face. You tasted yourself on his tongue, making you whine, you didn’t taste bad, but you preferred the taste of him better.

Although you had just squirted all over him and came twice before that, you were still needy for more. You humped against Gojo's unclothed cock, rubbing your wet slit against him, making him groan into your mouth. "Careful," He grunted between kisses, rutting his hips back against your pussy, his tip catching under the hood of your clit and making your body jerk against him.

The both of you continued to dry hump each other, moaning and breathing heavily into the other's mouth, curses spilling from your lips. There was an obscenely lewd 'schlick' sound emanating into the room from your combined wetness. Gojo bit your lip, gasping as he took ahold of your hips and helped you rock yourself against the length of his cock. This felt ten thousand times better than your hand, his eyes rolled back in his head at the thought of feeling your cunt from the inside.

"Satoru please," You begged between kisses, holding his chizzeled face between your hands, "Fuck me, please fuck me, I need it," you whined into his open mouth, hearing him moan at your words. He really wanted to fuck you but he still needed to teach you how to suck a- "Please toru' f-feel so empty please." All rational logic was thrown out of his head as you continued your shameless begging, your orgasm must've wiped away your embarrassment.

Fuck teaching you to suck dick, you would have all of the time in the world to do that later. If he didn't feel your walls squeeze around his cock this second, he was going to lose his mind. "O-okay, okay yeah, Ill fuck you baby, gonna make you feel so good." He finally spoke, giving you one final kiss before he pulled back and flipped you over so you were on your tummy, he closed your legs together and mounted his hips over your ass, so you were in the 'pronebone' position, his favortie.

This position allowed him to fuck into the g-spot with scarily accurate precision; this is the position he went to to make girls cum without clitoral stimulation. "It might hurt a little at first, I'll take it slow." He promised, really hoping he was able to fulfill his words after he felt how soft you were around his cock. "Just give it to me, please, don't care if it hurts." You wined, pressing the side of your face into the sheets as you waited to feel his cock slide inside of you.

He was trying not to take your words at their face value, he knew you were cock drunk, you were a little out of it from your orgasms, and on top of that you were a virgin, never even having cum before an hour and a half ago. Yet still a very big part of his brain was telling him to listen to you, to fuck into your cunt with reckless abandon, and absolutely abuse your pussy with his dick.

He took a deep breath, gathering himself before he slapped a heavy hand against the fat of your ass, making you squeal at the unexpected impact. "Be patient, I'll give it to you don't worry~" He grinned, giving himself a couple slow strokes and wetting his cock with the juices that you had rubbed on him earlier. "Take some deep breaths for me baby, stop me if it's too much." He said, grabbing his thick cock at the base as he started to rub it up and down through your folds, catching it on your tight little hole.

You just wined at his words, wiggling your hips back against his, "Need to hear you, baby, promise you'll stop me if it's too much." He said, truly concerned he might get carried away once his cock finally got a taste of you. "Promise, I promise I ngghhh!" Your voice got cut off as gojo started pressing his girth into your tight cunt the second he registered your words.

His jaw dropped at how tight and warm you felt, a shaky breath left his lips as he pressed his cock deeper and deeper inside you, "Ngh- fuck-" He grit his teeth when you squeezed your cunt around him, "N-need you to loosen up for me, c-can't get inside you if you tighten up like that~" He said, his fingers digging into the sheets beside your head as he tried to prevent himself from cumming before he even fucked you properly.

"Its not m-me, you're so f-fucking big," You wined, pulling your lip between your teeth and biting down hard enough to draw blood, tears forming in your eyes at how full you felt. He was stretching you more than you expected, you knew your first time would come with some pain but this was something else. Youre so glad he made you cum several times before, or you might've been at risk at splitting in half at how big his cock was.

"Fuuck," He groaned at your words, pushing himself fully inside you until he was balls deep inside you, his hips pressed snugly against your ass as you both let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "So fucking tight fuuuck~" Gojo moaned, keeping his eyes glued to where the two of you were connected as he felt your walls pulse and twitch around him, letting you adjust to his size.

"S-atoru- ha-ah," You cried, gasping as the tears finally started spilling down your cheeks. Gojo felt bad for feeling so aroused at the sight, hoping you didn't feel his cock twitch inside you. "Awww baby, you cryin'?~" He teased, leaning over your form and kissing the tears from your face, making you whimper as his cock jolted impossibly deeper inside you, kissing your g-pot. All you could do was take his teasing as you cried and whimpered into the sheets while he peppered your skin with kisses.

"Can I move or do you need some more time?" he asked after a while of keeping himself still. His cock was throbbing with need inside you, but he promised he would be careful with you, meaning he would not move until you gave him the okay. You nodded, before giving a verbal 'yes' when you remembered he asked you to do that. "Alright," He acknowledged, pressing his lips to your face one last time before he pulled back again, stabilizing himself on the bed with his hands next to your head, taking a deep breath.

"T-thank you for doing this w-with me S-satoru." You wined, making him coo as he pulled his cock out of your pussy, slowly thrusting back in and watching you squeeze your eyes shut at the intense strange feeling of something inside you, "Thank you for trusting me~" He smirked down at you.

"God, you're taking me so fucking well." He praised, shaking his head and poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he started up a steady pace with his hips.

The squelching sounds were so much louder in your ears now that he was actually inside you. “Fuck- f-fuck” all you could do was curse as his dick abused your sweet spot. Every time he pulled his hips back it felt like your guts were coming out with him, and when he fucked his cock inside you, it felt like your organs had to make room to fit him in.

“Gonna go a bit faster, kay? It’ll feel so fucking good.” he promised, pressing his hips flush against your ass as he rotated his pelvis in circles against you. You nodded your head rapidly against the sheets, wet from your tears, “ye-yes please, fuck me h-arder.” you babbled, your mind feeling completely fuzzy at this point.

“God you’re being so good for me,” he groaned, pulling his cock out of you slowly before he slammed his length back inside you all at once. He started up a brutal pace, so much rougher than his previous one. The painful pleasure was making the tears fall from you eyes in bigger droplets, as you dug your nails into the sheets and humped your ass back against him to meet his thrusts.

“Yeaaah, fuck me baby, fuck my cock-“ he moaned, his jaw dropping as he licked his lips, keeping his eyes on your tight little hole that swallowed his cock so well.

“Yesyesyes, bounce that ass on my dick, take it- yess.” his voice echoed in the room, making your cunt pulse. You started feeling a coil tighten itself in your tummy, feeling very similar to the last orgasm you had, “Toru! H-harderrrr~” you slurred, a drunken smile plastering itself on your face as his hips got rougher against yours.

“Yeah? you like that? like when I fuck your pussy like this?” He groaned, gripping his hand in your hair and pressing your face harder into the mattress. Your body bounced under the roughness of his thrusts as you babbled out “yesyesyes, love it-“ through your moans.

“Fuuuuck you gonna cum?” he asked, biting his lip when he felt you tighten up around him, a telltale sign of your orgasm, “Tryna milk my cock? huh?” Gojo smirked, the pace of his hips losing their rhythm as he was as brought closer to his own orgasm as well.

“Y-yes, w-want you to fill me uuuu-ppp~” You slurred, not thinking about the words you were saying as they spilled from your lips on instinct. “Don’t say that shit,” he warned, feeling his balls tighten as he got closer and closer to his high, “Gonna fucking knock you up if you say shit like that~” he said.

Gojo had no interest in being a father, not right now at least. But your words planted a seed in his head, a seed of your tummy round with his kid, tits heavy and full of milk and fuck- he needed to stop thinking or he really might get you pregnant.

“Yes, give it to m-meee, please, cum in-side me-“ you cried, whimpering against the sheets when you started to cum, your back arching and your cunt pulsing rhythmically around him as he fucked you though it, whistling when he felt you squirt against his pelvis, his hips fucking the stream of cum out of you.

“So fucking dirty,” he groaned, “I’ll give it to you since you want it so bad,” Gojo was thrusting erratically now, his hips completely out of pace as you laid almost limply against the sheets, squeezing your cunt around him to help him cum, ignoring your own overstimulation. “P-please," You wined his name repeatedly, feeling his cock twitch tenfold whenever you did so.

"S-shit haaah~" His moans raised in pitch, breath coming in shorter pants as he stilled against you, pressing himself as deep as he could before his senses came over him last second, he pulled his cock out, making you whine at the loss as he jerked his hand rapidly over his dick, warm spurts of his cum landed on your ass while he groaned into the air, his eyes staring at the ropes of cum that decorated your ass, the visual making his spine tingle. "Fuuuuck, yess~" He whined your name as he squeezed his tip, making sure he painted every last drop of cum over your ass.

He leaned back on his feet, tipping his head back as the both of you heaved air into your lungs, swallowing the oxygen greedily. "Ha-ah, I think I died for a second." He giggled, patting the side of your ass that wasnt stained with his cum. "W-why did you-," You began to speak, rotating your body twords him and making his cum wipe on his sheets, "Why'd you pull out?" You finished, blushing at your question.

Gojo got off of your legs, helping you turn your body around and lay your back comfortably against the sheets before he spoke, "First off, you ruined my artwork," He pouted, referring to the cum he sprayed on your ass, "Anyways.. It's not like I have anything against you~" He reassured, "I'm sure our babies would be the cutest, and I'm flattered really I just-" You cut him off by calling him his last name, "I'm on birth control.." You said like it was something he was supposed to know.

Gojo's jaw just stayed dropped, staring at you blankly, before he crawled toward you, wrapping his hands around your hips as he hovered above you, smirking mischievously, "Ohhh~ Why didn't you say so before?" He said seductively, "Let me give you a creampie then~ We have so many more positions to tryy~" He wiggled his eyebrows at you, leaning his face closer to yours but it was stopped in his tracks, as you covered his lips that intended to land on yours with your hand.

"That was amazing, honestly, but I cant feel my legs right now, and I seriously don't think I have any more orgasms left in me." You said, gulping nervously thinking about him repeating what he just did to you. You felt him pout behind your hand, revealing his plush lips once more to your eyes when you dropped your hand.

His soft hair tickled your skin as he rested his head comfortable between your breasts, his hot breath ccaressing your skin when he sighed, "Honestly.. I might be shooting blanks if we tried to go again, so the attempted creampie would be a fail right now anyways." He giggled, closing his eyes when he felt your hands in his hair.

"Really, I'm glad I came to you for this Satoru." You said, making him hum against you. "I could think if no one else i'd rather teach." He said, enjoying the way your nails raked against his scalp. The two of you entangled your limbs together, your heartbeats and breaths returning to normal after some time. "You did so fucking well, dont forget that." He said, seconds from nodding off. "Thank you Satoru." You giggled.

"I still intend to teach you how to suck my dick by the way," He mumbled against your skin, ruining the moment with his vulgar words. You just caressed your hand against his head once more, shushing him after he spoke, "Let's not talk anymore.." You sighed, smiling to yourself as you rolled your eyes, fully intending to take him up on that promise, but for now, you needed to rest.

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superblysubpar · 2 months

Text

Sincerely, Yours:

bestfriend!steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a movie night, a confession, an offer, your Calvin's bunched up on the floor of your best friend's BMW...and other places | 18+ Only, NSFW | main menu

the song: Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds - all of steve's music

6.6k words

warnings: "inexperienced" reader - in the form of never really making out/receiving none/not great foreplay - masturbating for comfort/ease before sex, SMUT (public - in the back of Steve's car - "caught" by Hopper when you're done, oral, fingering, steve cums in his levi's cause I'm a sucker for doing this to him, what can I say?)

A/N: Once upon a time, I asked for requests, and I failed to fulfill many of them (you may have heard this story before), but this one sat in the drafts for many many months, and then I really chickened out posting it for a long time. Everyone say thanks to @palmtreesx3 - I owe her and the request for the prompt "we're not really just best friends, are we?"(which isn't even used in this, but you get the picture) and The Breakfast Club for this fic 💛

He didn’t hear it at first, over the last remaining popping kernels.

“What?” He called around a mouthful of the snack he was already dipping into before it was finished.

In the other room, your attention was strictly on Judd Nelson, but you tried again, with no real power or meaning behind the words.

“Want me to pause it?”

“No,” he shook his head and rolled his eyes to no one but himself in the kitchen, “Don’t think you need to pause the movie I’ve seen three times…this week.”

“I’d love one, thanks!”

Steve snorted at your response that made no sense, it becoming apparent you weren’t listening to him at all. He should have known this was his fate after the way you acted when it was showing at The Hawk. You saw it with him, then Robin, then Nancy, and Steve put his foot down when you tried to drag him down there for a fourth time.

Now here he was, dumping the popcorn into a large bowl and watching it again. He didn’t even know what number of views he was on with you, which had him worried about your sanity, ‘cause you had to be watching it without him too.

Steve snagged two cans of Coke out of the fridge, assuming that’s what you’d love one of, and kicked the door closed with his heel.

He cradled the popcorn bowl against his side and held each of the cans with one hand and spread fingers, socked feet slipping on the hardwoods when he rounded the corner and saw you again.

Despite becoming incredibly bored by the movie, he did love watching you watch it, because somehow, it’s as if you’re watching it for the first time every time.

Your white tube socks were stark against the dark wood of the coffee table, bunching around your ankles that led him to the exposed skin of your calves. Which led to the way your blue skirt fanned over your thighs all nice, then the Queen shirt he got you for your birthday tucked into it, your thumb between your teeth with your eyebrows bunched together.

His best friend was really fucking pretty.

He almost said it out loud, which had him flopping onto the couch a little quickly, a little too heavy with his fall. Careless in his aim of the cushion and causing popcorn to spill from the bowl into your lap as his shoulder jostled yours.

Before he could even say sorry, you were grabbing the popcorn from your lap like it was the bowl, blissfully unaware it wasn’t, all the while making heart eyes at dreamy Bender.

“Thanks,” your appreciation came out heavy around the buttery and salty handful of the snack, the Coke you’d love sitting on the coffee table, already forgotten.

Steve hummed, his amused lips twitched in a losing fight against a smile at your captivated stare fixated on the screen. He suppressed an eye roll at the scene about to happen, as he swiped condensation off the cool metal of the can with his thumb.

He popped the drink open with a loud hiss, slurping his first sip - a habit you’d normally swat at his chest for - but you were too busy focusing on the words about to leave Judd’s mouth.

“Have you ever kissed a boy on the mouth?”

They sort of just tumbled out of Steve too, while his eyes glanced over the popcorn bowl, searching for a perfectly buttery piece. Which is why he didn’t see that he, your best friend, quoting the scene that has dialogue that got you all hot and bothered more than others, had your entire body freezing.

Steve tossed the acquired piece into the air, catching it in his mouth before he turned to face your profile. He found you with widened eyes, chest rising and falling a little too quickly, and he grinned.

“Have you ever been felt up…over the bra…under the blouse…your shoes off, hoping to god your parents don’t walk in?”

He’s simply delighted when he quotes the scene again and your body shifts, toes curling as you arched your neck away from. You kept your eyes on the screen, not giving him the satisfaction of eye contact because of what he was slowly, finally, realizing.

You were totally turned on and he couldn’t wait to tease you about it forever.

Steve leaned in closer, whispering along with the movie, “Over the panties…no bra…blouse unbuttoned…Calvin’s in a ball on the front seat past eleven on a school night?”

He’s gearing up, about to tease you, make some dumb boy comment about being hot for the school freak, when your quiet, barely a breath response had him pausing.

“No.”

Did you just say that out loud?!

Your head turned to find Steve blinking at you, creases in his forehead deepening beneath the stray locks of hair that fell forward.

Looks like you did.

“Ste-”

“What? What do you mean no?”

Your eyes closed when you both spoke at the same time, avoiding his curious stare. Hands roamed to your cheeks to hide your face as your head fell towards your knees.

As you shook your head no, your response gets muffled into your skirt. “I meant no.”

Steve’s hand nudged at your shoulder, prodding for clarity and for you to sit up. He failed to sound casual when his question came out incredulously.

“No, you’ve never kissed a guy?”

Your hands still covered your face as you fell back against the couch with a groan, “No, I..I have. I just…”

Steve pulled at your hands, his heart racing like it was overtime. All these years, he thought you’d been with all these other guys, his quiet jealousy seething under the surface of his tinged green from envy skin.

A breath, well, more of a huff really, slipped past your lips as your gaze dropped to the hands holding yours in your lap. “I’ve never really made out with anyone? Just like…a quick kiss or two. I don’t even know, can you even count it as kissing? Over before it starts kind of thing…”

The ramble trailed off, the room silent save for the movie still playing and the giant, loud, big, fat, zero response from Steve. You counted the threads in the carpet, the pieces of popcorn in the bowl as your skin grew hotter and hotter from the reveal he’s left just hanging there until he finally sputtered out a sorry excuse for one.

“Are you shitting me? We’re like…old.”

It doesn’t come out how he meant it to at all, he’s just shocked. He’s wincing almost immediately as the words reach his ears and brain, he knows how it sounded. He wishes he could take it back when your head whips up, hurt eyes meeting his as you ripped your hands away from him.

“Yeah, Steve,” you scoffed, jaw pulsing as your voice dripped with sarcasm that tried to cover the embarrassment, “I’m shitting you. Thought it’d be real funny to trick you into thinking your best friend is a loser who’s barely been kissed even though she’s so old.”

Pieces of popcorn fell from your lap as you stood, not letting yourself wonder where they came from as you stomped around the coffee table and towards his entryway.

“No, honey, wait-” he stumbled after you, spilling Coke down the front of his shirt as he did, “Shit.”

He patted at his chest like it’d do anything, shirt damp and sticking to his skin as he rounded the corner and found you lacing up your converse and shaking your head.

“It’s fine, Steve. I’m fine. I just don’t feel like talking about it. I’m gonna go home. Don’t worry about it. Girl stuff.”

“No, please, I didn’t mean-”

His words stopped just as abruptly as your body, when the front door swung open to reveal an out of nowhere downpour.

Your head fell as you started to ask, and he was already one step ahead of you.

“Can you please-”

“I’ll grab my keys.”

He was tripping up his stairs by the time he finished saying it. When he returned, it was in a clean shirt, jumping from the second to last step as he swirled the keys around his pointer finger.

The light blue fabric of his new shirt pulled at his shoulders that hunched when your glare remained unwavering despite the apologetic puppy dog eyes he had going for him.

You understood Steve didn’t mean for the comment to start the hole he was digging, and you knew you weren’t being fair for being so upset. It’s not like it was his fault, it was just your own insecurities manifesting in an anger towards him.

The nagging feeling of being some sort of freak who’d never made out while even the little twerps who clung to Steve were, while your best friend was Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High only grew stronger. The thought of Steve thinking you were some sort of weirdo for being old and never making out had something in your gut churning, had a familiar sting behind your eyes forming that you tried your best to ignore.

When Steve opened his mouth, about to try to make it all better again, you simply turned on your heel and stalked out into the rain. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at the way you stomped through it, pretending to not be drowned.

He quickly rushed behind you and got to the door first and swung it open, to which you rolled your eyes at, but slid in and got comfortable while he closed it for you nonetheless.

Unsure why he went and changed as he raced around the hood and shot into the driver’s seat, totally soaked through to his skin now. He cranked the heat before swiping fingers over his eyes, a large hand ran through his hair and pushed it back only for it to fall into his eyes again. Steve reached over with wet and shaking fingers at the same time you held yours up, both of you pausing and glancing at the other’s hands.

Steve was about to cup your fingers between his and blow warm breath onto them, just like he always did, but you ripped your hands down to your lap, and curled your body against the door, like you needed to be as far from him as you could be.

Your damp forehead touched the cool glass of the window as he sighed, “Please don’t-”

“Just take me home, please?”

The tone in which the words were said has something in his chest breaking. Like you were really fucking sad, embarassed, it was a real plea to just take you home and leave you alone.

So he wasn’t gonna do that, ‘cause he never was a great listener, so why start now?

He pretends though, he backs out of the driveway and heads in the direction of your apartment. He lets the radio fill the space and he turns the heat down when the air inside the car is heavier and warm despite your cold shoulder. The orange glow of the street lights slanted inside the car in a soothing rhythm as his wheels spun over the pavement until he was coming to the last four way stop before your apartment.

It unfolds just as he had planned, when he’s still stopped at the deserted intersection, as your breath fogged up the glass when you asked, “Harrington, you planning on leaving the intersection anytime soon?”

His bottom lip wobbled as his teeth continued to press into it, thick fingers rubbing at a scruff dotted jaw as he thought out loud in an attempt to sway you.

“Well, you see, I could go straight and take you home-” he started.

“Right. Let’s do that.” You waved your hand towards the direction of the apartment that held the ice cream you were desperate to eat and wallow with while watching Pretty In Pink.

“Or,” Steve interrupted right back, tapping on the steering wheel with his finger as he did, “I could go to the right. Pull into the diner. Buy you a milkshake and say sorry?”

The thing was, he was gonna go to the right regardless of your answer. He knew once you pulled into the parking lot there was no way you’d not at least go in and get fries and a shake, if not a whole burger. You’d done this dance before, him putting his foot in his mouth was not a new occurrence.

Your lips twitched, but your arms stayed crossed as he hummed and whispered, “Tough choice…tough choice…”

Shoulders fell in defeat, but your mouth stayed downturned in a forced frown as you grumbled, “And fries.”

Steve smiled, turned on his blinker and nodded. He cleared his throat.

“And fries. Definitely.”

“And none of that you order yourself a vanilla shake and I order strawberry and you drink half of mine because it’s better and eat all the fries shit.”

“Of course,” Steve scoffed, “I would never do that.”

Steve slipped his straw into your shake, pulling the glass across the sticky tabletop as you did the same with his. He tried not to smirk around the straw when you did, dipping a fry in his vanilla he ordered for a reason despite the strawberry being better.

“Do you think Claire is a prude for never doing anything?”

He shook his head no almost immediately, swiping at stray ice cream from the corner of his mouth with his tongue.

You fiddled with the straw wrapped between your fingers and narrowed your eyes at him.

“Would your answer be the same if, say, Eddie was sitting here asking you? Not me, your best friend, who you have sudden pity for?”

He blinked at you and sighed, “I don’t have pity for you.”

“Your mouth and your eyes are telling two different stories Harrington,” you waved a fry at him as you spoke, gesturing to his face with it.

Your gaze stayed on the fry you were ripping in half, focused on watching it sink into the sweet vanilla as he dared to say, “I just don’t get it.”

“What, that I haven’t done that and I’m so old,” you tried to tease, to move past it.

But the way you were licking salt off your finger had him wondering if he swiped his own through the salt on the tray and pushed the pad against your lips if they would part like they were now, if he could taste it on your lips if he just leaned forward and-

“No, ‘cause you’re so fucking pretty.”

He definitely said it out loud that time.

You blinked at him, cheeks suddenly too warm for the cold and damp Spring that had been surrounding you all day.

“Ste-”

“And so smart,” he licked his lips, leaning forward, unable to stop now that it was out, “And funny. And…and sweet, you’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know, I just don’t understand how guys aren’t falling over themselves, unable to do anything but make out with you, or more or-”

“I never said I didn’t do more,” you whispered, ignoring all of his compliments that made your chest feel all tight and sticky and choosing to argue with him instead because that was easier.

“But you said…if you haven’t made out with anyone…”

Your body slipped lower against the squeaky seat, embarrassed as you shrugged and Steve felt too hot in the tiny little booth, thinking about all those guys’ hands on you again, and then what you said, what it meant, really clicked.

“Hold on…how…how’d…you didn’t, build up to it?” He asked softly, eyes bouncing over your face with worry.

“Steve,” you grabbed for the other shake, and sat up straighter, “We don’t need to talk about this. It’s not import-”

“It’s so important,” he grabbed your hand and squeezed your fingers lightly, “Half the fun is all the build up to it. And,” he swallowed, forehead creasing with deeper worry, “And then it, it doesn’t hurt. ‘Cause tell me if I’m wrong, but if they weren’t making out with you, were they doing anything to make sure you felt good?”

You squirmed in your seat, fingers pushing up against his mindlessly, aimlessly, as you shrugged again. “It’s only hurt a few times. I learned that if I…um, If I got myself ready beforehand, that I was, uh, more comfortable.”

Steve’s fingers let go of yours with the excuse of grabbing a fry, because he was trying not to be a gross guy, but all he could think about was you in your bedroom, with your fingers between your thighs now. Did you play music? What song? Did you have underwear on? What color? With a shirt that your nipples were visibly hard through as you touched yourself and maybe it was his shirt or maybe you said his name or-

“Right,” Steve nodded, “Um, right. And that’s great, lots of people do that for a date, so like if you need or want to beforehand that’s not…that’s great. It just shouldn’t be the only thing, you know? They should be putting in the work, they should be wanting to. And dates! They should watch a movie with you, and dinner and drive around and then kiss so much you feel dizzy and then if you want, more.”

He finished his rambling speech and you smiled softly, unsure of what to say, because you knew he wasn’t wrong, it’s just that they had.

“They did,” you sighed, “Well, not Paul.”

Steve scowled at the table, “Yeah, well, I’m sure you weren’t missing much. Who wants to yell out Paul?”

“Oh,” you laughed, “And Steve is so much better?”

He looked up at you, your smile sweet and kind and your eyes a little sad, but trying not to be and he wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell you that if it was those lips and that voice saying it, it was better, because how could it not be? Like his name only had the best letters, like it belonged to the best guy in the world, one that belonged to you and no one else.

But you were swiping at ice cream on your lips and sighing, saying something that made his chest ache instead.

“They were nice dates. And it’s not like the sex was bad. But,” you looked out the window, eyes tracking the droplets of rain twinged neon from the light hanging above you both, “The kissing till I’m dizzy sounds nice. Is it…is it fun?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispered, admiring the way the red and blue lit up your profile before you turned to face him.

And then he was saying something before he really thought it through, because god you weren’t just fucking pretty, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever met and no way in hell was he letting anyone treat you the way you’d been ever again. So this was his chance, and he was taking the leap.

“I could…” he blew out a breath and smiled. He sat up straighter, and he searched for some sort of lingering king steve confidence he could latch onto without all the douche as he asked, “I could show you?”

To both of your surprise, you’d said yes, and he paid and you were in the car, driving, and parked somewhere in what felt like seconds. Now your best friend sat across from you, both of you facing the center console, but not daring to do more.

The rain beat against the roof of the maroon car, each drop a punctuated tick of a nonexistent clock - a meter for how much time was passing without movement, without words. Just both of your breathing filled the space. First exhaling, then desperately inhaling for more air as your chests rose and fell ragged. And then, like in some unspoken agreement only best friends can have, you both started to lean forward cause you just knew.

Your heart’s thrum threatened to drown out the rain, building and building, screaming to break out of your chest, pounding in your ears while your cheeks grew warm and your stomach dipped as Steve’s tongue slipped out quickly and wetted his lips.

But then he leaned and his eyes started to close and you giggled, fingers slipping over your lips as his eyelids shot open.

“Sorry,” you gasped and shook your head and your hands out as you tried to be serious, “Your ‘I’m about to kiss you’ face is real cute, Harrington.”

Tried being the definitive word.

“Cute?” He groaned, smiling, “Not sexy?”

You leaned in, faster this time, a smile matching his as you shrugged, “It’s nice. Never thought I’d be on the opposite side of it, is all.”

It’s easy to tilt your head and welcome the hand that reached up to cradle your jaw as he softly promised, “Your ‘I’m about to be kissed face’ is really cute too.”

The pad of his thumb brushed over the apple of your cheek in the tenderest touch you’d ever felt, before his fingers curled under your jaw and tilted you gently, slowly, up so his lips were right over yours.

It felt like he was handling you like the most precious and fragile thing, like a prized possession that he’d only ever hold with care and never let another soul touch.

His breath fanned over yours, warm and sweet smelling, vanilla and cherry just out of reach for you to taste as you dared to quip back again. “Alright, I’m gonna have to cross reference these lines with other girls you’ve promised to make dizzy, Harrington, cause if that’s the first time you’ve used that, I’m afraid it’s far too smooth…”

Steve’s heart felt like it was trying to claw out of his chest as you laughed, smiling at him when he responded, “And, I think that’s enough out of you.”

Which you couldn’t help but reply back to with, “Yeah? Have some fancy trick to get me to stop talking?”

He laughed, low, muffled and deep in his chest. “A few.”

A sharp inhale slipped past your lips when his nose bumps yours, not realizing how close he’d gotten while you joked back and forth nervously. There wasn’t a protocol on how to let your best show you a proper make out, on how to just dive in and start, you just knew you wanted to.

Steve’s swallow bobbed his adams apple as the leather beneath you creaked from shifting weight, needing to get closer. And as you did, his eyes found yours, mossy and dark in the low light, the browns and golds washed away in the rain. Their gaze flitted down to your lips, back up to fluttering eyelashes, and then his own eyelids were closing.

All it took was another breath in, an exhale out, and his lips were on yours. A simple, slow press, holding your top lip between the both of his. Strawberry and vanilla teasing you, and soon he was moving, now bottom lip between his and you got it. Your mouths parted together, lips slotting in a rhythm that came naturally, that clicked.

Something in your stomach fizzled and crackled like the sparklers you lit every year in his driveway on the fourth as the sigh from his nose hit your cheek. Body warm and sticky in a way that was usually reserved for Summer when his fingers skated over your jaw, up and around your ear, until they were cradling the back of your neck and pulling you closer. His mouth moved with yours in a way that could only be described as frantically graceful - needing more, hurried, hungry, but with the promise and precision of someone who knew what he was doing. It had your stomach dipping, like a freefall, like the greatest and scariest thing you’d ever felt.

If he’d have opened his eyes, he’d have found you with your hands suspended between your bodies though. Fingers not quite brave enough to reach up and get lost in his hair, but not content to just sit in your lap and do nothing either.

And if you'd opened your eyes, you’d have found his other hand gripping the center console like he was hanging on for dear life. ‘Cause holy shit was he trying to go slow, but kissing you was like chasing the last few minutes of sunlight in July - sweet and fleeting and magic - something you needed to make last, to soak up every last drop of until you couldn’t any more, not by choice, but because the sun has to set and he has to breathe.

In a shared gasp for air, you parted, but his lips were back on yours immediately, making your stomach swoop even more, like an entire family of butterflies had decided - hey, we live here now and we’re gonna make a ruckus so get used to it.

You didn’t mind.

Steve’s fingers found yours and without breaking his rhythm, he tugged, guiding them to his shoulders that were practically on your side of the console now, which wasn’t doing something great to his already somersaulting stomach.

He slowed down as your fingers brushed over and back on the collar of his shirt and his hands cradled both of your cheeks, pulling you off of his lips regretfully. You were both breathing like you’d run a marathon, his forehead pressed to yours as he gasped out, “Dizzy yet?”

“No,” you lied.

He grinned, tip of his nose tracing the bridge of yours as he admitted, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like that.”

You couldn’t even respond, couldn’t tell him you wanted that too, couldn’t tell him that it was something you only dared let a daydream or two convince you it could happen before you were shutting it down, cause he was still talking.

“And now that I have,” he swallowed, his thumbs glided down opposite sides of your neck as he shook his head, “I’m never stopping.”

Then he was kissing you again, and if you thought he was frantic before…

You had this feeling that even if those other guys had made out with you, kissing them wasn’t and never would be the same as kissing Steve Harrington.

Soon one of your feet was on the seat, the other bracing yourself in the footwell. He had a hand on your hip and the other on the back of your neck and yours were finally starting to dare to journey past their spot on his shoulders and then your skirt was caught on the gearshift and he was stopping you again.

“Honey, what are you doing?”

“So was that ‘never stopping’ just a nice sentiment or are you planning to back it up with action?” You huffed, distracted by pink lips that twisted into a crooked smile as he looked at your pretzeled body.

Your shoulders fell as you nodded your head towards his side of the car and admitted, “I just want to be closer.”

“Oh, right.” Steve swallowed, and you wondered if it’d be weird if you kissed every freckle and mole you could find on his throat. Something told you he wouldn’t mind when he asked, a little more eager than you’d heard tonight, “Backseat?”

And you clambered out of the car, the slowing rain soothing to heated and flushed skin under the mussed clothes, and then you were both meeting in the backseat, but the nerves returned. The way you both glanced at the space between you and were immediately and acutely aware of the lack of anything between you except doubt and fear. Was this a mistake? What about your friendship?

Steve looked at the space, at you, and then held up his finger in the symbol for one sec as he said, “Hold on,” and half climbed back into the front seat. His torso draped over the console as he loudly opened the glovebox and rummaged around inside, before he was fiddling with the radio, and falling back into the seat.

His cheeks pink, but his smile wide as he looked at you again. “Hey! I’m so glad we could do this tonight. You look beautiful. Ready to watch your favorite movie?”

“Wh-what?” You laughed, totally and utterly confused.

He tugged on your fingers, and pulled you to the middle, until you were slouched next to each other, shoulders touching as he shushed and said, “The Breakfast Club is starting.”

And the music playing over the radio,Simple Minds, a cassette he must have put in, had your chest swelling with something that was sure to burst and explode and kill you, because the boy was actually pretending you were on a couch, on a date, in a living room, watching a movie - it was perfectly Steve and you, and the best first date you’d ever been on.

His left hand picked up yours, resting it on your thigh and played with your fingers. The pads of his traced up and down and over your hand as he stared at the windshield, his temple resting against yours. The music played, and his fingertips swooped between the curves of each finger aimlessly, the sides of his fingers running down yours and back up making it really hard to concentrate on the non-existent flick.

When you finally relaxed into his side, when you flipped your hand over so he could draw little loop de loops on your palm, he quietly asked, “Who’s your favorite?”

“Brian,” said without hesitation.

Steve groaned, in pain, “Ugh, you would like him the best.”

You laughed, turning to look up at him a bit from where your head had fallen to his shoulder, “Don’t knock him Steve,” you spoke softly, fondly, “You’re a lot more of a dork like him than you think.”

Steve made a pft noise, fingers now interlaced with yours as he turned his head, the tip of his nose touching yours as he looked down at you with the sort of look the guys give the girls in the movies, one that should be illegal from the way it had that family of butterflies shouting about their presence again and fluttering around.

“Hey Steve?”

“Hmm?” He hummed, eyelashes fluttering as he sighed when your thumb brushed over his knuckles.

“This is a really great…first date?” You asked, hopeful that it wasn’t just an offer, that you weren’t some game, that the guy next to you was just as crazy about you as you were him.

“Yeah?” He smiled, proud, and then bragged, “Wait till the second one.”

It was your turn to hum, to look into his eyes and get a little lost as his mouth parted and you both scooted closer, waiting, as he squeezed your fingers wrapped around his.

“You’re making the ‘I’m about to kiss you face’ again, Steve,” you whispered, lips brushing his as you did.

“Right,” he whispered back, bottom lip catching yours as he suggested, “Which means you should probably stop talking again.”

This kiss wasn’t as easy and smooth, made difficult by grins of fools who were totally in love but wouldn’t admit it just yet, but how could you both not be after years together?

But you smoothed it out quickly, and soon he was swiping his tongue over your bottom lip as his hand gripped at your waist a little tightly. He traced over your top lip as your entire body turned towards his, like a plant in search of sunlight, his body on yours fundamental to your survival.

He gasped as you straddled him, your mouth swallowing the sound as his hands roamed up your sides, taking the hem of your shirt with it so his fingers could scrape at the skin just under your ribs before they dared to drift along the band of your bra.

You let out a sound that he’d never forget as long as he lived when you finally lowered yourself, skirt fanning over your laps so the sinful way he pressed up against your pristine soaked Calvin’s was slightly hidden. The unclip of your bra and the removal and toss over the seat was fluid, and you couldn’t think about it because the way his hand on your chest felt, the thumb over a pebbled nipple was something you’d only let yourself think about in moments of need before a date that wasn’t him.

Steve was wrong, the build up was more than half the fun.

The way his hands buzzed against your spine like the air after fireworks, the way his tongue brushed yours, the way he couldn’t help but guide your hips to rock against him. Denim hitting cotton in the exact right spot so the nerves underneath it got the friction they were aching for, while your mind ran away from you, thoughts about how this was just getting started. How there was more.

His lips left yours and his smile pressed to your jaw when the action got a soft whimper to fall from you. He tutted into your neck, lips grazing over an erratic pulse as he whispered, “Can I touch you?”

“Is that,” your breath hitched around the words as his tongue licked a thick stripe over your neck that extended, “Is that a part of making me dizzy or the more, when I’m sufficiently so?”

“You’re not yet?” His teeth scraped at where his tongue had just been. “I like when you say words like sufficiently, ‘s’hot.”

You laughed as his lips kissed the same spot, and then he was sucking, skin beneath his tongue warm and sending a message to your brain that you liked that a lot.

“Yeah,” you hiccuped, eyelids fluttering in their view of the car’s roof as you arched and his hands gripped your hips, “Yeah, touch me.”

He didn’t have to be told twice, arm around your waist holding you steady while the other traveled under the hem of your skirt. His mouth moved to below your ear and as his fingers glided up your thigh. He sucked and kissed, and sent that message to your brain again, having you say his name and god’s in the same desperate sentence.

Steve wasn’t gonna last much longer.

Especially when his fingers met the wet cotton and you moaned, so much filthier than he’d have thought possible. Especially when he circled over your clit through the fabric and you rolled your hips with the movement, far dirtier than he thought you were capable of.

“Fuck baby, you’re soaked.” He mouthed at the collar of your rucked up shirt, looking down at the way your hips rolled over his but he couldn’t quite see what was underneath.

You hid in the crook of his neck, hot, and you didn’t know if it was because the windows were fogged and Steve was so fucking good at this or because you were embarassed by how turned on you were from his next words.

“Please, I gotta,” he slipped a finger under the fabric and you shuddered as it ran down your slick and back up, “I gotta taste you. I need to put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

You were on your back, Calvin’s in a ball on the front seat, with Steve crouched between your thighs not even a minute later.

Thick fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt from his spot, blown out pupils taking over his stare up at you. One of your converse pushed to the other side of the car against the door as your fingers curled around the base of the sweating window above you.

Steve kissed your knee, and made his way higher between your legs slowly, until he was flipping your skirt up and swallowing as he stared at the space like it was a fucking artwork.

You giggled, nervously under the intense awestruck stare, squeezing your eyes shut as he strained to get out, “Fuck, honey, you’re trying to kill me.”

He was mesmerized, the way you clenched around nothing, his thumbs spreading you so he could see just how wet you were for him.

He was really not gonna last much longer. Straining in his jeans painfully like a teenager.

And that was before you whimpered, before you said:

“Steve, please.”

“Only,” he swallowed, leaning down so his breath hit your cunt in a way that had your hips wiggling, and him closing his eyes, “Only cause you asked so nicely.”

His thumbs held you open, massaging the sides as his tongue licked once, slow and broad, following the path of his nose up to your clit. He did it again, and again, and again. Until his fingers were slipping inside of you, pumping in and out of walls that held him tightly and his mouth sucked at your clit. Then you tugged, forcefully at the curls at the back of his head and practically screamed his name. Like it was full of only the best letters. Like it was yours.

Your stomach burned, the butterflies angry and in your chest now too, on fire, but happy about it. Steve’s fingers inside of you and mouth on your clit better than any orgasm you’d ever had, and you couldn’t help it when you came without warning, toes curling inside of your converse that kicked at the door and his thigh, while your fingers slipped on the window and your chest ached for a breath as it yelled his name in a way that the whole world would have to know how you felt when they heard it.

He didn’t pull away until you were gasping and your thighs were shaking and your fingers loosened in his hair. His cheek pressed to your thigh as he stared up at you and gasped out a proud, smug, “I’d like to see Bender of Brian do that.”

You laughed, tired, but happy, and he crawled up your body, kissing any part of it he could find while he ignored the uncomfortable wet patch in the front of his Levi’s.

Except you noticed and raised your eyebrows at it, a little smug yourself as you said, “Bet Claire couldn’t do that.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but then you were both flinching as a loud smack of something hit the back window. He glanced up and cursed under his breath, rolling down the window slightly as he called out from on top of you, “Hey, Hop.”

There was a loud, deep, sigh from outside as you both sat up with apologetic faces and Steve rolled down the window further.

Hopper’s cigarette smoke wafted in as he looked at the pair of you with a touch of surprise when he saw it was you next to Steve in the fogged up beemer. He shook his head, frown under the mustache forced. “It’s past eleven. On a weeknight. Have some decency and do this at home in front of a movie like normal people next time, yeah?”

You both nodded, your teeth pulling at your lip in a terrible attempt at not smiling.

He walked away, and you and Steve slapped hands over each other’s laughs and snorts, but you still managed to catch the quiet, “Bout damn time.”

And when Steve dropped you off at home, with a kiss to seal it all and a promise of a real date tomorrow that he’d pick you up for, you shoved the bunched up Calvin’s in his front pocket with your own promise, whispering in his ear the words “Sincerely, yours” before you left him with his mouth open on the front steps, watching you walk away.

#superbly subpars writing #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic

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bughugz · 4 months

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penetrative sex is always like cool in theory but everything before and after that is where its at i love foreplay i want the sexual tension i want aggressive make outs and sloppy head that turns into face fucking and dialogue that gets you whining in anticipation clawing at skin and bruises and bite marks everywhere hands around my neck and in my hair and on my hips and my ass red and my nipples so sensitive from being sucked on and tugged at being hit across the face and manhandled around and the teasing at the entrance to my holes that just drags on forever and drives me crazy and leaves me begging to be filled and and it's sooo good when it finally happens but god do i love the journey and then being edged or overstimulated within half an inch of my life and finally the aftercare hands gently navigating my body and silly pillow talk and cuddling and kissing and praise and affirmation and smoking a joint together and falling asleep in each others arms or deciding we gotta go bake some cookies and watch cartoons or the autistic urge to watch some dumb youtube video essay or play minecraft taking over whatever i don't even care i'm just really gay and need it all and like to each their own but i feel bad for everyone who is just experiencing basic boring heteronormative sex🫠

#queer nsft #ftm sub #ftm nsft #trans nsft #nsft t4t #ftm bunny #ftm puppy #ftm t4t #yearning so hard rn #just please let me sit on a cute trans fags face #bun ramblings #1k

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vivwritesfics · 2 months

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Can you write a max verstappen x fem reader where they do anal (fem receiving) cause he won a championship or a race please

I made this goofy because... i can and i love goofy max

Mornings: Smut, foreplay, fingering, use of good girl, anal, mention of handcuffs

March 1st, 2023

"You know how we pulled out the handcuffs when I won the championship last year, what do I get this time?" Max asked his girlfriend as they laid in bed together.

They were days away from the season opener. Max didn't need any motivation other than to get the win, but he wanted something else.

Y/N thought on it. "Something kinkier than handcuffs, right?" She asked and Max nodded his head. "Okay, how about... anal?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me." She wasn't going to repeat it.

Max didn't agree, not right away. "I've got one better," he said. "Anal, but whenever I get a win. Then we do something properly crazy when I win the championship." He wore a smirk as he said it.

She thought about it. There was no way Max was gonna win almost every race, right? She held her hand towards him. "Alright, deal."

March 5th 2023, Bahrain

"Shit," she whispered as she watched Max finish his final lap twelve seconds ahead of his teammate. Thank God nobody had heard her. Thank God Jos Verstappen hadn't heard her.

No, she was genuinely happy for her boyfriend. She ran to the barrier to great him, throwing her arms around him. She wasn't going to kiss him, not when he was wearing his helmet after a race (those things get diiirty).

He did what he had to, held his trophy up on the podium, sprayed the champagne, conducted the interviews. As soon as he was done he walked out of the paddock, holding his girlfriends hand. "Excited for tonight?" He whispered in her ear, his arm slipping around her body. For once he didn't care about the cameras on him.

"Max, I'm so proud of you, but my ass already hurts."

Max waited until they got into the car. "We don't have to do it if you don't want to," he said gently, his hand on her knee.

She shook her head. "I made a promise. We bought the lube for a reason."

Max pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "That's my girl," he whispered and they set off to the hotel.

Normally she and Max would by flying straight back to Monaco, not staying in the country of the Grand Prix. But tonight? Max couldn't wait to get her back into the bed. "Any time you want to stop, we can," he said as they parked up.

Taking her hand, he led her up to the hotel room. In the elevator he held her hips, squeezing. He kissed her neck, her head thrown back against his shoulder, until the elevator doors opened.

They walked down the hall, his lips still on her neck, with her giggling as she struggled to open the hotel room door. She just about got it open when Max lifted her up and it closed one again. "Maxy," she whispered, her forehead against his. "The door."

Using one hand (while still holding her up) he struggled to get the keycard into the door and push it open. It took several attempts, but eventually they were in the room.

"Fuck yeah," he whispered, dropping her onto the bed. She erupted into laughs and giggles.

He was going to make this fun for her, make it enjoyable for her. As long as she was having a good time, he was happy.

She rolled onto her stomach and Max immediately pulled down her jeans. He slapped her ass and then squeezed. "Fuck, I love your ass," he said. He squeezed both cheeks at the same time. "I'm gonna win every race this season."

"Oh, I have no doubt you are," she responded.

Max pulled down her panties. He felt her, lightly touched her folds. Even just his fingers barely touching her had her shivering. "Hurry up and touch me," she whispered, pushing against his hand.

"Alright, needy," he said and gripped her ass again.

He pushed her folds apart, caught a glance of how wet she was. "Holy shit," he whispered.

In the years they had been together, Max had become an expert. He knew just how to touch her body in a way that had her trembling beneath him. He knew just what he wanted to do, knew how he wanted to treat her.

"Just one orgasm first, yeah?"

She nodded, unable to bring the words to her lips. "That's it, that's my girl," he said, pumping his fingers in and out of her.

She quivered below him. "Max, fuuuuck!" She cried out, clenching around his fingers.

He slapped her ass. "Shit!" She squeaked, eyes shut as she came.

"Now to the fun stuff," Max said. He pinched her thigh and got up, wandering over to his bag.

Buried beneath everything was a great big bottle of lube. She just turned her head, watching as Max pulled it out and walked it over. "I didn't realise we bought such a big bottle," she said, somewhat astounded.

Max took his time with her. He dropped a good amount of lube onto her ass and worked her open. It was a slow process, painful at first. But she relaxed, trusted Max to take care of her. "That's it, my good girl," Max whispered. He squeezed the flesh of her ass, trying to relax her.

When she was nice and loose, Max leaned forward and kissed her shoulder blade. "You're nice and loose now, Mijn liefje," he whispered. "Are you ready for me?"

She nodded her head.

"Words, baby."

"I... I'm ready Max," she stuttered out.

Max still took his time. He pulled her apart and pushed himself forward. When his tip met her hole she gasped, and Max slowed himself down. "You're doing so good," Max whispered, pulling himself back.

Each time he pushed into her, he went just a little bit further. No amount of preparation could have made this any easier. But Max was so soft, so sweet, so gentle with her.

He thrust himself into her, his pace slow. Her squeezed him gasping every time he pushed his head inside of her. "Holy shit, Max," she whimpered.

There was no feeling like this. Max was hitting spots she didn't know existed. With some more work from his expert fingers on her pussy she came, body shaking. Two orgasms and the new sensations Max was providing her with, it was all too much. She couldn't quite take it.

He suddenly pulled out, spilling his seed over her back. Gasping, Max fell down beside her. "You did so good for me, Schat," he whispered, leaning over to kiss her.

Her body twitched as Max chased his high. "All... most... there...

Mijn liefje," he grunted, his thrusts speeding up.

Max took a moment to catch his breath. As soon as he did he ran the too small hotel bath and carried her to it.

March 19th 2023, Saudi Arabia

Y/N watched, biting her nails. "C'mon," she whispered under her breath. "C'mon, Maxy." It was embarrassing, how excited she was for his next win. More importantly, how excited she was for the aftermath of his next win.

But Max didn't win, Sergio Perez won the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. "Fuck," she hissed under her breath. Beside her, Jos Verstappen lost his mind. She didn't. She stayed calm, because she knew that was what Max was going to need.

After the podium, Y/N held Max close. "Well done, Maxy," she whispered, kissing him.

Max said nothing. He just held her close for a minute, his head pressed into her shoulder. But then he spoke up. "I know I didn't win, but..."

"No, Max. We said if you win, remember?"

"Next race. Your ass is mine."

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cutecatlov3r · 9 months

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oh to be ran through by denki, sero, katsuki, and kirishima…

what would it be like? college au

a/n: bro I haven’t posted in forever ! but maybe I’m back for awhile ? you should check out my c.ai bots :3 dekusquad ver here .

it’ll start off with the five of you chilling in sero’s college dorm. you five all just playing games and chatting. until denki realizes there is literally a girl in the room with the four of them. the reality of the situation, you’ve been their friend for a few years... why the hell hasn’t he thought of this sooner?! he’s seen too much porn to know what could go down.

so when you go to the bathroom he talks to the boys about the situation he’s playing in his head.

“well we could always try to convince her, I mean she’s been our friend for years and I’d be so down to fuck her,” he spoke unashamed.

next thing you know, you’re fully convinced on letting it happen, the boys basically begging you to let them inside of you .

Bakugou obviously going first. he has to be the number one in everything. so when you allow him to fuck you, he’s the one to take off your clothes, being rough. he’ll rip them up, not caring. when he whips out his cock it’s long and thick, slapping against his abdomen as it is released.

“g’na fuck you nice and good, you slut”

and he does, he wastes no time plunging into you deeply. of course you didn’t really need foreplay due to the fact it turned you on to see them all begging for you to fuck them. as he fucks you in a mating press he will pull your hair. it’s a little off because he’s making out with you so sensually and sweet but his cock is ramming into you, only caring for it’s own pleasure.

“fuck… fuck you’re so tight, stop squeezin’ around me like that, dumbass…” he pants, voice a little raspy.

the boys watching, the heat inside them unbearable. just looking at your whiny face as bakugou fucks deep in you makes them so needy and heated.

he keeps going hard, his tip occasionally grazing against your cervix.

in the end, bakugou will gladly cum deep inside you, filling you up. pulling out he’ll watch it seep out, using his fingers to fuck it back into your hole.

Sero is next, looking down at you as you whine due to bakugou’s cum spilling on to your thighs. it was an uncomfortable feeling but you sort of liked it.

“don’t worry sweetheart… i will be nice and slow” he hums, kissing your neck, groping your ass.

he takes off his pants as he’s kissing you, placing you on his lap. his cock was long, not as girthy as bakugou’s cock but it looked a bit longer. he groans as he slips inside your wet and sloppy cunt. he rolls your hips, his cock rubbing against your g-spot as he rolls them.

he leans his back on the ledge of the couch, getting a good view of your sticky pussy moving up and down his cock. he loved the squelching noises it made. it was so erotic… the boys watching also loved it, they fucking needed you.

towards his climax he grabs you close, pressing your chest against his as he pistons his cock inside you, chasing his high.

“s-shit! fuck- ah- im gonna fucking cum… yeah, yeah, right in your slutty pussy”

you were moaning and creaming around his dick. the rutting hitting your g-spot over and over again. you were out of breath and he just kept going, holding you tightly so you couldn’t use your arms to get away from his body.

eventually he came inside you. his cum mixing around with bakugou’s. both of their bodily fluids leaking out of your slutty hole.

Denki happily offers to go next, it was his idea after all. look, he’s a pervert whose down for anything, he doesn’t even want his dick inside your messy cunt that was still leaking of sero and bakugou’s cum, instead he honestly wanted to give you a facial. so when you looked at him with your dazed eyes, he grabbed your chin, nodding his head to the floor.

“come on baby, on your knees for me” he smiled happily with a small chuckle.

you got on to your knees, looking up at denki. he held your cheek as he took out his hardened cock. it slapped against your face… your eyes glued to the pink tip that leaked of precum. he was pretty long, you’ll give him that.

without warning though, he shoved his dick right in between your cute soft lips, letting out a little whine. one hand gripped your hair, the other holding his shirt up so he can see as your tongue glided against him.

“s…so warm…” he moaned, eyes shutting slightly. though he did reach down to squeeze your breast, pinching your hard nipple.

your head bobbed on his cock, his grip on your hair tightening slightly. with your hand you fondled with his balls which caused an audible groan as he thrusted into your mouth more.

spit was rolling down your chin. your eyes fluttering as you looked up at denki who now has his shirt in his mouth. he gripped it with his teeth, his free hand grabbing some more of your hair and he thrusted his hips more.

after hitting the back of your throat, it caused him to go a bit crazy, moving faster, balls slapping against your chin. he was whining and moaning, feeling like he was gonna explode. he pulled out just in time, you stuck out your tongue as he painted your face white.

“that’s it babygirl… all over your face…” he panted, slapping his tip against your tongue.

Kirishima was last, he frowned looking at you, you were so messy.

“let me clean you up” he said softly, taking off his shirt to clean off your cute little face. he brought his shirt down to your cunt, cleaning it off, along with your thighs. there was still sero and bakugou’s cum inside you but he wasn’t gonna worry about cleaning that up. afterwards he sighed happily. he brought you to his lips, placing soft kisses against yours.

“It’s okay… you did so good for us today, y/n. thank you for letting me have the opportunity to please you” he smiled, laying her on the couch gently.

he took the hair out of your face, smiling down at you so sweetly. he started to remove his pants and my god… his cock was huge. it was so fat that it hung low even though he was hard as hell. you were in for it.

“not gonna hurt you, okay? if you need me to stop, I will. i will stop immediately,” he said, softly to which you nodded, propping yourself on your elbows to watch him sink into you. he went slow and steady, one of his hands by your head to balance himself. he was stretching your hole out, you felt so full.

he let out a soft moan as he kept trying to push himself deeper in you.

“g-gonna move now, okay?” he panted, his hips making a bit of movement. his thumb played with your sensitive clit as he made the small fulfilling movements. he rubbed you gently, the rubbing causing you to moan and his cock making you see stars.

a white ring was around his cock, your juices and the other boys around him as he made his small movements.

he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. this thumb rolling around the nub, he knew how to please a woman.

and out of everyone, he made you cum. you squeezed around his dick as you came, causing him to moan. he went down to your chest, sucking your nipples as you felt your bliss. he made sure you came before him, his hips now picking up the pace, your pussy tight around him, your walls clenching in overstimulation.

he went at a moderate pace not to hurt you, pulling out to cum on your stomach, he gave you a sweet kiss, wiping off the cum with his shirt that was on the floor.

“you did so good today, we are so proud of you, y/n”

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e1dritchjackal0pe · 26 days

Text

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ɢᴏᴅ

Summary: Despite a night of heat and blood spent with the na-Baron, reality emerges to remind you of the nature of your union with the Harkonnen heir.

It inspires hesitance and jealousy in you, but he's proving to be difficult to resist.

Warnings: 18+ content, MDI. AFAB, Jealous reader. Death threats as foreplay? (Sounds wilder than it is). Oral (m!receiving), throatf*cking, some mild degradation, pain kink (m and f), rough sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, blood, canon typical violence, death.

Notes: 23.6k words. Not proofread. Feyd has black cum, fully inspired of course by @valeskafics

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎

An airy, bubbly sounds breaks through the dark, distorted fuzz. A soft heat prickles at your fingertips and rests down on your limbs with a soothing weight and fills your skull with a placid stuffing. It's peaceful. Guarded underneath a silky pressure that drapes over your body, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth that distantly reminds your sluggish mind of sunbathing underneath the golden cast of the Caladan sun. The tranquility of it all has sleep luring you close again, urging that you welcome it, but infuriatingly, you can sense consciousness beginning to nudge at the edges of your slumber. You're unable to repress the flare of irritation that courses through you, and in a scramble to figure out what's disturbed you, your mind sharpens to try and focus on your surroundings.

You're still too tired to bother opening your eyes, but one of your hands absentmindedly reaches out, slipping across something smooth and lightly chilled. A bed, a faraway thought quietly supplies. It's enough to have last night rushing and fliting across your eyes. Playing glimpses of writhing limbs and low sighs. The scent of him had transferred onto your skin during your time down in the bathhouse and you could smell it heavy on the sheets, crisp, raw and warm with cleansing oils; heady from the salt of sweat and sex.

The memories of last night threaten to pull you back under, tingling over your skin and rising over you like the glide of hands, mingling with the tempting swadle of sleep. That light, breathy chortle sounds out again, dancing across the air in a way that's horrendously human. It's then that your brain becomes alert to the divots weighed down into the plush support of the bed, encircling your body and shifting with moving, living weight. You jerk back from underneath the cover of your blankets, scrambling up to create distance between you and the strangers in your room and the sound of chiming, delighted laughter trails after you. It isn't until your spine nudges against the harsh chill of the headboard that you get a look at them. The intense flash of pure black eyes, the glint of grinning, obsidian teeth. The women perch along the edges of your bed, stretched and seated like lithe statues dressed in contoured, dark garb.

Even with your heart fluttering frantic and surprised within the cage of your chest, you feel no ill intent from them, just plain, genuine curiosity. Their heads are tilted as they watch you, calmly roving their blank gazes over you like you're some sort of strange creature splayed open on an operating table for study. But you're beginning to feel that initial sense of shock thaw, giving way to your own curiosity and even a shred of annoyance. Mostly for yourself for allowing several people to creep within your quarters while you were at your most vulnerable.

"Who are you?" You ask, allowing yourself to relax from against your tense position along the headboard. None of the three say a word yet, but the one to the left of you lets her grin stretch wider, and something feral passes through the expression. It's a violent gleam. Though it's difficult to tell if that violence is in regard to you, or if it just happens to be a part of her nature. But it's the one in the center, more demure in her features and her eyes much sharper, nearly sleepy in their hold, that speaks first.

"We just came to see you. " She all but coos, her voice close to a low, breathy whisper.

"We heard you were a pretty thing," says the other, marked with a solid, vertical stripe along her forehead. She dares to slink a little bit closer, stalking forward on her palms with the silky, calculated movements of a hunter.

Your body urges you to move out from her scope, to slip from the bed so that you would be able to create distance between you and the women. But this suddenly feels like some sort of test. A competition of wills. You rise without second thought, straightening your posture and pinning your gaze onto hers; unflinching, even when she comes close enough for you to feel the heat of her radiating across your skin. You don't allow yourself to so much as glance away from her, even as the dark slate of her eyes twinkle with a wild type of mirth. The other women creep closer as well like a pack of wild dogs sniffing out if a cornered animal might be wounded enough to become prey. It unnerves you, even though you can sense no weapons on their bodies, but agitation still bubbles and sears within your chest. Compulsively, you can feel the influence of the Voice thrumming on the tip of your tongue, itching at the back of your throat with the desire to be released. It would be easy to assert yourself, to command them to back away with an order that could not be resisted. But using the Voice would come with its own possible consequences this early on, and so with a great amount of self-restraint, you swallow it down.

Seemingly satisfied with what she has seen, she backs away from you and the others follow to perch along the far edges of the bed without removing their eyes from your form.

"We wanted to see our Master's newest pet, " the one on your left discloses softly, reaching forward to take a piece of your hair within the gentle grasp of her fingertips. She inspects it with a curious tilt of her chin, admiring the low glint of the dim light reflecting in the color.

The urge to bat her hand away from you is snuffed out as quickly as it had risen, catching onto her words with a startling quickness, zeroing in on the usage of "master." The term "pet" doesn't slip your mind either. Neither does the implication that you all apparently belong to the same entity. It's pathetic, but the revelation makes your heart stall for a moment too long, skipping a lengthy beat right within the cradle of your chest. The sense of fondness in you dies out like a smoldering ember draining of its warmth and heat until it's left cold and ashen, and only the sting of betrayal remains.

"The na-Baron," you supply. Though the remark is mostly just a thought spoken aloud. His title is suddenly like glass slipping from your mouth, sharp and unforgiving. They don't respond with words, but the unanimous sighs that leave them at the utterance of his designation are breathy and nearly euphoric, like merely the mention of him brought them close to pleasure. The sight of it made your skin crawl, out of disgust or jealously, you can't tell with the emotions so similar. But even without a verbal reply, their reactions are more than enough to provide a proper answer. These women are the na-Baron's concubines. You don't know why the realization floods your body with a charge of venom and scathing resentment. Their position as his pleasure slaves does nothing to your status as his fiancé - as his wife. It's completely normal for men in high positions of power to indulge in the services of permanent paramours. It doesn't pose a threat to you or your intended marriage with the na-Baron in the slightest. So it makes no sense that something acidic and biting coats your tongue, joined with the rise of an urge that threatens to be almost violent.

You trample down that inclination with a swiftness, burying it deep to pretend that it had never existed, even while the presence of the three of them sitting so near burns at you like an acid. It isn't fair to have this reaction towards these women. Women, who like you, are only obeying their duties (even if they happen to take satisfaction in it). It makes less sense because Lady Jessica, a concubine herself, had warned you of the possibility of the na-Baron taking on inferior wives. Hedonism is something that bleeds heavily, not just in Harkonnen society, but in men. This disclosure should bear no shock. It should not prompt jealousy or hurt in you, but it does. And in your internal conflict, your mind latches onto the possibility that he had taken to their comfort after your time in the bathhouse. That after his use of you, he used their bodies to bring him pleasure like you had meant nothing.

"Master is so harsh sometimes; he often breaks his pets," the one to your left divulges softy. She tilts her head like a curious feline, and he lips peel back in a jovial grin. "I do hope that he doesn't break you."

Once again, the urge to use the Voice weighs heavy in your mouth, searing like poison and fire, clawing against your chest and the hollow of your throat with a fervor. Your eyes sweep over the three of them, heavy with your intent while heat burns in your veins.

"Get out." The sharp cut of your voice carries through the dark void of the room with a sense of finality. But your tone isn't carried by the Voice. It's completely human and bare in your resolve. You'll give them the dignity of leaving on their own accord, if only this once.

They give you unruffled smiles in response, undisturbed by your command, but one by one they begin to slink themselves from the expanse of your bed to cross over to the door. They giggle amongst themselves as they go, crowded close to each other like a procession of gossips, murmuring lowly in their delight as they slip through the threshold. The door slips close with a pronounced, airy hiss before the space falls into a heavy silence that hangs over you like a threat. The urge to slip your eyes closed and fall into a deep slumber does not greet you again. It's hard to do something so vulnerable when it feels as though you're in a tomb. You aren't sure how long you remain like that for, tucked away on your bed with anger brewing in your gut. And the hours that tick by are torturously long, extended by the slow rotation of the planet, dragging the remainder of the night by in a slow glide. It makes you feel as though you might be going insane, losing touch with reality with every second longer in the shadows. But you aren't so sure if you want the dawn to come either, with it bearing the promise of a wedding.

The promises that he had made earlier, the saccharine pledges of his devotion have turned sour. Tainted. Gone bitter like the flavor of his polluted blood that had stained your lips earlier. But it's the self-disgust that hurts the most. You had let yourself be seduced so easily by pretty words and a handsome face. You had let yourself believe that you were the only one. That a man as indulgent as him would only have eyes for you.

You aren't truly sure what hour it is when a swarm of servants enter your chambers, sweeping through the dim dark of the room like gliding spirits from an ancient folktale. Gathering you from your bed like delicate phantoms - harbingers of ill will. But you allow them to do what they need with you. Like a prisoner trapped within your own body, you let them clean and pamper you, dousing your body with enticing oils and perfumes, anointing the soft skin over your womb with a dark paste in an old superstitious right meant to induce fertility, smearing the black across you with the glide of their fingers to leave four lines behind. It made your skin prickle and crawl at the prospect of it.

Each of them moved diligently, quietly. Not so much as whispering a word to you once. Their blank, pallid faces were all unknown to you, and their presence had made you wonder of where your own handmaidens had gone. What the Harkonnen may have done to them in your absence. Fear pinched your gut and sunk in it heavily like led. Deep down you know what happened to them. What terrible fate had befallen them the moment that you had allowed them to be escorted away from you. It nudged at the back of your mind like a cold, deathly hand. Unforgiving and harsh. It left you to be as still as a doll has the Harkonnen servants had guided you into the delicate, embroidered material of your wedding garment. A glorified death shroud. It disgusts you to look at it. The union of the Caladan saltwater pearls and the softly beaded volcanic rock that had been sewed into the pale, sweeping fabric made you sick. The symbolism is not lost on you. As heavy-handed as it is, meant to imply the bonding of your respective houses. But the sight of the blackened beads feels more like a stain on your dress than an enhancement. And when they had secured the embellished lace veil upon your head, draping it over your face, you had been thankful for the scarce bit of security it provided.

But you know now that the sheer cast it offers is not enough to save you. Suddenly, you feel as though you're the one standing in the midst of an arena. Whether you're the victor or the victim, you aren't sure. But hundreds of eyes stare at you like you're a spectacle. Socialites, distant relatives to the Harkonnen family, and members of Minor Houses alike are all gathered to gawk and witness. You aren't sure how many guests are here in total, but the number is overwhelming as they observe you; probing, searching, evaluating, the amount of them so great that the crowd nearly presses up against the distant, colossal walls of the ceremonial chamber. And you're certain that a Bene Gesserit Sister must be hidden here somewhere amongst the masses, intent to monitor your union to the na-Baron. It makes you feel judged; like you've been sliced open, and your organs have been laid bare. The sheer vastness of the hall, the sleek divots designed into the walls make you feel as though you've been sucked into the textured, inky gut of a titanic beast.

But even worse is the sight of a familiar person posted at the top of the vast platform, dressed in dark, traditional garb, silently waiting for you to begin your descent down the aisle like a sinister idol awaiting its sacrifice. It's nerve-wracking, and the urge to turn and flee rises up, strong and acidic. The low, gentle baritone of the ceremonial music projecting from the strange alien instruments does little to soothe you. You can practically feel the pulse of it reverberating across your sinew and bones, and it's as though the power of the music alone compels you forward. Dragging you towards your fate like you're being forced along by a leash around your throat. You have to squeeze your fingers together in an effort to anchor yourself, hoping that the gesture will not be too obvious.

You can feel the gentle tug of your servants' hands on the flowing skirt of your gown and veil, keeping them from becoming soiled along the obsidian tiles, following you like compliant dolls. Their presence burns into the back of your mind, searing you with guilt and self-loathing. They serve as a harsh reminder, a cold possible reality for you. Your handmaidens should be in their place, but they aren't. It burns at your gut, cruel and condemning, and doubled with the heavy weight of the na-Baron's fixed gaze, the pressure of it all threatens to make your knees buckle. His sharp eyes on you has nausea pooling in your gut, oily and thick, and it shocks you to think that just last night you had delighted underneath that stare. He had made you feel like you were something to be coveted; salvation incarnated in human form. But now you feel tricked. Soiled. And you're left to wonder if it had not been reverence at all, but possession. An over bloated sense of ownership and entitlement that you had foolishly mistook for desire and genuine affection.

It makes you want to lash out. At him. At yourself. The way that he looks at you now is so confusing. His expression is neutral, placid, nearly guarded. But you swear that you can see the hint of something flicker underneath the surface. Something that nearly bears resemblance to impatience. Like he was eagerly awaiting your arrival on equal ground. It has a glimmer of hope simmering in your chest and you're careful to snuff it out without even bothering to entertain it. It's a useless feeling here.

You try your best not to meet Feyd-Rautha's gaze as you near in your approach, training your vision straight ahead to study the lurking figure of the Minister in an effort to distract yourself; towering and bathed in dark robes with their face concealed by the smooth shroud of a sort of reflective face covering. But it backfires completely and the look of them only serves to put you even closer on edge. They seem like a haunting pillar of death. A foreboding psychopomp meant to usher the weak into the afterlife and bind them to the underworld. It seems you'll be one of those souls today.

The pedestal that the Minister stands before bears a matching set of rings, both dark and simple in their design, and you catch the subtle impressions of geometric patterns etched into the steel. But what truly garners your attention are the twin daggers that accompany them, and they only seem to solidify your intangible death. The wink of their smoky blades underneath the subdued lights glares out like a warning, beckoning you closer and commanding that you shy away all at once.

But you move forward, treading up the steps with a forced resolve. The servants depart from you once you have ascended, leaving you to face Feyd-Rautha alone as they disappear to the far points of the stage and vanish into the heavy shadows. The small hint of confidence that you've managed to gather wavers for a moment when you catch the baleful observation of the Baron in your peripheral vision. Unable to ignore him from his place along the far end of the platform. His cold eyes following your every motion like he's waiting for you to waver or slip; gaze intent like a starved creature hoping for its prey to make a mistake and rush directly into the path of its snapping jaws. Given no other options you have to stare forward and meet the attention of the na-Baron. You hate the way that your body flushes with a simmering heat when he looks at you, instinctively longing for the feel of him even though it's only felt his touch for one night.

It's pathetic the way that you pine for him like some sort of frail, naive girl, but it's difficult to hide away from your own emotions when something as simple as his stare pulls you and pins you down with dark weight and smoke. The gravity that he watches you with should concern you, cause you to recoil underneath it. It's all hunger and want glittering inside of them, projecting the hint of danger. But like a glutton for punishment, you feel a piece of yourself thrilled by the attention, even though you try to trample it down.

You nearly flinch when the sharp, booming voice of the Minister reverberates across the room, cutting and baritone with a clipped roll of the Harkonnen tongue. You swear you can see a damp flicker of amusement flit across Feyd-Rautha's expression in response, but it's gone as quickly as you had seen it. You're unable to focus on the subtle irritation that courses through you at his mirth, too overstimulated in your struggle to understand the Minister. But you draw a complete blank when you realize that it's the general language and not the battle dialect that you had been able to obtain back on Caladan with the slim amount filmbooks and old texts that were provided. It leaves you horrifyingly lost, and you can't figure out a single word that's been uttered thus far. It's like you've been caught inside a nightmare, surrounded by the attention of thousands that you don't recognize, left astray as words uttered in a language that you do not know is enunciated with a clipped finality that will seal your fate for a lifetime. Your heart flutters restlessly in your chest, striking heavily like it wishes to break free and beckon you into the sweet embrace of death.

It surprises you when the na-Baron moves closer, a subtle shift that most might not be able to notice but you can practically feel him draw nearer with the brush of his body heat dipping past your respective garments and gliding over your skin. It urges you to give him your concentration, fastening your focus onto him until the conformed chaos around you dims into a low thrum.

"I will guide you." He reassures you, voice firm and certain in its graveled edge. And you're glad for the verbal communication or else you might have grown nervous as he runs his fingertips across the slim hilt of a dagger before taking it in his grip. Your tongue is thick and heavy against the roof of your mouth when he lifts the blade, and your heartbeat pulses throughout the veins of your throat as you silently observe, transfixed when he deftly flips the weapon over on the edges of his fingertips to offer you the hilt. Something passes between you two as you gaze at each other; a request, the offer of permission, the desire for acceptance.

Hesitance quivers inside of you for just a moment, nearly strengthened by the panicked instinct to pick up your skirts and run. But instead, you find yourself reaching forward with hardly any more thought and taking the chilled grip of the blade into the clutch of your hand. The heft of it strikes you, the subtle ridges crafted into the handle threaten to dig into your palm but your grasp on it remains deceptively strong, almost as if your nerves aren't frayed and split from your anxieties. The craftsmanship of the weapon is unquestionably Harkonnen, designed with the elegant, streamline edges and a recurve style - a favorite amongst the house it seems. Despite being a ceremonial dagger, its weight is well balanced. Even between the grip and the blade, and the feel of it in your palm is familiar despite the differences in technique in comparison with Atreides weapons.

With the security of having it in your grasp, you nearly feel as though you might manage to survive the ritual, even if just barely. But the confidence in you wavers just slightly as you watch the na-Baron pick up the opposing dagger. It has the memory of his violence in the arena flashing in your mind. His skill with a blade, the precision with how he wields them. It would be so easy for him to drive the dagger forward and to sink it into your stomach, to gut you open with the flick of his wrist and bear your reddened belly for the masses. And as senseless as that train of thought is, it does have you tensing underneath the probing scrutiny of the gathered crowd. But you don't catch so much as a glimmer of that feral brutality in his eyes, the controlled edge of savagery that had dipped over his posture when he had sauntered and slaughtered within the confines of the colosseum. His expression is still controlled, dare you say, peaceful even.

"There will be pain." He says, and as terrifying as those words are, the tone with which they are spoken with is done without a hint of ire or sadism. It's not said to instill fear or frighten you; it's said to prepare you. To give you time to brace for what's to come.

The Minister's voice thunders throughout the room once more as their hands spread wide in a sweeping flourish, gesturing to you and the na-Baron in a welcoming, encouraging manner. It's then that Feyd-Rautha extends his empty left hand to you, upturned and splayed open for you to accept, and his gaze unwavering. "You have to cut; just deep enough for it to bleed. But only the palm is necessary." His explanation dips over you with the sting of chilled slivers, threatening to make you shudder. When you had seen the blades earlier, you entertained the idea of��something of this nature, as violent as the Harkonnen seem to be with nearly every inch of their culture soaked in blood. You were just hoping that it wouldn't have made its way here as well. But it should have been expected that a ritual as serious as marriage - the joining of two souls - would require such a powerful, symbolic offering. There is truly no way around this. You have no other option but to honor the exchange, even though the thought of it has your stomach prickling and turning with dread.

It's shocking. Now that you're well and able to raise a knife to the na-Baron, you should find yourself pleased with the very notion to inflict pain on him, but you find yourself wavering instead. As though you're disturbed by the very idea of it, even though you had sunk your teeth into him just hours earlier and drew blood. But the air had been thick with excitement then, heady and sultry with the scent of salt and arousal, and the way that he had commanded you to had been too tempting to ignore. If you draw blood now, there will be no turning back for you. The pact will be sealed. Irreversible. Binding you both together by name. By house and flesh.

But now you're just being hopeful. Idiotic, even. You've always been promised to become Harkonnen by title. You've been promised to the na-Baron long before either of you have even been born; a meticulous web weaved by the Bene Gesserit. - forces far out of your control. Even if you turned heel now and ran, at best you would be captured and humiliated before being forced into a union with the na-Baron. At worst, you would permanently mar the potential of a reconciliation with both houses and tip them into another war. But wickedly, if you're being completely honest with yourself, you don't want to flee. The sting of betrayal and hurt is piercing in your chest, tight, restricting and threatening to claw at your lungs as you breathe, but you still have no desire to hide from your duties. From him.

And the need to claim him hangs over you like something violent and starving. The urge to stake your mark on him - a warning to others who may dare to look at him. Almost blindly you reach forward, slipping the hold of your hand underneath his, securing it in place as you lift the sharp edge of the dagger towards the delicate, exposed skin of his palm. Your eyes meet as you raise the blade, and it almost surprises you when you see nothing but eager resolve staring back at you, like he can't wait for you to cut into him. It has last night playing across your mind; the sensation of skin breaking underneath your teeth, the taste of him in your mouth, the thrum of his covetous groans trembling underneath your tongue. It's enough to drive the blade forward and you press the lethal point of it against his flesh until the weight of it presses it down and a dark liquid wells up to the surface, almost pitch black and glinting with a barely there burgundy hue.

You're unable to take your eyes away from him as you drag the blade along his skin, splitting it open underneath the glide of the sharpened steel. You swear you can see something near rapturous pass through his controlled expression as you slice his palm, and you hate the low simmer of heat the rolls throughout your body in response. It has you retracting the blade before you those smoldering feelings could light into something deeper, but that narrow wound must have been satisfactory enough because the na-Baron appears pleased with the look of it. You follow the subtle instruction he had implied with the nod of his head to return the dagger to its place on the pedestal. The scrap of the steel against the smooth stone rings out clearly across the ceremonial chambers, even with the strange music still thrumming in the background. But it's difficult to focus on all of that when Feyd lifts his arm over one of the wedding bands and balls his hand into a fist to force the flow of blood, sanctifying the jewelry with the drops of his blackened blood.

It's over sooner than you expect, and he lowers his arm once after only a few moments and shifts his attention on you expectantly for you to lift your own hand, and in some mindless sort of compulsion you find yourself presenting your open palm to him without hardly a trace of hesitance in your body.

His gaze is evaluating again. Heavy like he's waiting to see if you'll flinch as he secures your wrist in a light grip and raises the blade up towards your hand and it glints in a muted silver. But the urge to cower or escape doesn't greet you like you expect it to. You're calm. Content even. And there's some perverse little part of you that eagerly waits for the sharp edge to meet your flesh. He must notice the yearning glimmer in your eyes through the cover of your veil, because you see recognition flicker across his features, just as heavy and wanting. Like the prospect of you welcoming the bite of the blade pleases him, and in turn it has the hint of desire you had felt earlier back with a vengeance; greedy and starved.

He finally presses the edge of the dagger against the tender flesh of your palm, but you don't so much as flinch. Something prickling flutters inside of your stomach, but it's hard to tell if its nerves or a damning hint of excitement. Once again, your eyes have found each other, your focus securely fixed as he pins the sharpened end of the blade along your hand and drags it to slice. White-hot heat licks across your flesh, stinging as your skin gives and parts around the lethal steel with a rich red trailing in its wake. Your lips part in a short gasp - a weak attempt to center yourself around the flare of pain and surprise, but the steady, warm weight of his grip around your wrist serves to keep you concentrated. And with the dark hold of his stare on you it pulls every ounce of your attention onto him until the burning throb shooting across your palm fades into a weak sting. Relief rushes back over you like a breath of air when he lifts the weapon from your flesh, and you're entirely transfixed as he lifts the blade to his mouth and smears the bead of blood across the plush curve of his lips; the red a contrast between the stark shade of his skin. Only then does he place the dagger beside its twin. It strikes you that he hadn't asked you to take this step earlier while your own blade was still stained with drops of black, and it leaves you feeling lost, stuck in uncertainty and surprise until the realization quickly dawns on you that this may not even be an official part of the ritual. That he might have taken it upon himself to anoint his mouth with the red from your veins. It reminds you again of the way that his own had tasted on your tongue, thick and faintly acerbic. It's like he's trying to return the favor. To anoint himself in your blood as you had done with his.

The sight of him smeared with red has you transfixed, and it if it wasn't for the damp heat slipping down your palm you would have forgotten the next step entirely. You tear yourself from your daze with a ragged breath and turn your head to watch as you raise your arm above the pedestal to line your maimed flesh above the larger ring. It's a surprise to yourself when you don't hesitate to curl your fingers into a tight fist, clenching your palm to christen the band with a few generous drops of your blood. The distinction between the blackened steel and the rich crimson is nearly beautiful in a crude sort of way. Fitting for a Harkonnen wedding.

The na-Baron raises his wounded hand in the air, instantly drawing your attention to where he keeps it suspended before you; palm upturned once more as he passes you an expectant look, and his voice rumbles out in a gentle command. "Give me your hand. "

Hesitation nearly raises its head again, weighing down your limbs and begging that they remain still. But that other part of you acts without little contemplation, pulling your arm up in an offering. You watch silently with your breath trapped and stagnant in your lungs as he plucks up the ring smeared with his own blood up from its place on the pedestal; slick with black and glittering with the damp. The steel is chilled when he slips it around the width of your ring finger, but the fresh coat of the darkened liquid is still hot with the warmth of his body. It smears over your skin as he guides the wedding band until its snug along your knuckle, staining you with the vigorous liquid that had just flowed through his body. The pressure of it around you is so foreign. Strange. And your muddled mind can hardly comprehend that you're even wearing it at all.

It makes you feel as though you're acting on instinct alone when you shift to grab the remaining piece of jewelry from its place beside you. Taking it between unsteady fingertips. Your mouth is dry and hollow, making you hyperaware of the frantic pulse of your heartbeat fluttering within your chest. The intensity of the na-Baron's stare is stifling, like he could suffocate you with the weight of it alone. But you don't allow yourself to concentrate on the strength of his gaze. You look to his hand instead, lifted and patiently waiting. It's enough to give you the incentive to move forward, reaching out the slip the ring around the bare finger to mar it with a fresh coat of red.

It could be your imagination, but the music reverberating across the thick atmosphere seems to spike, pulsing and beating like the breath and heart of a living being. You can sense it underneath your feet, nearly becoming overwhelming with the pressure of the crowds' eyes boring into you eagerly. And when the Minister leans over towards you both, your soul feels as though it might evict itself from your body and leave its vessel behind. You force yourself remain firm and motionless, focusing on the comforting weight of the na-Baron's hand underneath your own, the soothing warmth radiating from it and seeping into your flesh. It's like a dream as you watch Feyd-Rutha - your husband, lace his fingers through yours, sealing you in a pact made from blood.

The Minister's voice rises high, hurtling close to some sort of finality in its climb and they sweep their arms into the air with another flourish. It's then that Feyd-Rautha steps even closer to you with a gaze that strips you bare and leaves you a little breathless; thrumming like a live wire as his presence pours over you like a simmering liquid. You have no desire to move away from him when he lifts his free hand to direct the cast of your veil from your face, gliding it across the crown of your head with the tug of his fingertips, exposing you to him and leaving you vulnerable. You can see the way that his vision roves over your face, marking each of your features like he's studying you, hunting for a shred of reluctance or fear. Everything else becomes muted, dull in comparison to the pale blue of his eyes and the pull of them draws you in. Causing the buzz of the music to dampen; the weight of the betrayal you've felt fading into an afterthought underneath the brush of his lips over yours.

Anticipation pulses in your veins as he angles his head when he draws near, nudging the edge of your jaw to keep you secure as his mouth presses against yours in a bruising kiss that tastes of blood; metallic and sharp. All of your attention seems to siphon down in this exact moment, settling into your skin to hone in on the press of his body against yours. It's embarrassing how easily you give into him once the taste of him is on your mouth, melting with the flavor of your blood. It should horrify you. Make you stumble away from him on weakened legs with terror in your gut, but the hint of his tongue brushing along your bottom lip only serves to pour something molten directly into your bloodstream, and you have to pointedly remind yourself that you're in public during your wedding no less. But Feyd seems to have no shame, or the desire to conform to public decency because the way that he licks into your mouth is anything but chaste.

It threatens to make your mind fall completely blank and you distantly register the climbing timbre of the Minister's voice as it strikes across the atmosphere with a firm sense of finality in a declaration. You're nearly certain that the masses have erupted into a thunderous, celebratory cry of your name and the na-Baron's, but it might as well as fall on deaf ears with how the light tug of teeth on your lips melts your brain into mush. So it's nearly jarring when he pulls away from you, breaking the kiss just as quickly as it had begun to turn and face the crowd with pride in his stance. In a sort of daze, you follow his lead with the impression of his lips still tingling on your mouth and the tumultuous chanting of the guests roaring in your ears. He raises your joined hands high in the air, brandishing them in a sign of triumph much like he had flaunted his gore-soaked blade in the arena, in a confident proclamation of your successful union.

But the rhythmic chorus of your name has mutated and shifted into a title that's jarring to hear:

na-Baroness.

The festive cries of your new title ring in your ears well after they have died out. It rattles within the recesses of your skull, burying deep as you presented yourself before the guests, accepting tokens of good will and gifts bestowed on you from Harkonnen aristocrats and nobles as blessings upon your marriage. Everything from lavish, exotic jewels to a pair of hunting dogs, all of which you had accepted with a smile on your face despite being horridly overwhelmed, crowded by strangers who had flocked near as though they were long time acquaintances. The masses attentions follow you well into dinner where you're held under both intrigue and scrutiny alike as you all satiated yourself with a banquet's worth of imported meats and fruits. You could feel the prickle of their eyes on you, roving over your flesh with the heat of indignation and outrage. You could see it clearly reflecting in many of their gazes even though they left their words unsaid. Atreides scum. That's what they desired to say.

Realistically, you had always suspected that you wouldn't be received by open arms with the entirety of the masses. Not with the centuries of bad blood and horror built between your respective houses, it was to be anticipated that the majority wouldn't be very receptive to your introduction to the Harkonnen name. Marriage will not be enough to unwrite all of the upheaval and carnage; all of the souls lost between both sides. Enemies, regardless of your new status and husband, are to be expected. But the raw, flaying weight behind their fleeting glances still manages to dig at you, burying underneath your skin like an irritating sliver of wood. It all serves as a deadly reminder as to how truly isolated you are here. Left adrift with no familiar faces to console you.

You try to distract yourself with the feast spread out in front of you, analyzing the abundance of off-world produce and rich meats like it's all the most fascinating thing that you've encountered. But you're hyperaware of the gentle chiming of glasses and the delicate scrape of silverware cutting across dark porcelain. Every sound and sensation seems to be amplified by the man stationed on the lower section of the dining hall, crowded alongside other wealthy guests as they enjoy the banquet. The distance between you is so vast that his pallid features aren't fully discernable, but you're still able to get a decent view of him from your place at the high table, and the intensity of his frigid stare is almost like a physical thing, slipping over your skin in a way that's grating.

You're just barely able to recognize him as a general among one of the Baron's military units. He had taken your hand earlier, kissed your knuckles in a show of respect. But you're unable to see even a hint of that acclaim now. He watches you in between the lulls of his conversations like he means to skin you alive, not even bothering to hide his bold contempt. It has caution unfurling inside of you, turning bitter and restless from the weight of his suspicious glances, and the sight of the steak knife that he utilizes in his hand does not ease your discomfort.

Truly your only sense of repose is the warmth projecting from the na-Baron as he sits at your side, but even then, the sensation of it is woefully dull. Dampened by the considerable amount of distance placed between your chairs. And even with that sense of betrayal still simmering lowly under the surface, you can't ignore the fact that you wish he was closer. But you're not afforded the luxury of openly showing your need for comfort. If you're going to survive these cold, brutal walls then you're going to have to keep your emotions and suspicions close to your chest.

But that doesn't mean that you can't allow yourself a distraction. Without little thought you reach for the goblet plentiful with a muted red spirit, careful not to use your injured hand as you take it by its delicate stem to lift the chalice to your lips, swallowing down a large gulp. A part of you had been bracing for a harsh burn, or the flavoring of something odd or exotic, but the taste that washes over your mouth is almost jarringly familiar. Saturating your tongue with the notes of something fruity, earthy and subtly sweet. The profile of it is unmistakable, and as soon as the flavor flows down your mouth it transports you back home. Placing you on rich, damp soil with rolling hills sweeping as far as they eye can see. Each one lined with rows of vineyards, fruitful with sweeping vines and plump, grapes that glitter in glints of silver and gold from the morning dew. For a moment you think that you could sob. Whether those be tears of joy or from the bittersweet sorrow of nostalgia, you aren't sure.

"I take it you like it."

The sound of Feyd-Rautha's throaty accented lilt breaks through your swarming thoughts, causing your head to swivel around to look at him. The expression that crosses your face is lost, if not a little incredulous as you observe him. He glances down at the chalice in your hand, sparing a slight nod with the implication. "I wasn't sure which one would please you more. You Atreides have an excessive variety of wine."

"You did this?" You ask, lips parting somewhat dumbly in your disbelief.

He doesn't answer you immediately. Instead, he looks off the table of guests at the bottom of the platform, eyes sweeping across them as though he's searching for something. "Our beverages can be potent for off-worlder's. I thought it'd be best to find something more agreeable for your soft palate." And there it is again. A subtle inflection in his voice that indicates that he might be trying to joke, but the neutral state of his face doesn't help discern if that theory is accurate or not. But it's difficult to stick and ponder about it for long with that dreadful hint of fondness creeping back in again. A smile threatens to lift at your mouth, and you find yourself struggling to ward off its influence as affection blooms inside of your chest like a sun's gentle warmth.

"Thank you," you say; nearly murmur in your soft awe. He does not respond verbally, with his lips already occupied by swallowing a gulp of his own drink, but he does spare you a nod. You eye his cup curiously, something playful rising up. The feeling is unexpected but not entirely unwelcome, and you find yourself leaning into it. "Is that one of your notorious beverages?" You don't wait for him to answer before you hold your unbandaged hand out in a silent request. "May I?"

He observes you like he's a little fascinated, and now you're certain that there's an amused glimmer burning in the dark of them. "Be my guest," he replies easily, and passes you the chalice. The liquid inside is dark, but the reflection of the dim lights above reveals faint undertones of amber in its hue. When you lift it up closer to your nose, no fragrance rises up to greet you. It's completely scentless, and it gives you no bases to prepare for what it may taste like. But 'potent' had been the word that the na-Baron had used, and it leaves you a little intimidated, but also entirely intrigued. Without much more thought, you nudge the chilled goblet against your lips and tilt it back to sample a generous sip. The first thing that strikes you is the heavy bitterness of it. It's nearly overwhelming on your tongue, full-bodied and acrid. And you're given hardly any time to adjust to it when the sharp bite of alcohol burns down your throat and settles in the pit of your stomach like something smoldering. You have to make the conscious effort to fight of the urge to wince, struggling to save face as Feyd watches you, but you're sure that he can see the influence of grimace tugging at your features.

" Is it too much for you, wife?" He asks, and his lips pull back just enough to show you the dark glint of his teeth.

The sound of the title leaving his mouth nearly makes your mind go blank. Of course, you realize that you're married now. The throbbing sting of the wound on your palm will not let you forget. But to hear it so freely acknowledged by his own accord is something else entirely. Truthfully, you aren't sure how to feel about it, if the delicate fluttering inside of your chest is out of nervousness or excitement. Once again, you're left confused by your own emotions. Torn between your internal conflicts as you struggle to come to terms with what you may desire, but the gravity of it all is too much to deal with, and almost desperately you cling onto the light taunt. Allowing it to rouse an impish competitive drive in you, and you're entirely unable to repress the smile on your face despite the dark, bitter taste still coating your tongue. "Not at all," you lie, leaning back in your seat. "In fact, I think I'll keep it for myself."

Something flickers in Feyd's gaze, and he suddenly leans into your space, stopping short just as you feel the heat of him waft over the swell of your cheeks. You expect to hear some sort of light goading or a sardonic jest, but when the low rasp of his voice sounds out, it's nothing of the sort. "You have eyes on you."

His words douse over you like a chill, even though the admittance isn't a revelation in the slightest. You can still feel the prickle of their judgement on your skin, searing with their hatred. From your peripheral vision you can still catch the way that the General still openly glares, clearly unrestrained in his loathing towards the Atreides' - and by proxy, you. But it strikes you more how the na-Baron candidly brings it to your attention, instead of ignoring it all together. That he would even bother or care enough. The way that he stares at you now is evaluating, like he's trying to figure out what thoughts may be surging through your head. How the admission might affect you. "I know," you answer, completely assured in your response. "It's fine. It's to be expected."

You see something pass through his eyes. It's dark and heavy, nearly cold but undiscernible and now you're the one struggling to perceive what kind of musings and notions he may be entertaining. It doesn't help that despite the concerning layer of resolve glittering in his stare, his overall expression remains decidedly placid. Something about it is terrifying. It makes him a blank slate. An impenetrable wall, and you can only try to guess what might be going on behind it. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that there's something vaguely chastising about his admiration of you, and you aren't sure how to feel about it. It has your hackles rising. The compulsion to defend yourself. But he's rising from his seat before you can utter so much as word. The sound of the legs skirting across the stone tiles cuts across the atmosphere in a hoarse groan, causing the active chatter to fall silent and everyone to swivel their attention onto the na-Baron like a pack of dogs focusing on a whistle.

The way that he moves is calm and practiced, and he hardly spares anyone so much as a glance as he picks up the steak knife situated alongside his plate. He takes it in his wounded hand without a single flinch before he moves around the around the high table, passing by the Baron without any acknowledgement and steadily saunters down the short row of steps to approach the banquet down below. You're lost to heed him from your place, practically glued to your seat with uncertainty and dread in your gut. You're unable to see his face from your position, but it's clear just who he has his concentration fixed on, and the blade of the knife glints like a warning.

But there's no possible way that Feyd-Ruatha truly means to kill anyone at this table. They all must be of importance to be seated here in the presence of the Baron, during his favorite nephews wedding no less. These people are part of alliances, important figures in Harkonnen society, indispensable in terms of noble and military connections. It leaves you as a collective to watch with a sense of awe and trepidation as Feyd approaches the table, forcing you to observe with batted breath in anticipation of what's to come. You dare to spare a cursory glance to the Baron in an attempt to gauge his reaction, but his own expression is just as steely and blank as his nephews. If he feels even an ounce of outrage or fury at the implication of the blade wielded in Feyd's hand, then he doesn't speak on it. If anything, he might possibly be intrigued.

The hush that's fallen over the guests is suffocating. Nearly everything that the na-Baron does can be likened to observing a great cataclysm - seeing fire and ash bleeding over the earth and searing the soil black. He's lethal and magnetizing all at once, splitting your consciousness into two separate directions. While morality screams at you to look away, fascination forces you to bear witness.

The General has to lean his body back to properly look upon Feyd as he nears him, and the ragged wrinkles in his face only deepen as he watches with a confused furrow fixed between his naked brows. You can see the older man's lips part in the beginnings of a question but not so much as a low breath gets to pass through them before Feyd's arm shoots out, barely a traceable blur as he grabs ahold of the General's skull to expose the vulnerable stretch of his throat. In that exact, fleeting moment you feel your heart skip a beat and ice turns your veins frigid and solid. You hardly track the movement of the blade. You see the glint of it, quick and silver, and then it's almost as if the wound simply materializes across the stretch of the General's neck, blossoming like a dark line before blackened blood flows from it in heavy streams.

Wet, harsh gurgles tear from his mouth as his chest rises and falls in heaving, choppy gasps in a failing effort to pull in oxygen. You could see the light die out from his eyes. Snuffed and dimmed like a weak flame on an old wick. All of the guests are left to stare in a state of shock as the General's body shudders in a final, seizing death rattle and his spine gives out. His head lolls and the rest of his body relents to the weight, rolling forward from its place on his chair and the front of his skull meets the harsh stone tabletop with a sickening, pronounced crack, rattling the silverware and glasses within the vicinity.

You fear that you might float away from your body, and the only thing that keeps you even remotely centered is the chilled sensation of the chalice in still held in your grip, the support of your seat underneath you. The death had been delivered so causally that it was difficult to register it. It plays behind your eyelids like a twisted dream, and the sound of the General's feeble, strained gasps echoing across the chamber drives your horror in deeper. It's gruesome how swiftly and carelessly he had been dispatched. Not even his rank amongst the Harkonnen military was enough to save his neck from the na-Baron's ire. You've seen Feyd kill before. His prowess in the arena, and the blood that he had skillfully shed. But this is entirely different. This had been someone important, with a voice and power within the Harkonnen military and still he was practically given a public execution because he had managed to gain the irritation of the na-Baron.

"Would anyone else like to pass glances at my wife?" Feyd inquires, much too stoic for someone who has just taken a life. And the analyzing stare that he sweeps over the guests table is just as cutting as the blade that he grips. "You should only feel so fortunate to look at her."

They all keep their heads lowered, eyes wide and fixed on the table in an effort not to meet his gaze; like he's an animal that might lunge if they do. A guard dog at the ready to tear flesh and break bone. But perhaps that's what truly concerns you. Even loyal dogs can have a tendency to bite. Static and cold flushes through you at his words, and you're absolutely flooded with a barrage of emotions; most of which you struggle to grapple with and recognize. They all pass too quickly. Rushing in a frantic pass before you can understand the textures and sway of them, but you're able to catch onto weak glimmers of them, conflicting responses of both a burning appreciation and an acerbic type of caution. It leaves you confused on which side to take. Which emotion you should give in to. You've heard of passion like this before. The consuming nature of it. The way that it can eviscerate the objects of its desire, ravage them until there is nothing but useless scraps left.

"Look at your na-Baroness," Feyd-Rutha commands suddenly. His voice is soft, but the stillness behind it offers no leeway for rebellion. "Ask for her forgiveness."

The order leaves you breathless and frozen even while it's not intended for you. The gravity offhandedly enforced behind it, the subtle edge of his voice giving no other option but to comply. You feel like a ghost as the socialites and nobles situated around the long table tear their eyes from the banquet. They're all reluctant in their movements, some rigid out of fear and others from outrage. Regardless, the weight of their eyes all move to you, fixing onto your form, shinning with the hint of unshed tears - tears of rage and terror alike. And like a collection of puppets their mouths open simultaneously, heads tilted in a show of contrition as multiple pleas spill from their many mouths, distorted and layered with their voices. You are only able to catch snippets of each one. But every plea is shaky and desperate in their humble whispers of mercy. Fearful like they expect for you to dismiss them and usher them to their deaths. The way that they look at you is too much. It sears at your skin and threatens to make your lungs burst within the safety of your chest, but you force yourself to hold their attention. Not allowing yourself the reprieve of looking away.

"You're all forgiven," you answer. The words are like sandpaper as they exit your mouth, scratching along your throat to tear out a gasp. The relief that comes over them is visible. Their shoulders relaxing from their tension, and they allow themselves to remove their focus from you. But even while you weren't the soul with your life on the line, the reprieve that they feel does not pass onto you; you're still wound up tight and breathless.

"It seems my nephew is already quite taken with you," the Baron muses aloud. It bade you turn your head to look at him from over the space that divides you, leaving you vulnerable to his gaze now that your husband has vacated his seat. His leer is cold and saturated with a sadistic mirth, making your muscles tense underneath his scrutiny in a brace for what might come from his mouth. "Tread lightly with Feyd. His attentions are a fickle thing, and I would hate to see you fall once the fire burns out."

But the pitiless smile on the Baron's lips is anything but worried or compassionate, and the pale, cold flash of his teeth glitters dully like a snarl. One of a ruthless sort of hope; counting the days in the anticipation of your supposed undoing. The image of it bleaches itself along the back of your mind, burning and heavy throughout the remainder of the feast, which had turned tense and awkward in the wake of the General's death. You hardly recall leaving the dining hall. Your brain had been spun tightly in a sort of haze, induced by the metallic scent of blood that had firmly wedged a place for itself into your nose. You do your best to combat the recent memories of it, still fresh and raw like the wound that's been sliced into your palm but the impression of it is too recent to ignore.

You hardly realize ever leaving the dining hall. It's as though you've blinked and materialized within the confines of a dim, unfamiliar chamber. The suddenness of it all is jarring and unforgiving. And the weight of your duty tonight hangs down on you like relentless weight. The responsibility to consummate, and to hopefully conceive an heir. It's all so heavy and bitter, searing at your tongue. And the muffled, strong blasts of the celebratory fireworks outside can practically be felt along your fingertips, reverberating alongside your racing heart. But it's the weight of the na-Baron's warmth pressing along your back that keeps you from floating away, grounding and soothing even while you stare at the lethal menagerie of blades that are mounted on the western wall. Trophies, a closer inspection reveals. Mementos taken to mark felled enemies no doubt. And there are so many. Daggers and swords. Knives taken from Sardaukar soldiers and Fremen warriors. Even a Crysknife, crafted from the fang of a great sandworm. That one in particular, you had marveled at from its place mounted high on the obsidian wall. It must be longer than your forearm, and nearly just as thick, shinning in ombre shades of tan and cinnamon. The colors of sweeping dunes. You could hardly imagine how massive a beast must be to hold a tooth of such a size within its maw, what great calamities it could invoke with the simple opening of its jaw.

But what truly catches your eyes is the glint of a familiar weapon. The dark ridges designed into the grip, the sleek, sharp edges of the blade. An Atreides dagger. The sight of it alone is enough to halt the rush of breath into your lungs, and one cursory glance along the wall has you counting at least seven more like it. The sight of them alone threaten to make you sick, stomach rolling with nausea as you traced your eyes over every single one, and your palms begin to sweat with the realization that these were only the ones that he had chosen to keep. The ones that he deems worthy enough to display. It has more of that pungent sense of betrayal welling up inside of you, rooting in deep and longing to still your heart. They serve as more deadly reminders of the perilous nature of your relationship with the na-Baron. That it's founded on death and rivalry.

But the gentle glide of his hands along your waist doesn't feel like rivalry. It's venerating; worshipful. It makes you long to lean into the supporting expanse of his chest while your principles tell you to rip yourself away from him.

"They died with honor." His voice breaks you from your transfixed survey with the pronounced sharpness of lightning striking across the earth. A chill douses over your skin when he chooses to step away from you, making you feel hauntingly bare and exposed in his absence. You have to turn your head to track him as he silently steps around you, nearly blinding into the shadows, lurking within the darkened corner of the room, and your body falls motionless when you find him staring at you with the locked practice of a predator. Already your body is confused, split between shying away from him and longing to step closer. It has you fixed firmly in place, wedged between a dreadful limbo with reason and instinct telling you two very different things, and you aren't sure which one to obey. But the silver glimmer of your soldiers' blades presented in your peripheral vision shriek at you to be disgusted. To remain resolute in your reservations and to keep away from him.

"Is that why you keep them?" You queried, even though a part of you insists that you to be silent. It's dangerous - stupid asking questions if you aren't fully prepared for the answer. You swallow the saliva that has pooled in the back of your throat from your nervousness, trying to center yourself around the outrage that burns within your chest like a white, righteous fire. His dark eyes search over you curiously, glittering like an animals would from the pale, nebulous lights casted from the distant corners of the ceiling.

"A warriors death deserves to be remembered. In the blood. The blade." His response is unexpected. You were bracing for something callous and detached. And perhaps, to an extent it is a bit disconnected. But not out of ignorance. It comes from a place of respect, as twisted, and perhaps sadistic as it is. Like he believes he's doing them a service by displaying their weapons, keeping the memory of their deaths alive and immortalized. You aren't sure what to do with his reasoning. You know that he can see you wavering, but instead of backing away from you he draws closer, shifting forward with a calculated saunter in his shoulders. "Does it make you fear me again?"

It makes you freeze still. Such a simple question but it has your mind falling flat and silent. The world around the both of you is quiet until all you could hear is the steady thrum of your blood rushing in your ears. Truthfully, you don't know how to respond. If you even want to. You're conflicted within the safety of your own mind, the only place that you should be free to flee to in your distress. But now you find no safety, find no reprieve or salvation in your thoughts. They're fractured down the middle, frayed between the pull of your emotions. Precariously dangling between what you want and what you stand for, and which ever one you choose may break you apart and ravage you from the inside out.

"I'm not sure," you answer. And as soon as it spills from your lips it leaves you hopeless and adrift.

He doesn't seem to be angered or affected by the revelation. His face is placid, undisturbed by even the insinuation of a single thought or reaction. It would be less unsettling if he simply lashed out or yelled. That at least, would give you some kind of footing to know what might be going on inside his head, but he remains uncomfortably silent, depriving you of a single glimpse. He nods his head, such a minute gesture that's hardly more than a tilt of his chin, and his vision flits down to the corner of the room for a moment, less than a second but it still offers you a small instance of respite before the dark of his eyes pins themselves back onto you. He seems to be considering something. What you aren't sure, but it sets you on edge as he begins to walk towards you, eating up the space that divides you with decided footsteps.

When he stops, there's only a few scant inches between you and him, and the weight of his presence nearly suffocates you, but you're unable to look away. Captivated by his gravity like a helpless, damned planet caught within the relentless, devouring field of a black hole. And in that precise moment, you entertain the thought that maybe this is where he expresses his anger or annoyance. But he remains unstirred, relaxed, controlled. It makes you nervous when he shifts even closer into your space and leans near enough that you could feel his warmth roll over you. And like a traitor your body thrums underneath the subtle heat, eager to bask in his presence and soak in the feel of him. But you hold yourself back.

The way that he regards you is intense. Heavy and stripping in its curiosity. But the desire held in it is still smoldering and thick, undisturbed by your unsure admittance. And that's truly what disturbs you. The unshaken fervor of his loyalty. The passion for you that he seems to feel despite having known you for such little time. It's concerning. Deeply troubling. You've seen lust and zealousness like this in others, and intensity always proves to turn volatile and die out in its vigor until cold indifference takes the place of fire and want. And maybe that is the root of all your anxiety and reluctance. The fear that this might just be the influence of a passing fancy. The high of something new. That once it passes and the wounds on your palms heal and mend into thin scars that the na-Baron might toss you away in the favor of his concubines. That you'll be another forgotten trophy pinned upon his wall. A brood mare dressed in ivory and pearls with the purpose of extending his bloodline and nothing more; the golden womb meant to birth his heir. It would be such a humiliating, gutting thing to discover that his loyalty was only ever fleeting. Purely driven by his desire and urges, and in the absence of his lust, his apparent reverence for you might give way and shift into a knife pointed at the tender stretch of your throat.

You know that the na-Baron has a sense of honor. But the laws for his personal brand of morality are uncertain. You aren't sure where his infatuation with you stems from. If it's truly pure (or as pure as it can be in terms of how he experiences emotions) in its adoration or if it only grows from a place of ownership; the promise that you've belonged to him since long before your - or even his conception. So it's difficult to know where his loyalty truly lies with you. The breadth of it and how deeply it may truly run. If it really is as unshakable and certain as it seems. Long before even being sent to Giedi Prime you had been warned that he had taken his own mother's life. The reasoning behind the matricide was undisclosed to you, but it hangs over you like a venomous cloud. It makes you reluctant to give into that depraved sort of temptation. If he was willing to strike his own mother down, what would keep him from snuffing out your last breath once your purpose is fulfilled?

You pivot to fully face him as a small rush of resolve flickers through you. It's dull and hesitant, but it's enough to inspire a challenge in you. You can tell that he notices the shift, whether it openly shows on your face or if he's just become well adept at reading you in your short time together, you aren't certain, but you see the intrigue light up in his appraising stare. It's still an effort to nudge the words from your throat, and you're thankful that you voice doesn't shake when you speak. "You told me last night that you would bring me the heads of a thousand men if it pleases me. What about three women?"

It shocks you to hear it and the question nearly burns on its way out, but you don't have time to dwell on it. You need answers, and the way that surprise and what might be a horrific reflection of delight flickers across his expression is a good enough hint as to what type of twisted thoughts are cavorting around in his head.

"You've met my darlings," he observes openly. You loathe the nasty streak of jealousy that cuts through you, but the muted sense of wonder in his voice is telling. He had no idea that his concubines had even visited you at all. He doesn't seem to be angered by the revelation. Neither by fact that they had taken it upon themselves to sneak into your quarters in the middle of the night, or that you had asked if he would be willing to take their lives. You aren't sure how to feel about it. Perplexed, perhaps. You'd figure that someone who refers to his concubines as his darlings would be at least a little protective over them. The smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips is frustrating. The urge to slap someone has never been so strong before. "Do they make you jealous, wife?"

"Of course not," you scoff. It sounds like a lie, even to you. And it feels like one as well. Heavy and loose on your tongue; rolling off of it like foreign words.

He looks unconvinced but makes no move to deny you. Instead, he tilts his head in a curious gesture, roving the dark glimmer of his eyes over you like he's searching for something. A weakness in your armor.

"Is that truly what you desire?" He asks, and his bare brows raise to further perpetuate his inquiry. You don't answer verbally. You keep your mouth fixed shut, letting your silence do the talking while you remain unwavering in your stare. The lazy amusement that permeates from him prods at your growing annoyance and restlessness. "Shall I bring you their heads or their hearts?"

His response makes every part of you lock still. Your mind falls blank and the blood pumping through your vein's halts in its flow before a torrent of emotions bursts through you like a chaotic deluge. In your mad, jumbled bewilderment you rove your vision over him, searching for the faintest suggestion that it may have been a joke or a lie. But the amusement that he had displayed earlier is gone. Replaced by a confidence and tranquility that should be unsettling. It's sickening, the satisfaction that surges across your chest at his easy compliance. A disgusting contentment, all because he would be willing to slay the women that he's probably garnered for years with just a simple command from you.

"You would truly kill them for me?" Confusion is bare on your face as you regard him. "How can I trust you if you'll slaughter those who have been loyal to you for so long? Would you do the same to me? " You nod your head in the direction of the blades mounted on the wall, glinting and lethal like deadly omens. " Will you cut me down like my fellow Atreides once I've fulfilled my use?"

Now he's the one who looks mystified. If not a little irritated, and the suggestion of a snarl on his lips reveals as much. "Are you toying with me?"

The raw confusion in his voice makes you freeze. When he draws closer to you the oxygen in your lungs seems to vanish; the mere weight of his presence wafting over you siphons the air from your body. It's striking how offended he seems. Like the very notion of your doubt is a transgression against him. It nearly makes you feel guilty for your mistrust, but you grab ahold of your resolve before it can flutter from your grasp. "I just need to make sure that we have a proper understanding of each other," you explain honestly, voice soft and open. Your chest heaves from the effort of breathing, drawing in the scent of the perfumed fragrances on his skin; subtle notes of leather and the traces of something crisp and musky. You want nothing more than to tilt into him. To sprawl in him and transfer his scent onto your own body.

You're nearly enthralled as he moves even closer, like he's been caught within the same trance that's begun to sink over you. It makes you feel like you've been pulled into a private, hushed pocket of time, and for a moment you think that he might kiss you. His lips brush over you faintly. Just enough for the soft pout of them to whisper of your own, teasing and light.

"Pick a blade."

The low glide of his breath over your mouth distracts you, and for a second you don't even register what he's said. It isn't until he steps back from you that the daze lifts from your mind, allowing lucidity to seep back into your stupor. Your confusion must be clearly etched on your face, and the expectant way that he watches you nearly makes you feel stupid. But by some small fortune, you just barely manage to latch onto enough context to collect what he's implying. It's with great reluctance that you pull your eyes from his to cast your sight along the wall, tracing along the various weapons that embellish it with a growing sense of foreboding and intrigue alike. You assume that you might have misheard him, and it has you passing hasty glance back in his direction. But the direct look that you receive in response affirms that the instruction had been true. Dread rises up with the thought that he may mean to fight you. To challenge you to combat as some odd means to rectify whatever uncertainty has fallen between you. That presumption loses its footing when he doesn't even so much as lean in the direction of the wall to retrieve a weapon.

He's completely still as he observes you. Unmoving like a predator waiting for its prey to flinch. Staring at you with the same intensity that he had in the arena; honing in on his opponents with a casual but precise ferocity. It makes you wonder if he means to lunge at you as soon as you step forward. And that warped half of you craves to find out. It has you moving in the direction of the wall, observing him closely as you do. He's doesn't move, though his focus on you doesn't waver or pause; it trails after you dutifully. But there's an almost starved quality to the way he beholds you. Like he's anticipating the moment that your fingertips brush over your chosen blade.

You aren't sure what causes the shift. Perhaps it's heavy, eager way that he's watching you, or maybe it's the demented mixture of alarm and hunger twisting in your gut, but the cold tension in the atmosphere melts into something simmering and dark. The air is still thick and heavy around you. Only it's for an entirely different reason now, and the dull chill of fear in your vein's dips low in your gut where it distorts into a questionable, smoldering heat. You do your best to steer yourself from the temptation thrumming inside of you, desperate to exact some kind of clarity back onto yourself but it's frustratingly difficult to ignore the haze that threatens to intoxicate you. And the dark, sinister quality of his gaze doesn't help you in your endeavor to maintain control of the situation, and more embarrassingly, yourself.

You use your peripheral vision entirely to choose your weapon; far too enraptured by the na-Baron's unwavering gaze as you reach up to smooth your fingertips over the handle. So many different emotions flicker in his eyes, each one just as consuming as the last. It makes you feel so defenseless and unguarded, but paradoxically, the restrained hunger in his gaze also sets you alight with a confidence that you've rarely felt before. Without second thought you pluck the dagger from its place along the wall, relishing in the familiar weight of the grip in your hand; the union of lightly textured steel and smoothed wood. It's the same kind of weapon that you've wielded a thousand times. Only in practice, but the familiarity of it offers you a sense of security. Lethal almost, even though you're sure that if Feyd truly dares you to a fight you might not make it out of the exchange alive.

Though you still can't feel so much as an inkling of a threat coming from him. He's entirely devoid of malicious intent, even while he stares you down with all the controlled ferocity of a wolf. You can still see a challenge glimmering in his eyes, goading you to do something. What you aren't sure, but the implication of it nudges at you like a buried instinct rising to the surface for the first time. You let it guide you towards him, even while your pulse hums in your throat, wild with the near frantic rhythm of your heart. It's unnerving how fixed his gaze is on you, locked onto your form as you approach him like you might be the only other being left alive and he can't wait to have you pinned between his teeth.

But you're the one with the blade.

And as false and dangerous as that sense of security is, you allow it to press your feet forward until you're standing directly in front of him. Close enough that if you reached your hand out you could touch him; feel the warmth of him underneath your palm. But even with the protection of holding a blade, you still don't have the strength to slip your fingertips over him. The resolve that you've just hardly managed to build might crumble and wash away if you do, leaving you vulnerable and susceptible to whatever roguish, sinister alure he might use against you. But then he makes the move for you, firmly grasping your wrist in a tight grip.

That challenging glimmer is strongly burning in his eyes like he's waiting to see you flinch back or to try and tear your arm from his clutch. And when you make no effort to, a smirk lifts at the corners of his lips like he's pleased or amused. Or both. It's smug and arrogant, and it has annoyance flaring inside of you, but you don't have much time to dwell on it as he guides the knife to his chest and hitches the point of the blade there like he means for you to drive it into him; past the protection of bone and muscle to pierce his heart.

It has your body falling stock-still as every ounce of your concentration narrows down to a fine point to train on him, the deadly glint of the weapon and lethal ardor in his eyes. You watch his mouth parting open, listening intently to the low rasp that nearly purrs from his chest. "What will you do, Atreides? Will you seek retribution for your fallen brethren? Strike me down before I can bleed the life from your body?"

But the last remark doesn't sound like a direct threat. It's said with a tone that's entirely too sardonic. Like he means to mock you for your concerns and anxieties. Like you're foolish for having reservations about your union. About him. The sound of his taunting is enough to have scorn prickling at your fingertips and face, burning in the pit of your stomach like boiling water. Almost blindly you press the blade forward, digging the sharpness of it into the barrier of the thick leather of his vest. You expect him to stop the drive of your arm. To seize it tight to halt the force of it, but he makes absolutely no moves to. Not even when the fatal tip of the knife breaks past the material of his garb, no doubt splitting skin underneath its edge. But his hold on you doesn't flinch or wince out in pain. You see a hint of euphoria pass through his eyes again. The same elation that you had spotted when you had cut his palm open at the alter; the pleasure that had burned in him when he commanded you to sink your teeth into his flesh last night.

Like just the faintest traces of pain and the very thought of you piercing his body with a blade is nudging him towards the emergence of some sort of high. It's disgusting how something so simple can mutate the heat in your body from righteous anger to a treacherous kind of ardor. The sane half of you loathes how easily he can shift the indignation and reluctance inside if you and direct it into lust with so little effort. It's shameful. Revolting even. But the way that he looks at you when he bears his flesh to you is nearly debilitating. There's always a kind of wonder in his gaze. It's starved, greedy and formidable, but there's also a kind of open vulnerability to it. It makes you just as gluttonous and wanting, and it's difficult to see past that as much as you should.

All you want now is to see that hungry glint smoldering in his eyes again. It's dangerous, the push and pull of power that you feel when he's underneath your fingertips, searching for the sting of your teeth with bated breath. Almost mindlessly, you seek out more of his want and it has you dragging the point of the blade upward. He watches you with an open curiosity, but the grip he still has on your wrist doesn't strengthen to impede the path you've set with the knife. He allows it. The anticipation emanating from the both of you is electric and smoky, like the aftermath of a lightning strike that leaves the earth hot and glowing with embers and warm smoke.

It's suffocating; devouring the stubborn scraps of your reluctance until it's little more than an afterthought. Weak, shadowy phantoms in the deep, recesses of your mind that bend and fade underneath the weight of your desire for him. It guides you to drag the point of the knife up until it slips past the edge of his clothing and meets skin, dragging along the slope of his throat. His eyes visibly cloud over when he feels the scrape of it along his flesh; half lidded and longing when you firmly fix the point of it along the edge of his chin. Applying enough pressure for a divot to form around the press of the blade.

You still can't fully comprehend that he would allow you to place him such an unguarded position. It should annoy you that he doesn't fully view you as a threat. But then it strikes you that he might. He might see you as a danger, a risk to his life and still he bears his throat to you. Even with his features schooled and betraying nothing, you can see the eagerness in his eyes clearly; gluttonous and fervid. You've toed close enough to him to see the gorgeous blue shade of them. Pale and delicate despite the cunning and control always present in them, but now they're tinged with lust. It has you angling you face towards his, fueled and nearly drunk on a rise of confidence to teasingly glide your lips along the cut of his jaw. It's difficult to make out his expression from being so close, but you can practically feel the tension wafting from him.

"I could," you finally answer. You voice is hardly more than a whisper, murmuring lowly across his skin to tease. "But that would be mercy. I should keep you alive. Choke the life from you slowly." The threat should be spat out with venom, and hatred, but it's spoken too lightly for that. Delivered with the same care as a sweet confession or a proclamation of affection. Your chest brushes along his with your inhale, pulling in the scent of him to pool heavy in your lungs. Dangerously, it makes your head nearly cloud over, but you manage to keep ahold of your sense of control just enough to drag your lips over his. Hinting at what could be a kiss. But instead of pressing them against his, you press the edge of the blade deeper into the tender skin beneath his jaw and you're rewarded with an eager, almost wanton spark in his eyes. "Would you let me?"

"If it pleases you," he answers calmly. But something passes through his expression. It's evaluating, curious, but something amused blends with it once he finds what he's searching for. "But would that truly please you, Atreides?"

It all seems to strike you at once. Each word knocking through you like a nail being beaten in by a hammer. It's not the admittance alone that surprises you. It's the resolution behind it. The lack of hesitation. The submission a complete opposite of how he had been last night; the attention he had commanded when he ordered that you beg for him. But this was said so easily. As though it were a simple fact. A truth that he was revealing. It has the walls that you've meticulously built up throughout the years, cultivated by rivalry and shared hate, fracturing down the center and threatening to crumble from the fissures and cracks. As an Atreides it should shame you. How compliant you have become under the influence of your enemy. Not only a Harkonnen, but the heir to the Baron title and Giedi Prime. That should be more than enough to strengthen your reservations, but it seems to be slipping from you by the second.

But it's his question that truly rings through you, rattling throughout your brain and searing at your subconscious; would it truly please you, Atreides?

It should please you. The prospect of driving a blade into his chest and carving out his life should fill you with retribution. It should be a balm on the wounds left behind from your shared ancestors' strife. The rivalry, the slaughter, the assassinations plotted throughout the years. The open confidence - the arrogance he holds that you won't strike him down has something molten and venomous burning in your veins. You can see it in his face, flickering in his eyes like a healthy fire. He doesn't think that you have nerve to kill him. Even more damning is that he's right. The blade in your hands feels burning and acidic against your palm, itching like a rash from the mere thought of raising it against him with the intent to kill. It's completely ridiculous how you can't even stand the possibility of harming him. A man you've only just met. A man that's committed countless atrocities - taken lives all in the name of his House's hellish thirst for power. He's slaughtered in your name as well. Four souls have already been taken under the banner of your union and it's only been two days.

But the realization rattles through you violently and sets your teeth on edge. You don't want to kill him. You can't. The betrayal of it tastes like vinegar and ash. The urge in you to lift the blade against him settles into little more than an afterthought. The ghost of it is only a soft impression against your muscles, even while the hatred that's been instilled in you since a child lurks within the recesses of your mind, trying desperately to win out against the twisted sense of affection that lives and breathes within the cradle of your chest. All the while his gaze scans over you, flickering over the conflicting emotions that must show on your face; openly revealing your internal struggles.

You hate how much you admire them. The pale shade of his eyes. A soft, light blue. Much too delicate for someone so violent and callous. Sometimes it hurts to look at them. Each time you do it tears a part of you away and dumps you on the grounds of a familiar planet, where the sea meets the rocky shores in frothing, bubbling waves. The ocean stretches forever there, shifting and fluctuating underneath the influence of the air and the moon. A large expanse of rolling, changing blue; perfuming the air with salt and brine; stretching deep across the planet's face until the cerulean water's expand beyond the suns reach and bleed into a dark void. But that sense of familiarity runs so much further than that. Physically, you've only just met the na-Baron. But there's a piece of you, something buried and cardinal that's known him forever. Your psyche - a fragment of your soul or mind has always been aware of him. It's visited him at night while your conscious slept, catching glimpses of a shocking brutality and cunning. It's bridged lightyears together to admire the smoky caress of his voice, to feel the pale ripple of his muscles underneath your hands. You've seen flashes of his violence in your mind before. The silver wink of his blade slicing through the flesh of his enemies and the trace of obsidian snarl stretched across his face. You had never shied away from him in your dreams, and that treacherous half of you begs that you don't shy away from him now and it has you parting your lips to form a question:

"Will you kneel for me?"

It's almost like time halts in this moment, punctuated by the constant thunderous blasts of the otherworldly fireworks outside; thrumming along your bones and sinking deep with from the consuming way the Feyd evaluates you. He makes you feel as though you've been laid bare and found wanting. Reduced down to your most basic components: nerves, flesh, and soul. It has your body singing like you've been lit on fire and strung up for examination. But even that isn't right. It's too intimate, the way that he looks at you. Like you're both an ancient deity incarnated and an enemy that he must overcome and strike down in a splatter of violence. It's familiar and vulnerable. Covetous and scathing. You can taste it on your tongue. Metallic like the blood that you had spilled earlier in your union, musky like the flavor of his sweat. You want more of it.

Still it shocks you when he bends his knees and lowers himself to the floor without daring to tear his eyes away from yours; gazing upon you with an intensity that seems to settle bone deep and melt in with the marrow. He's entirely calm and collected, but he watches you like he's awaiting an instruction. Like you could order him to wage a war in your name and he'd enact it out with the dedication of solider, of an acolyte. It makes you feel empowered, bold and yet entirely too weak; naked. You struggle to stomach the equal rushes of strength and vulnerability that it inspires in you. You aren't sure if you want to quail away from it or if you want to fully bask in it.

So the next move you make is completely mindless, done out of some sort of instinct rather than deliberately made. You let the grip around the dagger grow weak as you begin to lower yourself, descending until your knees press against the harsh chill of the floor from the underneath the cover of your delicate skirt. You think you catch the suggestion of uncertainty pass through his stare as you settle in front of him, but it's gone before you can fully notice it, vanishing entirely when you lean close enough to him to feel the tip of his nose ghost along yours. It's like treason to yourself when you sit the blade down alongside the both of you, allowing it settle on the floor on neutral ground. The steel chimes softly when it meets the stone, and you can practically hear the sharpness of it.

It's close enough to him that he could easily reach out and take it into his own dexterous hand. He could drive it into your body before you could even manage to blink. But his attention hasn't so much as flinched from its place on you. The captivated, fervent way he regards you gives you the incentive to move shift even closer, filling out the narrow gap that separates your bodies. You fully release the blade then, dragging your fingertips across the hilt one last time as you lean into him. Just enough that your lips caress his while your eyes meet his, staring into that consuming, starved shade of blue. But you don't find the urge to hide from it. The urge to bare yourself to it rises up high; needy and certain.

"Let us be equals then," you propose, and your voice is soft yet stable in your hope.

The hint of a smile might perk at the corners of his mouth, and you can see amusement flicker in his scrutiny of you. But you're unable to catch even a shred of scorn or repulsion. The mirth he expresses is genuine and blends into a curiosity that makes him look deceptively sweet, even with the vulpine darkness that always lurks within the corners of his eyes.

"Equals." It sounds like both a strong agreement and a dawning realization coming from him. Like he's sounding out a word that's never been said before. Now the hint of delight that you had earlier truly shows across his face, baring his blackened teeth from his sharp smile. "Does this mean that I'll go without the pleasure of having your knife to my throat?"

That sentimental burst of devotion and joy blooms throughout your chest, candid and clement in its warmth, nearly nudging out a small puff of laughter from your lungs. It sizzles underneath your skin like a low electrical current, fueling you with equal parts excitement and longing and the urge to kiss him tingles across your lips, urging you to press forward to taste him. But you don't give into the desire yet. Instead you remain fixed in place, but you allow yourself to slip your hands along his shoulders, savoring the stability of his warmth and strength under your palms.

"I'll consider it. If you ask me nicely." The lighthearted tease comes out easily enough, like you're both old lovers, breathing in each other's air like it's where it belongs. Untainted from the brutality of the universe and the separate world's that raised you; unaffected by the hatred that you should feel for each other.

Now he's the one that leans in closer and the impression of his presence hums over your skin, stuffing your head full of cotton and fuzz that's saturated with the scent of him, all fresh musk and resin. It nearly makes you miss the light, metallic drag of a blade scraping across the floor. You catch the shine of it in your peripheral vison, and the subtle thrum of concern that it invokes in you is punctuated by the heavy, relentless ring of the strange fireworks outside. But he doesn't make any moves to stab you or turn the weapon against your skin in an effort to mar you. He holds it like he means for you to take it, flipping it in his fingers in a way that's reminiscent of when he had offered you the ceremonial blade at the altar. You can see the request in his eyes, unwavering and wanting.

"This is me asking," he answers.

His request is hardly "nice." It isn't embellished with a plea, or soft in its desire. Like everything he does, it's spoken with an air of certainty and security. It makes you want to taunt him. To refuse him all together and demand that he asks you properly, but the command doesn't rise to the tip of your tongue. It stays stuck inside your chest, losing its vigor until it dissipates into nothing, replaced by the need to just feel him. It has you reaching out for the blade, and your fingertips brush against the rigid shape of his wedding ring when you do. It's heated from the warmth of him, and as farfetched as it is, some part of you entertains the idea of it burning into your skin and leaving a visible mark behind. Something more noticeable than the stinging cut along your palm; the cut that would heal and fade into a faint sliver across your skin. You want it to be obvious. A clear declaration of your union, like the gnarly laceration you had cut into his shoulder with just the weight of your teeth.

The reminder of his wound nudges at you, and the need to see it claws at the back of your mind with hungry, desperate talons. You're like a woman possessed when you lift the Atreides dagger to his stomach, and instead of driving into his gut like you would an enemy, you only nudge the tip of it between the lapels of his leather vest and into the material of the dark garb underneath. It nearly shocks you how easily it slices through the layers of his attire, parting the fabric around its lethal edge like heated butter to reveal the defined contours of his body underneath.

You don't miss the lust the burns in his eyes when the sharp rip of tearing cloth sounds across the heavy atmosphere, when he no doubt feels the sharp sting of the blade dragging over his skin. The weapon leaves a delicate trail of red, raised flesh in its wake, a gorgeous contrast to the near white shade of his complexion. The sight of it douses hot liquid over your body, settling between your thighs and murmuring against your fingertips. But the sensation of it is only amplified when the blade rises up and over his chest and he tips his head back to allow it to cut through the collar of his garb that's secure against his throat. The remaining strip of fabric gives underneath the dagger with a pronounced pop. The subtle snap of the last pieces of thread giving from the weight of your hand has you drawing in a deep breath, but it does little to ground you with the downright ravenous way that he's staring at you. Like he wants to take you apart piece by piece and eat you down to the bone.

It's nearly horrendous how badly you want him to do just that. To take you into his mouth and lap at you with tongue and teeth until your body is writhing in a twist of agony and ecstasy. But the need to see the mark - your mark gives you enough strength to repress that urge. It guides your free hand upward to grip ahold of his shredded attire to lift it back. And there it is again, the sickening sense of desire and satisfaction when you see the torn cut of your teeth in his skin, tender and rosy around the edges, clearly marking the junction of his shoulder. You feel the need to chastise him for the lack of a bandage, but something tells you that it'll fall on deaf ears. The unbothered look you get in response to your berating glare is confirmation enough.

You glide your thumb near it, not close enough to irritate the damage, but enough to inspect the wound. It doesn't seem to be infected, just a little red from the recent injury and that's enough to give you some kind of comfort. Satisfaction builds inside of you, and it's quickly joined by the burn of something possessive and starved; entranced by the deep mark left by your teeth; a permanent signature in his flesh. When you brush your fingertips along the blunt, angry impression again, it's completely unintentional. An apology is already bubbling up to your throat but the way that Feyd nearly shudders beneath your hand causes the words to disappear - snuffed out and dead. It was so light that you wouldn't have caught the full body thrum that wracked across his muscle and skin if you hadn't been so transfixed on him.

You can see it in his eyes, somehow bright and dark all at once, smoldering and zealous in his lust, and it reminds you of how he basks in the sting and ache of pain. Like a glutton you seek out his pleasure, and even with reasoning and reluctance looming in the back of your mind, you find yourself bearing pressure down on the wound with the pad of your thumb. The look of it, red and raw against his skin, the way that he leans into your touch even though the weight of it is setting his nerves on fire makes you feel as though you've been dipped into a flammable liquid and coming alight by sparks and embers. It's a reminder that he's yours. Wholly, completely. It doesn't matter who may look upon his body, sleek and flawless without a single cut or scar - all except for the ones that have been made by you. If anyone was to gaze at him, they'd know that you had been the one to touch him and leave your mark.

In that moment you decide that he needs more, and the violent, craving look that he gives you tells you that he wants the same. It has you dropping the dagger, leaving it to clatter noisily against the floor as you clamor onto his lap, gathering up your skirt to aid in your ascent. You just barely feel the weight of his hands raising to grip onto your waist in a hold that's going to leave your flesh tender and sensitive, but you welcome the possibility of it. Like an animal you sweep downward to press your lips against his throat, showing your teeth to the graze and nip them along the sensitive skin there, fueled by the desperation to leave bursts of purple and red behind.

He tilts his jaw back and tears his clothing free from his shoulders to offer more of himself to you, and like something starved and uninhibited you sweep your hands over the bare expanse of his chest and ribs, even when the cut underneath your bandaged palm throbs with traces of a white heat. But it's of little concern to you now. A faded afterthought underneath the lust and wild ardor that clouds over the room like a plume of smoke. You can taste him against your tongue, the subtle salt of his skin and the herbal, earthy notes of the oils that must have placed in his bath before the wedding ceremony. He's already hard underneath you, confined by the material of his pants but it does nothing to hide or impede the length of him. Heavy and firm against the space between your legs, smearing the wetness that's dampened the inside of your thighs and nudging against your clit in a way that nearly has you moaning against his skin.

But a ragged gasp is ripped from your lungs regardless, pulled from you when a chill rushed over your back and the harsh rip of fabric tearing echoes across the cavernous walls of the room. Your fogged over brain just barely manages to register that he's taken ahold of the blade again and has slit the back of your dress open from the tailbone and up to the collar, exposing your body to the tepid air. You hardly get time to adjust to it before he's shoving you from his lap, tugging the scraps of fabric free from your body as you fall like it's presence on your body offends him.

The frigid press of the floor underneath you is jarring, and it leaves you a little muddled and lost while you stare up at the tenebrous expanse of the ceiling. Left disoriented and exposed with the cover of your dress gone to show off the rise and fall of your heaving breasts. And then wandering, determined hands sweep down your hips to guide the tattered pools of fabric down your legs. You just barely have the articulation to help him in pulling the ruined dress from your body, but he manages just fine on his own. It tears your shoes off in his near wild scramble to get you naked, ripping them from their places as he guides the fabric around the heels of your feet before tossing it somewhere in the distance.

And then he's rushing over you like a creature from an old fable, like a monster that comes in the night to seek out foolish maidens, securing a place for himself between the welcoming cradle of your thighs. Looming over you with his hands posted on either side of your head, keeping you secured and trapped within the confines of his body. His eyes are glittering again, flickering underneath the erratic glimpses of light that slip in through the narrow widows, projected by the fireworks that shriek and rupture across the dark sky. It makes him look feral and otherworldly, like the beings depicted in old religions, a dark spirit or a demon sent to torment and tempt you specifically. To tip you into the throes of your basest wants and desires.

"So eager to claim me, little Atreides," he murmurs, leaning close enough for you to feel the hint of his mouth against yours. One of his hands lifts from its place on the floor to coast along the length of your leg. Sweeping fire and ice across your skin with the heat of his bandaged palm and the subtle warmth of his wedding ring when it grips into the crook of your knee. He guides it upward to cinch it over the back of his waist, locking you against him. The pressure of his body pins you, keeping you secured in your spot on the floor as his eyes flicker along your face. Once you're held in place, unable to move, having no desire to, does the hand on your leg leave. But it isn't free from you for long. Before you can even realize it, the press of it is firm and wrapped around your throat, nearly suffocating in its warmth and weight, but you delight in the sensation of it regardless. It threatens to make your head go fuzzy and light, but his grip doesn't tighten enough to fully nudge you to that point. It keeps you stuck between the edge, dangling and wanting while that molten desire settles at the base of your spine. "So have you made your decision?"

The question leaves you confused, and slow-moving nature of your thoughts - saturated and bogged down like they've been dipped in melted sugar and wax, does absolutely nothing to aid you. That dark type of amusement flickers across his expression, but whatever intent you have to scold him evaporates from you like scalding water and vapors when he places a kiss to your lips, snapping the tender flesh between the rows of his teeth harshly enough for iron to blossom across your tongue, drinking down the breathy moan that leaves you.

"Head," he intones softly, dipping his voice into a low rasp. He licks at the shape of your mouth, no doubt scooping the taste of your blood onto his palate before he slinks downward to drag his nose along your chest in a teasing glide. You feel the whisper of his voice over your skin before you hear it, sweeping dangerously close to the swell of your left breast, hauntingly close to where you wish he would take into his mouth. "Heart."

He hovers there like he's listening to the wild pulse of the organ thrumming underneath your flesh and bone, relishing in the near frantic sound of it. His tone leaves his query open-ended, but even in your daze you're finally able to catch onto his line of questioning and it sweeps you entirely off guard. It left him so casually that the surprise of it could have made you freeze still if not for the restless drag of his lips across your skin, humming and pleasant against you. They settle along your stomach, nipping and mouthing at the delicate flesh there like he might bite through you and smear his face with red, but the damp glide of his tongue is too soft. Like he's praising you with his mouth. And then that raw, accented lilt rumbles out again. "Perhaps a kidney."

And with that he slips lower, giving you hardly any time to come to terms with the promise of his words; the bloody, gore-soaked request he desires you to make, the three lives that he wants you to strike down with the will of his hand. But the worry and concern in you falls into the foreground, blurring at the edges while your desire and lust continues to rage on and cloud your head with a perfumed fog. When the brush of his nose traces downward, settling just underneath the plush of your abdomen every thought nearly falls flat and quiet, almost knocking your mind into an empty void.

"Or maybe . . . You still need help deciding." He drags the sharp edges of his teeth against the tender expanse of your inner thigh, dangerously close to the sore mark he had left there with his teeth last night, making your nerves spark and the heat between your legs throb. Your hips try to roll in an involuntary search for pleasure but the heavy grip he has on your body keeps you secure and stuck in place, helplessly pinned to the cool tiles. It nearly has a whine bubbling up from the depths of your throat, but when you glance downward to glare at him the expression on his face has you swallowing it down. He looks far too smug from his place between your thighs, with the plush of his lips stretched into smile and a mischievous sort of glint in his eyes. It has a prickle of irritation growing in your chest. The urge to have him underneath you again rises up strong, to have him stare up at you with that frayed sense of self-restraint and hunger. You want to feel him tremble and take him apart with your tongue like he had done to you.

You hardly think before you move. In a blink you're rolling yourself upward, and with the momentum your positions are flipped in a quick blur. The only thing to ground you is the steady weight and warmth of Feyd pinned underneath your hips and the shape of his throat held underneath the grip of your good hand. You can feel the steady pulse and rush of his blood against your skin, rich with the flow passing through his jugular vein. But even with his life centered within the palm of your hand he's as calm as can be, practically lounging along the floor with his arms sprawled on either side of him and an expression of steady contentment on his face.

"I can make that decision perfectly fine on my own," you assure softly. When you dare to flex your fingers along the sides of his throat his eyelids droop low again, nearly giving him a dazed, intoxicated look. It's the same one he had given you when you had pinned the dagger against his throat, threatening to slice but never truly willing. It's enough to send a thrill through you. The fact that you have someone, notorious for their violence and cunning, complacent and amenable from something as simple as your touch. You think that you could get drunk off of power like this. Fueled by the heat of his skin seeping into your thighs and the pale weight of his stare, equally devoted and gauging. Like he's trying to assess if you're a deity worth his worship, if you're willing to accept the tokens he offers in the form of bloodied heads and stolen organs. But you have your own evaluating to do.

It has you leaning downward, squeezing the length of his throat as you do, and you're certain that you catch the mild thrum of a pleased groan scattering across your palm and fingertips. It has a smile nudging at your lips as you look at him. "Will you let me have you?"

"I'm yours to take," he answers promptly, voice soft within its gravely cradle. It's spoken like a vow, a desire, a need. And you need him just as badly.

Without anymore prompting you slink downward to shift between his legs. A part of you mourns the loss of his throat underneath your hand, but those thoughts easily drift to the distant corners of your mind once you're settled in front of his hips. Your attention shamelessly locks on the bulge straining against the confines of his trousers, and you can feel saliva pool in your mouth at the sight of it. As eager as you had been last night, even with all of your desire and want, your inexperience had left you astray in certain aspects. Led you to uncharted territory by your lust, but this was something that you could do and do well. And the longing to see him unwind and quiver underneath your tongue is more than enough incentive to have you unfastening the fixtures of his pants. You work to get the lacings undone as deftly as possible, but even with your determination the leather strips threaten to slip from your shaky fingertips. You're certain that the low, amused huff that he lets out is in response to your uncoordinated eagerness, but he makes no verbal remarks. The only assistance he offers you is when he lifts his hips up just enough to aid you in your effort to tug his pants down from the slope of his hips and ass.

When he springs free from his pants, you can't help but to stare. You had seen him last night, but that had been well after the tryst in the bath, and you had only felt the full length of him when his lower half had been submerged in the inky water. His size had been apparent, even then. But seeing him now, uninhibited by the steaming black liquid of the bathhouse, reveals how daunting his size is. Admittedly, he isn't the largest you've seen or even handled, but that doesn't make it any less intimidating. Though it's still difficult to focus on the uncertainty prickling at you when the urge to take him in your mouth hangs over you and sinks in deep.

The amused glimmer in his eyes is back with a vengeance, burning and dark as he admires you from your place between his thighs. And as much as you'd like to berate him for it, you're completely entranced when his hand slips down the rippled planes of his body. The black band around his wedding finger glints lowly, attracting your attention to it while his fingers enclose around the thick girth of his cock. His chest rises in a deep, controlled breath when he drags his fist over himself, probably relishing in the rough texture of the dark bandages dressed around his hand as it glides along the sensitive skin. He's probably enjoying the sting that the weight of it brings to the slice across his palm too.

He props himself on a single elbow so that he's able to easily watch himself. To watch you as well. You can practically feel his eyes on you while he idly works his fist over his cock in slow, teasing strokes. But it seems like he's taunting you rather than himself. Delighting in the way that you're transfixed on him, like a dog salivating over a bone. When he strokes his hand up his length, twisting his hand in the motion, you watch with frozen lungs as a small rivulet of precum pours from the head of his cock, just as dark as his blood.

Like a heathen, your mouth waters at the sight of it and temptation begs for you to move forward. You can see the open invitation in his eyes, silently encouraging you to take him. And like a slave to your desires, you do. Without any thought, you tilt yourself forward and part your lips to sweep your tongue over the length of him. A contented hum rises from your throat when you catch the veins of his cock, when the taste of him spreads along your mouth; subtle salt and the musk of something earthy. A part of you had feared that he might taste odd or even bad considering the strange coloration, but it's hardly different than any other man you had been with. It might even be considered good in a way that's decidedly organic. It has you stretching your jaw open to slip the crown into your mouth, desperate to feel the weight of him and you hardly give yourself time to adjust before you fill yourself with even more of him. The weight of him nudges along the back of your throat, threatening to suffocate you around his girth, but it doesn't make you panic. It only serves to stuff your skull with a delicious fuzz until all you can feel, and taste is him.

Your saliva is already coated along his cock. It's messy and debauched but it only has a thrum of excitement rushing down your spine in an electrical current and settling over your clit like a smoldering heat. You moan around him, and you blindly reach up to slip your good hand around the girth of him, impatiently nudging his own out of the way in favor of doing it yourself. You're quick to pick up the rhythm he had set for himself, matching it to the motion of your mouth and the glide of your tongue while he rolls his hips to welcome the wet heat.

It's almost absentminded when you glide your other hand along his hip, briefly delighting in the feel of it underneath your palm before you curl your fingers inward to harshly dig your nails into the smooth flesh. You're sure that it's rough enough to leave marks behind. Maybe even enough to break skin and make him bleed, but the way that he throbs in your mouth tells you that he likes it plenty. His hips jerk harshly at the sensation of your nails cutting into him like talons, and the sudden presence of his hand pressing down on the crown of your head nearly makes you gag. Tears threaten to pour past your waterline at the rough thrust, but you force yourself to open your eyes, desperate to witness him even while you blink back the blurred hindrance of tears. And you aren't disappointed.

He looks like a painting. A work of art. The pale shade of his skin is nearly bright against the darkness of the room, and the dim lighting casts faint shadows across the planes of his body, pronouncing the edges of his physique. Magnifying the twitches that seize across his abdomen, making the defined muscles their flex and contract; the curve of his Adam's apple, amplified by the way that his head is tipped back from pleasure; the plush shape of his lips which are parted to release low intakes of air. But your favorite might be the blotches of violet and crimson marked along the column of his neck, branded there by your lips; the angry, permanent impression of your teeth, rosy and red along the junction of his shoulder that claims him as yours.

He had been unblemished before you had touched him. The pale slate of his skin had been unmarred and smooth despite being such a violent fighter - proof of how untouchable he is within the ring or battlefield. Free from a single scar or bruise. But now everywhere you look there's evidence of your presence on his skin; skin that he's eagerly offered to you. To have him so willing and wanting makes you feel as though you've tamed some sort of demigod and imprinted your name on his soul. The thought alone has you moaning around him, twisting your wrist around the length of him as you encircle your lips around the flared head of his cock, drinking down the precum that flows from it in a steady pour. It's almost whorish, the way that it has you clenching around nothing, and your body thrums in a burning, unsatisfied heat from being left dreadfully empty.

But all of that fades into the background, the ache of the cold tiles against your knees, the sting of the irritated cut along your palm, the uncomfortable stretch of your jaw around his girth. It's all so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The pain is more than worth it when those low, graveled groans huff from his chest, getting forced out of him by the tight restriction of his ribs each time he drives his cock into the back of your throat, threatening to choke you on your own tears and trapped gasps. You have to concentrate to breath out of your nose, reminding yourself to draw in tight breaths in between his mean strokes. His fingers squeeze at the back of your skull, gripping onto your hair while he drives himself into you deeply enough for your nose to press into the smooth skin of his groin with each thrust.

It should make you angry or hurt to be used this way, like a doll whose only purpose is his pleasure. But there isn't an ounce of scorn or disgust in your body, only want and bliss. Lust smolders within the cradle of your hips, searing deep at the base of your spine while arousal smears down your thighs in a debauched display of ardor. It's a fight to find a sense of coherence through the haze that's ravaged your mind, but you manage to find a shred of it just long enough to will your eyes to open, blinking through the tears. Something molten and smoky douses over you when you lock you gaze with his, meeting the fervent, wild glint in his stare from your place between his legs. It rips a frayed moan from the depths of your burning lungs, pulling even more oxygen from your body and it has you going lightheaded, your skull airy and empty apart from the intoxicated stuffing that's been packed into it.

Something passes through his gaze then, and his lips twist up in a way that's animalistic. If it's a nasty smile or a snarl, you aren't sure, but the sadistic amusement in his eyes is telling enough of his mood. "You're quite talented with your tongue. I never would have expected my wife to be such a whore," he remarks cruelly and now you're certain that it's a rueful grin on his face. You do your best to glare up at him from your place on the floor, though you refuse to remove your mouth from him long enough to offer a scathing remark of your own, far too drunk on the weight of him pressing against your throat to let up. But then he's the one shifting, sitting himself up on his haunches to tug you of off him by the grasp on your hair.

Your lips slip from him with a depraved pop, smearing saliva and cum across your mouth as the delicious weight of his girth slips free from your tongue. Even while your body relishes in the blissful pulls of oxygen filling up your deprived lungs, you can't help but to mourn the loss of cock pressing down into your throat, and the downright pathetic whine that leaves you expresses as much. The light brush of embarrassment prickles at you when a mocking, patronizing coo hums from his chest as he guides you to shift between his legs, ushering you up on your knees so that he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. Your lashes flutter when the wet drag of his tongue runs along the tender skin there, nipping and sucking with his teeth. "It doesn't matter. You're mine now."

That's the only warning you get before he's shoving you back onto the rigid chill of the floor and filling you up with a single stroke, forcing the sore walls of your cunt to stretch and give around his girth. It punches out the little bit of air that you had managed to gulp down out of you completely, and your jaw drops open in a strangled cry. It splits your brain down the middle, melting you into a puddle while your body seems to rupture between the equal divide of pain and pleasure. You had taken him just last night, but the experience had left you aching and sore. Your only saving grace that keeps the heavy drag of his cock from absolutely tearing you apart is how completely soaked you are, allowing the rough glide of his cock to work into you easily. It has you sobbing, from the flaring heat of your frayed nerves or the decadent liquid rapture that blossoms in the center of your abdomen, you aren't entirely sure, but the relentless pace that he sets doesn't give you time to discern it.

You have no choice but to latch onto him and hang on, sweeping your arms around the width of his body to claw mindlessly at his back, leaving angry scratches along his flesh. The pleased groan you get in response to the sensation of your nails driving across his skin is heavenly; low and rumbling against your throat from hold he still has on you with his teeth. He's only just started, and you already feel as though you're being pulled from your body, being set on fire and turned inside out.

You can hear him moving in and out of you. The sound of his hips smacking against yours and the wet plunge of his cock working into you echoing off of the walls of the chamber. He feels deep, settling so far inside of you that you swear he's in your stomach, punching against your lungs and shoving the breath from your chest with the steady force of his rhythm. His pelvis grinds over your clit with every thrust, liquifying your brain and making your eyes roll back in your skull. You think distantly that you might be drooling; lips smeared and wet with your spit and the salt of his cum, but the ability to think is next to impossible now. The ability to produce a single, coherent thought alludes you completely until you're little more than a weak pile of flesh and bone. Even when your legs lift to wrap themselves around his waist, it isn't a conscious decision. Your body acts on its own, hooking your heels near the base of his spine to keep him close to you, like any amount of unnecessary distance between you might send you to your early death bed.

You're certain that you're moaning his name now, spewing it like a zealot's chant; an endless string of, feyd, feyd, feyd. What you're asking for you don't even know at this point. Stuck between craving your release and wanting to be suspended in ecstasy forever. But it seems your body is set is making the decision for you. It seizes up tight, making your thighs and back pull taut while heat licks at your fingertips and toes. The warning rests heavy on your tongue, waiting to be voiced but your ability to speak as vanished as your impending pleasure ravages your body.

Feyd finally releases his teeth from your throat, soothing the irritated skin with his tongue before he lifts his head up just enough to lap at your mouth, swallowing your wanton, keening gasps. "Go ahead. Take your pleasure, let me feel you."

It's like you needed his permission because as soon as his words leave him in that graveled rasp, your draw up tight, the muscles of your cunt clamping down around him in an unrelenting grip like your body is trying to evict your soul from it. Light bursts behind your eyes much like the fireworks still raging on outside, and for a moment you're suspended in time. Floating freely with nothing but the pressure of your ragged cries and the relentless debilitating heat of your orgasm eating you from the inside out. It has you sobbing again, nearly writhing along the floor while electricity cuts across your limbs and sears at your gut, wringing you of fire and melted euphoria. The bliss ebbs away in steady, sapping pulses that leaves your limbs twitching and weak. But the walls of your cunt are still sensitive and tender, setting your nerves alight and fizzling and it's in your drunken stupor that realize that Feyd hasn't stopped.

He's still driving into you wildly, working his cock into you like a man starved. It has you shaking and nearly thrashing, like your body can't decide if it wants to pull him closer or shift away from him.

"Feyd, I-"

"You can handle it," he assures confidently, like it's a promise. He leans down to press soft kisses along your face, tracing the plush of them over your cheekbones, the rise of your nose, the edge of your jaw; so sweet compared to the way that he plunges his cock into you in deep, almost brutal strokes, like he's trying to carve a place for himself inside of you. His nose nudges along yours, urging you to look at him, and it's the dark, searching glimmer in his eyes that truly grounds you. It forces you to hold his stare, even with the tears pouring down your face and the sting of your overstimulated nerves begging that you close them. But you can handle it. You will. Your body cries for relief but also pleads that he keeps going. That he works you into another bout of fire and rapture, except this time you hope that you both burn together.

It has you rocking your hips against his, settling yourself to meet his pace while your lungs and body longs for a reprieve and ecstasy. You can feel the impression of his smile against your cheek when he nuzzles along your face, the blunt edges of his teeth threatening to scrape along the skin. He has you fully caged underneath him, trapped with the stretch of his body looming over yours, nearly suffocating you with the heat that emanates from his sweat slicked flesh. But you couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else in the universe. Despite the searing heat that he invokes, the simmering bliss that threatens to tear you apart and splice you open at the atoms, you've never felt safer. There's a comfort in the weight of him. In the dangerous way that he carries himself and the brutal edge that's always projected in the dark of his eyes. You should find no solace in someone like him. Someone who's been crafted to be unforgiving and ruthless, but there's a tranquility in him that you've never found in anyone else. His body is a shrine, a temple for you to find reprieve and love in a world so harsh and indifferent. A creature of death that offers you devotion in form of blood and sanctuary.

You've ravaged each other with teeth and blades; bared your throats and blood and neither of you have wavered. You've been reluctant of him, his loyalty, but the urge to truly run has never rose. And he's accepted you just as greedily. Always fervent and sometimes rabid in his want for you. The passion that he holds for you might have concerned some - people with proper sense, maybe - but you feel nothing but the urge to bask in his attentions. To return it tenfold until it suffocates you both and devours you entirely.

You can feel yourself seizing up tight again, bliss sizzles at the tip of your tongue and forces ragged gasps and whines from your chest. Your cunt is gripping him tightly again, squeezing ahold of his cock like it doesn't want him to leave. His pace has faltered just the slightest, not enough to damped or ruin the fire in your gut, but enough to hint that he's nearing his end. The rise and fall of his chest against yours is sharp and almost labored, telling of the low, guttural groans that spill past his lips making him pant along the curve of your jaw. He can't be much farther off than you.

"Feyd, please," you moan, tilting your head enough to nip at shape of his ear. "I wan' you to fill me up. I - fuck - I need it. Please."

That apparently does something for him, because he bears down on you, gripping you by the thighs to hook your legs over his shoulders. The change in the position is hell on your muscles, the strain of it searing along your hips and the slight notches in your spine dig into the flat of the floor painfully. It nearly makes you wish that you had decided to take this to the bed that's only a few paces away from you both, but the way that he drives his cock into you with even more vigor effectively wipes your mind clean. You're truly forced to lay and take it; fingertips slipping across the floor to latch onto the groves in the tiles like it might save you. Somehow he's even deeper now, ravaging your insides with each stroke, and he nudges against the devastating spot inside of you with every plunge, twisting your mind into mush and static.

"Then take it."

His snarl is the last thing you hear before you're abruptly ripped under and pulled down deep like an entire ocean had collapsed over you. The silence is deafening, with each of your senses seeming to black out in favor of honing in on the bliss and euphoria dousing you and sweeping along your entire being. It devours you soul and all, until you're nothing but a writhing, sobbing vessel. Even when the waves slip over you, waning in their effect, it's difficult to see or feel past anything other than the press of his body along yours. But you still have enough concentration in you to notice the choppy, sluggish pace that his hips have shifted into as he tips close to his end. The groan that rumbles from his chest is the only warning you get before a searing warmth floods you from the inside, filling you up and stuffing you full of his release. It has your cunt fluttering around him weakly, desperate to draw him in, even while your body is completely sapped of its strength.

He slips your legs free from their place on his shoulders, taking care to do so slowly as you hiss out from the dull sting. But he still manages to tear a ragged swear from your chest when he all but collapses on top of you. The only thing that keeps you from being completely crushed is that he manages to catch himself on his elbows before he plops his head on your chest with a contented sigh, listening to the wild pulse of your heart.

Your body still thrums from the aftershocks and aches from the marks he had left with his teeth and cock, but the afterglow that dips over you is gentle and balmy. A complete juxtaposition to the feral glide of tongue and the flow of blood that had just taken place. But even under the soft atmosphere, cradling and inviting like a familiar embrace, darker thoughts stir. But to you they don't seem so violent anymore. It's a promise. Entirely giving and pure in its intention, despite the horror that comes with it. It should concern you, how it doesn't seem so daunting anymore. It's less troubling, not as sickening as it was before. But maybe this is what it means to accept his love. To offer yourselves to each other completely. You think that you'll give him a son, but first you need something from him in turn.

You glide your fingertips along his back, lightly tracing the soft impression of his spine in their trail upward. When you whisper his name, your voice is raw and light from the sting of your used throat, but it manages to grab his attention regardless. He lifts his head up from your chest, allowing you to cup the side of his face to sweep your thumb along the subtle ridge of his cheek. His eyes are lidded and soft, but the curiosity and intensity in them still isn't lost as he evaluates you, and his brows raise in a silent question, prompting you to speak.

You expect the words to feel like venom on your tongue when they leave your lips, to burn and sear at your flesh. For betrayal to slice at your chest and tear open a wound, but nothing but a tranquil sense of peace hangs over you as you speak. It feels right.

"I want their heads."

You wait to see surprise flicker across his face. Maybe even a kind of uncertainty, or a clue that his earlier promise had only been a joke or a test. A test that you've now just failed. But you see nothing of the sort. Instead a feral smile breaks across his face. Possibly arrogant, but mostly affectionate in his mirth. His gratification. Like he's reveling in your choice. But it's a good enough answer for you as well. You can see it reflecting in the dark of his eyes. The answer, the promise there that runs deeper than any wedding vows ever could. It reflects an adoration that only violence can. The promise of devotion and protection that he had pledged to you the moment that you'd seen each other in your dreams; the very second that he had slit that general's throat for you; the instant that he had proposed to deliver his lovers' hearts to you on a silver platter. It's a truth that he bares to you willingly - eagerly; and you accept it completely with your soul, and body, and mind.

He would burn the universe down for you.

@moonsoulk, @eloquentdreamer

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd x you #feyd rautha #dune x reader #dune oneshot #dune part 2 #dune 2024 #dune x you

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