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foreverdolly · 3 months

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ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 2 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

word count: 4.5k

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Legs tangled in gray sheets. The lightning-quick flash of a silver dagger, held by a pale hand.

The images in the dream are more like fragments- impossible to discern and decipher. On the bed, asleep and vulnerable. . .

There’s you.

And then Feyd wakes up, heart hammering in his chest so hard he can feel it in his throat. Slowly his fingers crawl up, up, up the expanse of the bed in search of something. In search of warmth, of you. Nothing. He’s just as alone in his room as he was when he drifted off into sleep. He lays awake the rest of the night, tossing and turning with worry.

This dream felt more like a warning than just another disjointed nightmare. It felt real. He was used to having dreams every now and again which clearly depicted a future outcome. He saw you in his dreams quite often, more so once he was no longer a boy-child.

If someone thought to hurt you… he’d just have to hurt them first.

The customs you and your people practiced were completely different to those that were normal on Geidi Prime. You watched one of your ladies-in-waiting as she brought over another small bowl of sweet smelling bath salts, dumping it in and using her hand to properly dissolve them. For a moment you felt self conscious, running your fingers through your hair as you looked at their perfect complexions and shaved heads. What did they see when they looked at you? Someone beautiful and strange. . . or an alien?

Still, you would eventually have to disrobe and bathe. Pressing your luck and refusing their help would only solidify your place as an outsider. You were sure that whispers of your arrival were already spreading like wildfire, and it was almost guaranteed that no one was happy about it. An Atreides amongst Harkonnen’s? You were nothing more than a pariah on their industrial wasteland of a planet.

The air was even more acrid in your lungs than it had been the night before, and while the smell of the rose body oils and salts were thick and hazy in your room, you could still catch the scent of pollution. Already you missed the cool, crisp air of Caladan. You missed your horses, your parents and your brother to the point of pain. This was not where you belonged. Not here in Geidi Prime. Not here with Feyd-Rautha.

The urge to cry yourself hoarse was practically undeniable, and yet you somehow managed to resist. You were late to breakfast already, and surely the Baron was making some unsavory comments about your family and their taught “manners”. So you untied the front of your nightdress and shimmied out of it, letting the soft cotton pool at the ground beneath your feet. The women couldn’t help but gawk at the tiny imperfections they saw there- a beauty mark you’d had since you were a child, a scar you’d received while training with Gurney. You weren’t used to feeling so self conscious, and so you were quick to grab one of the women’s extended hands so that you could sit down in the murky bath water.

They rubbed floral smelling soaps into your hair and on your skin, making sure to handle you as though you were as fragile as porcelain. You wished they would scrub you raw. Even then they wouldn’t be able to cleanse you of your fears. You were in the hands of the Harkonnen’s now.

No one could save you.

“We are not very used to styling hair, my lady. It might not be to your liking.” One of the women said anxiously. The way that her hands shook as she gripped the hairbrush was not lost on you.

How cruelly were they treated here? Or even worse- what did she think of the Atreides family? What lies had they poisoned these people’s impressionable minds with? You didn’t care to dwell too much on such thoughts. Reaching out you gently removed the brush from her hands, flashing her the kindest smile you could muster before shaking your head.

“Leave this to me then. Why don’t you pick something for me to wear from my things?” Your bags were still packed, lying exactly where a few servants had laid them last night. You had denied every offer to have them unpacked for you.

Denial. You refused to believe that you were actually stuck here. This would never be your home. It couldn’t be.

“He’s not here,” Feyd was sitting at a long, slate-gray table by himself. The food on his plate had barely been touched, but he had busied himself with chopping the meat up into miniscule pieces, too small to even fit on the prongs of his fork. “If you were planning on trying to make a good impression, you can forget about it. He always has his food sent to his quarters.”

You thanked the two ladies that had shown you through the colorless halls under your breath, moving to sit on the other side of the table. At least eight chairs separated you from the Na-baron and it still wasn’t enough. You wished you were on an entirely different planet, lightyears away from the Harkonnen scum.

The room was practically empty aside from the large dining room table. No art decorated the walls or rugs to cover the floor. It was all cold, black marble with white accents.

“I don’t care, actually.” And you were being truthful. You didn’t care about getting on the Baron’s good side any more than you cared about getting on Feyd’s.

He smiled then, staring at you long and hard before licking one of his black painted canines. He was amused by the blase way you brushed off his uncle so easily. Indifference wasn’t something he was used to, especially not when everyone in the galaxy had tried so hard to get on their good sides. People tended to tread lightly as far as the Harkonnens were concerned. They were as wealthy as they were cunning.

“Be careful, little Atreides. Saying things like that might get you hurt around here.” His gruff voice was but a whisper now, and suddenly you felt as though there weren’t twelve feet of dead-air separating the two of you.

You had picked up your fork, ready to eat whatever bland food had been prepared for you, but froze at his words. Heat rose to your cheeks and you were quick to lean back in the ornate high-backed chair, the cool iron seeping into your back through your clothes.

“Do you mean to threaten me?” Your words were icy, tongue sharp and ready to give him a proper lashing.

“It’s not a threat, darling.” He was practically purring, reveling in the joy of referring to you whilst using a pet name. It suddenly looked as though a switch had been turned on, his eyes narrowing on you. “I know him far better than you do. He’s killed people for far less. Be careful.” There seemed to be something he wasn’t telling you. There was genuine warning in his tone.

A pause.

“Please.” And then he went back to eating.

So were you supposed to act gutted at his uncle’s absence? You picked up the fork and took a bite of whatever had been put on your plate. It wasn’t at all what you were used to. Even the food tasted. . . fake. The meat tasted like it had been pumped full of chemicals and was mealy in your mouth, like sand. Still, you swallowed despite your distaste and shoved the plate away from you.

“Who have you assigned to be my sparring partner? I’m sure that my father made your uncle aware that I train daily, correct?” If you didn’t physically exert yourself and blow off some steam then you were bound to get no sleep tonight.

Last night you had tossed and turned, unable to stay asleep when your body was constantly alerting you to possible dangers. Even now you were on high alert, eyes locked on the knife that sat on the right side of Feyd’s plate. Your own fingers danced towards yours it you watched. Waited. Worried.

“Training?” He tilted his head again, eyes narrowed in disbelief. You could almost see the cogs turning as he mulled over your words. “What good would training do you now? If there are any threats then I am here to protect you- that’s my duty as your husband.”

Ah, yes. Why would a woman train when she could just sit back and play the part of a perfect little wife instead? You could spit.

“Would you rather I just hunt down one of your servants and kill him for sport?” You hated that he was so good at getting a reaction out of you. Maybe you were acting too much like a brat, but you wanted to see him squirm. Seeing him mad must be better than seeing him. . . like this.

For a second he sat there, arms perched nonchalantly over the armrests of his chair, staring at you with a crooked smile. You jumped in surprise when a chuckle escaped him, the act itself so out of place, so surprising that all you could do was stare in horror. The chuckles soon morphed into frenzied laughter, and he was quick to lean back in his seat so that he could place a hand on his chest.

“Was that funny to you?” You spoke through gritted teeth.

He watched the muscle in your jaw clench and unclench with wild eyes, sucking in a deep breath in the hopes of calming himself. Still, to hear such a beautiful woman speak such hideous words. . . it was wonderful, bordering on perverted.

“If you do kill a servant, please make sure I’m there to watch.”

He was too busy watching your face to notice the knife that you slid into the sleeve of your dress. With a huff you stood up, your skirts dryly brushing along the ground as you started to make your way out of the large room.

“I require a trainer.” You tried to mimic your mother’s tone, straightening your shoulders as you turned to look at him.

Lady Jessica always had a way of commanding a room. She was powerful, your mother. You needed to channel that same power now.

“You’ll train with me then,” He stood up from the table, the height and build of him alone nearly causing you to take a step back. You’d forgotten how large he was. How formidable. “Consider it a wedding gift.”

This had you balking, mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of some way to refuse. He was already stalking past you though, ignoring whatever retorts you were bound to make.

“I recommend getting changed. . . Unless you want me to tear that dress to shreds.”

That awful, ugly, no good-

“Bastard!” You whispered under your breath, wadding up your dress just to angrily toss it onto your bed.

You sank to your knees, braiding your fingers into your hair so that you could give it a few good yanks. He was doing this to fuck with your head. All of this was calculated on his part, it had to be. Was it all just to get a rise out of you? Or did he truly want to try and hurt you? You couldn’t figure him out, and that boiled your blood. All Harkonnens were cunning, blood thirsty schemers. You wouldn’t put it past him to be unhappy with the marriage arrangement, choosing to resort to violence in order to end things.

‘Now. Now is the time to strike.’

You’d already hidden the blade under the mattress of the bed. The Baron wouldn’t allow you to live if you killed his precious nephew, but you’d much rather put up some sort of a fight than be put down like a dog. After taking a few steadying breaths you somehow managed to pull on your trousers and shirt, your mind plagued with dangerous, dangerous thoughts. If the moment called for it you were certain that you could not kill Feyd in hand to hand combat. His skills with a blade was well known across the galaxy, and while you were more than able to defend yourself, you weren’t delusional enough to think that you could manage to beat him without using underhanded tactics.

You’d have to wait until his guard was lowered.

“Do all women take this long to get ready?”

You hadn’t heard the door open, nor his footsteps approaching. Who knew how long he had been watching you. The intrusion was an unwelcome one. You looked up to glare at him, trying hard not to balk at his appearance. The clothes he wore were skin tight, a black material that caught the dim lighting- like it was made of pitch black oil. His pants were tucked into big black boots, laced up high on his calf.

He stretched his arms up, leaning against the doorframe so that he could continue his awkward staring.

He did a lot of that it would seem. Any time you turned your head to face him you found that he was already looking in your direction. It was odd. . . off putting to say the least. Of course you couldn’t know that he was currently tracing the lines of your face with his eyes, committing every detail to memory. You were so different when he compared you to the females that he was used to seeing. You were all soft lines, long lashes and doe eyes. He found it impossible not to look at you. Gorgeous… you were gorgeous.

“It took me a while to get out of my dress on my own.”You shoved your way past him in the doorway, his chest warm under your palms.

You were quick to jerk away, startled by the fact that this was the first time that you’d touched him since the two of you had reunited.

You didn’t hate the feel of him, but you should have.

“Then you should have asked for some help.” He said, reaching out to grab you by the back of your shirt when you started to walk off in the wrong direction.

Feyd pulled you along like he would a pet on a leash through the triangular halls, ignoring your mumbled curses as you tried swatting him away.

The shield vibrated in your ears as you switched on the button, enveloping you in its warmth.

You used to find it uncomfortable as a child, the tight, foreign warmth triggering a mild case of claustrophobia. You were used to it now, wearing it like a second skin. You waited for Feyd to turn his on as well, the blade clutched tight in your palm.

You waited. And waited. And waited.

“Where’s your shield?” You asked him, motioning towards his hip with your free hand.

There it was, that crooked smile again. He was laughing at you. Was he trying to infer that you were weak? Was he so confident in his skills that he didn’t even see you as a threat?

“I don’t see the nee-” He didn’t get very far.

You kicked your leg out, catching the back of his right knee. His legs buckled, and he was quick to adjust himself, his left arm flying up to catch your wrist before you could sink the blade home. For a split second the two of you just stared at each other. Mild shock in his eyes, your own alight with an anger so consuming that you feared you might be burnt up with it. He gave your arm a sharp tug, hard enough that the joint rolled uncomfortably in its socket.

You kicked your leg out before he could throw you over his shoulder, landing a sharp blow to his ribs. You heard him let out a pained moan before you hit the ground. Using your weight to your advantage, you tucked your body in, rolling to the side so that you could easily stand up to your knees, blade poised at your side and ready for an attack.

“You fight well, Atreides.” Feyd purred, spinning his blade between two fingers before letting it fall back into his pale palm.

“Turn on your shield.” You growled, rising to your full height so that you could begin circling him, a panther ready to pounce.

“Was it Duke Leto that trained you?” Still, he was ignoring your statement.

“No.”

“No, of course it wasn’t him,” He took a step closer to you, eyeing you down. No one had looked at you like that before. . . and it made your skin crawl. You didn’t want to be desired by this man, the thought alone was miserable enough to have bile rising in your throat. “Your father is too weak-spirited to ever train you himself, lest he accidentally harm you.”

Your heart was beginning to pound in your ears now, vision tunneling. All you could see was Feyd. All you could imagine was the blade that you were currently white-knuckling sunk hilt deep into his chest.

“How horrible it must be for Caladan to have a Duke so. . . spineless.”

You bared your teeth, and for a second you were sure that you would snap the hilt in half with how hard you were gripping your blade. You demanded blood for such an insult. How dare he. How dare he.

“I should cut out your tongue!” You screamed, pointed the blade at him.

‘Don’t come any closer’ you urged with your eyes, feeling the angry tears causing your vision to fog. A Harkonnen was insulting your father. He was insulting your family and now he was smiling at you. The bastard had the gall to smile and this time all of his teeth were showing. Wide, unabashed in his joy. He was terrifying. So much so that you felt your legs begin to shake underneath you.

“But you’ll want to put this tongue to good use eventually.” His gravelly voice purred.

“Silence!” And before you could even control yourself you were using the Voice.

You might not be as talented as your brother when it came to hand to hand combat, but your mother had taken the time to teach you well. Feyd’s mouth snapped shut so hard that you heard his teeth clatter together.

“One more word and I will gut you.” Your voice shook and before you could rethink your actions you were lunging forward, the blade cutting through the air. . .

Aimed at his throat.

He was quick to push your arm away with his forearm, and even with the shield up you could feel the bone shattering pressure he put behind the movement. He was stronger than Paul- stronger than even Gurney. He took advantage of the fact that you were put off balance and grabbed a fist full of hair, the shield around you flashing red as he pressed his blade as close as he could to the base of your throat. Your scalp exploded in pain, eyes watering as he gripped harder to yank your head back so that you were staring directly into his eyes. They held no malice towards you, even despite the fact that you were obviously trying to maim him.

And then he leaned in closer. And closer.

“If I didn’t know any better then I would think that you were actually trying to kill me.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. You could practically feel the warmth of his lips against your skin as he spoke, your heart roaring in your ribcage. With your chests practically touching like this you could smell him.

You’d only caught the scent of spice once in your life- and it was akin to bitter cinnamon. There was something else though, something more complex to it. Aromatic spices you couldn’t quite put your fingers on and. . . the natural musk of his skin.

“So you can speak again?” You managed to tease him through your pain, wincing as he brought you even closer against his chest. The blade that you clutched in your hand was now pressing against his side, the pointed edge digging into his skin.

He didn’t wince, even when you put more pressure against it.

“You think it wise to use the Voice on me in my own home, little girl?” He hissed as he pulled away from your ear, and the fire that was in your eyes was now mirrored in his own.

Slowly you moved the blade away from him, the metallic clanging echoing around the room as you let it fall to the floor. Your palm hurt from the vice-like grip you had been holding it in.

“Release me now.” You didn’t shy away from staring into his eyes, unwavering even when he pressed the blade even tighter, the shield vibrating louder and louder around you.

He leaned in, even when your hands moved to press against his chest, willing him to give you space. You could barely breathe with him this close to you. His own knife clattered to the ground, and using his free hand he ripped the shield from off of your hip. The gasp that escaped your lips was uncontrollable. You could feel his breath on your lips as his eyes continued to swallow you up whole.

They looked even bluer when you were up close like this, framed by long black lashes. For a split second you wondered what had become of that beautiful little boy you had met. Had Baron Vladmir beaten the beauty out of him? Or perhaps it had never truly been there to begin with.

When Feyd looked at you, up close like this, all he saw was the object of his ever-present affections. Something yawned to life in his chest- the need to protect. All at once he felt wrong, disgusting and horrible for causing you any sort of pain.

But you looked so lovely with those tears in your eyes. So much so that he gave your hair another small yank, a shuddered breath escaping his lips as you yelped in pain. He saw the hate in your eyes and he detested it.

‘Fear me’ he silently urged. ‘Love me, do as I say and I will become your slave.’

His lips brushed against yours, achingly slow- painfully soft.

“I yield.” You were quick to say, pulling as far back as you could even with the grip he had on your hair.

Fire. Your scalp felt like it was on fire.

And then he released you, taking a step back with a heaving chest. The spell now broken, it felt like the world around you suddenly resumed its orbit. Wordlessly he pressed a hand to his side- the side that you had pressed the knife- and when he pulled it away you could see that it was stained with blood.

“Didn’t you say that you were going to gut me?” There was no hint of humor in his voice now.

“I wanted to.” You conceded.

“Then you should have tried harder.”

Again you lay in bed awake, unable to fall asleep. You told yourself that it was just homesickness that had you clinging to the blankets, but you knew better. What had happened today left you rattled and confused.

There were a hundred times today that Feyd could have killed you. Everything that Gurney had ever taught you had disappeared like smoke in the wind the second that your father was mentioned. You had acted on instinct alone.

And if it was an actual fight to the death then you would have lost. Miserably.

There was something strange about it though. It never once felt like an actual training session. He taught you nothing and gave you no feedback. Not only that but. . . it never felt like he actually wanted to damage your pride. He didn’t turn on his shield before and after taunting you, almost as though he actually wanted one of your attacks to land.

He had allowed you to get everything out of your system. You hated that it had worked. It wasn’t helping you to sleep tonight though. No, you had other things on your mind now.

Like the fact that he had almost kissed you.

Your knowledge was limited where men were concerned, but you were nearly positive that there was something sexual about the way that he had treated you. It was like he didn’t want to actually hurt you, but still went out of his way to touch you.

You’d be sure to ask for someone that might be willing to train you again tomorrow over breakfast. Someone who wasn’t Feyd, preferably. Lunch and dinner had been spent in silence on your part tonight. He had tried to strike up conversation a few times, even baiting you in ways that might warrant annoyance and anger. You didn’t budge. Why? Because you hated how nervous you felt in his presence now.

Was it because you were afraid of him? That had to be it. Hearing about his proficiency in fighting and seeing it first hand were two different things. He had practically swung you around like a ragdoll. It was absolutely humiliating.

Yes, that had to be it. . . well, you hoped.

“Atreides.”

The sound of your name had you bolting up into a sitting position, willing your eyes to adjust to the non-existent lighting in the room. The sound of footsteps had your heart jumping up into your throat, adrenaline flooding your system once you realized that it wasn’t a voice that you recognized.

No one had entered the room since you’d gotten back from dinner, which meant. . .

Whoever this was had been hiding, waiting until you completely lowered your guard. You were in danger. Horrible, horrible danger.

‘Be careful. Please.’ You remembered Feyd’s words from earlier.

He had been trying to warn you.

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ೃ࿔ savage bonds taglist:

@elf-punk @shitfuckeryclownverse @mydarlingelvis @heartarianagran @ohdearmaggie @chalametism @killingboredom @obsessedvibee @avidreader73 @softboo @tedcruzumakii @luminnara @narniansmagic @torchbearerkyle @ziggy-stardust-world @tian-monique @adoxra @zz-snow-zz @tiredsleepyhead @icontrolthespice @itsparksjoyhuh @verveta345 @shegatsby @zae5 @ertepla @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @lotus-888 @meetmeatyourworst @moonchild-artemisdaughter @abswifey @flower-frog @auroranodyssey @forgedfromthestars @moony-artemis @juliskopf @moonsoulk @serrendiipty @atrxidxs @the-ruler-of-death @mintoblobo @just-pure-trash @randominterwebthings @springholland @so-dramatic1 @ashy-kit @aslutforscarletwitch99 @sofia-013 @gamorxa @ricecakeslove @alexandrainlove @selfishlittlebeing @ceres27

the wonderful line “fear me, love me. do as i say and i will become your slave” is from the movie “the labyrinth”!

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #dune part 2 #dune #austin butler #austin butler x reader #smut #dune smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune x reader #dune x you #dune fanfiction #feyd rautha fic #austin butler fic

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some-mari-thoughts · 2 years

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5) Goodbye, dreamworld

Getting lost in Black Space

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Readmore for comments!

Part one of 2 of me looking at the title screen too hard (I love them!!!! Look forward to a big thoughtdump next update)

Okay it knocked the wind outta me when I realized you could take Basil n go to "save him" and STILL take the 1 person "very good" nap on the way there hcjfjg Scaffolding treehouse room I love u. Other fun room trivia includes the bit where the objects in the tree house all have 3 glitch flavour texts. 3 words! @teka-and-her-spam-chat pspsp it's the one u liked

#OMORI #OMORI Playthrough #OMORI Character #OMORI Basil #OMORI stranger #Ksenya gaming #OMORI Spoilers #OMORI BIG SPOILERS #Knife boi #Basil #Soft boi #Stranger #Truth boi #hee hoo #my art #colored

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ghouljams · 4 months

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Oh to hold Simon's face gently and tell him how good he is. He's a good boy. Your good boy.

It knocks him into that soft space every time you do it. He can have you by the neck, your ankles by his ears, and your sweet screams filling the house. He can growl and spit in your mouth and tell you what a good little whore you are. He can smack your ass and tell you how good you look split open on his cock. As soon as those two words leave your mouth he's gone.

"Good boy," it's worse when you repeat it, "my good boy."

He can't hold up under that sort of pressure, shaking and trying not to come inside you as soon as those words drip down his spine. His hips stutter as you reach to hold his face, as you coo and sweet talk him. "You're so good for me, fuck me so well, my pretty Simon, my good boy." He hangs his head, feels the shiver of his shoulders, turns and kisses your palm, blurry eyed and unfocused. He leans down close, blankets you with soft pleas, presses his face to your neck as you wrap your arms around his chest and whisper your honeyed words in his ear. He fucks you shallow and impossibly deep, grinds his cock into you, back and forth until you're shaking under him.

It's almost as bad laying in bed after, when you force him to look at you, when you hold him so softly it may as well burn, when you tell him what a good job he did. God you twist the knife like no one else, you know exactly where to hit him so it hurts and keeps hurting. "All mine," you tell him, "mine to love and care for, my perfect boy, my good boy."

Yours, he tries to say, but it comes out, "More." And you call him baby.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x oc #x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #oc: goose #sub!ghost #im in love with them

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ceilidho · 4 months

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prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader)

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves.

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur.

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches.

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen.

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste.

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it.

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break.

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him.

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids.

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard.

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse.

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed.

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold.

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand.

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh.

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet.

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off.

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock.

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires.

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too.

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though.

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny.

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost/soap/reader #ghoap x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #ghoap x you

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mistercrowbar · 8 months

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My Tav falls for Astarion’s seduction routine 100% but is very stupid about it. Stabbiness is just Astarion’s love language, right???

Look it’s just the logical continuation of the relationship for a poor boy who got some wires crossed through adventuring.

tbh tho Aldiirn fell more for Astarion because the latter’s seduction act - beyond boinking - made him feel special, and at this point Astarion had been feeding on him every night for a while and not going too far. And despite being babyfaced and soft, Aldiirn’s no stranger to cutthroat types and getting into criminal mischief. So he trusted Astarion to not go too far and red flags were just, well, it’s normal to wield a knife at someone you don’t trust.

#Bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #doodle comic #sketch #crowbart #c:aldiirn

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 month

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The Harkonnen's Sweet Thing

Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Reader

Summary: You watched your brother kill the man you love--a man you were once gifted to by the Baron--and now that he is gone, you think Paul will use you as a political pawn in his war. And you're right. But you're shocked to discover who is demanding to have you.

Words: 2650

Notes/Warnings: Ignore canon ages in the timeline. I don’t know what they are, but everyone young is in their twenties, cool? Cool. Dune inaccuracies. Jessica and Paul kind of (very much) suck. Feyd’s a soft boy for our reader. Angst but also fluffy-ish stuff. Implied smut. Mention of pregnancy. I think that’s it. TG:M people ignore me. I don’t know what I’m doing here either, but i'm embracing it for now.

Part 2

When your brother pierced through armor into pale flesh, you felt it as if he had driven that blade into your body instead of the body of the man you love. You felt the shock of icy steel penetrating warm and delicate tissue, and the suffocation that came from the mutilation of your lung. You felt droplets of blood run down your front as you reached for the blade that was not there. As children, you were taught not to remove it. Not unless sufficient care was nearby to stop the bleeding before too much was lost.

Paul did not respect that knowledge. He yanked his knife out of Feyd’s torso and watched with relief as he collapsed to the ground. His body landed with a thud that matched the heavy beat of your heart. A beat that reminded you your blood was rushing strong, keeping you alive while your lover was draining dry of the strength to keep himself from leaving this world, from leaving you.

You wailed in the silence of those around you. Screamed at the top of your lungs as tears streamed down your face. You tried to go to him but the Fremen snatched you before you could reach him, forcing you to your knees, one of them slapping a hand over your mouth. This was not the time for hysterical outbursts; it was a time to stare in awe as a new leader accepted his victory and claimed power over the emperor and his daughter.

“Shut up, girl,” a male voice spit in your ear. He was tired of the struggle you were putting up against the hand squeezing your face. You were ruining his opportunity to witness a beautiful moment in history. A defining moment. A moment you didn’t give two fucks about.

No one spared you a glance save for the witch whose vibrant eyes were drilling into the side of your skull. A woman your father had instructed you receive as a stepmother following your third birthday. A manipulative woman whose smile in front of the Duke had masked the scowl permanently seared onto her face when looking at you—a decades-long act that the capture and death of your father had freed her from. And she’d wasted not a second displaying her distaste for his daughter.

Not long ago you'd thought to thank Lady Jessica for not loving you. Her lack of love made her so terribly desperate to rid herself of you that when cornered the night your family was attacked, she’d thrown you right into the arms of the Harkonnens—a fate she believed would destroy you rather than thrust you into a life you would come to cherish.

“A gift for you, nephew,” the baron had said after the fighting ceased and the soldiers, with you in their grasp, had returned to their unfamiliar home.

Feyd-Rautha had not rushed when he descended the staircase and approached you for the first time. His eyes were unblinking as he’d taken in his present; a slow drawl from head to toe that sent shivers down your spine.

“An Atreides,” Feyd had said in a low voice, deep and thick and eerily lovely.

The baron’s voice did not contain the same appeal. “Yes. Do you like it? A new pet for you to ruin.”

You’d stood frozen as Feyd traced a knuckle down your cheek before grasping your chin and running his thumb over your bottom lip. He’d possessed not a lick of shame when his index finger drew a line from the dip of your throat to your cleavage. There had been no consideration for your feelings when he tucked that same finger between your breasts and the neckline of your nightgown and lightly tugged you forward.

You had gasped with your stumble, your hands pressing against his chest to catch your fall while he smirked at the blush tinting your cheeks. His tongue then darted out to dampen his lips before he moved his hand to the curve of your waist and squeezed.

“Perfect,” He’d said, not in a loud declaration of appreciation, but in a tone meant for your ears only. Then he’d grabbed you by the wrist and led you to his chambers.

When the door had slammed behind you after you were jerked inside the room, you were suddenly filled to the brim with panic. You’d heard the rumors. What would he do to you? How would he do it? Would you suffer long?

A tear had slipped down your cheek that, once noticed, was brushed away with his thumb.

“Do not worry yourself unnecessarily.”

You’d swallowed, stuttering, “Wh-What do you mean?”

He’d pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, exposing pale skin taught over defined, well-trained muscle. Then he’d stepped into your space, inching you backward until your spine was flush with the wall. He’d fisted the flimsy, nearly see-through fabric of your nightgown in his hand and slowly dragged it up your body until fingers could sneak under the hem to graze your inner thigh.

You’d sucked in a sharp breath at the pleasurable waves of heat that rippled from his touch.

“Atreides or not, you’re much too precious to ruin the way my uncle suggests,” he had said, his lips a hair's-width away from yours. “I've been looking for you for so long. You're mine now, do you understand?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

He hadn’t loved your hesitation—you could see it in his eyes and in the downturn of his lips—but he was satisfied when you’d truthfully said:

“No.” Because you weren’t. Not after he had brushed that tear off of your cheek.

His next question had caused your heart to skip a beat from the concoction of emotions it shot through you. Fear of the unknown mixed with unexpected excitement.

“Have you done this before?”

You’d shaken your head and in response he lightly nodded, his nose nudging yours.

“You want to?” he’d asked, hiking your leg up to his hip, and you found yourself nodding as well. “I won’t make it hurt.”

You’d replied with a soft “Ok” before accepting his kiss with as much fervor as he was giving it, thankful that what you’d imagined was awaiting you upon your arrival in foreign territory was far from what you were receiving.

Days later, when you had mentioned that he did not live up to the rumors of his cruelty extending to all areas of his life, he’d hummed. Said, “I make many bleed, and enjoy it. I feed off of their pain. Those who have been in my bed are not spared this, and it will not be uncommon for you to see me stained with the death of others, including my former pets.”

He’d paused then, allowing you a moment to question your future as one of those pets, if that's what he considered you.

“But I have been searching for something that I’ve wanted for a very long time,” he’d said. “Something that hasn't existed within these walls. Something I will never want to harm. Something…soft…and sweet,” he had admitted to your surprise.

He’d then told you that you were that sweet thing. That he’d known it from the moment he saw you. That he was choosing you.

But it was a choice that had its repercussions.

All things must have balance, and you had tipped the scales. From his gentleness toward you, a darker, more gruesome beast emerged when facing off with others. A brutal warrior who never surrendered and never lost. A sadistic man who showed no mercy to the opponents whose blood you would later wash from his body. He had annihilated his previous reputation as just the famed killer of Geidi Prime and evolved into something more, all because of you.

That was why you thought he would win against Paul. Your brother was skilled, but the universe had long known the name Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen for his prowess in combat and his ruthlessness which had only grown with time.

So why was it not your brother on the floor with his love sobbing and struggling to reach him?

In the thirteen days since your lover’s death, it is that question that has robbed you of all peace.

Despite your brother having escorted you back to Caladan for the time being, you find no sense of home or happiness in your birthplace. You walk the beaches and fields that, as a child, you dreaded one day leaving, but they are not the same. Nearly a year has gone by since you were last here, however, so much of what you once loved about this planet is overshadowed by the shattered heart caused by Feyd's death.

When you were young, your father would often express his wishes for your future. He would paint a beautiful image of you bringing your children to play in the gardens of your childhood home, carefree and unburdened. It was a source of comfort that he used to mask the reminder of your duty as an Atreides: that you would not be marrying and having children out of love, you would marry in the name of peace and produce heirs in the name of security. And it seems in the end, he was right.

With Feyd unable to claim you, Paul will be the one to secure new arrangements for your future, which just so happens to greatly fare in his favor. After all, he just declared war, and you are the ripened political pawn at his disposal.

“Are you well?”

You turn as sharply as you can at the intrusive voice, but the uncomfortable skirts of your dress are thick and stiff, restricting your movements. Feyd never made you wear anything like this and you forgot what it's like to be weighed down by layers of fabric. You fucking hate it.

Paul stands a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back and a light smile on his face. Clearing his throat, he joins you on the balcony attached to your old room.

“I know we haven’t spoken much about what’s to come. I’m sure you’ve been curious,” he says.

You shrug, shake your head, and return your gaze to the horizon where ocean meets sky.

“We have matters to discuss.”

Matters such as where he will be sending you off to be married, you imagine. He must act quickly if he intends to establish and gain control over house alliances, since they weren't overly enthusiastic about accepting him as their leader.

“Let's sit down,” he tells you. He grasps your hand before you can object and guides you to one of the balcony benches. Once you’re settled, he takes a seat beside you and says, “I am going to ask you something. And I want honesty.”

You sigh. “What?”

“When you were with the Harkonnens for those many months, were you treated like a slave as I had feared, or were you something far from it?”

Your eyes narrow. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because it’s important,” Paul states, staring you directly in the eye. “I’ve been thinking about the way you wept over him after we fought, and how he denied every offer I made in exchange for your release…” With his pause, he shakes his head. “I thought maybe he had messed with your mind, confused you, and that was why you were so hysterical over his loss…but that’s not right, is it.”

“Paul–”

“Does he love you?”

It takes conscious effort to keep your body from shifting uncomfortably. “What is it to you?”

“He survived his wounds,” Paul says.

The casualness with which he shares that news heavily contrasts everything that runs through you. Your heart stops. Your lips part, unsuccessful in drawing in oxygen. Your eyes no longer see anything but Feyd’s face as it flashes in front of you. The way he looked when he last smiled at you. The way he looked the last time he came inside of you. The look of him when he died—or almost died. Death had been there, looming over him.

You’re trying to will away the tears. Paul is watching you too closely. “Wh–What?” you say.

“He’s alive, and he is demanding you be returned to him,” he informs you. “So, tell me: is he truly threatening me so aggressively over one of his ‘pets’? Or is he threatening me to get back the woman he loves?”

The woman he loves. You never imagined yourself in a situation where your brother would ask if a member of a centuries-long rival house loves you. But then again, you never imagined a member of a centuries-long rival house loving you to begin with.

You remember the night he told you. It was late and your bodies were bare after having bathed together. You were searching for your nightgown when he said “Come to bed, my love.”

You sighed, defeated. He’d called you that before, but whether it was real or not was such a mystery and it hurt your heart a little bit more each time. “You shouldn’t call me your love unless you mean it,” you finally told him.

You heard his footsteps when he stood from the bed. He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. “Why would I call you that if I do not mean it?” he asked. Then he hummed and said “You know me better than that, my love” before dipping his head lower and nipping the shell of your ear with his teeth.

So yes, he loved you—loves you. But there’s something in Paul’s voice as he asks you that question that gives you pause. It’s too gentle as if luring you into a false sense of security. The Harkonnens are not known for their capacity to love, and Feyd loving you could be seen as a weakness; his one vulnerable spot.

As monotone as you can manage, you reply, “If you’re being threatened you should just send me back and be done with it. I know you have more important things to worry about.”

Paul’s lips thin in disappointment. “I can’t send you back,” he says. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

He sighs. “Because I believe he loves you. And I need to see how far a Harkonnen is willing to bend for an Atreides,” he says. “If he wants you back, he will have to be open to negotiations.”

You stand sharply, take a few steps from him, and blow out a heavy breath through your nose. You were told your brother changed after drinking that magic water and it shows. Holding you hostage for political gain is not the same as marrying you off.

“I would like to be done with this conversation,” you say with a huff.

“I understand,” he replies, so you turn to enter your bedroom. But before you’re fully through the door, he says, “There’s more, though.”

You freeze.

“I had a dream,” he says, his voice coming closer. “There was a boy, no more than five years old. He had your features and your hair but his skin was of the same paleness as the Harkonnens.”

Sucking in a breath, you brace yourself with a hand gripping the door’s frame.

“You’re pregnant, sister,” he tells you, leaning against the opposite side of the doorway. “But I'm very glad to know that the heir of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is a product of love rather than an unfortunate incident,” he says. “Additional incentive, should it be necessary.”

In your shock, you can’t look at him. He doesn’t need you to. You can see his smirk in your peripherals, then he pushes off the frame and heads toward the main door of your room.

“Try to get some rest, sister,” he calls over his shoulder. “You really shouldn't be on your feet too long.”

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha #dune part 2 #austin butler #feyd x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune #dune movie

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bunnysbrainrot · 8 months

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Size Matters

Kinktober Prompt: Size kink

Relationship: Sam Winchester x Reader

Content: Explicit sexual scenes, oral (f receiving), creampie (wrap it up, kids), dirty talk, rough sex, dom Sam, fluffy/funny aftercare (it’s crucial)

Summary: Your plan for making the boys dinner goes awry, leaving you alone with Sam in his bedroom, and coming to terms with a kink that only Sam Winchester can fulfill.

A/N: 🤭

"C'mon,' you strain, reaching for a high shelf in the cabinet. Apparently Sam and Dean didn't find a need for a stepladder in the bunker. Your calves screech in protest as you reach for a jar of pasta sauce, your fingers brush the bottle, but not enough purchase to grab it.

A long arm reaches above your head, grabbing the sauce in a large, familiar hand. Sam hands you the jar with a smile.

You took it from his hands and chide, "Not everyone's as vertically gifted as you and your brother, you know. Y'could be more inclusive and invest in a stepstool."

He leans against the counter you'd been setting ingredients on. Sam's eyes scan over your form as you open the pasta sauce.

"You know you can ask us for help, right?"

"I was gonna make dinner for us, I didn't want to make you guys help me," you reply Sam stands fully now and looks over your shoulder. You crane your neck to look up at him, "How's the weather up there?"

Sam chuckles lightly, "You know, I could tease you about your height. It'd be pretty easy."

You turn back to the counter and place freshly-washed vegetables on a cutting board. Unsheathing a knife from the knife block, you keep conversation with Sam.

"I don't have a problem with being short," you bump your hip sideways into Sam's leg. He does the same to you, except the direct strike in the ribs knocks you off balance, stumbling over.

He's able to snatch you up to safety before you bust your ass on the floor. Now cradled in Sam's arms, a rush of comfort comes over you in his stable grip. His hands catch your waist, with his long fingers spreading broad across your torso. Fuck, together they could probably go around most of your waist, and those fingers...

You snap out of your stupor to find Sam smiling down at you. His eyes linger on yours long enough for your mind to wander, wondering who would lean in first. Stolen glances at each other's lips, hitched breath, low-lidded eyes, it was a perfect concoction for Sam to kiss you.

Beneath him, you're so delicate in his arms, as if you'll break if he isn't careful. It was in his own reflexes to catch you, but the feelings that rushed through him afterwards were something deeper. Almost instinctive that in any moment with you like this, hushed and ogling, would lead to something more. Forget dinner, he thought, he could just order something for delivery.

At least, after he's done with you.

"Sam," you whisper. Maybe you hadn't been paying attention, but his face is now just inches from your own.

He finds himself leaned over further, close enough to share the same air, breaths mixing.

You smile nervously, and to your relief Sam gives one of his own. But he doesn't break away - doesn't help you to your feet to cut vegetables for the dinner you were kindly making for him. It couldn't matter much now that he's holding you like this.

"Sorry," he replies, barely audible. You wave your hands in dismissal and place them around his neck. The air shifts as the movement brings you ever closer, your lips no more than three inches away from Sam's.

"It's okay," you whisper. Soft, hazel eyes wander over your face and flicker to your lips, seemingly stuck there until Sam takes a risk he'd been waiting for.

Relief washes over you when his lips meet yours. After all this time, it turns out that he had the guts to break this tension, and everything that had been bottled up could now overflow. You let a deep hunger overtake your body, purely going on instinct as Sam embraces you. Sam sighs into your kiss and swallows a moan it drew from your throat, whiny and eager.

Sam nips at your bottom lip, tugging at it tentatively with his teeth. You do the same in response, only harder. Testing the waters. Usually a dangerous game, especially with a Winchester.

Your hands had made their way to his broad shoulders - his lean muscles flexing and stretching as he moves his hands over you, meandering from your waist, spanning from your shoulder blades to the top of your ass. His fingers toy with the fabric of your clothes, like he was trying to unwrap a present too early and didn't want to rip the packaging.

“Not here,” Sam says, his words slurring like a love-drunk fool, “Can’t do this here.”

He breaks the kiss and leaves you panting for more; there's a new darkness in his stare, one that makes you shudder. You give him a smile, wiggling in his grip to the pasta sauce jar, and shut it closed.

“What about dinner?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “You seem like you have other plans.”

He was caught red handed, but you weren’t declining the advances. If anything you spurred them on as much as he did.

Sam slowly releases you from his grip, setting you stably on your feet. Not once have his eyes left you, even if you weren’t paying attention - Sam was set on this goal, you’d given him the ‘yes’ he needed, and he intended to make good on his commitment.

Patience was wearing thin for Sam. He ogles at the sight of you bent at the waist, putting the pasta sauce and veggies back in the fridge. The curve of your ass sucks him in whole, as if there were nothing else in the room.

A hand settles on your ass from behind, cupping and kneading gently. You let out a shuddering exhale before standing and turning to Sam.

The softness of your voice surprises you, “Where do you want me?”

The ball was in his court. Sam looks you over coolly, his hands kept to themselves in his pants pockets. Your eyes drift lower and pause on the large bulge in Sam’s pants, straining slightly against his thick jeans.

“My bedroom,” he said plainly.

—

There was little time to brace yourself for Sam’s next move. You're pressed against the wall before you can protest, although you wouldn’t dare object to this.

Sam grips the backs of your thighs and lifts you up, wedging your hips with his own, keeping you steady. A new hardness presses against your core as Sam juts his hips into you, pure instinct taking over his movements. His cock twitches in his jeans - he needs to watch his cock sink into you, to watch your face contort in bliss when he bottoms out in your pussy.

There was nothing small about Sam Winchester - he's a Goliath of a man, towering over you at any given time, with thick broad muscles that send a rushing heat to your sex. If your intrusive thoughts ever won, you were sure he could toss you around like it was nothing.

But now, you didn’t have much choice but to stay pinned to the wall, where you and Sam both grind your hips desperately, letting out lilted moans and grunts against each other’s skin.

The friction on your swelling clit was rough and warm, with Sam's cock perfectly nestled atop your drenched slit. Each rough push shot pleasure through your core, but it wasn’t enough for your aching cunt.

“If you need me to stop, you tell me, okay?” he emphasized. You shook your head at him. You wouldn’t break so easily, but if anyone were to shatter you apart, it could happily be Sam.

Your lips found his ear, after staining yourself up his long torso, “I’m not gonna break that easily, don’t worry.”

“Oh, yeah?” his voice deepened as his lips found your neck, eagerly nipping at your skin and making you whine. "Let's test that theory."

You gripped the hem of your shirt and shimmied it over your head, casting it to the floor carelessly.

Sam’s eyes trail over your chest, still beautifully bound by your bra. Their softness served as an undeniable invitation for his mouth to lower. He dips his head to greedily nip and suckle at the supple skin, leaving red and purple splotches in his wake.

You grip at his hair, urgently tugging him closer, as if the direct contact could never be enough to satisfy. Each of your soft moans is echoed with a low groan from Sam’s chest. He had doubled over, completely encapsulating you in his clean scent, now thick with a lustful musk.

Two fingers found the band of your bra, unclipping it with the utmost ease, and cast it to the floor with your shirt. Through panting breaths, Sam works off his shirt, though his lips have no hesitation to return to your exposed chest, and found a pebbled nipple between his teeth, rolling and biting to bring out a symphony of moans from the both of you.

Your hands lunged for the waistband of your pants. Sam took notice and sighs happily against your skin, his warm breath like a gentle wave across everything you'd exposed to him. Above you, Sam grew more unhinged with each passing second, grabbing and biting and kneading your flesh like a man starved.

Sam's lips capture yours once more in a tangle of tongues and teeth, exploring one another as if it was your only chance to do so. His tongue grazed the roof of your mouth, swallowing a deep moan that erupts from deep within your chest. He assesses your position and grows frustrated. It would be difficult to remove your, or his, pants without risking dropping you to the floor.

As quickly as you'd been slammed into the wall, Sam tosses you onto his bed, but stays standing at its foot, his hands reaching for his belt buckle. All else in the room vanished as you watch him remove the thick denim, shoving it down his legs to the floor. His cock strained against his boxers, throbbing and twitching to be free.

"Those," Sam nodded his head to your pants, "off."

The sudden dominance springs you into action. Your hands fly to your waistband and wiggle them off of your hips, down your thighs, and kick them away. Your soaked panties act as your final barrier, barring you from what you so badly needed.

Sam returns to his hunched position over you, letting his hands rove over your exposed thighs and ass, pawing at you greedily. You reach down to the band of his boxers, and slip your fingers under the elastic, inching them down until you felt a resistance against it - Sam's cock fights against the removal, straining your short arms until Sam reaches down to aid you.

The head of his cock springs up to smack against your covered core. You gasp softly at its warmth, your neglected cunt tightens around nothing of substance, an empty hole aching to be filled with something substantial.

"Feel." This was Sam's only order as he tugs your hand down to his length, coaxing you to wrap your small fingers around the middle of his shaft.

He's thick and warm against your palm, with a thick vein creeping up its underside to the tip. Your mouth waters at the way his cock twitches eagerly in your hand, and you slowly begin to pump along his length, making Sam hiss through his teeth.

Sam's voice is lower than you'd ever heard; it sends a heat directly to your teased pussy, now bracing against the base of Sam's cock. Its length covers most of your abdomen, casting your body in its silhouette in the dim lamplight of the room.

"Jesus..." he remarks wistfully, trailing a free hand up to his tip, pressing into the soft flesh of your belly.

Beneath him like this, Sam can finally see the scale of his cock to your insides, mapping out precisely where he'll settle inside of you. You whine softly as his cock drags another stroke over your soaked folds - the abrasion from your underwear was no longer tantalizing, but rather a nuisance.

His breathing becomes ragged, "I need to taste you."

The words shudder through you as Sam's lips work through the valley of your breasts, showering kisses along your middle, and finally he settles between your thighs. Sam places a kiss atop your clit, still kept out of sight by your soaked panties. Two fingers hook into the waistband and tug downward, sliding the soiled garment off of your shaky legs and to the floor behind him.

Cold air strikes your slit as Sam pries it open with two thick fingers, teasing at your aching hole, spreading the wetness around your cunt.

"Are you always this wet when you think about me?" his voice tremors through you. You nod quietly and hold your breath as Sam's head dips lower. All you can see is his rich brown hair cascading over your belly before warmth spread through your core, leaving you moaning at his first touch.

With the way his tongue teased at your clit, Sam may as well have set you ablaze. Your skin radiated a warmth unlike no other, rolling in waves as the cold of the air shocked your most sensitive areas.

"Sam," you whine, carding your fingers through his soft locks. You tug on him gently to push him further.

He pays no mind to your plea, and instead wraps his toned arms under your thighs, pulling your pussy flush against his thick tongue. It flicks your clit perfectly, and pairs with his lips as he suckles on the sweet bundle of nerves.

The taste of you makes Sam groan, his cock straining against the mattress beneath him. Above him, your moans and cries are a siren song, calling him to the bottomless sea of his desire. He pictures what lies ahead - you, sprawled on the bed, blissed out from his tongue and cock, sated and sleepy from a relentless pounding.

That image is pasted in his mind as he laps at your cunt, occasionally dipping his tongue into your tight entrance, and tasting your innermost parts. You arch your back at his touch, sighing his name like a prayer. His restless tongue toys with your hardening clit as pressure builds in your belly.

Sam creates a rhythm on your clit that sends you unfurling under his touch, mewling and whining and moaning slurred versions of Sam and please and need you. But he refuses to give more. Not until he can taste your release directly on his tongue.

The tightness in your belly snaps, breaking you apart until you're crying Sam's name against your hand, clasped firmly against your mouth. His tongue lolls over your clit even still, skyrocketing the shockwaves of the orgasm and making you whimper. Your slick coats his tongue and fills Sam's senses. All there is is you, your sounds, and your delicious cunt.

"Fuck," mumbles Sam, his voice reverberating through your convulsing sex, clamping down onto nothing.

You whine in response. All thought and sense had escaped your mind, now shattered and cast off to a void in the back of your mind. Sam laps up your juices and swallows, savoring every last drop your body had to offer.

The cold air of the room kisses your exposed cunt as Sam rises to his knees, his heavy cock bobbing above your abdomen.

"So small," he remarks, lining his cock over your stomach and admiring just how much of your body he'd overtake.

You'd surely be sore for days afterward, which sent a flush of pride through his chest. His cock ached to carve you hollow - to leave you gaping after a thorough fucking, to shape your pussy perfectly for him.

His hips rear back as he positions himself with your wet hole, shining with your slick, beckoning him inside. Sam's eyes meet yours when he notches the head of his cock past your entrance, surveying your expressions as he slowly filled you out. The girth of his cock could practically split you down your middle, stretching your little pussy to wrap perfectly around his shaft.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," Sam groans, ogling at his own cock as it spread your pussy open. His hands press against the backs of your thighs and push them toward your chest, angling himself so the both of you could share the view.

He sighs, "Look at that - such a big cock, stretching out your tiny pussy, just for me."

Astonishment, teasing, and lust filled his tone, and something else. Something more primal that has your walls fluttering around Sam's cock.

You gape at the sight of his cock entering you, and you finally come to terms with exactly just how big he is. Your pussy is stretched blissfully wide, swallowing his length with earnest. Sam slams his hips and strikes deep, the head of his cock brushing against your cervix.

Each thrust is harsher than the last and all you can do is stare at the brutality your pussy is being subjected to. You cry out as Sam's cock crashes into you, every time, without fail.

At this point, there's no hiding the reality of what's behind Sam's bedroom door. If Dean, or anyone else, heard you, let them. Bliss overcomes your senses and dulls all rationality in your muddled mind.

There is nothing else that matters - just the overwhelming size of Sam Winchester and his remarkable cock.

He whispers your name like a summons, meeting his eyes with yours as he presses your body into the mattress. A hand presses into your tummy. Sam gasps softly and takes your hand to replace his own.

"Feel that?" his purrs, pressing onto your hand to deliver some pressure. As he thrusts in you can feel a shift in your insides, until you feel a firm strike of the head of his cock against you palm.

You look to him with wide eyes and find a wicked smile plastered on his face.

Sam crouches over you, enveloping you with his large size, encasing your body with his. He leans toward your ear, "Can you feel it up here, baby? Because I can. I can feel how tiny your cunt is before I go in and stretch it out."

He pushes deeper, to let you really feel it, "I can feel how you try to fit me, and how just tight you're getting, 'cause you're gonna cum, aren't you?"

A dumb nod follows his question, making his grin widen across his lips. No words form on your lips, only shaky wanton moans reply to his commentary.

"I know, sweetheart, feels good," Sam coos, slowing down his movements to draw out a raw cry from your throat. His cock drags through your walls until its head is all that remains, and slams in harshly.

Your cry is on the verge of a scream, but Sam does not relent. There is no plea to stop or slow down, because this is all you'd been dreaming of - to feel a comforting helplessness under someone far larger, to be at their disposal and usage.

A growl leaves his throat, "So fucking small... I bet you feel like you could break, huh? With my cock this deep inside you, your little pussy can barely take any more, can it?"

Your walls clench around him in reply, pulling Sam in deeper until his balls slap against your ass, now pairing with the obscene squelching of your abused pussy.

Between the lilting moans and quieted pleas from your perfect mouth, Sam issn't sure how much longer he can last. He vows to himself that he will not give in to it yet, not until he feels it. He needs to feel the way you wrap around his cock when you cum.

He needs to be the reason you finish, this time and each orgasm after.

"You've been waiting for this. You've wanted this the whole time - someone big and strong to pound your little pussy 'til you can't stand. Because you want a thick cock splitting you open." Sam stammers through the last few words - his own comments are bringing him closer to the brink, but you've already reached yours.

You shudder around him harshly as your orgasm hits you full-force, leaving you no room to ride it out as Sam's pace quickens. His breath hitches at the sensations flowing through his throbbing length - he hisses when you clench around his sensitive tip, leaving his gasping as he fucks you faster. Harder. Deeper.

His cock plunges into your cunt, hitting that same spot in your tummy as he mentioned before. Sam's hand presses against your abdomen, adding a glorious pressure that has you climaxing again in a matter or seconds.

"Thaaaat's it, attagirl," he encourages. "Such a tight little cunt, but she takes me so well."

The words flow through you like fire, sending you over the brink once again and leaving you whimpering beneath him. Sam smirks, knowing he's doing his job right, he has you exactly where he wants you, pinned, helpless, and impossibly full.

"Please... S-Sam," you whisper.

He laughs, pounding you so roughly you can barely brace for the slam against your cervix, "Can't handle it, can you, baby? I thought you said you don't break easily."

Your soft cries reach his ears as you slip into that thoughtless void of your mind, moaning with each strike.

Sam's lips brush over the shell of your ear, "You think you're so strong, but I'll break you. I'll have your cunt so bruised you can't think about anything else - only me, because this pussy is mine, do you understand?"

A reply doesn't come, only the sounds of your moans fill his ears. Sam delivers a harsh slap to your ass, thrusting his cock as deep as he could manage. You let out a long moan but still don't reply.

"Who's pussy is this?"

The words form on your lips and fall out feebly, "Y-yours."

He kisses your forehead, but does not let his hips falter, "That's right, angel. All mine."

Pressure builds in his abdomen, his balls growing tight as his own release crept up from behind. Sam nips at your earlobe, his words clang through you with a primal desire.

"And since this pussy's mine, I'm going to fill it."

The swift relentless pace resumes, crashing into your hips to verge on soreness, your tight cunt still wrapping perfectly around him, and Sam's name falling past your slacked mouth. Sam's eyes screw shut as his own orgasm finally approaches, and his cock begins to twitch.

He unsheathes his cock from your warm walls, aiming directly at your now gaping pussy. Sam pumps himself fervently as his cum spurts from his cock, right into your stretched hole. You stare in awe as his cum seeps into your cunt, the angle of your hips inviting it all in.

Sam hisses, "Keep it all in there."

You pant as you try to recover yourself, but Sam plunges his cock into you again, making you let out a low, drawn-out moan. He strikes as deeply as before, his movements are urgent, borderline predatory, insistent to have you bred nicely.

"Keep it in there, and don't you dare fucking waste it."

His movements start to slow - the thrusts are languid and gentle until Sam finally pulls himself out of your abused pussy. He grips your thighs and lowers them until you can finally breathe freely again, gasping in the cool, refreshing air.

"There you go. Deep breaths, honey," Sam coaxes, running his hands along your sore hips, massaging gently into the aching flesh. You do as you're advised and calm your breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Sam did the same until he slumped into the mattress next to you, groaning into the sheets.

You smile lazily at him, "You okay over there?"

Sam nods into the bed, still letting out a low groan, "Y'fuckin' drained me."

Pride wells in your chest. You giggle at him, earning you a playful slap on your thigh. Your giggle turns into a hearty laugh before you nestle next to Sam, eyes fluttering shut with fatigue. He takes notice and nudges you.

"Bathroom, no UTI's for us today."

You retort, "Sam, I don't think I can even walk properly right now."

He shifts and rises from the bed, scooping you into his arms and lifting you to his chest. Your laughs echo around the room as Sam Winchester takes you to the bathroom, ever the gentleman.

Hi! Thank you all for your patience as i get out of my lil' brain funk. I hope you enjoyed!

If you liked this fic, reblog to show others! Who cares if we're depraved little animals?? don't you just wanna go apeshit???

anyways ily, and i hope this fic gets the love it needs cause i had a wonderful time writing it >:3

#supernatural #spnfandom #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #kinktober #bunny writes

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