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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 2 months

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omg PLSSSS do a sequel to ‘under a false alter’ like PLSSS ANDDD i wanna know everything about them

how’s married life? how has she adjusted to marriage? what does he think about her? i need banter i need sexual tension I NEED EVERYTHING PLSSS oh and lots of smut THANK YOUU

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʟʟᴀ ᴡᴀʟʟs

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Summary: No matter how hard you try, you can't seem to escape your new husband, not that your father makes it any easier for you.

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage) SMUT, grinding, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Implied age gap, Scars, Voyeurism, Spitting, both give switch vibes, the reader has a little angsty past, biting, misogyny, almost drowning

A/n: I've never been so grateful for the amount of love this has received. I hope I do it justice with this part two. Lots of love and joy. ALSO, WE GET A MARCUS POV AT ONE POINT hehe

It had been three days since your "marriage" to Marcus, and the silence between you two had been a welcome respite. The tension in the air was thick, each of you occupying your own space, minding your own business. You hoped it would stay that way. Mornings were spent in relative peace, with Marcus at one end of the breakfast table and you at the other.

Taking a bite of a grape, you glared across the table where your father sat with his mistress, Aurelia. The sight of her playing with your father's hair made your stomach churn. The woman who had tormented you for so long was now lounging comfortably in your home, smugly flaunting her relationship with your father. They exchanged whispered words and glances filled with a shared history that excluded you. Aurelia's laughter echoed off the walls, a sound that grated against your nerves.

You noticed Marcus watching them too, his expression unreadable as he observed the easy familiarity between your father and his lover. As if sensing your gaze, Aurelia's eyes flicked towards you, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in her gaze as if daring you to disrupt their blissful morning routine. It was a calculated move, a reminder that despite your marriage to Marcus, some things remained unchanged.

"My love, we should go to the villa," Aurelia cooed, her eyes darting towards you with a malicious glint. She was clearly enjoying your discomfort. You could practically taste the bile rising in your throat at the sight and sound of her.

Your father chuckled, his voice warm and affectionate. "Ah, my dear Aurelia, always full of wonderful ideas," he replied, his hand finding hers across the table. His gaze met yours briefly, a hint of apology in his eyes before returning his attention to Aurelia. "Perhaps we should make a day of it. Just the two of us."

Aurelia leaned in closer to him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or we could make it a family affair," she suggested with a sly smile, her gaze flickering towards Marcus and then back to you, her implication clear.

Marcus tensed beside you, his jaw clenching subtly as he watched the exchange. His eyes briefly met yours, a silent question lingering between you. You shrugged imperceptibly, unsure of what to make of Aurelia's suggestion.

"We'll see," Marcus finally interjected, his tone neutral but his gaze fixed on Aurelia. "It might be a good idea to get some fresh air."

Aurelia chuckled softly, her gaze lingering on Marcus for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to your father. "Yes, fresh air could do us all some good," she agreed, her smile widening as if she had won some small victory.

The comment landed heavily, striking you with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "Father, that is not—" you began to protest, but Marcus cut you off.

"Parents don't come on a honeymoon," Marcus interjected firmly. "We'll go alone. It's tradition."

Your father looked to protest, but Marcus continued, a subtle urgency in his tone. "It’s important for us to have time alone to... solidify our bond," he explained, casting a meaningful glance at your father. "Besides, it would give her a break from the current... dynamics here."

Your father's brows furrowed as he considered Marcus's words, his gaze shifting between you and Aurelia. It was clear he was torn, wanting to spend time with his lover but also recognizing the benefit of giving you some space away from Aurelia's influence.

"Very well," your father conceded, though his expression remained stern. "But remember, you must be back by fall. And I expect you to return with news of an heir."

The ultimatum hung heavily in the air, weighing down your heart. Visiting your mother was a rare privilege, one you couldn't afford to pass up. But the thought of being with Marcus, of possibly bearing his child, filled you with dread.

"You can't be serious," you whispered, turning to face your father. "You can't make me do this."

His expression was unwavering, a stern reminder of the power he held over you. "It's for your own good," he said simply. "And for the good of our family."

Marcus's gaze remained locked onto yours, a blend of authority and challenge. "It's settled, then," he declared firmly. "We'll leave in the morning."

You bristled, your skin tingling with a mixture of anger and an unwelcome flicker of desire. "This isn't over," you warned, your voice quivering with emotion. "I won't be your pawn."

A dark chuckle escaped Marcus, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I never thought you were," he replied coolly. "But we are bound together now. Whether you like it or not."

The next morning, you found yourself in a lavish carriage, the countryside rolling by in a blur of green and gold. Marcus sat opposite you, his gaze unwavering as he watched you. The silence between you was heavy, fraught with unspoken words and simmering tension.

"I hate you," you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "I hate everything about this."

He raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Do you?" he asked, his tone almost mocking. "Or do you hate that you can't control it?"

You glared at him, your fists clenching in your lap. "You think you're so clever," you muttered. "But you don't know me. You don't know anything about me."

"Maybe not," he conceded. "But I intend to find out."

You turned your gaze away from him, looking out the window as the scenery shifted. The villa was near the ocean, a place you knew well. It was where you had grown up, where you had spent countless days playing in the sand and swimming in the waves. The familiarity of the landscape brought a rush of memories, both comforting and bittersweet.

Despite the beauty of the place, the reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. The promise of seeing your mother again was the only thing that had convinced you to agree to this honeymoon, but the thought of returning pregnant filled you with dread. You knew your father’s ultimatum was a trap, a way to ensure your compliance and submission.

"I won't return pregnant," you said firmly, breaking the silence. "I'm only doing this to see my mother."

Marcus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You think you can control that?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you can decide what happens between us?"

"I can try," you retorted, meeting his gaze with defiance. "I won't let you dictate my life."

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You’re stubborn, I'll give you that. But you underestimate the power of our bond. We are married now, and that means something."

"Not to me," you said, your voice trembling with anger. "This marriage is just a prison, a way to control me."

"It doesn't have to be," he said, his tone softening slightly. "We could make it something more, something real."

You scoffed, turning back to the window. "I doubt that," you muttered, your heart heavy with resentment and fear.

As the carriage continued its journey, you lost yourself in thoughts of the past and the uncertain future. The villa by the ocean, once a place of joy and freedom, now seemed like a gilded cage. The waves crashing against the shore were a stark reminder of the turbulent emotions within you, a mix of anger, sadness, and a glimmer of hope that you couldn't quite extinguish.

When the carriage finally arrived at the villa, you were both relieved and apprehensive. The grand entrance and the familiar scent of the sea filled you with a sense of nostalgia, but the presence of Marcus at your side was an ever-present reminder of the new reality you were forced to accept.

As you stepped out of the carriage, Marcus placed a hand on your back, guiding you forward. The touch was both possessive and surprisingly gentle, a contradiction that left you feeling even more conflicted.

"We'll make a fresh start here," he declared, his voice tinged with sincerity. "No more fighting. Let's give this a real chance."

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Then we keep trying," he said simply. "Until we do."

You studied him intently, trying to gauge the truth in his words. The weight of his gaze held yours, earnest and unwavering. After a moment of contemplation, you spoke, your voice tinged with skepticism. "What makes you so sure we can make this work?"

Marcus sighed softly, his hand falling to his side. "Because I'm not here to control you," he explained gently. "All I want is communication. That's all we need to make this work—open and honest communication."

His words resonated with a truth you hadn't expected. Despite your reservations, a flicker of hope stirred within you. "Communication," you echoed, testing the word on your tongue. It sounded simple, yet laden with potential.

You'd been at the villa for two days, and despite everything, you had managed to avoid Marcus and even sleep in separate bedrooms. Meal times were awkward, the silence between you both louder than any words could have been. You had resolved to stay like that for the entire three weeks your father had given you to "get pregnant." But your alcohol tolerance had other plans.

Each morning, you found yourself waking early to escape to the farthest corners of the villa, the sprawling gardens and the serene lake providing a much-needed sanctuary. You spent your days wandering through the lush greenery, finding solace in the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. Marcus, it seemed, had taken a similar approach, retreating to his own activities and leaving you undisturbed. The villa was vast enough to make this evasion possible, yet each evening you couldn't help but feel the walls closing in, the loneliness amplifying your homesickness.

The memories of your mother haunted you. The villa, though beautiful, reminded you painfully of the home you'd left behind and the loving presence of your mother. You missed her gentle voice, her comforting embrace, and her wisdom. The separation weighed heavily on your heart, each passing hour a reminder of the emotional distance that now lay between you.

It was late afternoon when you asked one of the maids to bring you a drink. A mistake, you realized too late, not specifying how strong it should be. Without your father's supervision, you had indulged far too much. The room spun around you, and your vision blurred as you stumbled your way toward the dining room.

You pushed open the heavy door, the sudden light from the chandelier making you squint. Marcus was already there, a book in his hands, but his eyes snapped to you the moment you entered. You could feel his gaze like a weight on your skin, making the room feel even hotter than it already was.

"Well, if it isn't my estranged bride," he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. He put down his book, his posture straightening as he watched you struggle to find your footing.

You squinted at him, the light from the chandelier making your head throb. "Don't start," you warned, though your voice came out more slurred than stern.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Start what? Observing the obvious? You're drunk."

You staggered forward, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "I'm fine," you insisted, though you nearly tripped over your own feet.

"Fine?" he echoed, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You're a mess."

You shot him a glare, your temper flaring. "Like you care," you spat. "You're just loving this, aren't you? Seeing me like this."

He stepped closer, his expression darkening. "No, actually, I'm not. You're making a fool of yourself."

"Better a fool than a tyrant," you retorted, your fists clenching at your sides. "You think you can control me, just like my father."

Marcus's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "I don't need to control you," he replied, his hands gripping your arms. "I just need you to stop acting like a child."

You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. "Don't touch me," you hissed, your anger boiling over. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

His eyes flashed with irritation. "Someone has to since you clearly can't handle yourself."

"You're such a pompous ass," you shot back, your voice rising. "Do you really think I wanted any of this? To be stuck with you?"

His grip tightened, but his voice remained dangerously calm. "You think I wanted this either? To be saddled with a spoiled, reckless girl who can't even hold her liquor?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, the alcohol fueling your reckless words. "I hate you," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I hate everything about this, and I hate you."

Marcus's eyes darkened, his grip on your arms firm but not painful. "Good," he said, his voice low and intense. "Use that hate. Let it drive you. But don't you dare make a fool of yourself in front of everyone."

Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "You don't get to tell me how to feel," you choked out. "Or what to do."

He sighed, his expression softening slightly. "I'm not trying to control you," he said quietly. "I'm trying to keep you from hurting yourself."

You glared at him, your vision blurring. "I don't need your help," you insisted, though even you knew how weak it sounded.

"Too bad," he said simply, lifting you into his arms with ease. "You're getting it anyway."

You struggled weakly, your head spinning. "Put me down," you demanded, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Not a chance," he replied, carrying you toward his room. "You're staying where I can keep an eye on you."

You hated the feeling of being so helpless, so dependent on him. "You're insufferable," you muttered, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"And you're stubborn," he retorted, his grip on you firm but gentle. "But I'm not leaving you like this."

He pushed open the door to his room and set you down on the large, plush bed, his hands lingering on your arms for a moment longer than necessary. You tried to sit up, but your body refused to cooperate.

"I'm sleeping in my room," you said, trying to push yourself up, but failing miserably.

"Not tonight," Marcus said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He knelt in front of you, removing your shoes with careful precision. "You're staying here where I can keep an eye on you."

You glared at him, though it lacked any real heat. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

He looked up, meeting your gaze with a small, knowing smile. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "But only because I finally get to take care of you, whether you like it or not."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a confusing mix of emotions swirling inside you. "I don't need your help," you repeated weakly.

He stood, his eyes never leaving yours. "Maybe not," he said softly. "But I'm here anyway."

You tried to maintain your defiance, but your vision was blurry and your body was betraying you. The alcohol had dulled your senses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. You attempted to sit up straighter, to keep the conversation going, to keep your mind sharp. But the effort was in vain. Your head felt heavy, and your eyelids were drooping despite your best efforts.

"Don't fall asleep," you murmured to yourself, the words slurring together.

Marcus's expression softened, and he crouched down beside the bed, his face level with yours. "You need to rest," he said, his voice gentle.

"I can... stay awake," you insisted, but your body had other plans. Your limbs felt like lead, and the comfort of the bed was becoming impossible to resist.

Marcus reached out, his hand brushing a lock of hair from your face. "Just sleep," he urged. "I'll be right here."

You tried to fight it, tried to keep your eyes open, but the pull of sleep was too strong. As you stared into his eyes, the intensity of his gaze was the last thing you saw before everything went dark. His eyes held a depth that made your heart ache, a mixture of frustration, determination, and something else you couldn't quite name.

Your breathing slowed, and you felt yourself slipping away, the warmth of the bed enveloping you. Marcus's presence beside you was a strange comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you weren't alone. His hand lingered on your face for a moment longer, his touch surprisingly tender.

The last thing you saw before sleep claimed you was his face, the worry and care etched into his features. Your final thought was a confused jumble of emotions, a mixture of anger, defiance, and a reluctant sense of safety.

I watched her struggle to stay awake, her eyelids fluttering as the effects of the alcohol took hold. Her earlier defiance had melted into a fragile vulnerability that tightened my chest. Despite everything, there was something about her that stirred a protective instinct in me.

She hated me, and I couldn't blame her. This marriage wasn't her choice, just as it wasn't truly mine. But here we were, bound together by circumstances beyond our control. I had accepted the arrangement with a single, desperate hope – to escape the life of a gladiator. To live a life where survival wasn't measured by the swing of a sword.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I watched her sleep. She looked so peaceful now, a stark contrast to the fiery woman who had spat venom at me earlier. Her reputation had preceded her – wild, unladylike, with a rebellious streak that made her father's blood boil. Any other man would have turned her away, seen her as too much trouble. But not me.

I was no stranger to trouble. Hell, I lived in it every day in the arena. So when this opportunity arose, I took it. Perhaps, deep down, I saw a bit of myself in her – trapped, fighting against the current, desperate for a way out.

I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking softly under my weight. The villa was quiet, save for the soft sounds of the ocean outside. It was beautiful here, far removed from the chaos of our everyday lives. Maybe, just maybe, it could be a place for new beginnings.

But that was wishful thinking, and I knew it. We were too different, too stubborn, and too caught up in our own struggles to see eye to eye. Still, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe over time, we could find common ground. Maybe I could help her see that not all men were out to control her, to use her.

As she slept, I couldn't help but reflect on our wedding night. I had been a little drunk, my senses dulled by the wine and the weight of what lay ahead. I hadn’t known what to expect, and the confusion of hate and passion made me feel odd, out of place in my own skin. She had initiated sex that night, surprising me with her boldness. Yet now she pretended I was nothing more than a rodent, something to be tolerated.

But I wasn’t blind. I saw the way she looked at me, the physical attraction she tried to mask with disdain. It was confusing, this mix of desire and loathing. I wanted her, but I wouldn’t force it. I refused to become the monster she seemed to believe I was.

My eyes wandered over her sleeping form, taking in the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair splayed out over the pillow. She looked peaceful, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine a future where she looked at me with that same peace when awake.

I remembered the way she had clung to me on our wedding night, her body warm and pliant against mine. The way she had moaned my name, her defenses lowered, just for a moment. It felt like a betrayal that she could feel so passionately in bed yet treat me with such coldness during the day.

Watching her now, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment. She had fallen asleep in my presence, a small step forward in this tangled mess we found ourselves in. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A sign that maybe, just maybe, there was a way for us to find common ground.

The exhaustion from the day's events washed over me, and I settled into the chair, unable to tear my gaze away from her. She shifted slightly, a soft murmur escaping her lips. The urge to go to her, to hold her and comfort her, was strong, but I stayed put. Pushing her now would only drive her further away.

As my eyelids grew heavy, I thought about the road ahead. The days would be long and difficult, filled with arguments and misunderstandings. But for the first time, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe we could make this work. Maybe we could find a way to understand each other, to build something real from the ashes of our forced union.

With that thought, I let myself drift off, the rhythmic sound of her breathing a strange, comforting lullaby. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, we had this moment of fragile peace. And in the quiet of the night, it was enough.

You woke up with a slight headache, the overwhelming scent of a man filling your senses. It was a heady mix of sweat, leather, and something distinctly masculine. You sat up, and the room spun a little. A groan escaped your lips as you checked to make sure your clothes were still on. You didn't remember him taking off anything other than your shoes, but he was still a man, after all. Your eyes landed on Marcus, uncomfortably slouched in a chair facing the bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sight of him asleep, vulnerable, stirred something unfamiliar in you, but you quickly pushed it aside.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood up slowly, testing your balance. The headache pounded behind your eyes, a painful reminder of your overindulgence. You made your way to the washbasin, splashing cold water on your face, hoping it would help clear the fog in your head. After a moment, you straightened, took a deep breath, and left the room, eager to put some distance between yourself and Marcus.

The villa was quiet as you made your way to the dining room, the only sounds the distant call of seabirds and the gentle lap of waves against the shore. The familiarity of it all made you ache with a longing for simpler times. You remembered your childhood here, playing on the beach, carefree and happy before the world became so complicated.

As you entered the dining room, a maid appeared, carrying a tray with a bowl and a single, raw egg. She approached you with a polite smile, her eyes downcast.

"Good morning, my lady. I've brought you something to help with... pregnancy," she said, her voice hesitant.

Your eyes narrowed, and you snapped, "I'm not pregnant. The only remedy from an old wife I want is a hangover remedy."

The maid's eyes widened in surprise and fear. "I'm sorry, my lady. It's just that raw eggs are believed to help with getting pregnant. I meant no offense."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Just bring me something for this headache, please."

She nodded quickly and scurried away, leaving you with the bowl and the raw egg. You stared at it with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. The idea of swallowing a raw egg made your stomach churn, but you knew that in the world you lived in, old wives' tales often carried weight.

Moments later, the maid returned with a cup of herbal tea and a damp cloth. "Here, my lady. This should help."

You took the tea gratefully, sipping it slowly. The warm liquid soothed your throat, and the bitter herbs began to work their magic on your pounding head. You sat down at the table, placing the cloth over your eyes and leaning back in the chair.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. You peeked from under the cloth to see Marcus standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He had changed into fresh clothes, but the scent of him from the night before still lingered in your nostrils.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice gruff.

"Not really," you replied, your tone sharp. "What do you want?"

He walked over, sitting across from you. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

You glared at him, the words from the previous night echoing in your mind. "I don't need your concern."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You were quite the handful last night."

"Well, if you hadn't dragged me off to bed like some helpless damsel, maybe I wouldn't have been," you shot back, the anger flaring up again.

"You're right," he said, surprising you. "But I didn't want you hurting yourself. Despite what you think, I don't want to control you."

You scoffed, lowering the cloth and meeting his gaze. "You keep saying that, but your actions say otherwise."

He sighed, rubbing his temples as if he, too, had a headache. "Look, I know you didn't want this marriage any more than I did. But we're in this together now. Fighting each other isn't going to make it any easier."

You stared at him, the sincerity in his eyes catching you off guard. You wanted to lash out, to keep up the walls you had built, but something in his demeanor made you pause.

"Why did you accept this marriage?" you asked quietly, the question that had been nagging at you since the wedding.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "I hoped it would be a way out," he admitted. "A way to escape the life of a gladiator. And yes, I knew of your reputation. But I also knew that any other man wouldn't have accepted you, not with the rumors."

His honesty disarmed you, the anger slowly seeping out of you. You wanted to understand his motives further, but another question gnawed at you.

"So, you did this for your freedom?" you asked, trying to grasp his intentions.

"And maybe for yours too," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours again. "I know what it's like to be trapped in a life you didn't choose."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging between you. For the first time, you saw a glimpse of the man behind the mask, and it left you feeling more conflicted than ever. You didn't know if you could trust him, but you couldn't deny the small spark of hope his words ignited.

The sound of the waves outside grew louder in the silence, as if echoing the turmoil within you. You took another sip of the tea, letting the warmth spread through you, grounding you in the moment.

Marcus shifted in his seat, breaking the silence. "Do you want to visit the pier?" he asked, his voice tentative.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "The pier?" you echoed, memories flooding back. You remembered visiting the pier with your mother, the laughter, the carefree days. Since returning to the villa, you hadn't gone to see it. The thought of revisiting that place brought a mix of nostalgia and longing, but also a sense of trepidation.

"Yes, the pier," Marcus repeated, watching you closely. "I thought you might like to see it."

You felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Part of you wanted to reject his offer out of sheer stubbornness, to prove you didn't need anything from him. But another part of you, the part that missed the simpler times, yearned to go.

"Why do you care?" you snapped, crossing your arms defensively.

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not about caring. I just thought it might be nice for you to see it again."

You glared at him, trying to keep your walls up. "You think taking me to the pier will make everything better? That I'll suddenly forget everything and be grateful?"

"No," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I don't expect anything. I'm just offering."

The sincerity in his voice made you falter. You hated the way he could make you feel so uncertain, so conflicted. But the thought of the pier, of the memories it held, was too tempting to ignore.

"Fine," you said, your tone laced with defiance. "I'll go."

Marcus nodded, standing up. "Meet me at the front door when you're ready."

You finished your tea and stood up, taking a deep breath. You made your way to your room to change into something more suitable for the walk. As you dressed, your mind wandered back to the days with your mother, the laughter and the joy of simpler times. You hadn't realized how much you missed it until now.

When you stepped outside, Marcus was waiting by the villa's front door. He gave you a brief nod, his expression unreadable. You walked down the steps and joined him, the air thick with tension.

"Let's get this over with," you muttered, starting down the path that led to the pier.

The walk down the small hill was silent at first, the only sounds the distant calls of seabirds and the gentle rustling of the trees. You kept your eyes forward, determined not to let Marcus see the turmoil within you.

"Did you ever come here often?" Marcus asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes," you replied curtly. "With my mother."

He nodded, glancing around. "It's a beautiful place."

"It was," you said sharply, quickening your pace.

Marcus matched your stride easily. "You know, you don't have to be so hostile."

You shot him a glare. "I wouldn't have to be if you didn't keep treating me like some delicate flower."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Trust me, there's nothing delicate about you."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "And what exactly do you know about me, Marcus?"

"Enough to know you're stubborn as a mule," he retorted, a smirk playing at his lips.

You bristled, your temper flaring. "Well, at least I'm not a brute who thinks he can solve everything with his fists."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think of me?"

You turned to face him, your eyes blazing. "That's exactly what I think of you."

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, quickening your pace down the path to the pier. The sand and salt air grew stronger as you neared the shoreline, the familiar sights and sounds stirring a bittersweet nostalgia.

When you arrived at the pier, you paused, taking in the scene before you. The wooden structure stretched out over the water, the waves gently lapping against the posts. You could almost hear your mother's laughter, feel her hand in yours as you walked together.

Marcus stood beside you, his presence a steadying force despite your irritation. "Shall we?" he said, gesturing towards the pier.

With a sigh, you stepped onto the weathered planks, the wood creaking slightly underfoot. You walked in silence, the only sound the distant call of seabirds and the gentle lapping of the waves.

As you reached the end of the pier, you leaned against the railing, gazing out at the horizon. The sea stretched endlessly before you, a vast expanse of blue that seemed to hold all the secrets of the world.

Marcus joined you, his gaze also fixed on the horizon. "It's peaceful here," he said quietly.

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of calm. "It is."

For a moment, the tension between you seemed to fade, replaced by a shared appreciation for the beauty around you. But the peace was short-lived.

You turned to leave, but your foot caught on a loose board. The world tilted as you stumbled, losing your balance. With a yelp, you plunged into the water below. The icy shock of the sea stole your breath, and you struggled to stay afloat, panic surging through you. The water was a merciless force, dragging you under. Your limbs flailed wildly, but you couldn't seem to break the surface. The salty liquid filled your mouth, choking any attempt at calling for help. Your heart pounded, every beat a frantic plea for air as you fought against the pull of the sea.

In the midst of your panic, a shadow loomed above you. Through the haze of water and fear, you saw Marcus diving in. His strong arms encircled you, pulling you upwards with a force that felt both powerful and reassuring. "I can't swim!" you wanted to shout, but the words were swallowed by the water. Instead, you could only gasp, your chest burning as you fought to breathe. Marcus's grip was unyielding, his strength a lifeline. He hauled you to the surface, your head breaking through to the sweet relief of air. You coughed violently, expelling the seawater that had threatened to drown you. Your vision blurred, but you felt Marcus's steady hands guiding you to the shore.

The sand was a rough but welcome texture beneath you as Marcus laid you down, his grip loosening now that you were safe. You continued to cough, your lungs heaving as you expelled the last of the water. You were soaked to the bone, the chill of the sea clinging to your skin. Marcus stood over you, an amused glint in his eyes despite the concern etched into his features.

"I thought you said you grew up here," he remarked his tone light but edged with teasing.

You glared at him through your exhaustion, still catching your breath. "Just...shut up," you managed to rasp, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment as you realized how helpless you'd been.

He crouched beside you, his expression softening slightly. "You should have told me you couldn't swim," he said, a hint of genuine concern breaking through his teasing demeanor.

You sat up slowly, brushing sand from your wet hair. "I didn't think it would matter," you muttered, annoyed more at yourself than at him. "And I didn't expect to fall in."

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, it's a good thing I was here to save you."

You shot him a withering look. "Don't let it go to your head."

He grinned, clearly enjoying your irritation. "Too late."

You pushed yourself to your feet, shivering as the cool breeze hit your wet skin. "I need to get cleaned up," you said, more to yourself than to him.

"Do you need help with that too?" Marcus asked, his tone mischievous.

You glared at him again, but there was a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not a chance."

As you made your way back to the villa, you couldn't shake the conflicting feelings that Marcus stirred in you. His arrogance was infuriating, but there was something about his confidence and the way he had jumped in to save you without hesitation that you couldn't ignore.

"Your father said you grew up here, and you can't swim?" he mocked, shaking his head. "What kind of life have you led?"

You glared at him, anger and humiliation warring within you. "Not that it's any of your business, but my mother didn't want me learning. She was afraid of the sea."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. "And you? Are you afraid of the sea?"

You looked away, the memories of your mother's fear mingling with your own. "Maybe," you admitted quietly.

Marcus sighed, helping you to your feet. "You could have told me."

"And you could stop assuming you know everything about me," you shot back, refusing to meet his gaze.

He paused briefly, then chuckled softly. "Fair enough."

Standing there, dripping wet and shivering, the earlier bickering had faded, leaving behind a tentative peace. The walk back to the villa had taken an unexpected turn, yet as you gazed out over the water, a curious sense of calm settled within you.

He remained quiet, and you welcomed the respite of silence as you reached the villa. You marched inside, heading straight for your room. The maids hurried over, their eyes wide with concern.

"Prepare a bath," you ordered, stripping off your wet clothes. "And make it quick."

The maids hurried to obey, filling the tub with steaming water and adding fragrant oils. You stepped in, sinking into the warmth with a sigh of relief. The water soothed your aching muscles and washed away the sand and salt.

As you soaked, the events of the day replayed in your mind. The bickering with Marcus, the fall into the water, his unexpected rescue. You couldn't deny the conflicting emotions he stirred in you, the blend of anger, frustration, and something else you couldn't quite identify. The bathwater's warmth wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, and you let out a long, slow breath, trying to relax.

Just as you were beginning to feel at ease, the door to your room creaked open. Your eyes snapped open, and you saw Marcus standing in the doorway, his eyes widening as he realized you were still in the bath.

"Gods above, Marcus!" you shrieked, sinking deeper into the water and grabbing a towel to cover yourself.

He quickly turned his back, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't know you were still in here!"

"What part of the closed door didn't you understand?" you snapped, fumbling to wrap the towel around yourself.

"I just wanted to talk to you," he said, his voice slightly muffled as he faced away from you. "About what happened today."

"Can it wait until I'm dressed?" you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He sighed. "I suppose it could, but I thought we should clear the air sooner rather than later."

You finished securing the towel and stood up carefully, stepping out of the tub. "Fine, just... turn around and give me a moment."

Marcus nodded and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. You quickly dried off and pulled on a simple, comfortable dress. The fabric felt soft against your skin, and you let out a small sigh of relief.

"Okay, you can come back in," you called, tying your hair back with a ribbon.

The door opened again, and Marcus entered, looking slightly sheepish. "Sorry about that," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

You waved a hand dismissively. "Just don't make a habit of it."

He chuckled, then grew serious. "I wanted to talk to you about learning to swim."

You raised an eyebrow. "Learning to swim? Now?"

He nodded. "Yes. After what happened today, I think it's important. You grew up by the sea, but you can't swim. It's something you should know, for your own safety."

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. "And you think you're the one to teach me?"

"Who else?" he replied with a shrug. "Besides, it might be a way for us to... not bicker so much."

You let out a huff of laughter, shaking your head. "You really think swimming lessons will solve our problems?"

Marcus gave you a small smile. "It couldn't hurt to try."

You thought about it for a moment, the memory of the cold water and the panic still fresh in your mind. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. Learning to swim would be useful, and maybe it would help ease the tension between you.

"Fine," you said at last. "I'll let you teach me. But if you mock me, even once, I'll throw you into the sea."

Marcus laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. "Deal."

You nodded, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning," he said. "We'll go down to the beach and start there."

You gave a reluctant nod. "Alright. Tomorrow morning."

As Marcus turned to leave, you couldn't help but feel a small glimmer of hope. Maybe this would be a step towards something better. Or at the very least, it would give you a chance to prove you weren't as helpless as he seemed to think.

You were dreaming so sweetly, the air from the balcony streaming into the room, bringing with it the scent of the sea. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant call of seabirds blended into a lullaby that cradled you in its arms. In your dream, you were walking along the beach with your mother, her laughter mingling with the sound of the waves.

Suddenly, a hand on your shoulder jolted you awake. "Get up!" Marcus's voice was a harsh whisper in the pre-dawn darkness.

You blinked, disoriented, your mind still clinging to the remnants of your dream. "What...?" you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

"It's time to start your training," he said, pulling the curtains open. The sky was still a deep indigo, with the faintest hint of light on the horizon.

With a groan, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, still half-asleep. "Alright, alright. I'm up."

"Good," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Get dressed and meet me outside."

You quickly changed into a simple tunic and tied your hair back, the cool morning air nipping at your skin. As you stepped out onto the balcony, the first rays of dawn painted the sky in shades of pink and orange. You made your way to the front of the villa, where Marcus was waiting, looking annoyingly alert.

"Could you be any more enthusiastic?" you muttered, stifling another yawn.

He smirked. "I'm just trying to make the most of the day. Unlike some people who would rather sleep through it."

"Some people prefer not to be woken up at the crack of dawn," you retorted, crossing your arms.

"Maybe if some people had learned to swim earlier, we wouldn't be here now," he shot back, starting down the path towards the beach.

You followed him, the cool sand squishing between your toes. "Or maybe if some people weren't so insistent on dragging others out of bed, they could have a more peaceful morning."

He chuckled. "You know, you could just admit that you need the lessons."

"I don't need them," you grumbled, "I just don't want to drown."

"Same thing," he said, shrugging.

The beach stretched out before you, the waves gently lapping at the shore. As you walked, the sound of the sea grew louder, filling the air with its soothing rhythm. The familiar scent of saltwater brought back memories of playing on the sand as a child, carefree and happy.

"Alright," Marcus said, stopping at the edge of the water. "We'll start with the basics. Just try to relax and trust me."

"Trust you," you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That's a lot to ask."

He gave you a patient look. "I know. But if you can't trust me, trust that I don't want to have to save you every time you fall into the water."

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. But if you mock me, even once, I swear I'll throw you in."

Marcus laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. "Deal."

As you waded into the water, you could feel your tunic growing heavier, clinging to your skin. You paused, looking down at the soaked fabric. "This tunic is going to get ruined," you muttered, more to yourself than to Marcus.

With a huff, you turned your back to him and carefully pulled your tunic over your head, tossing it onto the shore. The cool air brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you stood bare before him. You waded back into the water, feeling exposed but determined not to let it show.

Marcus watched you with an appraising gaze, his eyes tracing the curve of your shoulders and the lines of your back. There was a moment of silence between you, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Then, without a word, Marcus reached for the hem of his own tunic and pulled it over his head.

The sight of his bare chest took you by surprise. His skin was bronzed from days under the sun, muscles defined and powerful. Droplets of water clung to his torso, catching the sunlight in a way that made you momentarily forget your irritation. His presence was commanding yet strangely comforting, like a force of nature you couldn't resist.

You tore your gaze away, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks. "Alright, enough staring," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Marcus chuckled softly, stepping into the water beside you. "Just making sure you're not the only one feeling exposed," he remarked his tone light but tinged with something deeper.

You scowled at him, but there was a hint of a smile playing at your lips. "Don't get too comfortable," you warned, trying to regain your composure.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Who says I'm not comfortable already?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no venom in the gesture. "Enough of your smugness. Let's just get this over with."

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Who says I'm not comfortable already?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the flutter in your chest. "Just focus on the lesson, Marcus."

He nodded, the teasing glint in his eyes softening. "Alright, let's get started then."

Marcus led you into the shallows, the cool water lapping at your ankles, then your knees. He moved with an easy confidence, his presence reassuring despite the lingering tension between you.

"First, we need to get you comfortable with the water," he said, his tone more serious now. "Can you float on your back?"

You hesitated, the memory of your earlier panic still fresh. "I can try."

"Good," he said. "I'll support you. Just relax and let the water hold you."

You lay back, feeling his hands under your shoulders and lower back. The sensation of the water buoying you up was strange, but Marcus's steady grip kept you grounded. You focused on the sky above, the blue expanse calming your racing heart.

"See?" he murmured. "You're doing fine."

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "For now."

Marcus chuckled, his hands firm and reassuring. "Now, try to kick your legs gently."

You did as he instructed, the water resisting your movements. It felt awkward, but you persisted, trying to find a rhythm.

"That's it," Marcus encouraged. "Just like that. You're doing great."

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. "Maybe this isn't so bad."

Marcus grinned. "I told you. Now, let's move a bit deeper."

He guided you further into the water, his grip never faltering. As the water reached your waist, you felt a flicker of unease but pushed it aside. You were determined to prove you could do this.

"Alright," he said, stopping when the water was up to your chest. "Let's try some basic strokes. I'll show you, then you copy me."

You watched as he demonstrated a simple stroke, his movements smooth and confident. His muscles rippled under the water, every action purposeful and efficient. You tried to mimic him, feeling clumsy in comparison.

"Good," he said, nodding. "But keep your elbows higher. Like this."

He corrected your form, his touch gentle yet precise. You adjusted, trying to follow his guidance.

"Better," he praised. "Now, let's keep practicing."

You continued the lesson, each new skill building your confidence. As you practiced, you couldn't help but feel a growing respect for Marcus. Despite his arrogance, he was a patient and effective teacher.

After a while, Marcus called for a break. You waded to shallower water, grateful for the reprieve. As you stood catching your breath, Marcus studied you thoughtfully.

"You're not afraid of the water, are you?" he asked suddenly.

You shook your head, surprised by the question. "No. I just... never learned to swim."

"Why not?" he pressed, curiosity lighting up his eyes.

You hesitated, the memories tugging at your heart. "My mother... she despised the sea," you began softly. "She preferred the safety and serenity of the countryside. My father, on the other hand, adored it. Most of our family's wealth came from his sea trade ventures. He built his entire empire on the waves."

Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly, clearly intrigued. "So your mother didn't share his love for the sea?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "No, quite the opposite. She was terrified of it. She hated the constant worry every time he left on a voyage, the endless nights spent alone. She never understood his obsession with the sea. Their marriage was arranged, just like ours. But unlike us, they never found common ground."

"And your father?" Marcus asked, his tone gentler now.

"My father loved the sea more than anything," you said, your voice tinged with sadness. "He saw it as a source of freedom and wealth. He would spend months at a time on his ships, overseeing his trade routes, and ensuring our fortune grew. The sea was his true mistress."

Marcus seemed to consider this, his expression thoughtful. "So your mother lives in the countryside now?"

You nodded. "Yes. She moved away a few years ago. Couldn't stand the sight of the sea anymore, or the memories it held. She wanted peace, a life without the constant fear and loneliness."

"Do you see her often?" he asked, his curiosity genuine.

"Not as much as I'd like," you admitted. "She visits sometimes, but my father keeps her at a distance. He's still bitter, even after all these years. He sees her as weak, unable to embrace the life he chose."

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sounds like we're both products of difficult marriages."

"Indeed," you replied, meeting his intense gaze with equal fervor. "But I don't want to be trapped like my parents."

Marcus's eyes softened as he stepped closer, his hands finding your waist with a gentle certainty that sent a thrilling shiver through you. Without hesitation, you wrapped your legs around his torso, feeling the strength of his body supporting you effortlessly.

"We won't be trapped," Marcus assured you, his voice low and steady, filled with promise. "Not like them. We'll find our own way, together."

His words, spoken with such conviction, resonated deep within you. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored your own, forging an unspoken bond between you.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of gold and pink, casting a serene glow over the water, Marcus leaned in closer. His warm breath mingled with yours, creating an intimate cocoon amidst the tranquil sounds of the sea.

With a tenderness that belied his usual stern demeanor, Marcus brushed his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss. It was a moment suspended in time, charged with unspoken desire and the promise of something more.

You responded eagerly, your heart racing as you deepened the kiss, surrendering to the intoxicating connection between you. The barriers that had once stood firm melted away with each tender caress of his lips, leaving only the raw, undeniable truth of your shared desire.

As the kiss grew more fervent, Marcus's hands roamed your body, their touch both possessive and tender. He guided you out of the water, each step a testament to his strength and control. The cool breeze hit your wet skin, but the heat between you and Marcus was undeniable, a fire that neither the sea nor the morning chill could extinguish.

He laid you down gently on the sand, the grains rough yet grounding beneath you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "Would it really be so bad to at least try for a baby?" he asked, his voice a mix of longing and challenge.

You bristled at his words, your defenses rising again. "I'm a child myself," you retorted, your voice trembling with both defiance and uncertainty. "How can I bring another life into this world when I'm still figuring out my own?”

Marcus's gaze softened, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. "No one said it had to work," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. "But we can try. Together. We can make our own Path.

His words were a balm to your fears, a promise of partnership rather than domination. As he leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, you felt the last vestiges of resistance crumble. The passion between you was a living thing, a force that demanded to be acknowledged.

Marcus's hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of you with a reverence that made you shiver. You arched into his touch, your body responding to his in ways that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. His lips trailed down your neck leaving a path of fire in their wake.

"Marcus," you breathed your voice a mix of need and wonder. He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

"We don`t have to do this if you're not ready," he said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "But know that I want you. I want us to have a chance."

You searched his eyes, finding a sincerity that both scared and exhilarated you. "I want you too," you admitted the words a leap of faith. "But this... it changes everything.”

"Then let it change us," he murmured, his lips finding yours once more. The kiss deepened, a blend of urgency and tenderness that left you both breathless.

You felt the rough sand beneath you as Marcus pulled you closer, his hand gripping your cheek firmly as he kissed you passionately. His touch was both possessive and reverent as if he were handling a precious porcelain doll. His hand traveled down your body, caressing every curve with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine.

He pulled away from the kiss, the sun reflecting off his body, making him glow with an almost ethereal light. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His hand traveled lower, caressing your upper thigh before spreading them, giving him a place to stabilize himself. You felt his length prod at your thigh, the heat of his desire palpable.

Unable to resist, you pulled him in for another kiss, feeling his hips move into your body, his erection grinding against your thigh. "God, you're hard," you murmured, pulling away from the kiss to take in his disheveled appearance.

"I've been hard as a rock since we started the lesson," he teased, his voice thick with lust. He captured your lips again, his hand wandering down to your clit, circling it in slow, teasing motions.

"Marcus," you gasped your voice a mix of need and frustration.

He smirked against your skin, his lips trailing down to your neck, where he bit softly, making you wince. "You dick," you muttered, but your protest was cut short by a moan as he rubbed his length up and down your slick wetness.

Leaning over you, Marcus positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes dark with desire. "I know you want my dick," he said with a smirk, pushing into you with a slow, deliberate thrust.

Your body arched at the sensation, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he began to move. He lifted your legs slightly, pushing your knees to your chest, the new angle allowing him to thrust deeper. The stretch was intense, the feeling of him filling you completely almost overwhelming.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle your whimpers, but they quickly turned into borderline screams as he brutally fucked into you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and frantically grab at the sand for some stability. You could swear he was rearranging your insides, his cock hitting your G-spot with relentless precision.

Your vision blurred, and all you could feel was the intense pleasure he was giving you. You didn't think getting fucked like this was physically possible, didn't think you were capable of feeling such intense pleasure at the hands of a man.

Marcus's smirk widened as he leaned down, his eyes following the bulge on your lower belly. "Yeah, feel it," he mocked, resting his forehead against yours as he bottomed out again. "Got you stuffed all the way in, huh?"

You couldn't even argue, your eyes brimming with tears as he pressed his palm harder against the bulge. Your eyes clenched shut, but his relentless thrusts only edged you further. He gripped your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him. "No, you keep looking. Taking me so good, gonna—fuck, gonna have to ruin you."

Tears welled at the corners of your eyes as the pressure within you built to an almost unbearable peak. You were so close, so desperately close to the edge. Sensing your state, Marcus's gaze flicked to your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and the tears that threatened to spill over.

"Ask nicely, goddess” he grunted, picking up the punishing pace once more. "Use your manners and I'll give you whatever you want." His hands moved to your thighs, forcing them against your stomach, letting him push into you deeper. The sensation made your head spin, the knot in your stomach tightening immediately.

"Please... for fuck's sake, let me cum or I'm gonna rip your stupid perfect cock off the second we're done," you managed to grunt through gritted teeth.

He chuckled breathlessly, his hand returning to your clit, pressing rough and rapid circles against it. "We'll work on that," he laughed softly, feeling you rapidly slipping towards the edge. He didn't let up on his ruthless motions, finally pushing you over the brink.

You were loud. Probably too loud. Your scream of release echoed along the shore, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Marcus followed you over the edge, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spilled into you, the warmth of his release sending one last wave of pleasure through your already trembling body.

As the intensity of the moment faded, you both lay there, tangled together in the sand, breathing heavily. Marcus's forehead rested against yours, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and something deeper.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try," you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even you.

Marcus's smile widened a glint of mischief in his eyes. "If it feels that good every time," you added with a playful smirk, "I might not mind at all."

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and leaned in to brush his lips against yours once more. Just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the kiss again, a voice suddenly called out from behind you.

"Hey! What are you two doing here?" The voice was stern, and authoritative.

You and Marcus scrambled to cover yourselves, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up as you fumbled with your discarded clothes.

Realization dawned on the guard's face as he took in the sight of Marcus's distinctive, regal features and your own disheveled state. His expression quickly turned from stern to horrified as he realized who he was interrupting.

"I-I'm so sorry, my lord, my lady," he stammered, turning an alarming shade of red. "I didn't realize—"

Marcus, still half-naked and laughing, held up a hand to stop him. "It's alright," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Just a little... misunderstanding."

The guard's eyes darted around, clearly trying to avoid looking directly at either of you. "I'll just... I'll just be going now," he mumbled, backing away quickly before turning and sprinting down the beach.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation breaking the tension that had been lingering. Marcus joined in, his laughter a deep, infectious rumble that made you forget all your worries, if only for a moment.

Once the laughter had subsided, Marcus turned to you, a mischievous look in his eyes. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper, "there's always the sea. No guards to interrupt us there."

You raised an eyebrow, your own smile widening. "Is that so?" you asked, the idea sending a thrill through you.

"Absolutely," he replied, standing up and offering you his hand. "Shall we?"

You took his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of anticipation through you. Together, you made your way to the edge of the water, the cool waves lapping at your feet. Marcus's presence beside you felt grounding, his touch a comforting anchor in the midst of the playful breeze and the gentle rush of the sea.

As you reached the water's edge, Marcus pulled you into his arms. The sea welcomed you both with its refreshing embrace, its coolness a stark contrast to the heat that had built between you. You chuckled softly at Marcus's promise, spoken against your lips.

Marcus pulled you into his arms, the sea providing a refreshing contrast to the heat between you. "I promise," he murmured against your lips, "no interruptions this time."

1K notes · View notes

gladiatorcunt · 6 months

Text

summary: feyd rautha x emperor’s afab oldest child!reader

cw: feet stuff, piss kink, implied eventual knifeplay/blood play, cannabalism, arranged marriage, feyd being so weird but reader lowkey loves it, facesitting but the kind where feyd would beg you to break his neck, spanking/mild painplay, very likely ooc feyd since i haven’t seen part 2 yet, use of “princes” and “wife”, wedding hunt and black cum hcs taken from @valeskafics , reader doesn’t really know what’s going on but they’re vibing

wc: 1.4k

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not repost, translate, or give ai my work

kinktober masterlist

Collapsing in relief has never been more appealing. You finally have a moment of respite after vigorous and exhausting wedding festivities, and you need to collect yourself. This marriage to the Na-Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen was only brought to your attention a week before it would take place.

Surprisingly, you didn’t really mind the man himself. It was just so sudden, is all. During any visits with his family, you had to be mindful of how you reacted to his cocky displays of ruthlessness and violence. Your father would have your head if he saw how tight you squeezed your thighs together or how much you panicked at the thought of leaving a puddle on your throne. Feyd always marked his departure with a cliche kiss to the back of your hand and a hissed promise that you couldn’t make out.

He would protect you at the very least if he didn’t love you. You’re not even sure that you love him, but this shameful crush could grow into something untamable if you lose your footing. Something… unbecoming of a member of the royal family. You wonder if it already has.

The wedding was as grand as could be, glittering decorations and finery followed by archaic rituals to please your in-laws. The Wedding Hunt in particular sent your heartbeat into overdrive, but the satisfaction on your betrothed’s face when he caught his “prize” was intoxicating. Feyd Rautha kisses like he kills, you were quick to discover, fiercely and uncaring of any blood that might be shed.

You’re brought out of your reminiscing by your now husband closing the door to your room behind him. You only have another day with your family before you’re to leave for Giedi Prime. There has hardly been time to get to know the man you will lie beside for the rest of your life, until now.

“Wife.” He bluntly greets you, awkwardly nodding his head in an effort to maintain his “tough” image. You won’t tease him about the barest hint of blush on his cheekbones, but you treasure it nonetheless.

You humor him, “Husband.” Your nod mirrors his and you take a seat at the long table in the middle of the room after Feyd pulls a chair out for you.

This was the next part of the ritual, where the newly married couple must eat a meal that one partner made for the other. It sounds simple enough that you don’t think anything of it.

Feyd makes a gesture and your food is placed before you by one of your family’s servants. They look a bit queasy and green in the face but they’re gone before you can ask if they’re alright.

“I hope you like it, princess.” Feyd says with a barely there smirk, pointing to the… pie in front of you. “I cut down many people for it.”

You raise an eyebrow at that but bring your knife to take a slice of the pie anyway. Upon lifting the piece onto your plate, you notice eyeballs, flesh, tongues, and some sort of black liquid running throughout the filling. You freeze in place, not even meeting your husband’s eyes. One blue eye seems to twitch and the black substance makes a sick sound as you move it around with your fork.

“The other men who your father considered, my concubines….. I actually can’t tell you which of them are in that slice, but they are all there.” He whispers in your ear, having gotten up from his position opposite you to feed you himself.

You respect the ritual despite your urge to throw up, so you swallow what he gives you. He grins, swiping a thumb down to your throat to feel the food travel. He squeezes your cheeks when you’re done, and you open your mouth to show him that you ate it all.

“That’s my princess.” He condescendingly croons, bending down to run his tongue all over your face before standing up and pushing you to lie flat on the cold table. “But I'm afraid that it’s time for me to have my meal.”

Your elaborate wedding gown is slashed to shreds, the cool tip of his blade moving down your flesh until it reaches your lace covered mound. He taps the hilt of his weapon on your hood and unceremoniously tosses it on the floor.

You didn’t expect the reveal of your wedding night attire to be under such unorthodox circumstances, but can you say you expected any of this?

“A worthy bride with a body to match, thank you for this gift, your highness”. He says in a half joking manner, grinning with too many teeth as he runs his hands along the delicate material. He toys with the idea of cutting this little number to pieces too, but your holes are left conveniently exposed. Maybe he’s fallen too in love with it, he’s been in love with you since you met years ago anyway.

The lingerie is a custom designed piece littered with straps and sheer fabric that leave nothing to the imagination. Your tits are accentuated by a seashell-like pattern bra and there’s even a little black bow above your pussy. The frilly strips of material wrapped around your thighs do nothing to keep your curves contained and the tiny tulle skirt frames your ass beautifully.

Your husband drinks in the sight of you before pulling your ankles to rest on his shoulders. You watch in arousal and shock as he broadly licks the sole of your right foot. He groans unabashedly, nuzzling at your heel and then dipping his tongue in the spaces between your toes. You wiggle at the ticklish feeling but you don’t kick him away.

He really gets into it when he starts sucking your toes, bobbing his head and making sure you’re watching as curls his tongue around each one. His eyes roll back in pleasure once he reaches the last toe on your other foot, and drool trickles down your leg when he’s done getting acquainted with the taste of it. He presses a kiss to the top of each toe but then the weird softness is ruined by the bite he adorns your ankle with.

Feyd’s mouth makes a slick popping sound as he pulls away from your feet. You’re at a loss for words when he proceeds to lie down on the table beside you. He gropes your breast quickly and leans over to give you a surprisingly chaste peck. The look on his face is a smug one but his eyes say something unknown to you, soft and obsessive all at once. It’s as if he knows something you don’t.

“Now sit on my face, claim your new throne, princess.”

You don’t know how long he keeps you hostage there, your cunt soaking him as he devours you to the bone. He doesn’t let you become too relaxed, nipping your clit as he sees fit and clawing the skin of your ass. Eventually your gut aches and though at first you think you’re about to cum already, the second heartbeat in your clit feels different. You come to a horrifying realization that you need to relieve yourself.

“H-husband, what the fuck- I… I need to pee.” You’d rather be dead than doing what you are and saying what you are, but nature calls.

“Yes, that’s it.” He growls and digs his nails into your ass, jigging the globes in his hands before sharply slapping them. “Piss all over my face, get me wet with it like a good wife.”

The shriek you let out when you do just that is abhorrent. Your legs shake as you spray hot pee on your husband’s skin, the gold mixing with the white of your simultaneous orgasm as it drips down his body. You try to move off of Feyd but he tightens his grip on your ass and yanks you back down. The sensation of a hungry mouth desperately sucking the fluids from you drives you wild.

“You have…… fuck- y-you have to stop, hah- i’m going to break.” You sob.

He chuckles into your piss covered pussy and then pulls away to speak, “Then break, a wife of House Harkonnen doesn’t need to be put together.”

You think you hear him say something about using his blade on your body later, but that might just be your own perverted idea.

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moonstruckme · 4 months

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babe you’ve got me obsessed with doctor remus!

can i request a drabble where reader gets into like a car accident and has been taken into a&e with like mid/severe injuries and remus has been assigned to treat her?

if not then that’s fine! love your work bae 🎀

Hi gorgeous! Thank you for requesting (I'm obsessed with him too) :)

cw: hospital

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 716 words

The nurse leaves, and you think you might finally get more than five seconds to yourself but then the curtain pulls back again, a tall doctor taking her place. You’ve been able to feel your heartbeat pulsing through every inch of you since you’d stumbled out of your smoking car, and this new man doesn’t help matters.

He’s lovely. With a face smattered with warm freckles and silvery scars and a mop of brown hair that looks like it’s never once been brushed, this is the kind of person who would fluster you on a normal day. Now, you don’t even know the word to describe the effect he has on you.

He has to ask his question a second time before you hear it.

“Have you had allergic reactions to any medications?”

You blink. It still feels like reality is moving at twice its usual speed. You don’t know if it’s just you shaking, but it feels like the whole room. “Uh, no. Sorry.”

“That’s alright.” The doctor’s voice is businesslike but kind, with a Welsh lilt. He flips a page on his clipboard. “Anything we weren’t able to address in the ambulance? Any new aches and pains?”

“I—I don’t think so.”

He lowers the clipboard slightly, looking at you. His eyes are a lightish brown color, like honey left too long in the sun. “Has anyone talked you through grounding exercises?”

You feel your brow wrinkle. “What?”

He almost smiles. “I’ll take that for a no.” He sets down his clipboard on the edge of your bed, pulling up a rolling chair and sitting down in front of you. “I’m going to have you breathe with me for a minute, alright, sweetheart?”

It’s not in your nature to contradict professionals, but you feel your head shaking as if from somewhere outside of yourself. “Why?” you ask. “Aren’t there more important things?”

“There are still things left to do,” he allows, seeming unaffected by your questioning, “but you’re stable. It’s nothing that can’t wait for a few minutes, and it’s important that you’re calm so you can think properly.” He takes your hands in his, ignoring the odd padding of the splint around your broken wrist and holding your fingertips instead. “All I need from you is for you to copy my breathing. Can you do that for me?”

You nod. As he starts to talk you through it, your eyes begin to sting, an effect of his gentle tone or the respite your body has been craving or both. Your doctor’s expression doesn’t change when he sees the silver lining your eyes, but he gives your fingertips a light squeeze.

“Okay, in for eight this time,” he says in that lulling voice. “Good job, just keep at it.”

You manage to breathe in for long enough to satisfy him, and after the exhale he drops your hands.

“Well done,” he murmurs, mindful of the small cuts on your face as he thumbs away your tears. “Are you feeling a bit better?”

“Yeah,” you answer honestly. The word comes out like a sigh, and his lip curves softly at the plain relief in the sound.

“Happy to hear it. You were right earlier, there’s still plenty left to do,” he says, expression sombering somewhat as he looks at you intently, “but if you ever need a break, you tell me or someone else, okay? I don’t want you suffering in silence.”

“Okay.” You wet your lips, feeling much more solid than you had a few minutes before. The world has slowed to its regular speed. “Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”

He smiles, which is altogether too charming for a place like this. It makes the long scar going across his cheek crinkle slightly and you could swear his eyes lighten a shade. “Well, see, that’s how I know you weren’t really with me when you came in, because we’ve already been introduced.” His expression lets you know he hasn’t taken any offense, but your face still heats at your impoliteness. “It’s Doctor Lupin, but you can call me Remus.”

Something in you rings at this new knowledge, like a tuning fork has been struck. Remus, your consciousness echoes quietly.

His smile softens. “We’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other today.”

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dragonmuse · 11 months

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Keep It In The Box : An Essay on OFMD Season 2 and the Failure to Heal

(here in is my season two reaction. It contains many many spoilers. It's also about 3k words long so you know what you're getting into.)

“See, I have a system for dealing with all the terrible things I've seen. There's a box in my mind, and I put the things in the box..” -Frenchie, Season 2 of Our Flag Means Death

…..and then he never opens it. Chekov’s locked box has no key in season two.

On first watch, it seemed clear to me that Frenchie’s declaration was a narrative plant. Clearly the whole season would be about that box of pain and trauma being opened, sorted through and at least the beginning of healing. The show had developed a reputation after season one of being kind and focused on queer narratives of healing from childhood. Ed and Stede’s parallels in their childhood traumas were frequently on display through season one and were repeated in flashback throughout season two. Jim’s season one arc about becoming someone who doesn’t think just of revenge and can now forge meaningful connections was profound, beautiful and often funny. Izzy is an antagonist because he doesn’t want Ed to move on or stop acting like the trauma-response version of himself. The antagonist wants to stop healing. The point is to grow, to change, to learn how to love. It’s one of the things that made season one work for me at the time, despite reservations about pacing and tone.

So naturally season two should follow suit. It’s a kind show! About healing and falling in love!

For the first several episodes, the remaining crew on the Revenge go through a gauntlet of trauma, forced to do and receive violence at Ed’s whims as he careens from self-destructive behavior to self-destructive behavior. This is the wounding setup. It was dark, but it seemed like it would have a payoff and at first it did.

Perhaps one of the most beautiful moments of the season comes in one of the small respites in those early episodes as Jim recounts Pinnochio to Fang to soothe him through his grief. That was the show that I expected. The kindness of that moment struck me very deeply. It gave me some understanding of Archie too, who seems to fall for Jim right at that moment.

That scene is the show season one promised. Season two led with packing Frenchie’s box full to bursting. Here is the fight to the death between lovers, there is a first mate who is mutilated and rotting in the very walls (the rot of the Revenge itself), and there is the storm of Ed’s rage and pain that threatens to consume all of them.

So surely these remaining episodes would concentrate on finding the humor in healing from those moments. That is the setup. Frenchie has a box. The box must eventually open.

Except time and again, all the characters who suffered are told that the only way to deal with what they’ve been through is to stick it in the box and never open it again.

Pete tells Lucius that he’s unable to move on and needs to let it go. Izzy has a story about a shark. Ed’s apology to the crew which doesn’t even contain the words ‘I’m sorry’ is just…accepted. I kept waiting and waiting for a meaningful apology to the people Ed had hurt the worst with his actions, but it seems all we get is Fang saying ‘eh, no problem, I got to hit you back so I feel better’.

The playful theme of ‘pirates are just violent sometimes’ from season one becomes a grinding horror machine in season two when every atrocity visited on someone is forgiven because the narrative needs it to be. Ed and Stede spend more time making amends with each other over the bloodless night on the beach than either of them spend trying to repent for their actions towards anyone else.

And let’s talk about Ed. Arguably this season pivots on his narrative, on his path to healing and growth. A path that starts at a very low point. His moment in the gravy basket, deciding he wants to live because there are still things to live for is so great! So one might assume that what would follow would be him pursuing those things, making amends, making connections. He and Stede have a wonderful moment, talking about being whim prone and how they’ll work to avoid that, build a relationship by going slower.

Yet, at no point do either of them stop following whims. They never heal or learn from what’s happened to them. They both keep running from thing to thing, particularly Ed. It’s a whim to sleep with Stede, it’s a whim to run off to fish, and the finale gives us just more of their whims. Ed drops fishing as fast as he picked it up. He finds those leathers in the ocean, murdering the symbolism of leaving them behind. Even the inn is a whim, one of those things Ed decided he’d be good at without evidence. And Stede joins him in that without a single on screen conversation about it ahead of the moment.

Ed needs to heal himself and to do that he needs to confront what he’s done and do the work to heal the wound. Instead, he doesn’t meaningfully apologize to anyone, besides Stede and Fang. Despite Izzy’s dying words (we’ll get to that), not only do we never see the crew caring about Ed, working to make him family in the same way they do with Fang and even Izzy, he also doesn’t choose to stay with them. So what is the point? Where is the healing? Or does even Ed, beloved main character, have to live with it all stuffed in a box?

He ends the season in the leathers he threw away, in a relationship that’s barely stabilized, going to live in a house which we are told by the narrative (in that they are very very clearly paralleling Anne and Mary with Ed and Stede or why do we even get that whole Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? episode) will only end in them setting fire to each other to stay warm.

But Vee, I hear you cry, it’s a ROM-COM. This is all meant to be ha-ha funny and you are taking it so seriously!

Cool beans. Then why the hell isn’t it funny? Healing is often filled with comedy because people deal with pain with humor. You can heal and laugh at the same time. The finale especially is almost entirely devoid of laughs, almost entirely devoid of joy until the last minute for that matter. The episode that should show off with a flourish how far everyone’s come, mostly serves to show that no one has grown.

Okay that’s Ed. I want to talk about Lucius next. Our former audience surrogate (that’s taken away in season two when he doesn’t get enough screen time to perform that role and no one takes his place) really goes through the wringer. He experiences many many terrible things, including sexual assault (which is made into a grimace-laugh line that doesn’t take away from it’s seriousness because oh hey, that can be done as it turns out). He’s nervous, he’s smoking, it’s clear he’s suffering.

There’s a beautiful moment where Pete tells him ‘hey, I was also in pain. I grieved’ and that’s great. It’s good that Pete sets a boundary about Lucius not obsessing over the past to the point of occluding their future.

We even get our comedic moment where Lucius pushes Ed off the boat (still not apology, but I’d lost hope for that by then) and that doesn’t help enough. So Izzy comes in with a shark and the advice that you just have to move on.

Just…you know. Play pretend. Forget.

Shove it in a box. Ed didn’t take my leg, a shark did. Ed didn’t kill you, a shark did. Live with the person that tried to murder you because it’s your fault you dangled your leg over the side of a boat. That is the show’s message. I thought on first watch, that surely this would also come back up and be explained that you can’t live that way, that that is no way to heal. That it would become clear that this was no way through. You cannot make everything into sharks.

Lucius can move forward and still carry pain. He can still want a meaningful apology and still want to talk to his lover about what he’s dealing with while moving forward toward a brighter future.

And what of the flirtatious promise of relationships and connections being the way to heal? Look to Oluwande and Jim, whose heartfelt romance from season one was relegated to the bins of history in favor of a narrative that made him a brother Jim once had sex with. They could have had Archie AND Oluwande, who in turn could also have Zheng, but that never seems to be an option. With a single short conversation, they are broken up with, despite a brief tease at the birthday that they still ‘dance’ together, it never actually manifests. Jim and Archie never talk about what they went through. It’s swept under the rug as fast as knives are lowered.

Lucius also no longer flirts with other people, the solution to his pain is to propose and get married (but not too married, lest we forget that they’re two men, they don’t even get to be husbands or even the more respectful mates, no. They’re mateys.) This season proposes that the only happy endings are monogamous ones, where no one talks about anything painful that went before.

To ensure that message, beyond assuring the success of Oluwande and Zheng’s relationship, Jim and Archie almost entirely disappear from the narrative. Sorry you guys were given layers of trauma and no growth and not even much to do this season, we need to make sure that everyone remembers Oluwande is the break in Zheng’s day so when he says that to her five minutes later we know exactly what he’s referencing. No time for Archie to learn what an apology is or for Jim to get one line in with Oluwande that isn’t affirming their newfound broship. Must do more flashbacks to things we just did two episodes ago!

The show even dangles the conversation of the Revenge being a safe space. Why would any of them ever feel safe when the man who tortured them is allowed to walk among them and they are expected to forgive and forget? What’s safe about that? The ship is never made safe for any of them, but that’s never addressed.

And Zheng! Amazing, hysterically funny Zheng! She loses her ships, her entire way of life, the kingdom she built for herself and then…she doesn’t even get to captain the Revenge. We don’t know what becomes of her fleet, of her plans, her ambitions. Don’t worry about it, she has a romantic partner and isn’t that what every lady wants in the end?

(But Vee, I hear you cry again, there will be a season three! Maybe it will be All About Zheng! To which I say: then why did they present us with the most series finale feeling episode ever? If there’s more, I have no idea where it’s going. BUT VEE: BUTTONS AS SEAGULL ON THE GR- Fine. It’s time.)

Let’s talk about Izzy Hands.

Izzy manages more healing than anyone else this season. He reaches his lowest point, suicidal in the bowels of a ship that’s become a prison (very much in contrast to Ed’s suicidal low). The person he loves most in the world has shredded him physically and emotionally (and if you’re in the camp that thinks Izzy deserves the abuse that Ed gave to him, I would really like you to sit quietly with yourself and ask why you think there is ever anything anyone can do to deserve that treatment). He’s low, he shoots Ed to protect everyone, and then seems to plan to drink himself to death, mourning his losses.

And then another beautiful moment! The crew move past their own pain to help him. They work together for the first time and it’s to give Izzy mobility back. He treasures it. He cries over it. He uses that kindness extended to him to reach a new understanding of Stede and help him succeed, doing the work to make real amends. He sings in drag, he’s vulnerable and beautiful, celebrating the side of himself that he must’ve loathed in the first season. He’s an elder queer man, coming into himself.

He never gets an apology though. (‘Sorry about your leg’ without eye contact is not an apology. There is no responsibility taking, no acknowledgement of the weeks of torture that came with it.) Izzy also never really has an honest conversation with anyone about what it means that the man he loves punished him so severely for the crime of trying to protect the crew (yes, lest we forget, Izzy lost his leg because he was trying to keep Ed from re-traumatizing the crew and himself).

Izzy does all this work, but even he’s not allowed to take it out of the box. It’s a shark, not Ed. Ed is just ‘complicated’ (the language of abuse here is so upsetting and I think not even intentional).

And then he dies. His last act? To apologize to the man who tortured him and shot at him. To have done all this work, to take on all the blame. And then die.

In a rom com.

This show ends in a profoundly unfunny moment of telling the audience: this is the one character that did the work, that made amends, that tried his hardest to accept the parts of himself that he had a hard time embracing and formerly embittered him. He’s fully accepted his queerness and turned it into beautiful music. He’s disabled, and he worked hard to accept that. The man he loves will never love him back, so he worked hard to make Stede able to meet Ed on an even playing field. The Giving Tree gave up its limbs and its trunk, and it’s not even allowed to be a stump to sit on.

Kill the queer elder, who has managed to figure out how to live and in his own way how to heal. Kill him before he manages to teach anyone else how to meaningfully move forward (he almost gets it with Lucius, almost, but it’s meant to be rule of three, you know. Cigarette..shark…and then…and then fuck it, Lucius doesn’t even get to say a word at his funeral).

The message of this season again and again is that there is no healing, just moving forward. Like a shark. Like a bird that never lands.

That is not a kind show.

Season two is not a kind season.

It splinters people up and jams them back together without purpose or reason. It tells everyone who experiences pain that they should shove it in a box and not deal with it. No one who really needs one gets an apology of any sincerity. No one puts in the work to gain forgiveness. (Ed wearing a onesie is not The Work. Ed fixing a door is not The Work. Ed broke people that the show wants us to care about. Ed never does the work of making those amends. He fires off a Notes app apology at best. After all, it’s what he told himself via Hornigold in the gravy basket: you move on or you blow your brains out! Good thing he took his own advice and therefore had to change nothing to get his just rewards.

I would’ve taken just fifteen minutes of Ed trying to actually make amends. It could’ve been hilarious! Imagine awkward Ed trying to dance around what he’s doing with Jim and the two of them having a knife throwing competition about it. Or him and Frenchie attempting to make music together, writing a song about the raids they went on! It’s not just the crew robbed of their healing because of this, it’s Ed himself. He never meaningfully changes or makes amends. How is he any different at the end of the finale then he is standing on the edge of that cliff with Hornigold? He hasn’t moved on, he hasn’t healed. He tried one thing (fishing) that doesn’t fucking work and then he runs right back.

No one leaves this season better than they went into it. They’ve lost an elder queer, they’ve lost their joyous and queer polyamory, they’ve lost a chance for meaningful reconciliation with Ed and Ed lost any chance of looking like he gave shit if they did. Stede grows enough to accept the crew’s beliefs as important and then leaves them behind without a care.

Izzy gets a beautiful speech about piracy being larger than yourself. Ed and Stede, within twenty minutes of that speech, leave piracy. They are incapable of giving themselves to something bigger, apparently. They haven’t learned to be a part of a community. They haven’t healed from their childhood trauma or their fresher wounds. They are still just following their own whims.

Zheng’s life work is in tatters, but it’s fine, she has love. Oluwande and Jim aren’t together, but it's fine because they both have dedicated monogamous partners. Lucius was deeply scarred by what happened, never recovers much of his first season personality, but hey he got-well it’s not married exactly- but you know good enough!

Frenchie, who has a box forever locked in his head, is captain. Because the key to success is to lock it all in a box and never open it. What a message. What a show. Conceal, don’t feel. Smile because it’s a happy ending. Don’t mourn the dead, don’t try to tell people what happened to you (they will literally run away or cry too hard to listen and really you’re just bumming them out), and any meaningful change you make is only rewarded with death.

Frenchie is now a pirate captain with a box in his head full of trauma that’s never been opened, leading a crew with more wounds than scars. Wonder how that could turn out? Wonder how many years before he might want to retire and then happen to run across a gentleman pirate. As if no one learned anything at all.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd spoilers #the strangest message sent #and no idea if it was on purpose #I kind of think it wasn't somehow #but boy howedy did it come across

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jasmineoolongtea · 1 month

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geto suguru isn't exactly sure how he got here.

there are a lot of other things he probably should be doing on a thursday afternoon after school and waiting here in an abandoned classroom for you, like some kind of lovesick puppy, is definitely not on that list of things to do.

he entertains the thought of leaving for a second but that idea goes straight out of the window when he sees your face appear in the doorway.

"sorry for being late. i hope i didn't make you wait for too long." you apologise with a bashful smile as you stumble into the empty classroom.

you're slightly out of breath to the point where you have to take a second before speaking, your cheeks are flushed with colour and suguru thinks you've never looked more beautiful than now.

"no, it's fine. i don't mind waiting for you."

he's pretty sure that he could wait forever if he knew you were there on the other side though you don't need to know that.

when you place your hand in his and he rests his against your waist, he can't help but think about how well you fit into him like it was moulded just for him and he wonders for a split second if there's even a chance that you share a fraction of what's going through his mind right now.

your moves are awkward and unsure, 'all because of your two left feet' (in your own words, not his), and while even the most patient of people would have been on their last straw with how many times you've accidentally stepped on his feet, to suguru, they just add to your unique charm that he's certain he'll spend lifetimes searching for anything that might come close to it.

as much as he wants to pull away because you have this strange effect on him where you can render him breathless in the blink of an eye with a single touch or stray glance, he also hates each and every second he can't be in your presence and this is one of the few moments he's afforded some respite from the enormity of his feelings.

suguru isn't a masochist (as far as he's aware) however you're making him reconsider a lot of things about himself.

truth be told, he doesn't even know why he agreed to this in the first place, he damn well knows that he is probably the furthest thing from a professional dancer and there's a part of him that feels bad for lying straight to your face but when he sees how relieved you are when he agrees to your request, he's sure that lying can't be that bad in the grand scheme of things.

"you should..." he trails off, fall for me instead.

"hmm? what did you say suguru?"

you're looking at him so expectantly like you truly want to know what he's going to say next and he wishes that you would always look at him like that for if that was the case, he might just have the courage to spill the thoughts that plague his every waking moment.

"oh, no i was just saying that you should not worry so much. i'm sure you'll be fine." actually, he's sure you'll do more than fine but once again, he bites his tongue.

maybe if he was more brazen and cared less about him, he would curse out satoru for being such a lucky bastard, so lucky in fact, that he gets to be the one who can hold you in his arms. unfortunately for him, he's not that type of person, and even worse for him, he doesn't live in a world where he's the one who has your stomach in knots.

the sun is setting below the horizon and soon, the world will be plunged into a familiar darkness there's an uncomfortable feeling pooling within his gut that tells him that this moment can't last forever and you'll go running back into the arms of someone you truly belong with (no matter how much he tries to will it into existence).

nevertheless, he'll take one night of slow dancing with you in the dark over nothing and foolishly pretend that this is something that it isn't.

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nightwngz · 7 months

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𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝒕. drake ✮ eng. . . !

tim drake x female!reader

WARNINGS. . . porn with plot. friends with benefits. fingering, face riding, sex (p in v)

LANGUAGE. . . english is not my first language and I am still studying to master it. It makes me insecure to write by myself in another language, so I used the translator. I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

You had never thought of Tim Drake as anything other than your best friend, the guy you trusted and could turn to whenever you were worried about something.

He was your emotional refuge, a place where you could feel completely vulnerable, where you could share all your concerns, knowing that he would be honored to listen.

At the time, you would have sworn that you would never think of Tim as anything other than a friend. But time began to form a deeper bond between you and him.

Conversations that used to be a fun time between friends began to turn into a strange and strangely palpable tension. The hugs grew longer, the rubbing of your bodies more intense, and every lingering look seemed to contain a caged lasciviousness that only you could understand.

As time passed, the emotions you had sworn you would never feel for Tim began to flutter inside you. You found yourself thinking about him differently, noticing how your skin prickled when he touched you, how your sexual fantasies about his person began to invade your mind.

Ever since you started sleeping together and made the deal to be, as Jason said, "friends with benefits," your best friend discovered there was a side of you he didn't know.

You didn't mind invading his room because you wanted to be devoured by someone. You were not afraid to kneel on either side of Tim's head, just because you wanted to ride his face.

Fortunately for you, your friend was incredibly good at the task of eating you. His tongue pushed obscenely between your wet folds to open them, his fingers were busy fluttering against the pleasure cap that ached from lack of attention. With these movements, you gave in to him; the surge of pleasure and the sensitivity you kept in your wet pussy made his touch make you see stars.

— Hold on a little longer. I'm not done yet.

Your hole was getting closer to the emptiness of the stimulation he was giving you. You imagined what his face would be like underneath you, and just the thought of him with his whole mouth smeared from your crying pussy brought you that much closer to the edge.

But to have him look into your eyes as he squeezed your clit with his lips and then scraped it with his tongue was too much for you to bear. The orgasm hit you so hard that Tim didn't even see it coming until his whole mouth was covered with your wonderful taste.

He gave you no respite from the hypersensitivity your previous orgasm had left you with, so he immediately began to fuck you without pity through the hole he had just abused.

With his thumb, he sweetly stroked your center again to make you feel completely at ease with the onslaught.

You felt full. You felt his body fit perfectly into yours, as if he had been made to fuck you. His hot skin burned against yours as his pelvis slammed into you, making a lurid sound that could be heard throughout the room. It was too much to bear.

— T-Tim, Tim! - You cried on his shoulder. - I want you to come inside me, I can't stand it anymore.

You moved to kiss him instead of letting him answer. Your tongue was focused enough on exploring his mouth when you felt the thick, hot fluid between your legs.

You might never be the same friends again, but you could live with it.

#dc comics #dc universe #tim drake #tim drake smut #red robin #tim drake x reader #tim drake x fem!reader

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missshirophantom · 28 days

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I love your yandere Sebastian Solace so much <3 could you make a request on him having female reader in his shop after kidnapped the reader from her journey on getting the crystal to escape the place where she is forced to stayed in his shop- Where nothing but some noisy other prisoners/people could disturb his time with being with only your presence. When one of prisoners flashed him of the flashlight she took the opportunity to escape the shop without alerting Sebastian of her leaving due not wanting to risk getting caught (sorry if this doesn't make sense)

From the author : hello! I'm glad of that. It took a while, but it's done. I apologize if there is something wrong in the written request or if I misunderstood something. I hope you don't mind that I came up with the name of this one... Stories, yes. And I hope you don't mind the slight rigidity typical of yandex. content. I apologize also if this is short or a little concise, I was in a hurry when I wrote this, plus I was busy writing one story that I finally finished. Have a nice read :D

Warning : female reader, references to bondage (not really), mention of slight isolation, threat of fracture and amputation of a limb, possessive behavior, yandere.

Number of words : 1856

I Warned You

A lot of things have been happening in your life lately. The time before you were put in jail does not matter. Whether you were actually imprisoned for a crime or not. The important thing is that in the end you agreed to the offer of a certain company Urbanshade. All you wanted was to finally get out of this prison, especially when the woman was not living very well there.

However, you never even allowed the thought that this seemingly simple matter would turn out to be so dangerous.

Meetings with these... Creatures that have left you with nightmares. You didn't even think then that it could be worse than just being in jail. At least there was some respite, but here you're just in eternal fear for your life.

You weren't exactly sure what attracted one of these creatures named Sebastian, as he calls himself. Especially when you came to his store several times for, most often, a first-aid kit.

So that didn't explain why he kidnapped you and kept you in his store. It was especially frustrating that you were pretty close to that damn crystal and the long-awaited freedom. Literally a few steps away, and then you lost consciousness before you woke up in a man's store.

You were afraid to do anything. More precisely, you tried, but Sebastian's threats were sufficiently eloquently that you did not think of doing anything to his satisfaction.

Compared to what happened to you in prison before, being here is not a bad thing. If you think about it optimistically.

There was food, albeit mostly raw meat, and canned goods from the warehouses of this base. There was also a soft, very soft, place to sleep. And a little entertainment in the form of reading the documents that Sebastian allowed you to take and talking with him.

What you definitely didn't like, and even scared, was the almost constant attempts of a man to bite you. He also kept you wrapped up with his tail all the time when you were sleeping or "annoyed" him when he was busy. You didn't know what it was about, and even if you did, you wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

And you also hated when he used handcuffs to keep you in his "lair" while he went to get supplies. Even when you behaved well, he did it anyway, deliberately not believing you and mocking you. Which was true, but your wrists hurt because of the uncomfortable position and even turned a little red where the metal rubbed against your skin.

You reluctantly accepted it.

An attitude, but definitely not a position.

You were afraid of what Sebastian might do to you if you did run away, but damn. You were so eager to get out and finally get freedom, despite the fact that your last attempt was unsuccessful, and the scar on the back of your neck still hurt. A reminder of your "misconduct," as a man hissed in your ear during his bad days. And then there's the daily mockery...

Even his "good" attitude towards you does not cover what is here, especially with him, is unbearable.

But subconscious fear, as well as those memories of your past escape attempts, made you freeze in place when you stood next to the ventilation hole open to customers.

About the customers...

These are the days that allowed you to exhale a little, because it was at such moments that Sebastian's close attention and obsession were less, because he was distracted by the prisoners who bought things from him. And it also lifted your spirits a little, because you could talk a little with those prisoners who did not treat girls disgustingly.

It's good that your abductor did not interfere with this, even if he frowned and became more intrusive after the person left.

You fidgeted a little in your seat while you were sitting on one of the iron boxes, looking bored at the book in your hands, which you reread for the third time. Sebastian brought you this book from one of his outings. The plot was not bad and you even liked it, although after each re-reading, the book turned out to be quite boring. And not only because you already knew the story.

You listened out of the corner of your ear to the mumbling of a visiting prisoner who was fiddling with his research, greedily looking at some of the things being sold in Sebastian's bags.

As far as you remember, this person lacked literally several dozen studies to buy this. It could be seen that they were clearly in distress.

You put the book aside, raising your head.

Sweat broke out on the man's face as they rummaged in all their pockets, desperately looking for more research, but not finding it, began to sweat harder. At the time, Sebastian was looking at them maliciously, folding his two arms over his chest, clearly enjoying the discomfort of the prisoner.

You frowned quite a bit at this. Suddenly, a rather unexpected thought came to your mind: what if?..

It is at this second that the man pulls out a Flash Beacon and pulls the trigger, clearly hoping to steal the right thing in this way.

And at the same moment, when Sebastian's angry and painful scream rang out, you rushed to the vent and crawled through it.

You acted on pure instincts, moving as if your life depended on it. You could hear an even louder, angry scream as you ran out of the hallway, followed by the sound of a gunshot.

You didn't remember how long you ran like that, but you had to run as far as possible, especially when you acted so impulsively and did not report this action to Sebastian in any way... Although, if that had happened, he would have handcuffed you to a pipe or a staircase railing... But you just wanted to feel freedom at least for a short time, even without resuming the path to the crystal.

Your legs barely held you up and hurt a lot from the sudden and prolonged running, which almost made you stumble. You were breathing heavily, almost hoarsely, leaning against the wall. Gradually, as you catch your breath, you begin to fully realize what you have done.

Damn it, what have you done?

What is the chance that in this case Sebastian will not give you a very strong punishment? And then he will move with his magician to another place so that it will be harder for the prisoners to get to him, and also so that you are not familiar with the situation?..

Although it was not this that scared you more, but what kind of punishment a man would apply for your impulsiveness ...

You swallowed nervously, involuntarily looking down at your legs, which were trembling after running... Or maybe from fear of the unknown.

You started when you heard a noise in the next room and ran again, as if your life depended on it. Which was not far from the truth.

You heard a very familiar angry growl behind you, which caused you to accelerate, panicking, looking for a place where you could hide from danger. In the next room, you find a small overturned closet among other furniture scattered throughout the room, and hurry inside. You clamped your hands over your mouth, curled up in a trembling ball in the corner of the furniture.

You held your breath when you heard another crash and thud, but it was all in this room.

— Where are you, little fish? — The voice was full of growls and hisses, quite far from human speech and literally inhuman.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying not to move a muscle, when you heard the sound of a body sliding on the floor, as well as the way the furniture moved, almost breaking under the force of the hybrid's claws.

— Do you remember I warned you not to run away? Or have you forgotten that?! — there was another sound of furniture moving, but this one, apparently, flew into the wall. Dangerously close to where you were— ah, I knew you were dumb, but to be so lovely?

You tried not to flinch or sob at his tone and noise as he broke furniture next to you, clearly venting his anger.

— Should I break you or amputate your leg so that you stop thinking about escaping, huh?!

You shuddered weakly, shrinking into a ball from his threat, barely breathing through the tears that silently flowed from your eyes. Of course, you guessed that something would be determined, but... No, no, no...

— If you come out now, I won't do anything to you, little fish, — the tone of the voice dropped, and the hissing was not heard so much now.

But for some reason it scared you even more, which is why the instincts in your body made you freeze in place. You've never felt so terrified, even when you almost ran away the last time. You felt like a real prey next to a large predator, ready to attack and eat right like that.

Because of fear, time seemed to freeze for you, as well as all the noise that began to move further and further away from you, indicating that Sebastian was moving away from your hiding place. You were still trembling, barely able to move for the first few seconds, when you realized he was gone.

It took about a few dozen minutes before you could move, when the paralyzing fear began to subside from you. By that time, all the noise had stopped and it was terribly quiet.

It bothered you a lot and you were afraid to open the closet door, but you couldn't sit here for a long time because of a little claustrophobia and fear that the hybrid might come back and find you.

You wiped the tears from your cheeks with a trembling hand, exhaling raggedly and hesitantly and very slowly unlocked the locker door.

At the same moment, your hand was intercepted and you were literally yanked out of hiding with your scream.

You saw your own frightened reflection in Sebastian's inhuman eyes. A sob escaped your lips, breaking the silence, then a terribly quiet voice was heard:

— I. Warned. You.

#pressure roblox #yandere sebastian solace x reader #pressure roblox x reader #roblox #sebastian solace x reader #yandere oneshot #request #requests #yandere requests

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2plottwist · 1 month

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Respite, Despite it All

Summary: After a long day of battling the horrifying creatures of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, you return to the Last Light Inn. Your lover, Astarion, has wonderful plans of pampering you. TL;DR Astarion is a soft gentle cutesy vampire boyfriend that treats you like you're a queen.

Pairing: Astarion x Elf!Reader, referred to with she/her pronouns

Characters: Astarion

Warnings: MDNI 18+, oral sex, fingering

Author: Emma:)

Word Count: 2.1k

Photo Credit: pay. on pinterest

Cradled in between wooden posts and crumbling stone was the Last Light Inn, a rare refuge in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Within the room you had taken for the night, the curse felt even farther away. For starters, there was an actual bed- a luxury within itself. It wasn’t nice, by any means; some of the wood had rotted away, and the sheets scratched against your skin. But it wasn’t a bed roll, which was a huge relief for the aches that shot up your back and to your neck.

The best part of it all was the wooden tub in the corner of the room. You couldn’t remember the last time you had bathed in an actual tub, or warm water, for that matter. You had to make do with the river Chionthar or another reservoir nestled deep in the woods for months. It had soap, a sponge, and bathing oils. Everything you needed for a perfect night of relaxation.

After a grueling day of battling shadows and other sinister creatures in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, you finally made your way back to the inn. The weight of exhaustion bore down on you, every muscle aching from the day’s relentless combat. You had left Astarion at the inn, opting to take Halsin with you in order to give him a brief moment of respite. As you push the door open to your shared room, the soft flicker of candlelight greeted you, casting a warm glow over the stone walls. The faint smell of lavender wafted through the room, pushed towards your nostrils by the breeze coming through the open window.

Astarion was folding a towel before he turned to greet you with a soft smile. “Hello there,” he said quietly. “I trust you had a good day, my sweet, even if I wasn’t there to brighten it?”

You couldn’t help but smile as he stepped closer, his hands moving to help you out of your armor, each piece clinking softly as it fell away, leaving you exposed.

“Come now,” he says, guiding you toward the tub. “Let me make up for my absence.” His touch is gentle, his hands firm yet tender as he eases you into the warm embrace of the water, sliding the curtain closed around you.

The water in the tub is deliciously warm, enveloping you in a comforting embrace as you sink deeper, letting the heat ease away the tension in your muscles. The steam rises lazily, curling around the candlelit tub. Soon, the curtain is pulled back, revealing that Astarion has also stripped. He sinks into the water beside you, the sharp angles of his face softened by the flickering light, making him seem almost ethereal. He leans back, the water lapping at his pale skin. His fingers lazily trail through the water before he reaches over, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

His touch is gentle, reverent almost, as he tucks the hair behind your pointed ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek. “You know,” he murmured, “this might be the one part of this cursed place that I actually enjoy.”

You smiled, your eyes half-lidded as you savored the feeling of his touch. “It does have its charms, doesn’t it?” you replied, leaning back against him. “Though I think it’s less about the place and more about the company.” Astarion chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Flattery will get you everywhere, darling.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips, closing your eyes and savoring the moment. The warmth of the water, the faint scent of your favorite plant, and the quiet intimacy of being with him make it feel like the rest of the world has fallen away.

Astarion shifts beside you, turning to face you more fully. He takes the sponge in hand, dipping it into the water before running it over your shoulders with a deliberate gentleness. The warm water cascades down your back. His touch is so tender, so careful, that it sends a shiver down your spine. He notices and smiles, a hint of that playful smirk you’ve come to love evident on his lips.

“I’ve had centuries to master all sorts of skills,” he says, his voice low and velvety, “but I think I’ve found my favorite- pampering you.”

You sigh contentedly, letting your head fall back against the edge of the tub. He continues his gentle ministrations, the sponge gliding over your skin in slow, deliberate motions. There’s something in the way he touches you, as if he’s savoring every moment, every inch of you. It’s a side of him that he doesn’t show often, a softness that he keeps hidden and reveals just for you.

Once he’s finished washing you, Astarion helps you out of the tub with the same gentle care. He wraps you in a thick, soft towel. His hands move over you in slow, careful strokes as he dries you off. When you’re dry, he guides you to a nearby stool, his touch light on your arm as he steers you into place.

He grabs a brush and sits behind you on the bed, his fingers working through your damp hair. “I used to do this for my sister, Dal, centuries ago.” There’s a pause, the memory clearly bittersweet for him. “Of course, her hair was never quite as lovely as yours.”

You smile, leaning back into his touch as he brushes your hair with practiced ease. The bristles glide through your locks, the gentle tug at your scalp almost hypnotic. “How many sisters do you have?” you ask, your voice soft.

“Three,” he replies. “But know I was only this kind a long time ago.. before Violet started putting garlic in our bunks.”

The braid he weaves is intricate, his fingers moving deftly as he creates a pattern. You can feel the care he’s putting into it, the way he’s making sure each strand is secure. It’s an act of love, one that speaks volumes. When he finishes, he secures the end with a red ribbon before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“There,” he murmurs against your hair, his breath warm on your scalp. “All done.”

You reach up to touch the braid. You turn on the stool to face him, your heart swelling as you take in the sight of him sitting there, his crimson eyes filled with a warmth that’s still so new and wondrous.

“I don’t deserve you,” you say, leaning against his knees and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“You deserve so much more,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could respond, he placed a finger under your chin, tilting your head up and capturing your lips in a kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of promises, of a future you both hoped for, despite the uncertainty that surrounded you.

When you finally broke apart, you found yourself smiling. “You’re right,” you said, your voice light with teasing. “I do deserve more. Like maybe you giving me a massage.” Astarion laughed softly, his breath warm against your skin. “In your dreams, darling.” He stands, offering you his hand. “Now, what do you say we retire to bed? I’m not quite done pampering you yet.” You take his hand, allowing him to lead you to the bed. He lies you down gently before trailing a hand down your exposed torso. He walks to the foot of the bed before climbing over it, carefully placing his knees by your hips.

He smiles down at you, his naked form towering above you. He strokes your cheek softly, pausing at your mouth and softly dragging your bottom lip down. You place a gentle kiss on the pad of his thumb.

“I love the way you feel beneath my touch, you know,” he growls softly, placing a knee inside your own, pushing your legs open. He leans in and kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. You smiled up at him. It made his heart sing.

“Astarion…” you whispered.

“Shh,” he said softly. “Let me take care of you, love.”

You nodded, and his tongue slid across your mouth, and you moaned into the touch. His lips run down your neck, nipping softly at the tender flesh above your collarbone where he drinks from you. He continues kissing down your body, working his way to your breasts. His tongue flicks out, catching your nipple. Your breath catches at the action and you reach out to tangle a hand in his moon-kissed curls to steady yourself. You can feel the warmth pooling in between your legs, and you can only assume he can too as he dips his head, kissing your inner thigh.

When he finally reached your core, he took his time, licking and nipping at your folds. He licked up and down before gently circling your clit with his tongue. You gasped, arching your back. “A- Astarion…” He chuckled softly, the feeling vibrating against you. “I’ve got you, my love.”

He teased your clit with his tongue, flicking it lightly. You moaned, your hands gripping the sheets. He groaned- he couldn’t help himself. You were so beautiful. He sucked your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

He paused, slipping a digit inside of you and curling it in swift motions. “Are you enjoying this?” he asked, his voice was husky with need. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now, I want you to close your eyes and relax.”

You allowed your head to fall back against the pillow as he slipped another finger inside of you, pumping them slowly in and out of you.

His mouth found you again, sucking on your clit harder than before. The combination of his fingers inside you and the sensation of his tongue sent waves of pleasure cascading over you.

“Come for me, my darling,” he murmured, pressing another kiss onto your inner thigh. “I need you to come for me.”

The order was enough to send you over the edge, your orgasm rippling through your body as your spasming walls squeezed his fingers. The sight alone was enough to have him falling into an orgasm right after you.

After he cleaned up, he joined you under the covers. He pulls you closer, holding you against him. His arms encircle you, strong and protective, his chest rising and falling slowly with the steady rhythm of his breath. He rests his chin on top of your head, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine with the gentlest of touches. It was reverent, every movement a worship, as if you were a divine being descended into his arms.

And perhaps, to him, you were.

There’s a peace in his eyes that you rarely see, a calm that had been elusive for so many years. His voice is soft, barely more than a whisper in the stillness of the night. “You are… everything I prayed for,” he murmurs. “In those dark, endless nights in Cazador’s dungeon, when hope was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Though I didn’t know you then, I dreamed of you.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of his past and the lightness of the future you’re building together. He tilts your face up to meet his gaze, his eyes searching yours as if trying to understand how someone like you could care for someone like him.

“But you’re here,” he continues, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “And you’re real. Divine, in every way that matters to me.” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and then another to your lips, lingering as if to reassure himself that this moment is real.

He holds you even tighter, his arms a barrier between you and the world, as if he could protect you from everything just by keeping you close. “I never thought I’d find something—someone—worth praying for again. Yet here you are, proving me wrong in the most wonderful way.”

In his embrace, the horrors of his past seem distant, replaced by the quiet comfort of your presence. As sleep begins to claim you both, he can feel your heart beating against his chest, steady and strong, a reminder that despite everything, despite the pain and the darkness, you’ve found each other. And in this moment, that’s all that matters.

#astarion #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion fluff #fluff #he is so pretty #i adore him #i would die for him

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hollyhomburg · 24 days

Text

Before I Leave you (Pt. 74)

(Sneak Peek) (Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: A planned vacation with Namjoon might not offer the respite you hope it will; Something is wrong with Jin and he just wont say what.

Tags: Hurt/comfort, Harmless Sickfic, So much fluff, Light angst, Brief smut, brief mentions of intercrural sex, slick, implied d/s, Mommy kink, mommy tae, Brief daddy kink too 🥺, clothing control, implied omegaspace

W/c: 20.0k

A/n: Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out <3 the last couple of weeks have been...not great! Here it is! I will repay you guys with my hiatus by giving you possibly the longest bily chapter ever! The heat arc will take two more chapters! No idea how long those will be but i greatly enjoyed making this chapter the fluffiest little bundle of scenes I could. i did not hold back- i think we've all needed a bit of softness.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

You excuse yourself to change. But you find yourself pacing back and forth in front of the mirror for a moment. Struggling with your fancy dress that’s for tomorrow night’s dinner, hanging it up with a huff. Unsure why you’re so stressed, why you’re so anxious. An animal in your chest that just won’t stop clawing at your breath.

You knew what you were agreeing to going on this vacation with Namjoon. A solo vacation just for the two of you sends a very very pointed message. This is a sexy vacation- a private suite and a private onsen only means one thing and now at the precipice of it you feel- you feel-

Namjoon knocks, but you tell him you need a minute trying not to sound scared. You don’t even know why you feel scared; you’ve had sex with Namjoon before, and taking him is no longer quite as daunting of a task as it once was. But you feel unsettled and out of your depth here. Intimacy and romance are so much harder without your pack around you to reassure you to egg you on.

You need to call Tae.

She picks up on the second ring, “Pup!” she sounds happy and bubbly even through the phone. You even hear a bit of relief in her voice. “I’m doing my nails upstairs because Jin and Jungkook are being loud; did you get to the hotel yet? How are the flowers?”

“Tae” you hiss, keeping your voice down. “Did you think I’d spend the whole weekend lounging in lingerie!? You didn’t even pack me a bathing suit!” You whine. Still pacing.

“Well, I was actually hoping you’d spend the whole weekend getting your lingerie torn off of you by Namjoon but-”

“Mommy” you whine, and she quiets.

“It’s at the bottom, the dark red one with the flowers.” You find it, if only because it’s a bright oxblood in the mess of pastels. It’s dotted with pale yellow flowers and crossing straps that are supposed to tie around the slimmest part of your waist several times. It’s very Tae. Strappy and sexy and so tiny. The triangles are so small, it might as well be lingerie too.

“Tae- this isn’t going to fit me.”

“Yes, it does” she quips. “I measured.” You flush. You’re sure she did actually measure, probably during one of your morning preening and grooming sessions that you have a habit of spending mostly in omegaspace, an eager puppet to her hands. The idea that you’d been so far down, so trusting that you didn’t even notice warms your cheeks.

But Tae chose this for you, your alpha chose this for you and your other alpha. Tae does often know best. She knows what Namjoon likes.

Your heart rate slows a little.

“Tae- this is just a mess of strings,” she giggles, and you know just from the sound of it that she did this on purpose.

“Come on, live a little.”

“I know but- but-” you sit on the toilet, and she hums.

You wait, sensing that she’s yet to speak. You can hear Namjoon in the other room, starting to pace. You swear you hear him talking too. The hushed grumble as he talks to someone over the phone to someone.

“I’m sorry, I should have packed you something more modest. I just thought you’d want to- I don’t know, tell me off if I'm wrong but- Don't you want to explore a little? You don’t always have to know what you want, You don’t always have to want it- you can have both. Being wanted and being treated delicately- it's not one or the other.”

Your breath hitches, and you wonder how she managed to hit it right on the head. You do feel delicate- you've felt delicate the whole day.

“You can wear skimpy clothes and Namjoon will just be happy he gets to look at you. He still won’t do anything unless you say you want him to. He’s well-behaved like that.”

“Mommy-”

“You love feeling cute, you love feeling wanted. Let him want you pup, it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“You’re just saying that because you like to give Namjoon a hard time.”

“It’s a love language” that does get a giggle out of you. She sounds satisfied, her voice a purr, but she still apologizes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“You didn’t, I just panicked in the moment.” You pause, and Tae doesn’t fill the space with chatter. “I feel so innocent around him, so- not like this. Not that it’s dirty to dress this way, just…” You trail off.

"The pack alpha loves you, he’s gonna think you’re stunning no matter what. You could walk out in nothing and he’d still probably ask before he looked at you.”

“I kinda want him to look at me,” You admit, confess. “I kinda like making him have to restrain himself.” You have no reason to be nervous.

Tae’s voice is a purr, “There’s my girl. What do you say?”

“Thank you mommy.”

“Are you gonna be a good girl for the pack alpha?” Her voice is a dark pur.

“No mommy.”

"Perfect."

Coming Saturday Aug 31 at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

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hyperactively-me · 4 months

Text

regency era!ghost x reader au (part 7)

One evening, as you and Simon glided across the dance floor, lost in each other’s eyes, you couldn’t help but notice the envious glances and hushed whispers that followed in your wake.

“How on earth did those two end up together?” “By the look of it, the Duke should be proposing any day now.” “I think I deserve to be Duchess more than she does.”

“You know,” you say slowly as you twirl gracefully, “you’re making quite the spectacle of yourself, Simon. People are starting to talk.”

He chuckles, his grip tightening around your waist. “Let them talk.”

He has to bite his tongue to restrain himself from continuing with, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m yours, you’re mine, and I’m not about to let anyone forget it.

You smile, feeling a rush of affection and amusement. “You really don’t care, do you?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice.

He shakes his head, a serious expression on his face. “Not in the slightest. As long as I have you, nothing else matters.”

You laugh softly, leaning into him. “You’re incorrigible, Simon.”

God, the way you make his name sound so pretty. He might faint.

After the dance, Simon pulls you away from the crowd and onto a balcony, the soft hum of the party fading into the background. With the way his hands feel on you, you can’t seem to care that you’re unsupervised and alone with a man.

The cool night air is a welcome respite from the warmth of the ballroom. You shiver slightly, hugging yourself to keep warm. Immediately, Simon shrugs off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders to ward off the chill.

“Thank you,” you murmur, grateful for his thoughtfulness.

He nods, his eyes lingering on your face. He loves the way your makeup highlights your features, the way you style your hair. He loves the way you stand up for yourself, the way you speak your mind without a care in the world. He loves the way you look so small compared to him, the way your dress accentuates your frame perfectly. He loves how passionate you are about the things you love, the way you make him feel. And—

"You know," he begins, his voice low and intimate, "there was a time when I thought I would never be capable of feeling this way about anyone, let alone you."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "Oh? And what way might that be, Simon?”

He smiles, a genuine, tender expression that warms you to your very core. "In love," he admits softly. "Completely and utterly in love."

For a moment, you're stunned into silence, your heart pounding in your chest. The sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability in his voice—it's everything you had hoped for, yet never dared to believe.

"You— you love me?" you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He nods solemnly, taking your hand in his.

"With all my heart, every fiber of my being,” he replies, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "I know I've hurt you in the past, and I can never truly erase those mistakes. But I promise you, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you'll let me."

Tears prick at your eyes, and you blink them away, squeezing his hand tightly. "Oh, Simon," you breathe, "I never thought I'd hear you say those words. But now that I have, I love you too. Despite everything, I love you."

A radiant smile you’ve never seen from Simon spreads across his face, and he leans closer, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. Finding none, he whispers lowly, "May I kiss you?"

Your breath catches, heart racing at the proximity of his face to yours. You can see every lineament, every tiny wrinkle, every light freckle that dots his face. You notice the details of his scars, the way his nose is slightly crooked. He squeezes your hand, bringing you back.

“You... you mustn’t,” you stammer, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s highly improper.”

Who are you kidding? You want this as much as he wants it.

Simon doesn’t immediately release your hand. Instead, he turns it over and places a soft kiss on the inside of your covered wrist.

“You might cause a scandal,” you say weakly, your resolve thinning with each passing second.

Simon chuckles, low and quiet. “A scandal, you say? Perhaps it’s time I gave the ton something truly scandalous to talk about.”

You swallow thickly, heat rushing up your neck. “And what, pray tell, do you have in mind?”

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Marry me.”

The world seems to stop as his words sink in. You pull back slightly to look into his eyes, searching for any hint of jest, but all you find is sincerity and love.

“Simon,” you breathe, your heart pounding. “Are you serious?”

“As serious as I’ve ever been,” he replies, his gaze unwavering. “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life proving it to you every single day. So, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

A whirlwind of emotions sweeps through you—joy, love, and a hint of disbelief. You’ve always known that your relationship with Simon was special, but to hear him propose, to see the depth of his feelings laid bare, is almost overwhelming.

“Yes,” you say, your voice filled with emotion. “Yes, I will marry you.”

The words have barely left your lips before Simon's expression transforms, an unrestrained joy lighting up his face. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you entirely.

“May I kiss you?”

You finally nod slightly, your eyes fluttering closed as anticipation builds. Simon cups your face gently with both of his rough, calloused hands, his touch hot and reassuring. He hesitates for just a heartbeat, savoring the moment, before he closes the distance between you. His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, then more assured as he feels you respond.

The kiss is tender at first, tentative, as if he's savoring every moment. You can feel the depth of his feelings in the way he kisses you, the way his hands cradle your face as if you are something precious and irreplaceable. It’s filled with the promise of all the unspoken words and emotions that have been building between you. It’s a kiss that feels like redemption, second chances, and the beginning of a future that you both long for.

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss. He groans ever so quietly as you pull at him. You can feel his heart beating against your chest, a quickened rhythm that mirrors your own. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation, every worry and doubt melting away.

When you finally pull back, both of you breathless and slightly dazed, Simon rests his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed. "I've dreamed of this moment," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “For so long.”

You smile, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw.

"You're mine," he murmurs softly, his voice filled with wonder and certainty. "And I'm yours."

"Always," you reply, your heart swelling with happiness.

As you stand there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you know that whatever the future holds, you’ll face it together. And that is more than enough.

part 6 < > part 8 (finale)

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme #*ੈ✩ simon “ghost” riley

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astroboots · 11 months

Note

period sex with soft marc☹️☹️🥺🥺 him being so sweet n praising you😭😭😭😭 hed take such good care of you<3 i need him

Take Care of Me

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Content: explicit as fuck. Period sex, Marc's competence in overdrive.

Word count: 3k words

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS' MASTERLIST |MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

Painful is an understatement.

If you had to describe what your period felt like to an alien who had no understanding of human biology this is how you might describe it:

Imagine a battalion of tiny sumo wrestlers duking it out inside your uterus.

Imagine a never-ending game of tag between a horde of stomp-happy elephants using your stomach as the running ground.

Imagine the two allegories combined, but multiple it with three, and imagine having it every month from the time you're a young adolescent until (if you're lucky and god is merciful) it will end when you're in your fifties.

As you lie in your bed, curled up with a hot water bottle tucked to your lower belly, and whine into your pillow, you are convinced that this is some kind of divine punishment. You must have been bathing in virgin's blood to retain youth in a past life. Because you don't know what else you could've done to deserve this. And if you weren't, then if there is a god in heaven, they had better beg for your forgiveness when you get there.

"Want me to make you a cuppa love?"

You drag your face from where it's buried in the pillow to peek up at Steven's worried face.

Big brown eyes gaze down at you with so much concern, he must think you are on your death bed. He's been taking care of you all day. Pampering, coddling, and fussing over you.

He's been refilling your tea before you have time to even empty the cup. Reheating the hot water bottle every twenty minutes before it even has a chance to drop in temperature.

It's incredibly sweet. But you're so tea-ed out at the moment, you think 90% of your body composition is tea at this point.

"'m good."

He frowns, biting down on his lip, and you can sense his worry from bed. "If you don't want tea maybe some hot chocolate? I can even toast some marshmallows on top and I have a packet of biscuits."

You consider his generous proposal for a second or two.

In all honesty, you feel too sick even for chocolate, but you have a feeling that turning down chocolate will truly make Steven think you're dying and try to call the ambulance. So instead you answer, "that sounds lovely Steven."

His whole face brightens up, and he leaps to his feet and darts towards the kitchen.

You close your eyes to the raucous sound of pots and pans being pulled out. In the background, the sound of something crashing clanks out from the direction of the kitchen. It's followed by Steven's familiar comforting voice cursing "bugger" and "oh no," but you're too tired to check for yourself what's going on, as you drift off to sleep.

In your dream, you're wrapped in a comforting warmth. There's a gentle pressure on your stomach and limbs that takes all the pain away. Strong and tender, all at once, you want to linger in this sensation forever.

It's not forever, of course. But your nap lasts long enough that you get a bit of respite from the pain. When you wake again, it's to the distinct smell of burnt sugar lingering in the air.

Strong hands traverse over your hips and stomach, kneading at your sore and aching muscles with a perfect pressure that feels like heaven.

He's sitting at the foot of your bed, with a posture so upright, it's almost militant. The man doesn't need to open his mouth with his Chicagoan accent for you to know it's Marc who's sitting next to you right now.

"Where's Steven?" you ask.

"Put him on a time out. Nearly burnt down the place, trying to torch some marshmallows."

You smile at the image Marc is painting for you. That explains the burnt smell.

"How are you feeling," Marc asks. His hand roams from your stomach to the plane of your thighs. It has everything tingle pleasantly inside of you.

"Better," you tell him. "It feels really good when you do that."

His hand stills for a second, eyes drifting to his own hands. "Want me to keep going?"

You barely have to nod before he starts up again. Large hands covering the insides of your thighs as he presses down with just the right amount of strength.

The sensation spikes across your nerves and rides up your spine until the tense knot in your stomach that has been terrorizing you all day unfurls.

You gasp at the sensation, back arching into his touch for more. "There, there, don't stop."

It's maddening how good it feels. Marc knows your body like a map of a continent that he's explored every corner of. His hand drifts ever so slightly, fine-tuning his touch that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

It's the relief you've been begging for all day. Each press of his hand erasing the blunt ache that's been digging into your flesh since you woke up this morning.

That large hand of his, smooths over your bare stomach. The sweet warmth of it soothing any leftover pain that is still there until he cups over the soft fabric of your underwear and replaces it with an altogether different ache that has you squirming and squeezing your legs together.

His hand stills. "You want me to stop?"

"No!" you shout, louder than you intended or expected.

You clutch at his wrists to keep them on you. You're pretty sure that if Marc stopped touching you, you'd combust and die from frustration on the spot. Pretty sure that whatever the equivalent of blue balls is for ovaries is about to descend upon you.

"No, I just..." you flounder for a minute, not entirely sure what to say. Face warm as you say try to find the words. You don't know why the thought is so mortifying to you.

"I'm on my period." You manage to mutter out.

Marc cocks his head to the side, one eyebrow raised. He looks genuinely puzzled at what you've just told him. "I know...so?"

"It'll make a mess," you tell him, and you don't know how he's so casual about this. God knows your neat-freak of a boyfriend hates a mess. "I don't want to ick you out".

Ick him out? Why do you sound like a kid on the playground talking about cooties?

There's no worry in Marc's eyes as he observes you. None of the big round doe-like eyes of Steven. His eyes are narrowed, honed in on your face.

"Fuck the mess," he says.

There's a simmering heat in his voice as he says it that makes everything between your legs slick and achy as he leans even closer to you. "I want to make you feel better. You okay with that?"

You nod and the tip of his fingers skirts the edge of your panties before slipping inside. Despite your earlier embarrassment at the idea, your breath stutters with anticipation.

You're so fucking wet. Slick and hot, as his thumb presses down and has sharp electricity crackle down your spine. You find yourself spreading your legs wider for him, and Marc is more than happy to take it as an invitation.

Two fingers slide inside you, filling you perfectly, until you realize you feel a slickness trickle down the heel of Marc's hand.

"Fuck, Marc-- wait, it's--" you squeak in alarm as you feel it drip between your legs. "It's gonna get on the bed."

He doesn't stop, fingers continuing its languid pace on your clit, as he keeps stroking it to the pace of his liking. His mouth is on your neck, hot and humid as he murmurs into your skin.

"You really think a little blood is gonna keep me out of that pretty little pussy? Open up for me baby, let me take care of you."

And god...

You do. Of course you do, you'd do anything Marc asks and wants from you when he speaks to you in that tone and register. Your legs spread even further, tilting into his doting touch as he slides his fingers deeper.

Heat simmer all along the length of your spine, brandishing it with pleasure that has you struggling for breath.

His other hand comes to cup your face, while his fingers are still busy circling and gently strumming at your clit. He makes it seem so effortless as he does it.

There's no hesitation in his movements, two fingers bracketing your clit and he gently slides and teases you there that has that all familiar warmth already furling in your lower abdomen. Insistent and never rushed, you feel his fingers everywhere, until he brushes over something devastatingly good that has your vision go white for a brief moment.

"That's it baby, you're alright. So good for me, you don't have to think about anything else. All I need is for you to feel good. Come on my hand," his voice rasps in your ear.

Smooth and calming. Loving and commanding.

You don't stand a chance.

It's all it takes.

You drown in it, your climax claiming your limbs as the sensation streaks down your legs and wraps around your bones. You shake and jolt in his arms but he holds you there to him, not letting you pull away as you squirm away from the overstimulation and makes you ride the high against the palm of his reassuring hand.

He comforts you through it. All gentle caresses and soothing hushes as he presses his soft lips on your forehead.

"That's my good fucking girl."

Through the haze of your bliss, you reach for him. One finger hooking onto his belt to drag him closer.

You're too out of it to fully register what you're doing or properly express what you want. All you know is you want more of him. More of Marc. More of his sturdy firm weight on you. The warmth of his skin pressed against you. Of him, inside you.

"Want my cock baby?"

You nod, and much like before, Marc immediately complies.

He always does. Never does deny you of anything.

One hand comes to the front of his jeans, and you don't have to wait long for him as he pulls himself free of his jeans. Cock hard, and jutting up proudly that has you salivating at the sight of it.

Gripping his cock in one hand, Marc kneels over you, notching the fat tip against your entrance. The moment you feel him, you forget about any shred of hesitation you had just moments earlier about making a mess.

Because right now you don't care if you ruin Steven's sheets and leave a crime scene behind you. Every single thought in your mind has been replaced by the overarching need to have this man inside you.

He leans over, arms bracketing you in as he presses into you, stretching you, inch by perfect, beautiful, fucking, inch that has you seeing stars even in the daylight.

You feel him everywhere, every slow thrust and cant of his hips pressed so deeply into you, you're not sure you can breathe. You cling to every inch of him, legs wrapped around his waist, not wanting to let go but not sure you can take more of him either.

Full, you feel so fucking full.

"Too much?" Marc asks, eyes examining you, making sure you're alright.

You don't know how to answer him. It is a lot. So much, with all of him, every perfect inch of him filling you to capacity. It's too much and yet you want all of it and more. Want more and want him to never stop. So you tell him exactly that.

"No. Don't stop, don't stop," you beg. "Keep fucking me, please."

One big, warm hand settles low on your stomach, before it wanders, brushing teasingly through your folds and oh-so-gently over and around your clit until you think you might scream.

You bite down on your lip, worried that if you actually do scream, he'll stop out of worry. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, trying to calm yourself but it only makes it all the more intense.

Behind closed eyes, the pleasure surges through your chest, and you can feel every careful and calculated movement that Marc makes as he slowly drags his cock out of you, until only the fat head rests inside you. Then he pushes back inside again, just as slow and it has tears stinging your eyes.

Slow and thorough. Deep and controlled. He's murmuring in your ear the whole time, his voice low and rough.

"Relax for me baby," he tells you, "I'm gonna take care of you like I always do. Fill your pretty pussy with my cock until you feel all better, okay?"

Better doesn't begin to describe it. You feel good. Feel so good you're overripe with pleasure that seems to be bursting along the seam of your skin.

The hand on your stomach, presses and holds you in place as you start to squirm against him to goad his fingers to where you need them.

But even when he complies, giving you what you like he always does, zeroing in on your clit, his caresses stay light and gentle. His thumb barely brushes over you, as he keeps the pace agonizingly slow and soft that have you shivering and shaking in his arms.

The taunting pleasure builds ever so slowly in your core. The light and teasing touches too much and not enough all at once, and your oversensitive, overwrought cunt clenches and flex endlessly, squeezing down around the thickness Marc’s cock.

You can feel his body jerk over yours each time, and you revel in the soft grunts and gasps you’re driving from him, because surely, surely now he’ll let go and fuck you fast and hard until you're crying.

But he still doesn’t. Doesn't lose control. Just presses gentle kisses to your shoulder, murmuring over and over again. "It’s okay, I got you, Going to make you feel so good".

He says it like a promise. As if he isn't already doing exactly that. He's making you feel so fucking good. So good that you can hardly stand it. So good that you're writhing in his arms, clutching and clawing at his arm and hand and wrist, not sure if you're trying to push him away or pull him closer. But it doesn't matter, he might as well be a stone statue for all the hope you have of moving him anywhere he doesn't want to you be yet.

You can feel the all too familiar tension in his body. Those strong thick thighs as hard as iron between yours. You swear you can feel the furious pounding of his heart where you're pressed back against his chest. Or maybe that's your own pulse pounding loud and frantic in your ears, but it doesn't matter, because you know he's close too.

"Fuck you feel so good," he murmurs into your skin and if you didn't know better you'd think he sounded shaky.

The pleasure builds, streaking up your torso in little lightning bolt pulses that tighten your nipples to achingly hard little points and steal the breath from your lungs.

The heat of Marc's body against you is unbearable, his hot breath and lips sliding over your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your jaw, and all the while, his fingers, those clever, competent fingers keep up their slow, ruinous circling, driving you higher inch by devastating inch.

You can't breathe anymore, can't see, can't think to the point you're pretty sure you can't feel your feet. Do you even have feet anymore? The only thing that's grounding you is the security of Marc's arms wrapped around you, the quiet cadence of his voice, whispering low and soft and still oh so sweet in your ear.

It's too much. Everything in you winding higher and tighter, filling you so full of pleasure that you swear you'll burst, but somehow still you don't. Can't. You need–

You clutch at Marc, gasp out a garbled sound that might be his name. You want to tell him that you can't stand it, that you need more, need all of him, everything that he has to give, but you've lost the ability to speak.

Instead, your body tells him for you, your cunt squeezing down around him, and refusing to let go. All of you drawn tight, tighter, tightest.

There's a breathless, "Oh. Baby. Fuck." in your ear, and Marc's hips jerk against you. Just once, the tiniest upward hitch. But it's enough. It's more than enough.

The unbearable, blissful tension holding your body hostage shatters, and wave after wave of unparalleled rapture roll though you, sharp and sweet and endless. The breath you didn't think you had left leaves you in a loud keening cry, that's echoed by a low, pained groan, and you can feel Marc's cock swell and pulse as he spills inside you, unable to resist the calling of your body's climax.

You ride out your orgasms together, your hips grinding needily into his, his fingers gripped harshly into your flesh, until the seemingly endless pleasure finally releases you both from its grip and you collapse back against Marc's solid bulk.

The arms around you relax, his clean hand smoothing over your belly and thighs. His voice hoarse and low, but still so, so syrupy sweet and gentle as he reassures you that you're okay, that he's got you, that he'll always be there when you need him.

You're boneless against him. Arms lying limply by your side on the damp mattress. Every bit of tension wrung out of you, like an old flannel that been wetted and twisted dry one too may times; worn out, but warm and cozy and relaxed.

"Feeling any better?" Marc asks eventually, arms tightening ever-so-subtly around you.

You don't have it in you to answer him with words, but you manage a small, contented giggle, snuggling back further into his embrace and tilting your head back to nuzzle his jaw.

That seems to be enough for him. He cranes his neck to press a soft kiss to your lips, then settles back, and the two of you stay there, cuddled together, warm and content and sated.

Content... just so fucking content, except...

Content is an understatement to what you're feeling wrapped in Marc's arms like this.

If you had to describe what this moment felt like to an alien who had no understanding of human emotions this is how you might describe it:

Imagine snow falling outside and you are wrapped up safely in a heavy blanket around your tired limbs.

Imagine the smell of freshly made pancakes and coffee brewing (just the way you like it) in the morning after a hangover.

Imagine all of that combined and it still wouldn't even begin to do it any justice.

A/N: Thank you nonny for this ask, literally when you sent it I was having the period from actual hell and was in tears and wailing and crying in bed. This was a really nice escape to write this oneshot with TWP.

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel mcu #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you

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trashytoastboi · 7 months

Note

Hi, it's me again could you do a super lovely and shy and cold as they are, do a headcanon of Zoro, Ace and Law confessing their love to S/O as a Strawhats member?

Hiya! I feel like every one of my replies are going to be apologizing for the long waits •_•; But I hope you enjoy ~ 🍀 I'm experimenting with formats and layout at the moment so if my things look a little skwonky I apologise 🤣

Headcanons: Zoro, Ace, Law confessing their love to Straw-Hat! Reader

> (Gender Neutral) <

Roronoa Zoro

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

⚔️ Zoro wasn’t one too fixated on appearances, that wasn’t the greatest source of attraction to him. It’s more of having the sentiment that his partner would be the most attractive person to him. He could appreciate humor, stubbornness and strength. Maybe it was the drawing point for him that {Name} possessed all these qualities. Sure with their first meeting he found them annoying, occasionally a bit invasive till he realized it was concern that drove them to always check up on him. Zoro likened his feelings to “Just another crewmate” “Just thinking of them like everyone else.” Zoro was dense at the best of times, other times fiercely intuitive and he was the former, until it dawned on him. Hitting him violently when Zoro finally identified these feelings as something more than just loyalty, it was more affectionate. Scarier yet simultaneously more gentle.

⚔️ Zoro took a long time working up to the decision of confessing. I mean, they belonged to the same crew. Would this affect or change anything? He racked his brain, day in and day out. Going for the occasional brooding session while looking out into the vast ocean. Searching his thoughts and fears for any answer they could provide. Zoro figured this wasn’t in his nature, brute force was best. Just going in head first regardless of the outcome was best. So that’s what he decided he would do.

⚔️ The day was good, relaxed. No marines, no enemies nor outlandish happenings. The day was just an eventful, jovial day on the sea. Sailing and navigating through to their next destination. Zoro thought other than chaos this would be the best time for his confession. Zoro called {Name} out, gruffly and abruptly. One might have thought he was challenging them to fight rather than getting ready to confess his feelings. It was not graced by flowery words, nor roundabout explanations of how he got to that point. A simple straight forward confession where he simply said “I love you.”

⚔️ {Name} looked surprised, stunned even. They mouthed a slight ‘Ah’ as if some question had been answered. They’d long realized his unusual behavior, or the lingering stares when he would get caught staring. Never a glare, they sensed no anger from it. It had always been a look of affection and warmth. {Name} realized his weird behavior had been because of his crush. They smiled, they’d have to answer his passionate and curt confession. With the look of confidence, {Name} knew Zoro well enough that they could tell he dwelled on this. Giving plenty of thought to his confession.

⚔️Zoro said it, he said it with all his resolve. He didn’t exactly want to shout at {Name} so while all his passion was in it, it came across nonchalantly. Zoro kept a brave face, holding back his anxieties until an answer had been given. Every second only served to heighten his anticipation. Zoro let out a nervous chuckle, was this the end of the friendship they cultivated? Would this be an awkward encounter that leaves things strange between them? He didn’t know. Zoro had many questions, with no answers.

⚔️ Accepting the confession: {Name} kept him waiting with bated breath, seeing his anxiety they had to put Zoro’s worries to ease. They smiled, took a deep breath and told him the truth of their own feelings. Not as daunting as being the one to make the first move but still took courage to reciprocate. {Name} felt an overwhelming joy when they saw how Zoro’s face washed over with the brief respite of relief before converting into happiness. He had a smile that he couldn’t hide. Not his usual little smile but something that indicated his true happiness. Zoro acted on his feelings and pulled {Name} into a hug.

⚔️ Denying the confession: {Name} felt a sinking in their hearts, they looked at Zoro with a sad smile that said everything. Zoro attempted to hide his expressions of disappointment. Maybe his face kept a neutral expression, one that said he didn’t mind. The subtle drop in his shoulders and his bolstering confidence that dissipated into something more meek spoke volumes. He chuckled saying not to worry, probably just the alcohol got him saying crazy things. They both knew that wasn’t the case but to spare each other it was going to be the cause.

Portgas D. Ace

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

🔥 Ace is one of those people who finds it relatively easy to get along with others. Some might accredit this to his bright disposition and easy going nature. Ace generally took care of new recruits to Whitebeard’s crew, especially those in his own division. After reuniting with Luffy, Ace got to spend time with the Straw-Hat crew. Politely thanking them for taking care of his troublesome little brother. Ace enjoyed spending time with the crew, learning about the people who Luffy had taken as his chosen family, though amidst them, there was one person that stood out in particular and that is {Name}. Ace couldn’t really list a happening, a reason why or how. It just happened. He found them intriguing, and his curiosity blossomed into fondness until he realized that maybe his feelings had dug themselves deeper than he realized.

🔥Ace really sat on his reasoning, pondering and continuously trying to think about whether or not he should confess. They aren’t part of the same crew and that alone could cause some issues if {Name} agreed to his confession. He knew that they were loyal to Luffy, and wouldn’t leave although the same could be said for Ace and the Whitebeard pirates. Ace hated the ambiguous feelings of discomfort it stirred in him, should there be a clear distinction, a clear line drawn to find where they stand. Should issues be faced only after they have arisen? Where there was a will there was a way and Ace decided no matter the outcome, he wanted to assure himself that he did what he could with what he has.

🔥 As with everything, Ace decided to go in with all the passion he has. Not to be mistaken, he bolstered himself with confidence, yet found himself unable to completely calm the raging nerves. Sweaty palms, shaking hands, the ideal starter pack for a low simmering anxiety. Ace swallowed the fear and doubts before telling {Name} about his feelings. It became an onslaught of words and praises, non logical, highly emotive reasoning that truly came from the heart. The purest form of honesty that [Name} had ever seen with Ace’s confession. Even watching how his face increasingly grew more red with every passing moment of him becoming more bashful when listening to himself. Though he still did not stop.

🔥 {Name} needed a moment to process everything that Ace said, they easily understood the gist of it. Ace liked them, bordering love. The word itself was never mentioned, Ace’s actions spoke volumes however and seemed to confirm the fact. He never once turned away and faced them head on, his courage and confidence both were highly commendable and likable. {Name} wanted to answer him properly. To return Ace’s confession with as much sincerity that he had confessed with. They asked for a moment, apologizing for the underlying stress they notably caused Ace. He smiled, the idea that {Name} was willing to put so much thought was already promising enough.

🔥 Ace acted as if he was alright and while he told {Name} to take whatever time they needed, he still felt it was a tortuous wait in the meantime. He upheld his promise and refused to pressure them unnecessarily into a half hearted decision. {Name} looked as if they were ready to respond and Ace drew in a deep breath to steady himself. He never wanted his worry to show on the surface and always tried his hardest to only show the happier, stronger side of himself.

🔥 Accepting the confession: {Name} was not dense in the department of things like crushes nor love, however even they didn’t really notice the depth of Ace’s feelings. At least not until moments ago when he lay bare every thought and emotion he felt for them. {Name} was so touched and thankful that their own feelings were in fact mutual, Ace was hard to dislike, easier to like and probably a natural heartbreaker. Without the intention of course, {Name} inwardly laughed at the thought of the amount of people that easily fell in love with Ace’s lovely personality. “I feel the same way” {Name} admitted, the words sent Ace soaring. He honestly didn’t expect {Name} to feel the same but felt an abundance of thankfulness. Ace wrapped his arms around them in a tight hug.

🔥 Denying the confession: {Name’s} eyes seemed to reflect a world of sadness, Ace felt his heart drop. He knew this would be a refusal. He promised himself he would not be upset, and even so, it hurt more than he realized. {Name} turned him down gently, explaining that things and circumstances didn’t really allow the two of them to explore something that may or may not work out. {Name} reiterated that they appreciate Ace, and do find him pleasant to be around however not to the extent of a romantic relationship. Ace forced out a bright smile that could deceive anyone looking at it. He gave them a pat on the back telling them not to feel guilty over his one sided feelings.

Trafalgar Law

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

🍄 The insufferable atmosphere of the Straw-Hat crew…Law honestly thought he would lose his mind before long. They weren’t bad people and that was part of the problem, they didn’t fit the word PIRATE. At least in his mind, Law admits he finds himself moved when listening to Luffy’s definition of a true pirate. The only place Law found any solace happened to be the crows nest. Sure he’d lose a good night’s sleep but he’d gain a few hours of peace and quiet, all to himself. Which was the plan, though {Name} had elected to take over the crow’s nest to make sure everyone could adequately rest. Including Law. Needless to say, he’s not happy about losing his only quiet spot so {Name} put forth a preposition to at least split the times. Each would take half the watch while the other one rested. Law found {Name’s} presence oddly soothing, they were a tiny, clear patch in the hurricane of the Straw-Hats. The only person who didn’t rile Law up in the wrong way or exhaust him. Spending all the time together gave Law and {Name} an opportunity to get to know one another. Law learned of their hobbies, tiny quirks and the things that they liked.

🍄 When did he start paying so much attention to them? When was the moment when Law could easily and confidently recite their favourite things? The things they dislike? When did he begin to look forward to spending time with {Name}? Law couldn’t answer these questions, it happened. Slowly, silently, until the obvious realization hit him all at once. He sighed, everytime he tried to find an answer. Every instance of that tightening sensation in his chest and the nervous feeling that churned up his stomach. Law tried again and again to diagnose himself with SOMETHING. Avoiding the obvious, the glaringly obvious answer. His ‘symptoms’ only ever flared up in {Name’s} presence. To say that this pretty much sent him into a mild existential crisis would be putting it lightly.

🍄 He had to treat it somehow, had to settle things. Well, Law desperately grappled with logic and reason against emotion that wracked his whole body with their outcry. He cursed at himself, how deeply {Name} invaded his thoughts and feelings. How they made him unbearably nervous, yet warm and comfortable all the same. The feeling of being at peace. Law hadn’t felt that in many years, he was swayed by emotions. Somehow he had enough reasoning to say confessing was the only way to clear this up. He would expose his heart and give it to {Name} (he spoke himself out of doing it literally). Surprisingly Law’s face stained red with a burning blush that coloured his ears, face and even the back of his neck. He forcefully pushed out the words of his love, and the struggle he faced when holding the feelings in. Seeing Law so fired up and ruffled felt foreign but all more genuine.

🍄 {Name} listened patiently to everything Law had to say, every word of honest thought he uttered. Some words made him seem clumsy, others poetic. {Name} had to gather themselves after such a passionate confession and insight into Law’s mind. They spent so much time together, and got to know one another in a deeper sense than most. The most unsuspecting place, the crows nest. Who ever thought it would become a place to lay everything in the open. A quiet place where their true thoughts arose in the night amidst the steadily swaying sea.

🍄 Law silently begged for {Name} to give him an answer. {Name} sat on it, thinking about it. Law all the while looked cool yet under the surface he slowly lost his mind when trying to hold it together. {Name} looked at Law and could see the subtle twitches and fidgets, how he picked at his fingers, or shifted his weight from one foot to the next. They didn’t want to keep him in suspense any longer and opted to give him a clear answer.

🍄 Accepting the confession: All of those late night conversations really gave {Name} a deeper insight into Law as a person. His insecurities, his goals and ambitions, his insecurities and what he fears. The reverse was true for {Name} as well, they told Law so much about themselves that they often stressed about if they had overshared or not. Gradually the way Law looked at them changed, the way {Name} viewed Law changed as well when a warmth and fondness grew from the comfort of his company. {Name} accepted. They wanted to pursue this, whether it was a short lived passion or a long romance, if it was with Law they needed to see where it ended up. They teased Law asking if he ever anticipated he would date a Straw-Hat.

🍄 Denying the confession: The time spent with Law had always been an honor. {Name} felt respect for the man, and companionship to the degree of being allies. They always thought they could be great friends with him. They didn’t realize the extent his feelings for them had grown or that they were romantic in nature. {Name} mustered the softest tone they possessed but clearly, and concisely turned him down with no room for reconsideration. The razor sharp blow cushioned by gentle words was another aspect of theirs Law liked. He didn’t think it would be used on him but he could love them secretly until his feelings faded. He accepted their decision and still remained at their side, even continuing the crows' nest shift sharing.

#one piece #fire fist ace #trafaglar law #roronoa zoro #trashytoastboi #one piece ace #one piece imagines #gender neutral reader #gender neutral pronouns #one piece headcanon #portgas d ace #ace x reader #sfw #fluff #law x reader #zoro x reader

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aayakashii · 4 months

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touch starved

small fic after I saw @berrygoodjob hc about Alan being touch starved...... couldnt stop thinking about it afterwards. This might have a part 2 if I get more ideas, but we'll see.

Gender neutral MC mostly (mention of a skirt). English isn't my 1st language so I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Also, I usually post on ao3 so this is my first time posting a fic on tumblr, if the formatting is wonky, I'm sorry!!

Edit: changed it to 2nd person pov to match the future chapters.

"Captain?" you knocked gently on the hardwood door right on front of you. It looked sturdy and way too thick for a normal bedroom door, but then again, this is the room of a ghoul.

You wiped the sweat of your palms on your skirt, afraid you'd somehow smudge Professor Dante's careful handwriting as you clenched the papers against your chest.

You hated doing this. Not necessarily presenting another batch of mission papers, no. Even if a mission puts your neck on the line, there are some ghouls you could trust in a heartbeat, like most of the boys from Frostheim and Jabberwock.

What you hated is being right there. In that exact place.

You hated being in Vagastrom.

"Captain? Alan, are you there?" you knocked again, a bit more forcefully this time, since maybe he just didn't hear you behind the door.

The smell of musk and sweat was everywhere in that place, suffocating you, making your heart race with anxiety and fear for your safety.

There were men everywhere, wherever you looked. Scary, burly, big, probably-loose-with-their-morals men who followed you, hungrily, with their eyes, whenever you strode inside the garage and into the dorm rooms.

They wouldn't come near you, though. They knew messing with you was messing with not only their captain, but the captains of other houses and Darkwick itself. Being cursed an honor student had its perks.

What you dreaded, in fact, was seeing Vagastrom's vice-captain. The cunning, untrustworthy, venomous, undeserving of his position as vice-captain, Kurosagi Leo. You shivered thinking about his lifeless eyes and smile filled with hidden intentions – he was the true reason why you despised being in Vagastrom.

The door opened right before you lifted your hand to knock a third time as your anxiety peaked as you thought about Leo.

"What are you doing here?" the man in front of you gasped in surprise upon seeing you before him.

"I told you to send me a message before coming to Vagastrom if you ever needed to talk... You're not supposed to walk alone around here" the Vagastrom Captain sighed after lightly scolding you "Come, you can enter."

Alan was different, though.

You followed behind him, staring at his broad back, while his right hand massaged his left shoulder. His room smelled like eucalyptus, a welcome respite, and you breathed in deeply the comforting scent while he turned around and looked at you.

Alan was nothing like Leo.

People would talk and talk about his past, about how he was a scary deliquent who might have killed someone; about how he must be terrifyingly powerful if he controlled all of those delinquents on his own for so long; about how his stigma is made for destruction and pain; but every single day, all you could see were the way his eyes were kind and gentle as he looked at you.

"Are you okay?" he said, stuffing his hands inside the pockets of his pants, shoulders stiff as ever "No one messed with you?"

"No, no," you shook your head, smiling to prove you were in one piece. "Everyone always leaves me alone in here. You don't need to worry. They know I work with the ghouls, so I guess that's all the protection I need. The only threat here is Leo, but he only threatens my mental health, to be fair." you said, laughing humorlessly.

Alan winced and looked apologetic at your comment.

"... Sorry. I still gotta learn to control him."

You shook your head once again.

"It's not your fault, Alan. You're a great captain." you smiled. "Speaking of being a captain, Professor Dante asked me to deliver these papers to you. It's a bureaucratic mission though, no outside work. Apparently, there are some student records missing, something in regards to personal information being omitted by some students."

Alan gently grabbed the papers from your hands, surveying the information as he sat down on the couch in the middle of his room.

He sighed deeply after scanning all the papers, rubbing his temples in a manner he probably have picked up from Frostheim's vice-captain, and slumped against the back cushion.

"Um... Is everything okay, Alan?" you asked, sitting beside him.

"... Yes. Just... a bit tired." he murmured.

You hummed in thought, surveying his face as he stared blankly at the ceiling. The dark circles under his eyes were very obvious under the fluorescent lights.

"Have you been sleeping properly? Resting?" you asked, tilting your head, trying to make eye contact with his reddened and tired eyes.

"Can't. Work has been piling up."

"You know you won't be able to work well if you're burnt out, don't you? Even ghouls need to rest, no matter how strong they are."

"..."

The extremely stoic man stayed silent, avoiding your gaze at all costs. For someone everyone called scary, he could act like a kid who had been caught with their hand inside a cookie jar at moments.

You sighed.

Your hand moved on its own before you could even register what you were doing. You felt the unexpected silk of his hair against your fingertips as you patted his head to comfort him, much like he had done to yourself many times previously.

Except, instead of gladly accepting it like you usually do, Alan flinched and scooted away from you and your hand, staring at your face, mouth agape and eyes wide in shock.

"I'm sorry!" you said, not sure of what you had done wrong, while shutting your eyes and putting your hands up like you were a bank robber who just had been caught by the police. "I was just! I didnt... I mean... I'm sorry!"

"Ghhh!"

You tentatively opened your eyes, hands still up, after hearing Alan emit what could only be described as a choking sound.

The Vagastrom Captain, Alan Mido, one of the scariest men in Darkwick Academy, had one of his hands covering his face as he stared wide-eyed at you.

And he was beet red.

"I. Uh. I'm. Uh..." he gasped, struggling to form a coherent sentence.

Your head raced, a million miles per hour, as you saw him look away from your eyes, trying to put distance between the both of you on the sofa and get into terms with his own sudden embarrassment.

'Huh? Is he worried about hurting me? But… I thought his stigma only worked on his hands? Maybe my enhancement ability makes it work wherever I touch? Is that why he's so worried? But he wasn't even moving when I patted his head, maybe he was just caught off guard by me touching... him... Oh.'

Alan tried to recompose himself, still looking everywhere, but your direction. His cheeks still flushed red, while he scrunched his eyebrows in what appeared to be confusion, as if he wasn't understanding his own reaction as well.

'Oh. He's... incredibly touch starved, isn't he?' The thought dropped into your mind, like a single coin dropping into a fountain. Drip. And you were fully unable to shake it off.

It made sense despite it all, you figured. People barely approached Alan, as he was seen as a God by his house-mates and as a criminal by those outside Vagastrom.

He was incredibly hard to approach, his quiet personality making it hard to talk to him and his stoicism making it hard to figure out what he could be thinking.

Yet, there he was, like an open book. His red cheeks, stuttering words and wandering eyes saying exactly what he was thinking – what he wanted.

Before you could talk again or act on any more impulses, Alan forced a few dry coughs and cleaned his throat, picking up the papers once again as he got up fast from his seat. His face gradually went back to his usual color, and so did his stoic expression.

"Well, I will get to work on this as soon as I finish my job at the garage. Thanks for the delivery." he shook the papers way too eagerly. "Will message you once we can start working. Please close the door once you leave."

Alan strode away fast, still avoiding any and all eye contact, and quickly left you alone in his room. You stared at the diligently closed hardwood door that seemed to create an ocean of distance between him and yourself, barely forming a coherent thought.

Outside, two little Like Doves peered inside the small windows near the ceiling, daring you to start creating scenarios in your head.

You shook your head, trying to get rid of any speculations of your own. Creating scenarios was a job for the you before sleep, the one who had time to feel anxious and overthink your daily situations.

And if your phone beeping was any signal, right now you had other ghouls to assist.

#tokyo debunker #alan mido #tokyo debunker alan mido #I am a little obsessed with this game #alan mido x reader #tokyo debunker x reader #if I get any traction I might post more idk

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askinkiskarma · 1 year

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High Infidelity

Adult!Neteyam x (f)Metkayina!Reader x Ao'nung

Warnings: cheating, smut (fingering, oral - f receiving, praise kink), cursing, 18+ minors dni

Word count: 3.7k words

Notes: oops, was supposed to write other things, but listening to this song triggered smth in my brain so here it is x enjoy ;)

next part (x)

Do you really want to know where I was April 29th?

Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?

“I’m tired, we can do it tomorrow.”

“Ao’nung, we haven’t been swimming together in months. We’re supposed to be together for the rest of our lives, you’d think I wouldn’t have to drag you outside to spend time with me every other day.”

“Maybe if you stopped nagging me like we’re already mated, I would be more inclined to want to spend time with you.”

You couldn’t stop the tears falling down your cheeks any less than your legs making a run for it at the slightest pushback from your mate-to-be. Running away was the only time you felt free anymore. You loved Ao’nung. He’s been in your life… well, your whole life. There was little of you that wasn’t tied back to him and there was little of him that wasn’t embedded in you. You grew up together, Tsireya’s best friend and confidant, Ronal’s long-lost daughter, it seemed. You might as well be, since your parents were never around anyway, not to raise you, or to teach you better than to accept such treatment from a boy, who had been sweet and kind to you all your life, until he realised you liked him, until he realised that no matter how little he gave, you would cling on to it for dear life, you would pretend a drop of water was a fountain, and that it could sustain your thirst until the next drop came.

You didn’t stop until you hit the beach, that was deserted this time of night, and sat down on the warm, soft sand. You sighed, allowing yourself the kindness of respite, of crying it out without shame, without constraint, without being made to feel stupid for being soft. You felt so foolish, so used and yet somehow so useless, at the same time. You were deep in thought, so deep in your own sorrow, that felt like it was drowning you, keeping your head forcefully underwater until there was no more breath in your lungs, that you missed the steps tracking closer until a tall form was towering above you.

“Are you alright?”

You shot up and onto your feet, pried out of your anguished reverie and shaking from the scare of another person, at a time and place you thought you would have the safety of solitude. You immediately recognised the young man sitting across from you, the rhythmic bioluminescent waves shining over his face, making him glow with ethereal beauty unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. It was hard not to know who he was, as him and his family have been the talk of the village for a while now, the buzz surrounding their arrival constant and unending. Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan, the son of Jake Sully, the Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya and the Sixth ever Toruk Makto. Everybody knew his story, everybody admired him, for his valiant win over the demons that took so much from the Na’vi and from the Planet. Now there he was, in your village, with his whole family, asking for Uturu, asking for a new chance, asking to be trained in the Metkayina ways.

Neteyam Sully was a beautiful man. Tall and muscular, his body was a deep shade of blue, so unlike your own, so unlike anything you’ve ever known. His stripes were even darker, an intense indigo that reminded you of the night sky, of the sea during a heavy storm, and the contrast was hypnotising, so hypnotising, in fact, you couldn’t stop the booming in your heart or the way you were shamelessly staring at his arms and chest. His hand went to your chin, and he brought your face upwards to get you to look in his eyes. You swore your breath stopped when he touched you, all of your 18 years of breath practice and your phenomenal control right out the window. His eyes were bright like the stars in the night sky, which might as well have been dull and pointless when compared to the freckles on his face, that shone brilliantly and moved upwards as his lips lifted in a soft smile.

“Can you hear me?”

You shook your head lightly, trying to push the thoughts out of your head and bring the sane ones back in.

“Y-yes, I can. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I just wanted to make sure you are alright. You seemed… upset.”

His hand didn’t drop from you chin, and his lingering touch sent shivers down your back that reached the tips of your fingers and toes before dissipating and being replaced with new ones, electrifying your entire being.

This was wrong. You were promised to another man. To the future Olo’eyktan. You had no business getting shivers down your spine, no business getting lost in his eyes, no business feeling feelings you have never felt before, not with Ao’nung, not with anybody else. You took a step back and watched and his hand fell from your face limply besides his body.

“I’m alright. Thank you for checking, you are very kind. I should probably go now. It’s late.”

You didn’t look behind you as you passed him and headed hurriedly back towards the village, hoping this way you could outrun him, the emotions he evoked in you, the shame that followed and the guilt that you knew was lurking menacingly in the shadows.

“I’m sorry for being such a dick. Forgive me?”

The shell he was holding out in his palms was gorgeous, everything you liked about the world and the sea wrapped in a tiny, magical package. He knew what you liked, he knew you very well, a thought that made you despondent. If he knew you, that means he knew what he was doing to you. He knew the feelings that plagued you, feelings that he brought upon you, that his actions brought upon you, and he still did them - unapologetically, at least until the last second, when he came asking for forgiveness, which you granted every time. He raised an index finger to your chin and lifted your head and you couldn’t help the booming in your ears when the action reminded you of the Omatikaya boy and the night you’ve pointlessly tried your best to forget about the past couple of weeks.

As your lips touched, a messy, sloppy kiss, filled with intention and need, you felt your heart drop to your stomach as not even this kiss, passionate as it was, invoked a fraction of the same reaction in your body as Neteyam’s one touch. Still, you loved Ao’nung. You always have. You were to be a mated pair soon. You were to be together…forever. He moaned as he deepened the kiss and you smiled at knowing, despite everything, it was you who made him feel this way. He might be acting out now, but he loved you, he wanted you. And one day, he’ll love you enough to show you in more ways than just the one.

“I still have to teach the Omatikaya, how about you come with me?”

“NO!”

Ao’nung looked at you curiously and tried to understand where this reaction was coming from. You knew you exaggerated and had to calm yourself if you were to not raise any suspicion. Not that there was anything to raise, you didn’t do anything wrong. And yet still, you couldn’t stop the nagging feeling, the lingering thought that you had to lie, that what happened had to stay between you and the eldest Sully.

“I’d rather not, I have other things to do around the village anyway.”

Ao’nung scoffed and rolled his eyes irately.

“You know, you keep saying we never spend time together, but then you pull this shit. I’m busy, you know? I can’t always entertain you whenever you want.”

You felt the all-too-familiar sinking feeling take over your mind again, just like the tears that formed almost instantly at his words, threatening you, praying for one moment of weakness so they’d fall and make a mess out of you again.

“Ao’nung… I come most times you ask. Every time you ask, in fact, which is very rarely. I just can’t right now. I’ll wait for you to come by my marui tonight. My parents aren’t home.”

Why did you do that? Why did you ask him to come? He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve you. You made a promise, though. To the clan, to the Tsa’hik and Olo’eyktan. To him. It was an unbreakable promise, a sacred bond. You were mere weeks away from completing your Iknimaya, short time away from giving yourself to him, allowing him to do to you what you knew was the ultimate form of intimacy, what you’ve wondered about for years, what you’ve been craving for the last few weeks.

You walked on the beach, the same beach, a beach most Metkayina didn’t come to, as it was out of the way and filled with big rocks and greenery that took away from the beauty of it all and the usual uninterrupted patch golden sand which people liked to lie on, to feel, as it grazed their sea-green skin. You hoped the walk would clear your mind, a hope that quickly vanished from sight as a certain cerulean Na’vi tapped you gently on the shoulder, making you jump out of your skin. He laughed softly, his sharp, pronounced canines coming swiftly into view, and you felt a sudden urge to touch them, to see if they were indeed as sharp as they looked. Could they draw blood? Could they pierce your skin easily, as they grazed over you, over your neck, over your -

“Sorry I scared you. I was hoping I’d run into you again.”

“I…” you took a deep breath in a futile effort to calm your nerves. “I thought you were training with Ao’nung.”

He eyed you intently, his gaze trailing over your face and landing on your lips. You opened them slightly to accommodate the deeper breaths you felt the need to take, like your body needed an increase in its oxygen intake to keep up with the intensity of his presence.

“I was, but my dad needed me for something. I’m on my way there now.”

Your hand felt like it caught on fire as his fingers wrapped around it, lifting it up in front of you until your palm was facing upwards and he dropped a bracelet in it, closing your hand with a touch of his hand and letting you go.

“You lost this, that night on the beach? I have been meaning to give it back to you, but you have a way of eluding me, it seems.”

You opened your hand again and inspected the item that was now residing in it. It was a bracelet you got as a gift when you were much younger, when your mateship with Ao’nung was first announced. Your shoulders dropped at its sight. It was pretty, and ornate, and a bitter reminder of what was beautiful and has now soured through time, like fruit left outside on a hot day.

“Thank you. I appreciate you finding it for me. It’s very precious to me.”

He chuckled a little, unable to keep the sarcasm from coating his tongue.

“Is it? It’s been weeks since you’ve lost it, and the way you reacted makes me think you didn’t even realise it was gone.”

You took a step back at his words and felt your ears flattening in response. Your dour expression must have taken him by surprise, just like his words did you, because he took a step towards you and spoke.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to infer. You know better than me what this means to you. It was rude of me, and I apologise.”

You couldn’t help staring at him once more, wide-eyed and bushy tailed, unable to understand the words that were coming out of his mouth. He… apologised? He said something untoward and he just… apologised? You don’t think this has ever happened to you. You didn’t think that was possible, not to you, at least. Other girls, your friends, had mates like that, had relationships that were… well, happy. They were happy, and filled with love and lust and passion, with sleepless nights and midnight swims, with lingering touches and anticipating gazes, filled with feelings of flickering flames and wondrous woes, filled with so many things you’ve never felt before, with all the things you were feeling right in this second.

“So you are Ao’nung’s mate?”

Why was he asking you this? Why now?

“Mate-to-be.” You whispered, knowing that if your voice was any louder, it would be shaky and breathy.

He nodded to himself, looking deep in thought as his eyes darted to your much smaller body and then over in the distance, at the waves crashing on the beach.

“Why are you asking, Neteyam?”

His step faltered a little as you said his name, but he regained his composure almost immediately, falling back into step with you, as if it never happened. His face gave little away, although his tail was moving behind you furiously, running up and down the back of your thighs in their haphazard motion. You felt heat pool in the pits of your abdomen at the quick brush of the soft appendix, that you tried to will away to no avail.

“Take care of yourself. I should go train with your mate.”

And just like that he left, leaving you to deal with your chagrinned heart and leering mind, all on your own.

He didn’t show. Once more, you waited for hours in your tent, until way past eclipse, and your mate didn’t show. You were crying in your hammock, trying to undo the hurt in your heart, hoping that if you cry hard enough it will just escape through your tears duct and be gone from your body once and for all. You were playing with the bracelet he gave you so long ago, cursing it and cursing him for the years of hurt and pain, the years of broken promises and shattered expectations, and with newfound determination, you dropped it on the floor and left for your beach.

You were a little surprised when you found Neteyam sitting peacefully on the beach, looking into the darkness that enveloped the sea for the night, only the glimmer of the bioluminescent plankton being hit by the soft waves visible. You swallowed audibly, and made your way to this man you had some sort of unspoken connection to, trying to ignore the way your heart thumped in your chest at the mere sight of him.

His ears twitched as he made out your presence, but he didn’t made any effort to acknowledge it otherwise.

“He didn’t show, did he?”

“H-how did you…?”

“I overheard you. In the morning.” He got up and turned around to face you, a fervid look on his face that made your legs quiver and push together to accommodate the feeling growing in between your thighs.

“Why were you so adamant about not coming training with us?”

“I was… busy.”

His body got closer to you, closer and closer, regardless of how many steps back you were taking, regardless of the fact that you made every effort to get away from his presence that overwhelmed your every sense, clouded your every critical thought and replaced it with a blabbering mess of heightened emotion and need. You gasped loudly when your back hit the trunk of a tree and you realised there was nowhere to go anymore. No place to hide, nothing to do but deal with it, with him.

“You’re lying. Don’t lie to me.”

His beautiful aureate eyes were fixed on your face, an ardent, hungry look haunting them, haunting you. Your knees were weak and wobbly, cowering under the weight of his presence, under the weight of the lust washing over you. His hands raised to your face, and the rough calloused feel of his fingertips made you pant, made you fantasise about how they would feel against other parts of you that desperately craved attention.

What are you doing? This is wrong. This is so wrong.

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

You knew as his face was closing in on yours that you were doomed, that you didn’t have it in you to stop him, that you didn’t want to stop him. You knew that this kiss would mark a point of no return, a path of illicit affairs and unspeakable secrets, and that nothing could ever take it back, but you didn’t care. You wanted to know what it felt like, to be wanted, to be owned, to feel special.

His lips were nothing like his hands, instead they felt feathery and soft, and he tasted sweet, like a ripened fruit or like a child’s laughter. The kiss was hungry and needy, like you were, and your lips were brushing over each other, devouring any ounce of sanity still left in you as his tongue trailed over your lips and into your mouth, and you welcomed him with your own, allowing yourself to taste him, allowing him to taste you, to explore you.

“I want you. I want you so badly, I want you to know what you do to me. I want to show you what you deserve.”

He broke the kiss to place new, wet ones along your jaw and down your neck, and your couldn’t help the moan that escaped you and the way your head threw back, chest heaving at the sensation, at his maddening words. His lips were roaming your body, licking and sucking and biting on every inch of your torso and abdomen, like he was uncovering uncharted territory and wanted to know every secret within it. He knelt in front of you as he reached your hips, and you found yourself using the very limited amount of critical thinking you still had to push his head away from where you knew he was headed, from where you desperately wanted him, from where you knew he couldn’t be.

“No. We can’t. This is wrong.”

“Yes. Yes, we can. You can, and you should. You should see what you’re missing out on by being promised to him. Let me show you how good it can be. How good I can make you feel.”

He tightened his hand around one of your thighs and plopped it on his shoulder and then wrapped his fingers in the waistband of your loincloth, untying it easily. You groaned as the breeze hit your now uncovered core and shut your eyes tightly when the sight made Neteyam let out a wild, throaty moan that made you feral.

“Look at that. You’re already ready for me. You’re dripping wet, that’s how badly you want this. How can something that feels this good ever be wrong?”

You were a hyperventilating mess as his face got so close to your folds, you could feel his warm breath on you. A kiss is all it took for you to melt under his touch, for all reason to leave your being, every memory of your promised mate erased from your mind, like he never existed. Like nothing ever existed outside of this man, outside of the feelings he evoked in you. He pushed his tongue inside of you and you pushed out unintelligible noises, that got louder the harder he thrusted in you, the more his lips moved fluidly and skilfully on you, sucking and biting until the pleasure was coiling inside of you like a spring ready to give out at any blow of the wind. His tongue was swiftly replaced with a finger, and the foreign sensation made you squeeze your legs together as you discovered it, as you revelled in it.

“You’re taking it so well, baby girl. So well. Think you can do one more finger?”

You had no words, no words could be formulated in your state, so you just nodded aggressively, bucking your hips against him and he chuckled.

“So needy. Needy for my fingers, huh?”

He didn’t wait for an answer as he retracted his middle finger and pushed it back in, adding the ring finger, until he reached a spot that made you scream out, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“That’s it, that’s the spot. Feel good? You like being fingered, you like my mouth on this needy cunt, huh?”

His words made you a mewling mess, and you felt the pressure in your core build up and you knew it was building up towards a release that would take everything out you, that would ruin you, just like he was ruining you.

“I can feel you squeezing my fingers. I want to see you come, I want to taste your cum on my tongue, baby girl. Come for me. Show me how good I make you feel.”

His tongue found his way back to your clit, licking and sucking while maintaining an unrelenting pace of his fingers and with little warning, your orgasm washed over you like a rogue wave in the middle of an ocean of pleasure, overtaking you, drowning you in him, in this feeling you never wanted to end.

He smirked as he got up and kissed you, and you loved the taste of yourself on him, loved it in all its unholy, nefarious, sinful glory. His thumb brushed your lips as he spoke.

“One day, you’re going to beg me to fuck you. And I’ll do it so well, you will never be able to get me out of your mind, never be able to touch yourself again without an image of my cock slipping in and out of you ingrained in your brain.”

He walked away without looking at you.

“Sleep well.”

pt. 2? maybe? maybe not?

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