#Paul P. Fix

[helvidius]

shit happened in july (translation: i don't have much to offer 😔)

[shinygoku]

Captain Scarlet Headcanons

A man stands in the gloom of an alleyway, lit up only by a yellow tinted spotlight. He’s tall, dark and handsome, and his striking red and black uniform give him quite the presence. The latest in the line of Anderson Heroes and the one tasked with enduring the most gruesome of settings and personal circumstance.

Also he’s gay and autistic, good for him!

Welcome to my Headcanons for Paul Metcalfe, aka Captain Scarlet.

I’m primarily drawing straight from the one true canon source; the 1967 Television Series, with some supplementary tidbits from the Haynes Manual and bonus material from my DVD set. I’m not counting from tie in novels, audio only stories, or comics, as they’re lower in the hierarchy and hard to come by, but if they’re any good then they shouldn’t contradict anything I have here ;D

This is a long post, so I’ll put the cut up here. Great to read when you’re sitting down with a nice drink and/or snack~

CANON INFO

Paul Metcalfe will be born in Winchester in 2036 and the series starts in 2068, making him 31 with change (as his DOB is in December and Ep 1 sure don’t look like Winter) when he’s killed and Mysteronised. That’s really quite sad, but of course, this is a series about a war…

With his December the 17th Birthday, he’s a Sagittarius. The prophecy aspect could allude to the occasionally remembered Mysteron Sense he has? Key traits mentioned include (Positive) Idealism and generosity, and (Negative) pronounced impatience and being shockingly blunt. These all fit nicely with our man in red here.

I ain’t sufficiently interested in Military crud to rehash it or try to put my own spin (I had to look up what a commission is in that context and I still only half get it!), same applies with Academic stuff, so for both them I’ll let the bio provided in the Haynes Manual cover it lmao

“Background: From a long-serving military family. Trained at West Point Military Academy. Following completion of degrees in technology, history and mathematical application at Winchester University joined World Army Air Force as private, rising rapidly to colonel through inspiring capacity to command and military professionalism. Having noted qualities of leadership, strategic thinking and dedication to duty, approached by Spectrum selection committee to become leading field agent. Commission accepted immediately.”

Yeah, the main characters of Anderson shows go real hard on the expansion pack pasts, I’m unsure how hilariously over the top it is compared to the 5 Tracy Boys but they weren’t shy about making the leads Cool and Experienced!

Also from the Haynes manual, instead of Personal Interests like most’a the other cast members, there’s a Special Note. It strikes me as a bit more cold and impersonal than what the Show has, and take it with a slight pinch of salt, but I’ve got it transcribed as written:

“After reconstruction by Mysterons following death in car crash and subsequent fall from tall structure, replica accepted as serving officer having completed extensive tests revealing capacity for retro-metabolism and loss of Mysteron influence.” 

Well anyway, that covers the Canon info, it’s limited but pretty interesting for what it’s worth. Below is another short bio, this one from my DVD set (the info presumably having been provided in Annuals prior).

HEADCANONS 

As ya can see in the Marital Status section, he’s Single. I shall make the bold statement too that he’s gay but possibly isn’t consciously aware of that …yet? He can see when a girl is pretty but he doesn’t React much to it, and none of the interactions he does have with ladies is romance coded. In fact, when Linda Nolan pretty strongly implies attraction he literally says: “Thank you. Let’s go, Adam!” –  I really think he didn’t Twig her intent and then he’s instantly getting Blue’s attention instead XD ~ But he does have stronger and more diverse interactions with other guys, especially Blue ;3

I think he’s autistic but good at masking – even before being Mysteronised his resting face is very unexpressive and his seemingly sincere bidding of good luck sounds quite flat. Other factors include the above mentioned focus on professionalism but deviating when his principles are challenged or things aren’t going to plan, plus how he spends free time in a quiet environment and mostly hanging out with Blue when given the chance. Also, again his canon Good At Academic angle. I expect he thrives fairly well in the pseudo military environment as it provides structure, routine and clear rules (Though he will disregard those when he’s being particularly spicy!).

Can be stubborn and impatient (noticeably uses a louder voice when re-asserting something), and isn’t the best at hiding his thoughts. Otherwise seems to have a stiff upper lip and good nerves. Slight hints of arrogance on occasion but strongly principled. He’s got a dry and sardonic sense of humour.

Mostly very professional but he’s not “on” all the time. Sitting at his Boss’ desk with his feet up on the desk as he Vibes is the oddest example, yet it doesn’t feel shockingly out of character. I’ve noticed he sits weird in many scenes too, sometimes his ankle rests on his knee, propping his feet way up on White’s desk, or sitting in a chair sideways (can file under gay / autistic traits / omg he just like me fr), and states in Spectrum Strikes Back that he enjoys the quietness of nature with less people around too (he’s SO real !!) Like when he needs to cool off in White as Snow it’s the little flower house on the Promenade Deck he picks to gaze out into the blue yonder.

I like the idea that Agent Blake from the Secret Service is his grandfather (Meta: the Captain Scarlet puppet was reused for the role), personally I see it working better as him being Paul Metcalfe’s Maternal Grandpa. As for the Paternal line, that’s where several generations of Military dudes comes from :T –  At least the Blake personality may explain where Scarlet got the history and maths nerd interests, Blake does have that bookish vibe rather than a strong presence.

Seeing how his Mysteron Sense manifests as Nausea, I think he gets motion sick more easily than a Pilot and Guy who drives Armoured Tank-Cars Backwards ought to… so he wears Pressure Bands to alleviate the sickness response (but the Mysteron Sense may bypass that, being psychic rather than motion based). I know it’s in part due to the puppets but he sure seems to prefer wearing high necked, long sleeved shirts, be it uniform of civvies (And well, 60’s fashion be like that too lol, maybe he’s a smidge Trendy!).

MYSTERONISATION & RETROMETABOLISM

Ok, so as one of the first to be Mysteronised, it feels like the Mysterons were themselves experimenting with how their duplicates were going to be. Black seems to be forcibly possessed with his personality overridden, and both Brown and Scarlet are killed in a car wreck fireball to be copied. 

While Brown was used to be a suicide bomb, Scarlet was used to try to take the President alive instead. Scarlet’s second death was from being shot in the chest and then falling maybe 10,000 feet (idk distances. It was REALLY really high!) to a presumably gory landing. However, after they get his remains back at base, they’re shocked to discover him showing signs of life again and his body reverts to his as-new form after the first Mysteron Reconstruction, but instead of being a pawn of the Mysterons, this time Scarlet is back to his original body’s personality, and that’s how he stays thereafter. I theorise that as he was an early draft, the Mysterons didn’t have the expectation that the healing factor they installed would be that potent, nor did they put in a way to Keep their programming after said death. That, or they did want to have a worthy opponent in their ongoing war of nerves… But yes, Scarlet remains completely unique as both a Reconstruction (effectively a clone of Paul Metcalfe [re]born at 31 with all his memories before the explosion-death intact), but also one with free will and unlimited healing powers that bring him back from death multiple times.

The Mysterons presumably don’t install a healing factor into the Mysteronised Drones thereafter, though they are harder than normal to kill, with High Voltage Electricity being the only surefire to kill them, and presumably would permakill Scarlet too. They are also unable to be X-rayed, instead being opaque on such photographs.

But yes, the grisly central premise of the show is that even though Scarlet can indeed be killed, he won’t stay down forever. Though he’s Indestructible, that’s from the healing power repairing injuries and reversing death rather than a Superman-esque bulletproof skin (the opening of the show features this only for brevity lol, the episodes themselves stick to the rules). Nope, it’s even explicit that he feels the pain of injuries and dying each time! That’s rough, buddy! 

A much lesser side effect of being a Mysteronised Clone is the “Sixth Sense” Mysteron sensing response that the writers sometimes forget about, where Paul feels nausea when another replicant is nearby.

The healing power is called the same term that the Mysterons use to recreate destroyed matter: Retrometabolism. And now I’ve recapped the origin and summary, I wanna dig in to the headcanoning part that they show sadly didn’t make enough time for… >:3c

🟢👁👁🟢

Here’s how I think Retrometabolism works for Scarlet specifically: In the event of injuries, the wound in question will get healed pretty quickly. The smaller the wound, the faster it heals, but even something like a broken leg or bullet wound will still leave no scar tissue or residual effects after the process is complete. However, if he’s been killed, then the Retrometalbolism probably focuses first on his most major organs to get his body restarted as swiftly as possible, with lesser injuries coming afterwards. 

I also imagine if the cause of death was something like being shot, the Retrometabolism will also force the bullet out, assuming it got stuck in his body. If he was poisoned, it would purge and/or neutralise this before getting his body back online. If he had brain damage from either the direct cause of death (hello, Operation Time!) or as a side effect of his brain being starved of oxygen, that damage will be waved away all as part of the package. It also seems he’s immune to disease, a hypothesis actually observed in Place of the Angels. I think he must also be immune to the harmful effects of Radiation, or at least that the death and rebirth would cleanse any lingering sickness.

However, the more grisly his death, the longer it will take to heal. I reckon the only way to speed up the Retrometabolistic process would be for surgical intervention to essentially do as much clean-up as possible so the Retrometabolism can ‘focus’ on the regeneration part. For this reason I think being riddled with bullets would probably be a simpler process than the times Scarlet is caught in an explosion, or some of the potentially-canon situations shown in the end credits which vary from a stock Pulp hazard (Dynamite, being thrown out of a speeding car, threatened by a cobra) to honestly quite nightmarish (the walls of spikes, the swamp/quicksand, being about to be run over by a tank, the impending inferno as he trips on a burning beam….), and the end credit scenarios offer an underrated facet of Spectrum.

It’s easy for bad faith takes to dismiss the dynamics of Scarlet as “the guy who always dies” and the other Spectrum officers as being surplus to requirements, but that’s a reductive and daft way of looking at it. Instead why don’t we focus on how much interest and (for lack of a better term) variation in strategy it offers when one member can offer to make the riskiest plays, in the safety not of having regenerative powers, but the assurance that there’s backup to retrieve him and look after him while he’s completely helpless. Like, in the Shark picture, I think the threat is much less the toothy fish, but instead that Scarlet is doomed to be stuck underwater, maybe ready to return to life but without outside assistance unable to do so without drowning all over again. There would be a lot of trust and courage needed in these situations, not to mention how deeply unpleasant it is for humans to be around a dead body that may also be in quite a state, so it’s a strange sort of sweetness that Scarlet has all this back up when needed.

I also feel it’s worth mentioning my headcanon on the mysterious case of the Two Scarlets - OG Human who is perma-dead and the Mysteron version with Retrometabolism. First of all, while it happens entirely unmentioned and offscreen, I expect Spectrum New York dug around the crash site a bit more after reporting Brown’s corpse and then found Scarlet’s. This body is presumably in a morgue, perhaps cremated or buried but perhaps not. Presumably it’s Scarlet’s call to make…

I don’t think there was any personality change at a core level between the Scarlets, though if he got more moody or distant or whatever I don’t think anyone can hold it against him! But in part of their accepting, embracing even, of Mysteron!Scarlet, I feel like his Self would remain how it was, with the caveat of the new tactical routes opened by the indestructibility. 

And, while the headcanon train chuffs along, I guess I can wonder how long Retrometabolism will last with the Scarlet we know and love? Will repeated use ever cause it to fade, or is it as unshakable like the movement of planets? Will it prevent him from aging, each death reset bringing him back to 31 physically, or will it see him into twilight years? If the Mysterons were defeated, would the power be taken away with them, or eased off as their influence fades like a memory? It may depend on how the Mysterons were to be beaten, or come to a peaceful agreement. If they could strip it from him, then their keeping it active for their recurring counter may add fuel to the idea they’re playing a game and need specific pieces to always be in play.

In that regard, I only have questions. But puzzling out and solidifying my interpretations of this fine fellow has been a lot of fun, and even after I finish editing this, and after I’ve posted it, something else is sure to occur to me to mull over! This show deserved to be longer, but everything it gave me is cherished, and at the heart of that is this autistic gay king. He’s intriguing and, of course, indestructible!

🌈🚀🌟

[httpiastri]

Lap 25 p7 for Paul 🥳

paul points and paul pole !!! the only thing missing is paul podium now 🥰

[citrusdarling7]

The Bloodline

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description- as a highly trained sister of the Bene Gesserit, you were prepared to do your part in carrying on the selective genetic material of this generation. however, a change of plans are made, and you are told that you must secure the bloodline of the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the dangerous young heir to Geidi Prime

warnings- unprotected intercourse, p-in-v sex, fingering (f! receiving,) sort of knife-play, blood, violence via gladiator fighting (but not too descriptive,) BG propaganda, slightly inaccurate Dune technology, feyd-rautha has black cum (credit to @valeskafics for that one<3)

word count- 1,857

a/n- wow, it's been a while. haven't published anything on this site in like over a year I think, but I hope at least someone will enjoy this sick little piece I wrote instead of doing my homework :)

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

It was never supposed to be him.

You were supposed to be paired with the heir of Caladan, Paul Atriedes, and you had been told this since your first day of training. Yet, the Atreides' had all been killed on Arrakis at the hands of the Harkonnens, and your Reverend Mother decided that the duty of continuing another selective bloodline would fall upon you. The na-Baron Feyd-Rautha may have been the result of 90 generations of predetermined genetic material, but that didn’t make him any less psychotic. Nor any less intriguing.

The bright sun of Geidi Prime was high today, and the air was sticky with humidity. Cheers erupted from the crowds as a young Harkonnen warrior gutted a slave in the pit below, and you found yourself growing bored of the spectacle. One of the ladies to your right let out a shriek at the gruesome scene, drawing your attention.

“How is one supposed to stomach this brutality for an entire day?” She exasperated. 

“It is tradition for the Harkonnens’, Lady Clarissa. They value strength, and what better way to prove it than in the gladiator pits?” Your Bene Gesserit training consisted of much time studying the histories, and you pride yourself on your knowledge of the cultures of all the Great Houses. Lady Clarissa grimaced before adjusting her hairpiece and fixing her mouth back to a pout.

“It is deplorable, but I suppose you would have no issue with that sort of thing,” she remarked. You paid her no attention; the Bene Gesserit were not well liked by many nobles, Lady Clarissa’s family included. Her discontent mattered little to you, although you felt yourself wishing you had at least one other Sister here with you. 

Unfortunately, your Reverend Mother had sent you on this mission hastily, claiming that the upcoming celebration of the na-Baron’s birthday would be the perfect time for you to carry out the task. Coming from a Great House yourself, it was not abnormal for you to attend such an event, but the marks of the Sisterhood followed you wherever you went. Although controlling your mind was usually an easy task, you found yourself slightly anxious after waiting hours to finally get a glimpse of your target.

It felt as if years had passed before the announcer finally declared that the young na-Baron would now display his bravo in a fight against three slaves, supposedly the last remaining members of the Atreides household. You perked up in your seat, pulling the binoculars close to your eyes as the crowd bellowed. 

Feyd-Rautha strided out to the center of the pit and bowed before the Baron, giving you a good look at the young heir. He was pale, so pale that the sun seemed to reflect off of his skin. The black fighting suit he wore drew your attention to his muscled torso, his sculpted abs peeking out from beneath the hem. His face was stern, although a smile stretched from his lips as one of the slaves began to stagger towards him. As you watched him slice open the other man’s throat, you found your heartbeat begin to race. You were intrigued. 

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

The interior of the Harkonnen palace was grim, as you had expected it to be. You walked through the fortress slowly, counting your steps as a way to calm your breathing. After the spectacle in the gladiator pits, you were immeasurably more nervous than you had been when arriving on the planet. Feyd Rautha was brutal, vicious, and likely insane. Yet, you could not deny your attraction towards him. It was stupid, immature, and dangerous. You were a trained sister of the Bene Gesserit, and this was your duty. To conceive a child with the na-Baron, and ensure the bloodline is secure.

You were not supposed to be on this side of the palace, yet no one questioned as you walked by. Your gown swept across the floor as you moved and your hairpiece tickled your bare shoulders. The na-Baron’s chambers were ahead to your left, and you noted the absence of guards, as well as the faint sound of approaching footsteps. A rather ghastly portrait of a late Baroness served as an excuse for your attention, although you struggled to prevent your eyes from wandering to the dark form approaching. 

“Well, what do we have here? Are you lost, little pet?” His voice was deep and raspy, and you found your mind faltering once again. 

“ My Lord na-Baron.” You restrained from bowing your head as you turned from the painting, staring directly into the man’s eyes as you sweetened your gaze. “I believe I may have wandered too far from the guest’s hall. Mayhaps I have wandered into a trap?”

“You should not be here.” He stepped closer, and began to stride around you in a circular fashion, like that of a predator stalking its prey. He watches you with hunger in his eyes, imagining what pleasure it would bring him to tear the dress from your body and take you right against the wall.

The Reverend Mother had been right; sexually vulnerable.

“Perhaps, I am in exactly the right place. I wished to congratulate you on your triumphs in the fighting today, it was truly a spectacle to remember.” You approached him swiftly, and the smell of steel and musk filled your nose. “I have heard many tales of your strength and bravery, but none measure up to what I have witnessed today. You will be a fearsome Baron, just like your uncle.” At the mention of the Baron, Feyd’s eyes lit up and his hand snapped around your neck. 

“So you must be the gift my uncle has promised. He must have bought you Off-World, for I have never seen a Harkonnen slave as beautiful as you. I will enjoy ravishing you.” 

Your heart beat sky-rocketed as he tightened his grip on your throat, making you lose control.

“Release me,” you commanded with the Voice, out of instinct rather than fear. The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, and Feyd obeys. The grin on his face falters as you stumble backwards, realizing that you may have just destroyed generations of planning, with only two words. Thankfully, Feyd does not seem discouraged.

“Ah, not a gift then, but I will have fun with you all the same, witch.” With a sudden movement, he pushed you against the wall and captured your lips in a harsh kiss. Feyd’s hips pressed hard against yours as he claimed your mouth with his tongue. His scent was overpowering in a way that made your head spin and seemed to subdue your thoughts. Your thighs clenched in anticipation as the na-Baron grabbed at your neck once more.

“Tell me, witch, what do they say of me in your homeworld? Are all you little witches so eager to please?” Feyd’s threatening gaze made your knees falter as you looked up to him with a soft smile.

“Not all of us, my lord. But I must admit, I have found myself rather allured by the temptations of your beautiful planet.” His hand dropped from your throat, and vanished to his side before reappearing a split-second later, with a curved blade in his grip. The tip of the knife rested against your skin, the cold steel making you shiver. Feyd swiped his other palm across the wall, causing it to unlock in a strange clicking pattern. His eyes burning into yours, he led you backwards into what you presumed to be his bedquarters, the blade at your neck guiding you in the way he wanted. 

Your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you allowed yourself to be pressed onto it. His blade was thrown aside, allowing his hands to roughly tear at your gown, ripping the bodice straight in half. You let out a gasp as you felt cold fingers slip between your undergarments.

“What a brazen little slut you are, showing up outside my chambers so wet and wanting.” He thrust two digits inside of you, finally satiating the ache that had been present from the moment you laid eyes on him in the arena. He fucked you roughly with his fingers, setting an excruciating pace that had you whimpering and writhing against the bed in mere minutes. 

“Please, my lord. I want you inside of me,” you begged, reaching up to run your hand along his torso, stopping when you felt the bulge of his manhood straining against the confines of his pants. 

Feyd eagerly obliged, tugging off his pants and stroking his thick cock rapidly to prepare himself for you. He lined his tip up with your entrance and wasted no more time teasing you. The na-Baron thrusted into you, hard, making you clench at the bedsheets and thrash your head to the side in an attempt to stifle your moans.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, little witch,” he grunted, grabbing at your wrists and pinning them above your head. His dark eyes burned into yours as you tried your very best to keep quiet, not wanting to alert any servant that might have been lurking outside. He met your lips with his once again, in a ravenous kiss that had your teeth clashing against his. Feyd bit down on your bottom lip, drawing blood that he hastily licked up before moving on to attack your neck. 

You were so full with his cock inside of you, and you had never been more aroused in your entire life. The metallic smell of blood seemed to radiate from the man, and his fingers left delicious bruises wherever they ventured. You felt your toes begin to curl and your stomach tighten; the agonizing pace at which he was fucking you had you close to the edge of bliss once again. He could feel you begin to clench around him, your walls gripping his cock like a vice.

“Is the little witch going to cum for me? Go ahead, you’re mine now,” He finally released your hands, and you immediately gripped at his muscled shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “My uncle may not have intended you for me, but fate has. No one else will ever have you.” You nodded desperately, not caring about the words coming from his mouth but rather the immense pleasure he was giving you. 

Finally, a wave of bliss overtook your body, making you shake and scream as Feyd continued to roughly fuck you. You lost control of your mind once again, seeing stars as you came.

Feyd was close behind you, and the aftershocks of your orgasm had him rutting his hips against yours, letting out a deep groan as he emptied his seed into you. 

It took you a few moments to regain your senses, to finally realize that you had successfully completed your mission. His black seed leaked out of you, a sickly sight that made your face flush. He had left his distinctive Harkonnen mark on you, and the bloodline was secure. It was never supposed to be him, but you were very pleased with the way things had worked out.

[qvrcll]

Warnings: (NSFW), Oral (F receiving), posessive themes, mentions leading towards overstimulation, filthy :P

-

Paul Atreides doesn’t know when exactly to stop.

Truthfully, he doesn’t like to. Even with your shaking legs hitched on either sides of his shoulders, and his nose bumping against the rigid swell of your clit, he feels like taking you again in his bed.

“Paul—” you barely manage to choke out. You’ve cried out for so long, you don’t know when exactly it is that you had tired out your straining throat. Within the field of your swimming vision, you see him - a predator, stationed amidst your thighs like a telling of evil, eyes never leaving you, even as you buck and lean off, away, from him.

He is merely amused. He gives you silence, and then in the wake of it, a toothy smile, “What is it?”

He knows fully well what it was.

Even then, Paul gives you no chance to answer for yourself and your tears. He leans forward, till his nose presses against the curve of your cunt, deliciously put together in a way that makes you whine above him, before his tongue darts out for a proper taste of you. First, he licks patiently. He is polite with the flat intrusion of the muscle against your folds, to which you respond with nothing but a low, guttural moan.

“Do you like that?” he presses further into you, appreciating how you melt onto his tongue. When you do not answer, he raises his eyes from above the lines of your stomach and fixes them to meet your hazy, clouded ones.

Only then, does he realise, he doesn’t have it in him to stop.

Then, he is a starved thing. Cruel and unusually rough in the way he ravages you. Where his tongue remained slow and less imposing against the very many nerves before, now it lay licking at your entrance. It made your skin crawl, truth be told, how his fervor had no bounds. In seconds, he closes his mouth against your cunt and makes a sickening sound when he sups your slit - and then watches intently as a mixture of your juices and his slaver goes to drip off of your cunt and onto the satin below your hips.

You, in your delirium, pause to quiver violently in the grip that he holds you against him. With a shaking voice, you warn him, “Wait—”

“None of that,” he says - no, growls - against you. It instantly shoots through you and sends straight to your head, where you dissolve into a fit of sorts. You cry into the mattress, mouth hung open with a drool and your stomach contracting, with the way he doesn’t relent, “I need to taste you.”

You are tasting me, are you not?

You think the question - for there is no strength in you. You find yourself succumbing fully to him, your body reduced to the very many twitches and spasms that the human body was capable of. When you reach down and settle for a fistful of his curls, he groans the next time he licks a stripe against your cunt, tongue just barely intruding you.

He isn’t here to fuck you. At-least, not yet. He is here for a taste.

“Tastes so good,” you realise he is speaking again, voice bordering on something dangerous, as he pulls away for a second. When you trust yourself and submit to basic motor function to lift your head off the pillow and glance down in between your legs, you find that Paul is dreadful in the way he looks.

His chin tracks with remnants of your juices, a string of it connected still to your throbbing muscle below. When his tongue does dart out, it is to lick partially at the filth collected at the corners of his mouth. Like he just cannot get enough of you. Unadulterated greed.

Within the silence that follows, save for the heaving breath you allow yourself, he eyes you curiously. The sense of danger is gone and replaced with a curiosity. Like: how much must he lick till you have exhausted yourself? How hard does he need to lay his tongue against your cunt to have you shaking?

But you cannot know for sure, for he doesn’t speak.

“Will you—” he speaks firmly, truly, to your surprise, and you catch the words, despite the hot rush of blood in your ears, “Will you let me continue?”

Your stomach tightens, for a reason you do not know exactly. Perhaps it is desire.

And, in the seconds that follow, even as you are being melted, thawed and branded into something new by his will alone, you manage a nod, closing your eyes by instinct, “Yes—Paul. Continue. Please.”

He smiles, wider and more allowing of the lines that shape against his cheekbones. This time, he takes no time - his arm hooks under your knee and pulls you in close, despite your initial shock. His tongue barely has a chance to lay flat against you, to test the waters and have you for a second at peace, before it prods in you.

You lurch, naturally, but he pins you down onto the bed, and then pulls you to him accordingly, so that the fat of your thighs are pressed to his shoulders. And he is shameless when he does it, because he is so thoroughly preoccupied; with his tongue fucking in and out of your quivering hole, reaching up and into places that he cannot possibly see, but can only reach by taste and feel.

Even now, he is encompassed by your heat, the swell of your presence, when your walls push against the muscle of his tongue hard. Even at that, he lets out an uncoordinated, fiendish moan - taken by the feeling.

“Gonna have you,” he talks to you desperately, taking you to a high he experiences by proxy, his roughened fingers now dipping mischievously into you with no problem, “Need to have you.”

You cannot manage by breath alone. So, you fist the sheets.

The silky material is strained in your fist, bedding pulled apart as you gasp and screech at the strength he fucks his tongue into you, and it is barely tucked into four corners anymore. You cannot find yourself to care. All that is in you is heat and the promise of his name.

In and out. In and out. In and out.

He goes, and he takes, and he consumes part of you. He doesn’t care for the way your body bends away from him, or the way your walls weigh in like clockwork against his tongue when he pushes his way in deeper - all he wants is your spent on his tongue. All for him, to taste.

He knows it now, peeking tiredly above your stomach, catching the way your eyes are sewn shut and mouth unforgiving with its bouts of curses and moans, that it is all for him.

And even as you stretch out beautifully above him, your hand pushing weakly against his scalp as to escape the painful end that he wrenches out of you with his mouth alone, even as his tongue cramps inside of you as you loosen and warm against his tongue, even when the bitter taste of your spent coats the roof of his mouth -

- he forces his way into you again, smirking crookedly when you let out a broken cry and fight for reprieve, seconds after the pleasure he had given you just before.

Because even in the birth of his exhaustion, he can’t find it in himself - or more appropriately, doesn’t like - to stop from taking what is truly his.

-

© 2023 qvrcll. Do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[sunkendreams]

Idk exactly what to ask for, but I have an ✨idea✨

Dwayne who seemingly has a penchant for choking his SO. He just loves the little whimpers and moans they make, and the way they squirm.

Really basic, ik 💀. You can take this and run, or simply enjoy this thought with me, but I wanted to share 🥰

moving in stereo.

( dwayne x fem!reader. )

➾ pairing ; dwayne x fem!reader.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 5.9K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), making out, dirty talk, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), bloodplay (he’s a vampire), breast-play, biting, hair-pulling, scratching, breeding kink, scent kink, p in v sex, missionary position, rough sex, begging, unprotected sex, mating press (a little bit), choking, bruising/marking, dwayne is hot

author’s note: i am so obsessed with him, it’s not even funny ngl :’) also, I have a couple of other fics/drabbles that I’ll probably post tonight too, I’m definitely feeling very inspired! If you haven’t voted on my poll, please do so! thank you guys sm for your continued love & support !! ❤️

Beads of blood filled your mouth as you absentmindedly chewed at the skin of your cheek, flesh taut between your back molars — you hadn’t intended to bite down as hard as you did. A singular glance at Dwayne’s hands had contorted into shameless ogling, smitten hues discreetly flickering over the veins and smudges of grayish grease coating his fingers.

He had a way with machinery that transcended you — he often claimed that it was simply natural instinct, but your running theory was something buried in his past life. Dwayne was known for his stoicism and quiet demeanor, neglecting to educate you on his background.

It must’ve been a life of hard work — otherwise, his hands wouldn’t have appeared so rough and calloused. They weren’t smooth and spindly like Marko’s, or pretty like Paul’s. They were taut and thick, dexterous and built for destruction, if he let it.

Hands that had held you many times before, touched you in ways that you longed to feel again. A shudder rolled down your spine as you daydreamed, mind floating into a fantastical haze of lascivious thoughts. If it weren’t for the presence of the other boys, a tendril of drool might’ve leaked from the corner of your mouth.

“It’s fucked, isn’t it?”

Paul’s agitated groan reverberated throughout the cavern as he crouched beside his boombox, slapping a palm against the top of the speaker, as if that would cure all ailments. His brows furrowed together, lip curled in annoyance as he knocked his hand against the machine a second time — for good measure.

“You’ll ruin it if you keep it up.” Dwayne’s monotonous remark echoed from the opposite side of the lobby. He was entrenched in repairing his motorcycle after it had gotten vandalized by a Surf-Nazi who didn’t live to tell the tale. Paul’s beloved stereo was the least of his concerns.

“How are we gonna listen to Alice?” A begrudging sigh escaped Paul, whose theatrics weren’t out of the ordinary. He huffed, falling in a dramatic heap along the edge of the dilapidated fountain. “Can’t you fix it, Dwayne?” He asked, peering toward his brother, who seemed entirely uninterested.

Silence filled the chasm between them, prompting you to stifle a smile. Dwayne didn’t enjoy being bothered whenever he was working on a project — he was always one to see it through until the very end.

David and Marko emerged from their abysmal resting place. Once the sun disappeared behind the ocean and dusk consumed dawn, the boys became wildly active. “Paul,” David’s voice carried, always domineering without even trying. “Let’s go.”

Disappointed in the lack of closure for his treasured boombox, Paul relented, rolling off of the stone bannister with an exaggerated sigh. He ruffled your hair in passing, and smacked Dwayne on the way out, who didn’t flinch or move a muscle. He simply exhaled — you could sense the twinge of irritation in his sigh alone.

Paul snickered, hopping up the ledge alongside David and Marko. “See you later, bud.” He sneered, waving at you as he departed with his brothers. Once the trio slunk away into the moonlight, it left you and Dwayne by yourselves in the cave.

You could’ve watched Dwayne work for hours, captivated by the way he dismantled the machinery, handling the finer pieces with nimble digits. He was wrist-deep in the grease-laden guts of his motorcycle, surrounded by a myriad of scrap and parts. His dark brows were furrowed together in stark concentration.

Intrigued, you abandoned your perch — a rickety, velvet-cushioned chair that had come with the hotel’s ancient wreckage. Paul’s stereo was sitting along the ledge, awaiting a tune-up that you knew Dwayne would inevitably provide. You sat down, inspecting it for any damage — it looked unharmed, on the outside.

“Do you think it was a user error sort of thing?” A burst of laughter escaped you as you opened up the hatch for the cassette tapes, noticing a rather banged-up copy of Alice Cooper’s Constrictor from ‘86. It was a good choice — you had to commend Paul’s taste in music.

Dwayne’s soft, bemused huff was all you needed to hear, prompting you to smile. You never mistook his tranquil, halcyon demeanor as indifference — he was a man of very few words. Even his temper wasn’t violent or tempestuous, like that of Marko or David. His placidity in most things was what drew you to him in the first place.

Being a human amongst a den of rancorous vampires wasn’t your intention, but you were happy — happiest with Dwayne, above all. He was the best boyfriend you’d ever had, not that it was a lengthy list. You idly fiddled with some of the switches on the boombox, removing and reinserting the cassette before closing it up.

Much to your chagrin, the stereo didn’t work — maybe it wasn’t Paul’s imagination after all. You gently nudged it back along the ledge, abandoning it for now. “How come you didn’t go with the others?” You inquired, folding one leg over the other, tapping the heel of your boot against the dusty stone.

There was a slight shift in his body language — a mere shrug of his broad shoulders, accompanied by the noises of metal clanging, gears twisting, and then he grunted. “I’m not looking for dinner.” Dwayne replied, matter-of-factly. He was in the midst of replacing the engine on his bike, placing the damaged part aside, hands stained in dark ichor.

With a soft hum, you pushed yourself off of the ledge, wandering over toward Dwayne’s scrapyard — a rather cluttered corner of the cave that acted as a makeshift garage. You sat along one of the flat outcroppings of rock, opting to watch him fix up his motorcycle. It would intrigue you more than messing with the boombox ever would.

His pearlescent teeth clenched around a wrench, clutched between his maw as he focused on putting the new engine back in. There was a quiet appreciation that he held for you — you were always respectful of his hobbies, if this even counted as one. Dark eyes flickered toward you, sitting there in your billowing sundress like some statuesque angel.

Dwayne appraised you in his usual silence, eyes carefully raking along your physique, as if he were undressing you through gaze alone. His jaw tensed, a fire beginning to spark within his chest, threatening to spread like an encroaching wildfire the longer he ogled you.

Sundresses were a hot commodity — and they never lasted, either. Dwayne made sure of it, and once he got his hands on you, that pretty fabric shielding you from him would cease to exist. He made it up to you with the gift of another, but rest assured, it would be shortlived.

It was a mutual feeling, the silent staring. His keen hues settled along the supple curves hiding just beneath that thin veil of fabric while you were captivated by the visual feast of strong, capable hands and taut forearms. You folded your hands within your lap, beginning to absentmindedly chew at your inner cheek again.

Your scent wafted throughout the short distance between the both of you, heavy with hints of your favorite perfume, a saccharine concoction that Dwayne had grown accustomed to. He loved your smell — it was unique to you, invading his senses as he continued his work.

Those strong, muscled hands of his were buried in the underbelly of the motorcycle, carefully placing the new engine back inside. He began to fasten it all into place, removing the wrench from his mouth, quickly fixing it all up with a series of bolts, screws, and metallic plates.

“I’ll teach you sometime.” Dwayne was, oddly enough, the one to shatter the comfortable silence between the both of you. He prided himself on playing mechanic — his ability to handle such equipment and repair it was rather renowned. Once he was satisfied with the job, he sat back, peering toward you.

Warmth oozed from those earthen-brown hues of his, coupled with a subtle adoration that only he possessed for you. Your smile only served to further it, the only thing to make his dead heart pump to life again.

“I’d like that,” You mused, canting your head to one side. “I think you should fix Paul’s stereo, too.” Even if Dwayne had brushed him off before, he would fix it and have it ready for him whenever he came back. It was the right thing to do, anyway.

Dwayne huffed, lips twitching into a threadbare smile, wrought with traces of amusement. He didn’t say anything — he didn’t need to. He wiped his hands off along the crimson cloth he carried in his back pocket, ridding his hands of engine grease and oil.

He stood, filling in his full height as he bent down to give you a kiss, hand carding through the back of your skull. It never failed to make you shudder, haplessly squeezing your thighs together as you reached for his forearm. Powerful, taut muscle flexed underneath your fingertips, and his kiss briefly intensified before he withdrew.

That familiar aching sensation flickered to life between your legs, a dull arousal pooling within your stomach. You wanted nothing more than to cling to him, beg for another kiss, but Dwayne was already over to the stereo, inspecting it for any damage it might’ve had.

For Dwayne, your mind was exceptionally loud — he could read your thoughts, hear them screaming from afar, which he happened to smile at from where he stood. The feeling was mutual, but he wanted to make you stew in it for a little while — it heightened the experience.

As he dismantled the stereo, you decided to go elsewhere — to Paul’s nest, which wasn’t the brightest idea, but he had an impressive collection of cassette tapes. You began climbing toward the rocky slope that led off into alcoves, using some of the ropes hanging about to pull yourself up.

“Where are you going?” Dwayne asked, seemingly finding the source of the boombox’s disarray — there were pieces of tape stuck in the machine.

“To see what Paul has to listen to,” You mused, nose wrinkling in amusement. “It’s the least that he can do for you since you fixed it. We should go listen to music.” Truthfully, Dwayne owned that stupid stereo just as much as Paul did — joint custody, you’d called it.

Hawkish, dark hues drank you in from afar, and Dwayne decided that he’d indulge himself in your wishes, picking up the boombox by the bottom. The handle had been broken off long ago — courtesy of Paul, once again. He simply trailed behind you, briefly pressing his hand against the small of your back when you made it up the incline, keeping you steady.

Paul’s nest was notoriously cluttered — in a very fascinating and macabre manner. It was littered in trinkets, things he’d taken from people he fed from, bones and all, or general thievary. The boys were all like this, but not to Paul’s level.

Posters of hair-bands and metal groups hung all around the rock, illuminated by flickering candlelight. It smelled faintly of marijuana, decorated by a patchwork array of tapestries, clothes, and stolen jackets. The guitar he’d lifted off of a traveling rock group sat on his bed — he always talked about starting a band.

A mountain of cassette tapes lay in a semi-organized heap, many of them taken from Videomax or anywhere he could find them. Dwayne simply stood at the fringes of Paul’s nest, watching as you picked through his extensive collection. You smiled at the handful you’d grabbed, rejoining Dwayne as the two of you made for his nest.

In an amusing juxtaposition, Dwayne’s nest was noticeably simplistic — yet, his personality was scrawled all over it. He liked to read, keeping a trunk of books, tools he’d taken from garages, and some trinkets stashed away in a large piece of a drawer.

He hadn’t bothered to invest in a bed for several decades — not until he got entangled with you. When Marko had mentioned it to you in-passing, it was rather intriguing, but you never asked Dwayne about it.

With the stereo now placed at the foot of his makeshift bed, placed atop a rather rickety wooden trunk, you ejected Alice Cooper from the hatch and put in The Cars, instead. Dwayne happened to regard this choice with curiosity, sitting along the edge of the mattress.

Moving in Stereo began to drift through the alcove, and you promptly fell back against the plush surface, tucking your hands atop your chest. “This song reminds me of you.” You murmured, gazing at the cavernous ceiling, focused on the jagged edges and outcroppings of rock.

Dwayne seemed curious, twisting slightly to face you. Even when sitting, he towered over you, indomitable and immovable, a wall of sheer strength and muscle. “Why does it remind you of me?” He wanted to hear your answer, eyes flickering toward your exposed stomach.

You smiled, somewhat embarrassed, but you decided to answer him anyway. “I don’t know,” You began, rolling over onto your side, propping yourself up with one hand. “Just a bit of a mystery, but alluring. It’s pretty magnetizing.” With a soft exhale, you began to pick at a stray string on one of the blankets that covered the mattress.

“Magnetizing,” Dwayne echoed, withholding the urge to smirk. Instead, he joined you, laying on his side as he mirrored your position, face mere centimeters away from yours. “You got a way with words, girl.” His chest shook with a brief huff before he leaned in to kiss you.

If a kiss could have destroyed you, this was it — Dwayne’s mouth consumed you, intensified by your seemingly innocuous words. He tasted good, like spiced smoke and the faint bite of copper.

You were eternally grateful to The Cars — Dwayne was careening into you, broad chest flush against yours, veined hand grasping at the base of your skull. Thick digits massaged at the nape of your neck, coaxing you close until there was no space left between you, lips voraciously tangling with yours.

He ripped all wisps of air from your lungs, as cold as ice as he shrugged off his jacket. Arousal reactivated inside of you, no longer dormant as your warm hands reached for his chest, feeling broad muscle underneath your palms. He felt like a god — chiseled, forever perfect — you were sometimes in-awe of his beauty.

In awe — Dwayne smirked against your mouth, unable to help himself when it came to your overactive imagination and racing thoughts. He pushed his hand underneath your shirt, fingers tracing along your curves as he began to feel a familiar tightening in his jeans.

Your scent thoroughly intoxicated him — your natural musk, the cling of perfume, the arousal coalescing between your thighs — it was a perfect amalgamation. Dwayne exhaled, sitting up and taking you with him, hands hooking into the hem of your shirt as he peeled it off of you.

His lips were on your flesh again, hands tearing your thin brassiere apart with ease, reveling in your warmth. Dwayne pressed a string of kisses along your neck, feeling the thrum of your pulse point pound against his mouth. The shorts you wore still clung to your frame, but they wouldn’t be for much longer.

“Dwayne,” You sighed, The Cars becoming nothing more than atmospheric background noise. Liquid heat pooled between your legs, a shiver rolling down your spine as he laid you down against the mattress, covering you with his body. Your eyes locked together as he stared down at you, gaze boring right through you. “I need you.”

Dwayne kissed your neck, sucking enough to create a hickey before he traveled to the base of your throat, peppering kisses across your collarbone. “Where do you need me, sweet girl?” His husky, warm baritone made you shiver in delight. Those eyes raked over you in rapture, full of reverence.

“Everywhere,” You whimpered, goosebumps coalescing along your spine. Dwayne’s huff of laughter made you smile, and you quickly urged him closer for another kiss. His mouth crashed against yours, passionate and blistering, full of an unrestrained want. “I’m yours.” A sweet moan tore past your lips.

A wave of possessiveness swelled up inside of him, coupled with that innate desire to keep you all to himself. Dwayne didn’t have an issue sharing with his brothers, but you? No — you belonged to him, and him alone. A growl rippled across his broad chest as he tore his lips away, returning to your sternum.

There was a prowess to him that the others didn’t possess — Dwayne was emotionally intelligent, just as vicious in the same breath. He was an enigma of so many things, drawing you in with his arcadian charm. Your fingers reached for his dark tresses, perusing through as he kissed your chest.

“You’re beautiful,” Dwayne’s affectionate baritone rumbled across your flesh as he continued his slow, deliberate string of kisses, making his way to your breasts. He trapped one nipple between his lips, gently suckling on the sensitive mound, the other hand tugging at your shorts. “Perfect.” He uttered.

You sighed, fingers tangling within his mane of black tresses, pulling and carding through. It felt silky between your digits, like velvet. Those veined, calloused hands gripped along the meat of your hips, strong and unwavering as he lifted you to discard your shorts.

Arousal pooled between your legs, honey-thick as it toyed with Dwayne’s senses. He wanted nothing more than to drown himself between your thighs, devour you until you were a trembling, mewling mess. Your thoughts shamelessly echoed that sentiment, prompting him to reach toward the apex of your thighs, hand breaking past the waistline of your panties.

Dexterous fingers languidly slipped along your slick cunt, making a line right for your clit. Your body responded in a near-violent fashion, hips jolting up into him, hands curling within his hair. “D—Dwayne!” You whimpered, chasing after the friction his hand provided. Those dark hues hadn’t left you, transfixed on your smitten countenance as he kissed your stomach.

He looked big when his body was spread over yours, but when he began to slink toward your thighs, he was hulking, a massive wall of muscle. Dwayne’s kisses continued, littered all across your pelvis and thighs, fingers still winding you up as he pushed in between your legs with those broad, bronze shoulders.

His visage was rugged with a fine layer of dark stubble, tangible as it scratched against your inner thighs. He curled his hands into your panties, and instead of removing them, Dwayne simply tore them asunder, leaving remnants of fabric behind. The alcove reverberated with the sounds of material being ripped apart.

A thin sheen of arousal painted your cunt, scent stinging his nose in the most pleasant way possible. The velveteen flesh of your inner thighs were layered in faint bite marks — his own, from the past. He looked to you for approval, thumb lazily circling around your clit.

“Please.” You huffed, head bobbing up and down in an idle nod as he moved his lips toward a patch of flesh, unmarred by any bites. Dwayne was always very sensual, and even when he fed from you, it felt so lascivious. Your body jolted, hips writhing closer as he began to bite down.

Dark, earthy-brown hues melted away into pools of a golden-red, unnaturally vibrant. The initial sting of his bite made you wince, but he was always gentle with you when it came to feeding. As sharp teeth drew blood, a low growl reverberated throughout his chest, causing you to shiver. Your fingers continued to trace through his mane of black hair, a myriad of moans escaping you.

Restraining himself from taking this further, he had his fill, kissing over your now-healing bite. Dwayne licked his lips, effortlessly tossing both of your legs over his broad shoulders as he tugged you closer. You were somewhat folded at the hips, but you didn’t care.

Dwayne’s gaze was incendiary, intense — he stared you down from his perch between your thighs. You were visibly flustered, staring right back, nearly shrinking away altogether. He kissed your thighs, mouth dangerously close to your aching cunt. “You ready, girl?” He asked, inhaling another gust of your scent.

You nodded, feeling every fiber of your being scream with desire, and you wanted him terribly. “Yes,” You whimpered, hands having splayed out at your sides instead, no longer buried within his hair. “Dwayne, please,” His deliberation made it worse. “I want you so bad.” Your hips wriggled again, desperate for his mouth.

A warm, hearty chuckle emerged from his lips, making his herculean form shake between your legs. “Just relax,” He soothed, noticing how coiled and poised you were. Those strong, veined hands wrapped around your thighs, keeping you spread apart. The flat of his tongue lapped across your slit in one long stroke. “Relax, Mama.” His voice made your head swim.

Relaxation wasn’t exactly your forte — you were too wound-up, too drunk with desire to simply sit still and melt into the mattress. Dwayne’s tongue began to lap you up, greedily consuming every drop of your sweet arousal, working along your cunt. His fingers clamped hard, enough to leave behind the inklings of bruises, etched into your flesh like his personal brand.

Your thighs threatened to squeeze at his head, but he kept your legs firmly planted on his shoulders, pinning you down and rendering you immobile. Your taste saturated his tongue, and he only chased after it, dutifully lapping at your slit as his nose absentmindedly grazed against your clit.

Dwayne was relatively silent — and you didn’t mind in the slightest. The only ambiance happened to be The Cars, your delighted moans, and your boyfriend’s deep, rumbling grunts. His tongue worked wonders on your aching slit, cunt clenching pathetically around nothing as he lapped you up, gaze flickering towards you.

Your countenance was a vision of beauty, all contorted into an expression of complete and utter bliss. Your hips writhed, with very little room to go considering that Dwayne had you locked down, arms bracketed on your thighs, keeping you caged in against him.

A heavy fire burned bright within the pit of your stomach, demanding to be extinguished. Throaty, noisy moans escaped you in droves, vocalizing your delight as Dwayne vigorously lapped at your cunt. He alternated patterns, between soft and exploratory and recklessly needy. His mouth occasionally brushed over your clit, causing you to shiver.

Each time he ate you out, it was almost like the first time all over again — blissful, filled with a lust-infused passion that threatened to swallow you whole. Dwayne was beyond attentive, savoring you as if you were the most delicious meal he’d ever had.

He lowered himself toward the mattress, musculature flat and poised between your thighs. Those strong, thick arms kept you held in-place, keeping you locked in as he continued to lap at your core. His hips rocked forward, harshly grinding against the bed to relieve some of the friction.

Much to your surprise, Dwayne got off on pleasuring you above all else. There was something intimately carnal about it, knowing that you only made those sounds for him, only let him touch you. Your hips jolted forward, met with a barrage of an eager tongue and mouth as he lapped at your cunt.

Dwayne grunted, lips opting to purse around your clit, instead. Your reaction was visceral, moans ascending to an excitable crescendo as your hands flew toward his hair. He grunted again, attempting to vocalize his own satisfaction of you pulling and tugging on his dark tresses as if they were reins.

A burnished-gold coloration had swallowed brown irises whole, flickering down towards your blissed-out visage. Your body had a mind of its own, twitching and writhing as his mouth relentlessly assaulted your aching cunt. Pleasure licked acros your frame, burning along your sensitive nerves. He was vigorous and attentive, throat itching with a dull, familiar ache.

Hunger could wait — Dwayne merely placed that feeling into the recesses of his mind. His tongue continued to cascade across your slit, lapping at your arousal before he returned his attention to your clit, suckling on that bundle of nerves. He steered you towards your orgasm, mind swimming with a thick haze of lust, overwhelmed by your heady scent.

“Dwayne!” Your voice carried above the nest, echoing throughout your cavernous surroundings. Fortunately, you were alone — you had little desire to mask how you felt about him. Needy digits gripped at his tresses again, hips bucking into his mouth until you were simply a pile of mush, unable to respond.

You were lost to the white-hot heat of your release, an explosive sensation that caused you to quiver and spasm in delight. A glittering perspiration danced across your hot flesh, sparkling from the glow of the candlelight. “Dwayne,” You huffed, a whimper emerging from the back of your throat as he dutifully cleaned you up.

He released your hips from his ironclad hold, crawling along your body until his broad frame nestled between your thighs. That taut, muscled hand rest against the base of your throat, digits gingerly squeezing on either side of your windpipe. You initiate a rather tantalizing kiss, able to taste yourself upon his tongue.

A clattering sound resonates in your vicinity, Dwayne wrestling his belt off of his hips as his jeans sag upon his frame. He’s swift, wrangling his pants aside with one hand, the other clutching onto your pretty throat like a vice, evoking a string of sinful noises from your mouth. You kiss him with a desperation that he matches tenfold.

His hips brush against yours, and the distance is nonexistent, closed by your stoic paramour, whose normally-cold gaze reflects with a semblance of warmth. Your hands clamor for his broad shoulders, sinking into the expanse of bronze skin, nails clamping down when he drags the head of his cock against your cunt.

“Speak up, sweet girl.” Dwayne grunts, lips ghosting above the shell of your ear. He thoroughly enjoyed your begging on occasion, with this happening to be one of those occurrences. His lips briefly press against the side of your face, stubble grazing across your silken complexion.

With an agonizing pace, he continued to toy with you, pushing his cock against your entrance, but declining to go any further. A pained whine escaped you as you tilted yourself closer. The hand around your throat squeezes, effectively commanding your attention.

“Please,” You sputter, squirming in delight whenever those veined digits tense around the slender expanse of your jugular. “Dwayne, please,” Your simpering pleas are met with a hiss as he sluggishly sinks into you, inch by inch. He lets out another shallow rumble when your fingers brazenly dig into his shoulder. “Please move!”

Cold-blooded and dangerous — but not to you, not now. The icy temperature of his flesh swallows the warmth wafting from you as he invades your space, musculature eclipsing any light. His shadow falls across you, visage awash with his own carnal delight. You’re tight around him, aided by your arousal.

Another satisfactory snarl rips forth from his mouth, echoing next to your ear. You wrap your legs around his broad hips, gasping when he began to move. His cock hit new depths, pulling halfway out before Dwayne pushed himself back in again. His pace was rhythmic and passionate — not sloppy or too rough.

The pad of his thumb draws circles along the curve of your jawline, the rest of his hand tight around your windpipe. You moan, legs locked like a vice as he continues to roll his hips forward, cock battering its way into your cunt with a domineering force. Dwayne was taking it easy on you — if he lost control, it wouldn’t be very pretty for either of you.

His lips find yours, kissing you fervently as you reciprocate in a flurry of passion. Heat bled from you, arousal seeping from your core as Dwayne continued to rut into you, one hand splayed beside your head. The sparkling sheen of his ring glints in the lower light, mouth relentlessly assaulting yours in a barrage of kisses.

Dwayne grunts into your mouth, but the entanglement is shortlived as he moves to cover parts of your neck in kisses — whatever parts aren’t covered by his hand. You feel the sudden scrape of razor-sharp fangs drifting over your flesh, testing your resolve. You shudder, eyes fluttering shut as you grip and pull on his hair.

Sometimes you simply forgot that he was a specter of the night, a fanged creature who had the capability to rip you apart at any moment. His fangs continue to hover across your neck before they retracted, lips replacing them as he kissed your pulse point. There was an added element of thrill and exhilaration as you whimpered, his name spilling from your mouth over and over again.

You nearly see stars when he pistons himself into you again, slow and savoring you, enjoying the sluggishness of it all as Dwayne continues to drag out his thrusts. Your cunt clenches pathetically around his length, prompting you to whimper and moan, goosebumps coalescing along your spine.

“More,” It was incoherent, a string of needy babbles that escaped you in droves. “Dwayne, please,” You whimpered, chewing at your lower lip. In the midst of his own pleasure, Dwayne’s calculating stare flickered toward you — it wasn’t a good idea. “Please, please fuck me.” You begged, hearing the growl that echoed deep from within his chest.

“You sure?” Dwayne didn’t want to hurt you, but he was inclined to obey your needy command. Another grunt escaped him as he steadily rutted away into your tight cunt, deliberating in the midst of it all. “Won’t be gentle.” His stark warning was concrete, you knew this — you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you nodded several times over, digits gently curling around his wrist. “Yeah.” You panted, chest fluttering with a tight sensation as he gave you a hasty, passionate kiss, a parting gift as he squeezed at your jugular. That steady rhythm began to pick up instantaneously.

Dwayne made sure to watch you closely, gaze hawkishly trained upon your body as he began to fuck you. The intensity and the heat rose like a tidal wave, consuming the both of you as he pounded away at your poor cunt. Your legs rattled like leaves, attempting to stay locked around his waist.

The taut muscles of his shoulders and abdomen worked in-tandem, body effortlessly exerting strength. For him, it was nothing — for you, it was a different experience entirely. He was rough, manhandling you with one hand as he grabbed at your hips, enough to leave behind faint impressions in the form of bruises.

Moving in Stereo still swallowed any background noise, encompassing the whole of Dwayne’s nest. You were a complete and utter mess, devolving into a puddle of sweet moans and needy whimpers, especially whenever he applied pressure around your throat. He squeezed whenever he thrust into you, force akin to that of a barely-restrained battering ram.

Even in his self-proclaimed roughness, Dwayne was still executing some measure of restraint. “Mine,” His thunderous voice swarmed you from all sides as he fucked you into submission, gritting pearlescent teeth together as he approached his climax. You kept nodding, back arching into his touch.

“Dwayne,” Dwayne — it feels like the only word you’re capable of saying, rolling from your tongue with a wanton moan. You tug on his tresses with an urgency, feeling his hips grind against yours, flesh kissing flesh with unyielding thrusts. His cock continues to bury itself deep inside of your needy slit until it can go no further. “S—Shit! Right there!” You cry.

He huffs, musculature flat against you, chest to chest as you coax him in for another kiss. You whimper into his mouth when his tongue tangles with yours like a heat-seeking missile, teeth breaking the thin skin of your lower lip. Pearls of crimson trickle onto his tongue, fusing lust with hunger — all for you.

Dwayne didn’t stop, showing no signs of stopping as he fucked the both of you through an orgasm, painting your cunt in hot ropes of seed. He doesn’t pull out, a sensation that the two of you feed off of. If it weren’t for his vampirism, you’d be round with his children — the fantasy would continue to linger on for as long as he pleased.

“Shit, Mama,” Dwayne’s strained baritone sends shivers throughout your body. He rarely talks during sex, and this felt like a treat as he continued to thrust into you, feeling your nails dig angry crescents into his shoulder. He groans, savoring the feeling of your constant tugging on his mane of dark tresses. “You’re perfect.” His voice tapered off into a possessive growl.

You want to scream, a raging fire surging throughout your body before it finally comes to an end, extinguished by Dwayne’s rough rutting. He could’ve kept it up, continued all night long with his cock stuffed inside of you, but humanity was both a blessing and a curse. Your thighs shook underneath his grasp, and he began to slow, pressing kisses along your collarbone.

His hand left behind a searing brand around your throat — whether or not the imprints are visible, it’s the sensation that refuses to leave. Your windpipe feels a little sore, but it’s a pleasant burn as he comes to a crawl, nestling his forehead against yours.

The excitement and blissful thrill of the moment steadily begins to fade, composure replacing a very heavy lust. Your heart thrums beneath your breast, beginning to crawl to a more uniform beat as you nudge forward, kissing Dwayne again. Your lips are swollen, split down the middle with a patch of dried cruor.

Dwayne’s exhale of relaxation comes after, and the tension within his body unfurls. He kept himself inside of you still, feeling your poor cunt clench around his cock when he adjusted his position. His kiss is astoundingly tender this time around, able to taste the pang of copper upon your lip, accompanied by your natural sweetness.

A sense of euphoria overwhelms you, body feeling wonderfully heavy as Dwayne peppered kisses all along your jaw and collarbone. “You alright?” He murmured, making sure that he hadn’t pushed the limit with you. It was easy to become lost in the moment, forget about your humanity.

You nodded, wincing slightly when he pulled out of you, resting his head against your stomach, arms encircling themselves around you. “Better than alright,” You mused, tracing your fingers throughout his hair. “You think Paul will mind that we borrowed his stereo?” Laughter burst forth from your mouth.

A bemused huff escaped Dwayne as he reached over with one muscled arm, hitting the ‘NEXT’ track on the boombox. He pulled you close, nose wrinkling in disdain as Drive by The Cars came on — it wasn’t exactly his taste in music.

“Like you said,” He rumbled, peering up at you with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. His arms effortlessly tugged you down to his level, lips twitching into a faint smirk, rare for Dwayne yet mesmerizing all the same. His mouth brushed above yours. “Joint custody.”

[thewordypeach]

Cherry Waves

Cherry Waves

pairing: Paul Atreides x fem!reader word count: 9.2k warnings: fluffy smut. virginity. oral (m receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, vague mention of dom/sub, breeding kink?!?!?, etc. chubby reader, no use of y/n (however your name is daisy lol) summary: you consummate the arranged marriage to your new husband, paul atreides. author's note: this is my second story that i am posting! i've been working on this one for awhile now... absolutely adore Paul Atreides and Dune. watched both movies like 5 times and just finished up the book! waiting for the next one from the library :) also Timothée's hair in this film is just ungodly and totally unfair - like i don't know if i want to be his hair or have it?? anyways, it's fluff with smut or smut with fluff??? its cute and dirty. that is all. thank you for reading!!!!! addendum: 05/04/23 - this is picking up reads because of Dune 2 promo and i just wanted to let you know that it's poorly edited, and a sequel will be coming soon.

For the first time since you landed on Caladan, the rain has finally stopped. And for the first time since you arrived, you are completely alone with him. Your husband. You haven’t spoken more than two words to him; you’ve been nothing but frightened for the last week, afraid of your new life on this new planet. You know you are going to have to accept this new life because you have no other choice. The other thing you are going to have to accept is him. 

Paul Atreides. 

You watch as he kneels before a delicate blossom, eyes fixed upon the intricate folds and hues of its magenta petals. His once sharp features have softened, the angles smoothed into an expression of wonder and reverence. You’ve seen this look of his before but can’t seem to place it. His slender fingers reach out and touch the velvety surface of the flower as if he were under its spell. His dark hair, wild and unkept, falls in loose waves around his face. 

While you can’t help but notice how breathtakingly handsome Paul is, it’s not his looks that initially drew you in, but rather it is his quiet intensity that captivated your attention. He turns and his green orbs take a quick scan of you. His eyes have always held a depth of knowledge and experience far beyond his years, and even now as he observes you, he knows something you don’t. 

“The flowers on Caladan are a wonder to behold,” He says tepidly, almost as if he’s afraid of scaring you away. He knows you’ve been on edge the last few days, practically jumping out of your skin every time he speaks to you. He straightens, his lean frame moving gracefully as he strides toward you. “Each one is so unique, with its own fragrance and beauty. Some are delicate and sweet, like the jasmine that grows near the waterfalls, while others are bold and robust, like the wild roses that climb the cliffs.” 

You are frozen in place, knees trembling beneath your skirt. Paul stops when he is in front of you, his body mere inches away. Those eyes of his, perfectly green like the forest that surrounds the two of you, sparkle with reverence. He’s been in disbelief at how strikingly beautiful you are and how you don’t even realize it. The thought of you not knowing your strength or beauty brings a sadness to him that he can’t shake; it brings forth a determination to help you see and understand your true worth.

Gently, he raises his hand and touches a finger to your temple, sweeping away a piece of black hair. Underneath the light, the strands of hair shimmer with a blue hue.  He moves his attention back to your face, “Caladan didn’t have daisies until you,” 

When it comes to you, Paul can’t help but be tender. He knows you’ve been through so much. He sees the turmoil etched upon your face; Paul is afraid your sadness and fright will be permanent, and he does not want to go forward if you are intimidated by him. The corners of his lips pull down, shaking as he confronts you, “I… I know that you are scared of me, Daisy,”

Your throat tightens. You aren’t scared of Paul but rather, you are scared of what lies ahead in your future with him. He’s the son of Duke Leto Atreides; Paul has responsibilities that you never dreamed of. Folding your arms around your body, you swallow dryly and think of what to say with careful consideration because you can tell that Paul is growing frustrated with your lack of reciprocity.

“My lord,” The way you regard him by his formal title makes his chest constrict. He does not want such formalities when it’s just the two of you but he bites back the urge to correct you. He impatiently awaits the rest of your words. Your eyes cast downward, afraid to look him in the eye as you confess, “I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of the responsibilities that come with being your wife. I do not want to burden House Atreides.”

Concern floods Paul’s face and he is quick to shake his head. His brow knits together and he rushes to speak, the words tumbling out before he can think about what he’s saying, “Daisy, you need to understand that I didn’t choose this life either -”

He stops and inhales deeply to calm himself. Paul takes a step closer and the gap between your bodies narrows. Immediately, you can’t help but notice how his scent is a tantalizing combination of rain and a woody floral. It makes you think of safety. Paul drops his voice to a whisper, “I have responsibilities to House Atreides that I can’t simply ignore. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you or that I won’t do everything in my power to protect you.” 

“You don’t even know me,” Your voice shakes with emotion. This isn’t how you address nobility but damn Paul’s title. His status brings forth an apprehension that claws inside your already rattled heart. You have known each other for less than ten days and yet here he is, declaring protection with everything he has. However, despite his best effort you still feel like a burden. He’s too young to feel like this - he has his entire life ahead of him and now? He has a wife to take care of. Your eyes snap up and you breathe out, “You shouldn’t have to deal with this, any of this…”

Paul studies your face, sensing your doubts and your burdens. Your eyes remain clouded with fear and melancholy. Oh, how Paul yearns to alleviate your concerns and set your mind at ease, but he feels helpless in doing so. His father never taught him how to be a loving husband; Paul is only schooled in politics and the responsibilities of a Duke. Navigating the complexity of matrimony has never been part of his training.

“I understand that this might be difficult for you to understand,” He cups your face and caresses your cheek with his thumb. Paul realizes this is the most affectionate he’s ever been with someone and it breaks his heart knowing this is the first time you are on the receiving end. He silently vows to give you all the love he has. As he speaks, warmth radiates off his words, “You are not a burden, and you will never be a burden to me because we are in this together, Daisy. You are my family now. I promise we will figure this out, together.”

Tears swell in your eyes, “I’m sorry, m’lord -”

“Daisy,” He sharply cuts you off, “You don’t have to apologize - none of this is your fault, okay?”

Paul leans his forehead against yours, “We are a team now. You are my wife and I will do everything I can to protect you.”

You close your eyes, letting the tears fall down your cheeks. Paul is quick to wipe them away and much to your surprise, he kisses each of your eyelids. Your hands cling to his waist, suddenly desperate to keep him close. Paul notices the change and feels your urgency as if you are afraid of him slipping away. He responds by planting butterfly kisses on every inch of skin he can reach. More tears crash down and Paul sweeps them away. You can’t help but giggle at the valiant effort that your husband is making to make you feel better. 

The sound of your giggle makes Paul giddy and it causes his stomach to flip. He’s never felt like this before. His lips stretch into a smile as he continues to assault your beautiful face with endless amounts of affection. Paul stops for a brief moment, pulling away to see how your face has brightened. You look like sunshine now and it leaves him breathless.

Your eyes flutter open, wanting to see why your husband has stopped. Paul is peering at you with so much love and admiration that it makes your breath hitch inside your chest. You have never felt so safe and so adored. A look flickers across his verdant eyes and before you can say anything, Paul captures your lips with his.

Technically, this is not the first time he has kissed you but this kiss is exceptionally better than the one you were forced to share at the ceremony. This kiss felt natural and it felt right. There is a certain innocence to how he is applying soft pressure against your lips. Almost as if he’s afraid of breaking you. You want more, no, you need more. You can’t get enough and truth be told, neither can Paul. A desire ignites inside him and his stomach coils as something stirs inside his pants -

“Paul!”

The interruption causes you to jump but for Paul, the interruption of Gurney Halleck angers him. You are blushing at being caught in a compromising position, hiding your face against Paul’s chest as the future Duke turns to the weapon teacher. Annoyed, Paul scowls at the smirk on Gurney’s face. Gurney didn’t think Paul had it in him because truthfully, Gurney didn’t support the arranged marriage; he had his own misgivings and predictions about you. But upon seeing this revelation, Gurney’s opinion swiftly changed.

“My apologies for the interruption,” Gurney clears his throat, “My lord, may I remind you that your weapon’s master doesn’t like to be kept waiting…”

Paul glares at Gurney before turning his attention back to you, his face softening into that of a lovesick puppy. Your face is still pressing into his chest. Gently, he lifts your head and sweetly kisses your cheek, murmuring, “I will see you later, okay?”

Unwillingly, Paul tears himself away from you and stalks toward Gurney who is patiently waiting by the edge of the garden. Gurney, having known Paul since he was a wee little one, chuckles at the bulge in the young master’s pants. When Paul is close enough, Gurney leans over and mutters, “May I suggest a cold shower before training?” 

Paul’s face turns bright red upon realizing what Gurney is talking about.

Throughout weapon training, Paul is distracted. His thoughts are consumed by you. Gurney notices and finds himself pushing the young boy harder, and harder. Paul mustn’t give in to thoughts of temptation. Gurney barks order after order, hitting Paul over and over until the boy is on the ground, huffing and puffing, sweat pouring down his face. 

A look of determination etches upon Paul’s face as he lifts himself from the ground, swinging his blade around and glaring at Gurney. Paul is about to lunge at his weapon’s trainer but Gurney makes the quick decision to draw the session to a close because it’s clear, they won’t get much farther than this. 

“Paul,” Gurney orders, raising his hand for the boy to halt, “That’s enough for today,”

“I’m not done yet,” Paul hisses, clutching the handle of his blade. He eyes as Gurney walks over to the table of weapons and begins to clean them, buffing the blade until it shines.

“Your skills are improving Paul,” Gurney says gruffly, “But there’s something else you need to learn if you want to be a good husband,” 

Paul looks at Gurney with a quizzical look, unsure of how being a husband has anything to do with a training session. The young master huffs, “What are you talking about, Gurney?” 

“What I mean, boy, is that being a good husband takes more than just sword skills,” Gurney replies, his tone serious. “You need to have control over your thoughts.”

Paul blushes, had it really been that obvious? He sheepishly admits, “I… I guess I was a bit distracted...”

“A bit?” Gurney guffaws, throwing his head back. Paul’s naivety is something else. He presses, “You spent two hours thinking of your wife - this type of distraction is unacceptable, young master Paul. What are you going to do when an enemy has overpowered you?”

“I have my shield -” Gurney is swift to penetrate the forcefield of an unsuspecting Paul. The defence shield vibrates at the intrusion causing Paul to stumble, his green eyes snap to his waist where the blade is hovering above his sweat-soaked shirt. Paul lets out a sigh of frustration, feeling like he has not only let himself down but Gurney as well.

Gurney scorns, “How many times have I told you? The defence shield is only -”

“As good as the person wielding the sword,” Paul finishes Gurney’s sentence. Gurney ignores Paul and continues with his speech, “Even the most powerful shield can be breached by a skilled warrior and no matter how advanced or sophisticated your shield technology is, if you can’t properly use your sword, you are vulnerable to an attack.”

Gurney sheathed his blade, eyeing Paul who looks defeated. Gurney lets out a exhale, “Paul, marriage is a lot like weapon training. You have to be willing to put in the work, to learn and grow together, and to be there for each other through thick and thin.”

Paul turns off his defence shield and runs his finger along the edge of the blade, fascinated by the vulnerability - one wrong move and he could cut himself, and bleed to death. Suddenly, the weight of being a husband falls on his shoulders and he thinks about the promise he made to protect you. He's liable for another person now and he wonders if he's even ready for the responsibility of having a wife. The young master mutters, “What happens if I can’t keep my promise of protecting her?”

Gurney furrows his brow and gives Paul a stern look, “Then you’ll have failed not only her, but yourself as well,” he says firmly, “A true warrior doesn’t waste time worrying about the what-ifs. Instead, focus on the task at hand and what you can do to prevent it. Train harder, study your enemy, and always be one step ahead. The best way to protect her is to be prepared for anything that comes your way and that means forcing yourself not to think frivolous thoughts about her,”

Paul grimly nods but Gurney sees the young boy hasn’t been convinced yet. Gurney feels for him; this is new territory and Paul has yet to find the best way to navigate it. Gurney continues, “As for your wife, you cannot be with her every moment of the day, but you can teach her to be just as skilled with the sword as you are.” 

Paul hurries down the corridor of his family's castle, trying to get back to you as soon as possible. He is so excited to see your face that his stomach is churning with anticipation. He wants to hold you, touch you, kiss you. You are all he’s been thinking about and he is so close to seeing you again. Paul accelerates around the corner and nearly collides with his father, Duke Leto Atreides. Paul is caught off guard and he stumbles back.

Duke Leto regards his son with a knowing look as if he had been waiting for Paul. Leto watches as Paul straightens himself out, smoothing and adjusting the black tunic with the House of Atreides symbol on his chest. Paul suddenly feels nervous being in the presence of his father, he’s unsure of what to say or do. Paul waits for instruction. 

“Paul,” His father nods. Leto knew that Paul would be in this area of the castle because Gurney had already informed him. In fact, Gurney had also informed the Duke of the kiss that the young master and his lady shared in the garden - Gurney said it wasn’t just any kiss either. It was the kiss; the type of kiss that would’ve certainly led to something more had it not been for Paul’s strict training schedule. 

Leto is amused by his son’s red face which is impatient and restless. The Duke knows that Paul will not disobey his orders and decides his teachings in matrimony couldn't have come at a better time. He offers a smile to Paul, “Relax, son - Gurney told me you’d be here,” 

Paul clears his throat and nods, “Yes, my lord - can I help you with anything?” Paul is dreading the answer and finds himself becoming resentful toward the Duke because now, Paul has been delayed from seeing you. When the Duke gives a curt nod, Paul’s stomach drops - why did he have to be such a fool and ask such a question? 

“Yes, Paul. There is something you could help me with,” the Duke motions for Paul to follow him down the corridor of their castle. As they walk through the dimly lit castle, the glowglobes above them illuminate the towering walls made of rough-hewn gray stone. The Duke’s footsteps reverberate through the long, empty hall, echoing off the walls and filling the silent space. 

Leto thinks about how small Paul used to be and how it seems like it was only yesterday that Paul was running around the castle and playing pretend with all of his imaginary friends. He has grown into a tall, handsome young man but despite all of his training and teachings, Paul still has yet to master his stoicism. Leto notes how Paul's lips are pursed with muted animosity - his son is annoyed with him. The Duke is amused by this; he knows he is yet another barrier keeping Paul from his new wife.

As the Duke regards his son, he realizes that Gurney is right. Paul is completely smitten by you and those verdant eyes of his are pooled with so much love that it spills out. His infatuation with you is written across Paul's face. This is a side of his son that he has never seen before. It pleases him because originally, Leto was resistant to the arranged marriage brought on by the Padishah Emperor who insisted that Paul take one of his daughters from House Corrino.

The Duke knows that this type of look on royalty is frowned upon and that it may be seen as a weakness. But Leto cannot help but feel proud of his son for allowing himself to feel and express intense emotions. In a world where political alliances rule, it is a rare and precious thing to see someone unabashedly show love and affection. Leto thinks of his own reasons for not marrying his concubine, Lady Jessica, and does not wish for Paul to be burdened with the same regrets.

With a sense of determination, the Duke decides to do everything in his power to help Paul build a strong and loving relationship with you. Leto refrains from chastising his son about his open display of affection because he realizes that Paul needs guidance on other matters; matters attaining to the bedroom.

He knows Paul has received the talk about procreation but Leto is about to give his son advice on proper lovemaking. It's a topic he was unwilling to breach but Lady Jessica was insistent that it happens tonight as it's obvious the newlyweds will be consummating the marriage sooner than later; she gave her own advice to you earlier and now, it is the Duke's turn.

He takes a deep breath, carefully selecting his words. He doesn't want to scare Paul and begins imparting his knowledge with a casual statement, “Gurney informed me of your training session,” He pauses when he realizes that Paul isn't paying attention to him. However, the Duke presses on, “Paul, you’re a husband now. You have a wife - a beautiful wife -” 

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Paul interjects rather dreamily as a dazed look crosses his eyes. There he goes again, letting his love spill out. Leto realizes that he'll have to remind Paul about the importance of keeping his emotions in check but for now, it could wait.

"Yes, she is. And now that you're a husband, there are certain things you must do and certain things you must not do," Leto stops and turns to his son, watching as Paul's expression changes to that of confusion. "You are responsible for her happiness, her sadness - your actions will directly affect her well-being."

Paul slowly nods, taking in his father's words. Leto cocks his head to the side, asking, "Son, do you know how to keep your wife happy?"

The young master shakes his head and casts his gaze downward - no, he doesn't know how to keep you happy. And it's been plaguing him all day. It's what kept him distracted during weapon training. But when his father speaks again, it's not the type of advice he was expecting to hear: "Listen very carefully, Paul. I’m going to tell you the secret to keeping your wife happy -" 

Leto glances around, making sure that they were alone and just for added measure, he lowers his voice, “You’re going to kiss her lips, kiss her until you can’t breathe. And your hands, they’re going to touch her. Everywhere. Slowly at first, but with purpose...” 

Paul's face grows hot with discomfort and simply put, he's dumbfounded by these instructions; it takes him a minute to realize that his father is giving advice on foreplay. His cheeks burn crimson. He's hesitant, feeling like a fool for asking such a silly question, “How do I know if she likes it?”

"Oh, you'll know, son … you'll know," His father's eyes darken and it startles Paul. His father inches closer, his voice dropping to an even lower octave, “Your fingers and tongue are tools, they will aid you in making your wife happy."

This advice is the limit of the boundary Leto is willing to cross. He's unwilling to give any more as it is up to his son to learn that not every woman is the same and that what Lady Jessica likes might not be what Lady Daisy likes. Leto also doesn't want to scar his son with his own prowess because what he and Jessica do in their bedroom is none of Paul's business.

But of course, Paul can't help but wonder how his father knows such things and it quickly dawns on the young master that the Duke does these things with Paul’s mother - is this the reason for their happiness? The thought makes him feel uneasy and strange. He never thought sex could have such a profound effect on a relationship but it makes sense. Paul suddenly understands the gravity of his father's advice and the complexity it will bring to his own marriage; ultimately, Paul is frightened yet intrigued by the idea that his tongue and fingers will help him in the pursuit of your happiness.

Paul's brows knit together and he gazes down at his fingers, watching as he repetitively curls and uncurls them. He clarifies, "I can... I use them... on her?"

"Yes, Paul. Use them on your wife - and remember to listen to her. Nonverbal cues are still cues, her sighs and moans will tell you everything you need to know," His father sees Paul struggling to hold back the utter panic and he feels for the young boy who is about to become a man. Leto remembers feeling the same way when it came to bedding Lady Jessica for the first time. He places a reassuring hand on Paul's shoulder and adds: "The most important part is consent, Paul … remember, you have an entire lifetime to spend with her. Don't feel like you need to rush through it all tonight."

Paul nods, his throat tight and dry. The prospect of seeing you makes him anxious, and despite knowing that he desires you with every fibre of his being, he can’t shake off the uneasiness of being a disappointment. What if he can’t please you? What if he can’t perform? Will this make you love him less?

“Breathe, son. Breathe.” The Duke pats his son's shoulder and gives an encouraging smile, “You’ll do fine, Paul. I’ll see that a change is made for your weapon training session tomorrow and I’ll make sure that Gurney Halleck doesn’t bother the happy couple.” 

“Have a nice evening son, and be safe,” with that, Duke Leto Atreides departs, leaving Paul alone in the corridor to ponder on what lies ahead of him tonight.

The young master leans against the cool stone and closes his eyes, taking deep breaths to steady himself. The weight of responsibility and expectations from both his father and his new wife weighs heavily on his conscience. Paul has to remind himself that he loves you and he is willing to do anything to make you happy. 

The sound of the bedroom door opening startles you. Quickly, you stand. Hands trembling as they smooth out the cream-coloured negligee that adorns your body. It was a gift from Paul’s mother; she gave it to you earlier. It seems that gossip travels around the castle at an alarming rate because not even an hour after you and Paul were seen kissing in the garden, Lady Jessica was pulling you to the side for a little chat because she seems to think that tonight is the night that you finally consummate your marriage.

And she’s right because the moment Paul steps into the room, and closes the door behind him - locking it - you know exactly what is about to happen. Paul stands across from you, eyes blazing at the sight of you, drinking in your body. He’s wearing his usual black tunic. His wavy hair looks even more dishevelled than before. His cheeks are rosy. And once again, his eyes capture you and pull you into those pools of emerald. Every ounce of his love surrounds you and it spreads like wildfire across your body.

You can't believe that Paul Atreides is yours. He's so unbelievably handsome with his aquiline nose, his high-cheek bones, and his slender neck that tapers gracefully into his lean shoulders. He oozes noble lineage and the thought of providing Paul with an heir makes you giddy.

“My lord,” You finally speak. You give a curtsy, bowing your head in the process. Paul cringes; he hates when you call him by his formal title. He despises it. It makes his blood boil. He takes several long strides until he is standing in front of you. Paul places his fingers beneath your chin, lifting your head until your eyes meet his. 

For a moment, you look… frightened. But there’s something else hiding in those russet-coloured eyes of yours. Paul softens, he’s suddenly all too aware that he still has the remnants of distaste written across his face. “Daisy, please… when it’s just the two of us - Just you and me - call me Paul,”

It almost feels like treason disregarding his title but he doesn’t want such formalities with you. Never. Ever. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment and you nod, "Of course, my -"

You swallow his title and shakily breathe out, "Paul," his name sounds foreign as it leaves your lips. You feel … naughty calling him by his name. You don’t think you’ve ever regarded Paul as such, not even during your marriage vows did you call him just Paul. His name leaves your lips once more, “Paul,” 

The way you say his name makes him smile. He smiles so wide that his teeth make an appearance and the skin by his eyes crinkles with delight. He softly replies, "Daisy,"

You return the smile and your eyes glisten with adoration as you and Paul regard each other with a newfound appreciation as if you're meeting him for the first time. It might as well be since the first few days were tumultuous, filled with uncertainty and a longing to be anywhere that wasn't Caladan. But now, all you want to be is with him. 

Paul can't help himself anymore and gives into temptation, his eyes glancing down at the negligee your body is adorned with. It’s a bit tight and it leaves almost nothing to the imagination; he's able to see the colour of your flesh through the transparent silk. His eyes linger on the imprints of your breasts as they poke through the fabric but what really intrigues Paul is the secret that lies between your thighs. Paul notices the strap of your negligee has started to slip down your shoulder and he reaches up to adjust it, his fingers gently brushing against your collarbone as he does so.

Immediately, he notices that the simple touch has caused goosebumps to explode across the surface of your skin followed by a tinge of red. Paul is fascinated by this change and wonders what other reactions you have in store for him. Meanwhile, you're growing impatient with him. You wish he'd just kiss you already because you miss the feeling of his lips against yours. But he doesn't and unbeknownst to you, Paul is planning to take his sweet time. 

Paul steps back, unbuttoning the top of his tunic. He's never gotten used to the tightness of his uniform and he lets out a sigh of relief. His eyes briefly glance at you standing there. You look annoyed by his actions and this amuses him.

You begin to shift on the balls of your heels, teeth biting into your lower lip as you think ‘patience is a virtue’. Paul has had a long day of weapons training and royal responsibilities. Surely, he is tired. But you have also waited all day for him and waiting a few more minutes sounds torturous - maybe if you ask him to kiss you, he'll listen.

"Please, Paul..." Your voice comes out whinier than intended. You feel embarrassed but it's Paul's reaction to your petulance that makes the pink colour in your cheeks deepen into crimson.

He pauses, a single eyebrow of his raising as his lips lift into a playful smirk. "Please, what, Daisy?"

Paul watches you through those thick, dark eyelashes of his. He waits for your answer and what you're unaware of is that he has enough patience to wait forever. After all, he is the son of a duke. Since birth, he's been taught to endure and persevere. 

“I-I…” You stutter, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the look clouding over in Paul’s verdant eyes. It causes an unfamiliar feeling to stir inside you and your thoughts quickly become a jumbled, incoherent mess. But thankfully, what you can recall is Lady Jessica’s advice: if you can’t tell him, show him. 

Slowly, you walk forward with Paul watching your every move. Your fingers tremble as you reach for the button of his tunic, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. As you unbutton his tunic, you quietly inquire, “How was your weapons training?”

Your question brings a sense of closeness that you’ve never experienced before. But truth be told, you don’t care about his weapon training. You just think it’ll help speed things up a bit. But Paul is distracted. His gaze lingers on your face; he’s admiring the smattering of freckles that dance along the bridge of your nose. You glance at him and see that his lips are still curved into an adoring smile. It makes your heart swell. 

Paul finally answers your question but his words fall on deaf ears because your mind is distracted by the sight of his lean waist. You find yourself growing envious of his body and begin to feel insecure because there is no denying the fact that your body is fuller than his, your bits fleshy and pudgy. Of course, Paul sees the change in your face and at first, he’s confused. But as he watches your eyes studying his body, particularly his perfectly flat stomach, he realizes what is bothering you. 

"Oh, Daisy..." He coos. His voice breaks through your thoughts and you look at him, puzzled. Paul tilts his head to the side and traces his finger along your rotund jawline. Truth be told, he adores the ampleness of your body. He’s been admiring your curves for days and now, he finally has the opportunity to touch them. Paul is filled with the utmost delight at the prospect of being smothered by you body that’s bigger than his. 

It is this exact thought that unleashes Paul from his restraints and he leans down, capturing your lips with his. You sigh happily and instantly forget about your jealousy. You relish the feeling of his supple lips pressing against yours - finally. He places a hand on the nape of your neck and the other on your hip, fingers digging into your thick flesh. He eagerly presses his body against yours, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

This kiss is different than the one in the garden. It's urgent. Needy. Paul is eager for more and he deepens it by swiping his tongue against your bottom lip. Your mouth opens - you've never been kissed like this before and at first, you're timid. Unsure of what to do. But Paul seems to be just as lost as you are. It doesn't stop either of you from trying.

Time blurs and for several minutes, it's nothing but a kindling mess of trembling hands and soft, wet noises. There is no rhythm and there is no tempo. Paul is sucking your tongue into his mouth and next, you're nipping at his lower lip; he growls when you do so. The growl reverberates through your body and dissolves into a heavy pleasure that presses down into your core. 

Your lungs are desperate for fresh air and reluctantly, you separate. Your chest heaves against Paul’s and you gaze at him, noting how his eyes are still closed, lost in the throes of passion. His lips are swollen, bee-stung. Your lips are swollen too. Paul begins to run his hands up and down your back, his feathery touch tickles and you giggle softly at the sensation. His eyes snap open, verdant eyes flickering with burning desire. 

“Do you want to lie down?” His voice is low-pitched but clear, his intentions are polite and sincere. He'll never stop being a duke even during the most intimate of times. He presses his forehead against yours, patiently waiting for an answer. 

"Yes," Your voice shakes. He takes your hand and leads you to the bed. Tension begins to simmer beneath the surface and it causes your throat to dry up, making it difficult to speak. Those pesky nerves have come back and you wish they hadn't because you were having so much fun before -

“Are you okay?” Paul asks lowering your body down first before sliding his body next to yours. Your stomach is violently fluttering and you can only nod in response. You wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating.

Paul can just tell by wavering doubt on your face that you’re not okay. He peers at you, his face full of concern. He speaks, “Tell me you’re okay, Daisy,”

You swallow dryly and nod for a second time. Your fingers are gripping his arm because you are afraid that if you let go, he might disappear. It takes you another minute to gather yourself.

“I’m o-okay,” Breathlessly, you repeat, “I’m okay,”

This time it's Paul’s turn to nod. His lips turn into a soft, reassuring smile. He tenderly tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and addresses your concerns, “We don’t have to do this - we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,”

Your heart tumbles over its own rhythm and you quickly shake your head. You want this - you want him. You want him to penetrate you with the bulge that has been steadily growing in his pants. You whisper, “But… but what if I do want it?”

He bites into his growing smile, trying to hide his excitement. He’s thrilled that you feel the same way and he loves hearing you speak. He wishes that you’d do it more and he knows in time that you will. As his father said, Paul has an entire lifetime to spend with you. 

“Make love to me, Paul…” Your confession is quiet. Barely audible. Paul is unsure if he has even heard you but at the sight of your blushing cheeks, he knows that he wasn’t dreaming. You are silently pleading that he feels the way because if he doesn’t, you might just perish from embarrassment. 

Paul pauses to watch the look of yearning etch itself across your face. You start to shift beneath the intensity of his gaze, your eyes dropping down. That’s when Paul feels your hands moving down his body. Your fingers latch onto his trousers, attempting to unbutton them but you’re having trouble, and it’s making you flustered. 

Paul is loving every second of it. He enjoys how your brows have furrowed in concentration and he particularly likes the frustration growing on your face. You bite your lower lip and impatiently huff as you give up. You realize he’s been watching you this entire time and your eyes snap to his. You glare at the coltish expression on his face. Paul finds your exasperation endearing. 

You bury your face into his arm, mumbling, “Paul, make love to me…”

Blood rushes through his body and goes straight down to the bulge straining against his trousers. He loves your wantonness and he wants to hear you beg for it again. He pulls your face away from his skin, eyes devouring you. As he holds your chin between his hands, Paul demands, “Say it again,”

You can’t help but glare again at him. He knows you won’t disobey. You speak, voice clipped with precise ardency, “Paul Atreides, my lord, will you please fuck me?” 

The mixture of his full name and his title sends his blood into a frenzy. If he was already turned on before, then what’s happening to his body now? One thing for sure is that you don’t have to ask again because, within a minute, Paul has hastily thrown off his trousers and he’s now completely naked. 

Your eyes, well… your eyes are instantly locked onto the appendage between your husband’s thighs. Of course, you have seen what a phallus looks like in art and in scientific videos. But in comparison to Paul’s, those examples were tiny and they definitely did not prepare you for the real thing. 

His cock is so engorged and so pink, the tip of it glistening with some sort of secretion. As he moves his body back down to the bed, his cock twitches and bobs. He sees your fascination and watches how you are practically salivating over his well-endowed gift. Your core squirms with anticipation and your thighs involuntarily flex at the thought of him being inside you.

“Do you want to touch it?” His voice is timid, hesitating to request such a thing from his innocent wife but he’s held back long enough. Paul is so sure that he’s going to burst at any second - he watches as you reach out, hand faltering at second thoughts. Paul inhales sharply, “Touch me, Daisy, please…”

When your fingers brush against the tip of his cock, he shudders and his stomach constricts causing his cock to quiver. You quickly look up at him, wondering if you had hurt him but it’s clear you haven’t. He has an intense but dazed look on his face and he’s biting down on his lower lip, restraining himself. Paul is holding himself back and persevering through the pure torture you’re currently putting him through.

You wonder what’ll happen if you firmly grasp his cock, so your hand wraps around his girthy shaft and a throaty groan escapes from deep inside Paul’s body. His reaction pleases you and slowly, you continue to drag your hand down until it rests against the furry tufts on the base of his cock. 

You notice how Paul’s chest is heaving and he’s pressing his body into the mattress, hands gripping the sheets, knuckles almost turning white. He looks at you through half-lidded eyes, pleading for more but you’re taking your time, exploring his body, finding ways to incite reactions from him. You know he’s enjoying your hand gliding up and down his cock but what if… what if you were to taste him? You readjust your body so that you’re sitting with your mouth hovering over his cock.

“Daisy, what’re you…” Paul says, his voice deeper than usual. You lick the tip of his cock, tasting the pearly secretion that has been leaking out. Paul gasps, swearing under his breath. You lick his cock again and once more, Paul reacts with a throaty gasp. You’ve overpowered him with one simple move and now he’s yours. It is at this moment that Paul realizes he is supposed to be listening to your sighs and moans but instead, you’re listening to his. 

He watches as you thoroughly lick the tip of his cock. The sensation is immaculate and he’s struggling to remain cool and composed. You aren’t exactly sure what you’re doing but you’re enjoying the smoothness and warmth of his arousal. You seal your lips around him and slowly, very tentatively, lower your mouth down. Paul groans loudly and his hand finds the back of your head, his fingers gripping your hair so that it’s not in the way of his view. 

The sight of you, mouth full of his throbbing cock, practically sends him over the edge. He has to restrain himself by closing his eyes and silently begging that he doesn’t ejaculate - he can’t. Not yet. He’s trying to convince himself that it’s your turn to be pleasured but when his cock hits the back of your throat, you gag and the sound makes him completely forget everything. His eyes snap open, watching as you bring your mouth back up, leaving a trail of spit pooling down his cock. 

“D-Da-Daisy,” Paul sputters out, completely out of breath. You ignore him, dragging both your hands along his quivering cock. He struggles to find his words but when he does, he orders, “Stop,”

He grabs your hands and pulls them off his body. Shocked, you look at him. He looks like a man who has just been to hell and back. His hair is beyond dishevelment, strands of it sticking to his damp forehead. His eyes are wild, his once verdant eyes have been taken over by expanded pupils that have blackened out any colour.  

Before you can ask what you did wrong, Paul is tugging off the negligee and exposing your naked body to him for the first time. His eyes sweep over every nook and cranny, noting every bulge of abundance. He’s taking inventory, marking his favourite areas. He’s particularly drawn to your breasts and how they swell against your chest, gravity pulling down the pillows of dough. They look rather heavy to Paul and he just has to reach up to grasp them. God, they’re so soft and perfect. He’s quick to lower his mouth, latching it onto your perky nipple. The sensation of his tongue swiping over the sensitive bud makes you gasp, “Paul,”

He grins against your skin and can’t help himself, he just has to nibble at the fleshy softness of your chest, which causes you to gasp. Your hand grabs the back of Paul’s head, fingers kneading through his hair, locking him there because your breasts absolutely love the attention. Meanwhile, Paul feels like he is in heaven, sighing happily as little noises continue to escape from your mouth. 

Simply put, he can’t get enough of you. He licks and sucks your breasts as if they were ripe fruits, his tongue sweet and rough against the sensitive flesh. He alternates between too much and not enough, which creates a perplexed feeling between your hips, right in the crest of your crotch. It’s vague, incomplete. You have never felt such a thing before tonight. You flex your thighs, hoping that you can rid yourself of the unnatural feeling. 

With his mouth still attached to your breast, Paul takes his hand and plants it on the inside of your thigh. This movement doesn’t help the unnatural feeling that has been steadily growing and you squirm, hoping Paul doesn’t notice. Of course, he does and he detaches himself to peer at you. He loves how pink and splotchy your cheeks have gotten, and he loves how your eyes have narrowed into a lusty squint. 

Testing you, he drags his fingers upward. His cock throbs at how saturated your thighs have gotten. He doesn’t even think you’re aware of the wetness seeping from your flower and he cups your fuzzy mound, which causes you to squeal in surprise. The sudden intrusion is too much and you’re squirming out of his grasp. Paul is quick and wraps his other arm around your body. He’s strong enough to hold you, keeping you locked against him. 

With his voice barely above a whisper, Paul asks, “Can I?”

You swallow hard. You desperately want him to touch you down there but you’re terrified of what might happen because you heard that unnatural things can occur. Paul senses your worry and feels your hesitation, and immediately takes his hand away - consent is the most important thing. You can’t help but notice how your pussy suddenly feels lonely now…

However, those thoughts are quickly pushed away because Paul pulls your body down with his, your chest colliding with his as he lies underneath you. You feel like you’re crushing him and for a third time, you begin to squirm. 

“Daisy,” His grip tightens. You stop squirming and sheepishly glance up at him. He’s gazing at you, with so much love and adoration, that it makes your breathing hitch inside your throat. Paul whispers, “You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

The compliment makes you blush, your skin reddening even more. You confess, “I’m not a woman yet -”

“Yet,” Paul interjects and shifts so that your body is lying next to his. He kisses your temple, “Lay back and relax, I’m going to try something…” 

You’re reluctant for Paul to see such an intimate part of you. He pleads, eyes begging for a chance. He murmurs, “Just trust me, okay?”

His words make you reconsider. You decide to trust your husband and you lay down, inhaling to calm yourself. But the moment Paul places his hands on your legs, your heart rate spikes and rattles against your chest. As he spreads you open, he looks at your flower with reverence. It’s so puffy, so pink and so wet that it glistens beneath the glowglobes. 

He positions his body between your thighs, his cock rubs against the inner flesh, and you shudder at the sensation. He looks at you, worried. You shake your head, “Paul, I need you…”

At your request, he is so quick to touch you. His finger slides along your folds. You suck in and bite down on your lower lip, holding back. But Paul yearns to hear you, and he does it again, repeating the movement. A small groan escapes and it’s all the encouragement that he needs. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you see that he is in deep concentration, studying as your hips jerk when he presses his palm against a sensitive little nub that’s hiding between your petals. As he does it again, your mouth goes slack and a moan slips out. He begins to circle it with determination, knowing this must be the spot. 

There’s a liquid heat pooling in your core and the more pressure he adds, the less you can take it. You are back to squirming beneath his touch, gasping and groaning at the pressure building inside. It’s such a foreign feeling - you feel like you’re going to burst open. You feel scared about what might happen. You want Paul to stop, yet you don’t. Everything is so conflicting and your throat is parched, and you want your husband to look at you. But Paul is so engrossed in what he’s doing - he’s absolutely fascinated at the stickiness that seeps through your magnificent folds. 

Unable to take much more, you reach down and grasp his chin, forcing him to look at you. At first, he’s baffled. He was so sure that you were enjoying his hard work -  your eyes are hungry, having not been satiated yet. The look sends a chill down his spine and when you whimper, his cock twitches. 

If he wants to make you a woman, it needs to happen now. You whimper again, “Paul, I need you … I need you inside of me,”

“Are … are you sure, Daisy?” He asks, eyes glazing over. You nod and reach up to caress his cheek. Paul is so unbelievably sweet. He begins to trail kisses along your stomach, tongue dipping into your belly button causing you to throw your head back into the pillow. He grins wolfishly and continues marking his territory, relentlessly teasing you until you are nothing but a wet, blubbering mess.

Finally, after a lifetime has passed, Paul sweetly kisses your lips and his cock brushes against your swollen labia. The first meeting. Wetness against wetness. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his shoulders down into your body. Paul steadies himself, his chest puffing out with excitement as he lines the tip of his cock against your entrance.

“Fuck,” He hisses. Paul knows it’s going to be a tight fit and he’s worried about hurting you. He plants a tender kiss against your jaw, whispering, “Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” 

You nod, shutting your eyes and moaning out as his cock begins to nudge inside. It’s definitely a little too large for comfort and your body is resisting - you have to order yourself to relax. And when he’s finally pushed past, there’s a popping sensation. It’s quick and it hurts, pain shooting through your pelvis. You wince. 

Paul notices and stops, he attempts to pull out but you’re quick to lock your legs around his. His lips move against your skin, “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” You sniffle, shaking your head. But Paul can see straight through your lie. He asks the question again, shifting because he’s afraid of causing you pain. This time, you answer truthfully, “It hurts but your cock… it feels so good, Paul - don’t stop, please don’t stop -”

He listens and continues to push his hips forward. Your eyes remain closed but your mouth hangs open, little mewling noises coming forth. Paul struggles to remain composed as your tight cunt swallows his girth. At a glacial pace, he pushes into your body and buries his face into the crook of your neck. He’s struggling not to cum because, for him, the suction of your velvety walls is swiftly driving him toward the edge. 

“You’re such a good girl,” He’s barely audible, hands gripping the side of your protruding stomach. He gives one final thrust, grunting, “Cunt so goddamn tight,”

His cock is fully inside, buried to the hilt. You’re gasping, fireworks sparking behind your eyelids. Your hands are trailing along his back, nails digging into fevered flesh. It still hurts but it’s a good type of hurt. He begins rocking his hips, slowly at first, stretching out your virgin cunt. The mixture of pain and pleasure has you splitting open, crying out, “Oh, fuck! Paul!”

For a moment, Paul thinks he’s hurting you again and he pauses. You hiss at him, “My lord, just fuck me already,”

Your lord does not like that. He sits up on his knees, arms placed on either side of you and hovers over your body. It glistens with sweat and you’re eyes have snapped open at the sudden loss. You see that Paul’s eyebrows are knitted together, irritated that you brought up his nobility. He pulls out, noting the smear of crimson around his cock but doesn’t think twice about it and shoves it back inside. 

You cry out, “My lord,”

He seethes, biting down on his lower lip and begins to rapidly thrust in and out. You want to be properly fucked and he’s giving you exactly what you want. The room fills with your cries of pleasure as Paul spitefully fucks your sweet cunt. The same sweet cunt that is making crude, wet noises, making it impossible not to spill his seed right then and there. 

He wants to make sure that you finish too but Paul knows he’s close. He feels the familiar sensation of an orgasm building inside; he knows the feeling all too well because he’s no stranger to masturbation. In fact, he’s spilled his seed onto this very bed many times in the past year. He’s restraining himself, the friction starting to become too much for him - the tight coil wants to snap and he can’t stop thinking about filling your womb with his seed. 

He shudders, willing himself to slow down so that you can catch up to him. His thrusting turns tender and he begins to lovingly guide his cock into your body, burying it against your hilt. Paul notices that you like this more because your moans have become guttural, coming from somewhere deep. He does it again, fully burrowing his cock in your velvety walls. They are contracting, practically convincing Paul to spill his seed. He's barely able to resist the temptation.

You seem to be fighting your own demons and reaching for something that you aren’t even sure exists. Certainly, it must because what else is this feeling that has pooled inside your belly? The liquid is hot, near boiling point. Each time Paul thrusts his cock, it hits a spot and it makes your cunt convulse, and your eyes roll back because the stimulation is too much.

Your hands grip Paul’s strong arms, nails digging into his flesh. Paul reaches down between your bodies, fingers fondling your fuzzy little mound as he remains buried inside. He pushes your puffy lips apart and presses your button. It sends a jolt through your body and you bellow out, “Paul!”

He presses his thumb against the sensitive little nub and glides his cock against that spot, and you’re so close - so close. Paul pushes his cock into the depths of your cunt, practically tearing into your womb. His cock quivers against the friction of your walls and he shudders, eyes closing tight while his hand continues to work your clitoris. He wills himself not to cum but it’s useless because, within seconds, he’s shooting his hot, thick load into your tight, breedable cunt. 

You cry out, feeling as Paul’s arousal fills you. It’s the thought of Paul impregnating you that causes your orgasm to boil over. Your pussy clenches and convulses with gratification at having the opportunity to give Paul an heir. You cling to him, needing him more than ever as you repeatedly call out his name, prolonging the vowels, “Paaaaauuuul, Paaaauuuul, Paaaauuuulll!”

[theworldofotps]

Daddy's Brat

Pairing: Randy Orton x Reader Word Count: 1,123 Description: You're upset that Randy decided to invite friends over instead of spending time together.

Warning: A little smut, some oral male receiving enjoy

Got this idea from Randy pulling on Paul Heyman's tie last night and just the man existing. Also realized I only have one other piece of Randy writing and its only from Christmas which is a problem in itself, so I needed to fix that. __________Tag list: @omg-im-such-a-masochist​ @melissahausen​ @new-zealand-chic @writtingrose​ @99hook @sjwrites22​ @sassymox​ @mrsacklesevansmgk​ @xladyxfatex​ @adamcolesbaybay @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch​ @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666 @lilred91 @rebellious-desires @claymorexpunisher @letsgivethisonemoreshot @ava-valerie​ @shortyiceheart​ @serpantscorpio8497 @thatpanpal​ @thatnerdwriter​ @wrestlersownmyheart​ @vebner37​ @auburnwrites @aews-four-pillars​ @seeingstarks​ @whenimakeitshine1234​ @legit9thlunaticwarrior​ @blaquekitty​ @ironshamelessyouth​ @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin​ @ripleyswhore @moonrosekk @xbreezymeadowsx @elevennbloom @melblacc @alliwant456  @mcreignsera

If you wanna be added to the list lemme know. ________ You knew you were in for it when Randy’s expression tightened, the two of you were entertaining friends for the day. It had been a while since the two of you had been alone since he was busy away at work most of the time. You were hoping it would just be you two for the day but that was quickly lost when he told you that your friends and his coworkers would be over in an hour after walking up. Putting on a smile after sighing you got ready and had spent most of the morning and into early afternoon talking over a large range of topics. Followed by one of Randy’s favorite lunches you had prepared especially for him.

Everything was going well until you felt that all too familiar itching desire to have Randy put you in your place. You couldn’t help it, the time apart and now him being right here but not having laid a hand on you since he got back home. Was driving you mad with want and the need to be as bratty as you possibly could. You’d had enough practice where your friends wouldn’t take notice but Randy sure would.

Like when you purposely spilled his drink down his white shirt to see the fabric cling to his body or questioned him on everything he said under your breath. The occasional snide comment here and there that got a chuckle from everyone else but a narrowing of the eyes from your boyfriend. When your guests finally left, and the door closed you watched as Randy stood staring at the closed door.

Very quietly you backed up and slowly turned to start making your way from the hall.

“Don’t move another step y/n.”

Staring at him in shock you frown, he never called you by your name unless he was referring to you while talking to someone.

“That’s not what you call me.”

You huff crossing your arms as he turned towards you, his eyes pinning you to the floor as he locked the front door.

“You think you deserve to have me call you by anything else when you were being such a brat?”

“Regardless of what I do I am always a nickname.”

Stomping a foot, you watch as he actually had the nerve to chuckle at you turning you quickly leave the living room.

“I don’t remember telling you to move.”

“Well, I don’t remember asking you.”

Randy stopped short just for a moment as he watched you, so this was the game you were playing when his schedule was clear for the rest of the day, and he planned on using it to his full advantage. You didn’t hear him following you up the stairs, only knew he was there when a hand grabbed the back of your neck. Guiding you into the bedroom Randy closed the door and released his hold on your neck spinning you to face him.

“What was with that attitude today?”

“What attitude?”

“You still choosing to be a brat?”

“Yep.”

Popping the “P” you watched him with a smirk waiting to see what he was going to do, Randy rubbed his chin and nodded slowly. A faint chuckle reaching your ears, you could feel your body run cold as he slowly started walking towards you. Randy reached out, capturing your chin in his hand and pressed you into the wall.

“Someone upset because they haven’t got the attention they’ve been wanting?”

Your silence was the only confirmation he needed; Randy leaned over pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry we’ve been so busy, and that this morning was a surprise to you. I’ve just been trying to get everything done before turning our phones off for the next two days. I didn’t forget that you need attention.”

You could feel the bratty behavior slowly slipping away and offered a small smile that was until he scooped you up over his shoulder and carried you towards the bed. Sitting Randy laid you over his lap and slapped your ass quickly a few times.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh language that pretty mouth should only be used for two things right now sucking daddy’s cock and telling him how badly you want this.”

Biting your lip to hold back the moan you gasp as his hand connects with your ass again.

“I know you want to moan baby why don’t you?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Mmm, I always love when I have to fuck the brat out of you.”

Gently pushing you off his lap Randy captured your chin again watching as your eyes widen when he starts sliding his free hand under your shirt. Feeling your soft skin as he made his way down to your shorts.

“I missed you while I was away.”

He mumbled his thumb sliding back and forth across your bottom lip before pushing it between your lips. His other hand found its way into your panties where his finger dragged along your slit that smirk that made you first fall for him crossed his features again.

“I knew you always enjoyed when daddy slapped that pretty ass and this just confirms it.”

A soft whimper left your throat as you sucked his thumb feeling one of his fingers slide into your pussy with ease. Randy inhaled through his nose as he watched you. It always made him weak in the knees to see you like this. Feeling his cock straining against his pants Randy stepped back and pulled them down, licking your wetness from his fingers while you worked to free him from his boxers. Your lips wrapping around him had Randy groaning in pleasure.

Your tongue flattened as you slowly took more of him in your mouth, your head slowly moving back and forth as your cheeks hollowed to form a suction. Randy’s fingers tangled in your hair as he started moving his hips watching as you choked a bit when he hit the back of your throat. Tears springing to your eyes as you moaned softly.

“That’s it brat let daddy use your mouth fuck so wet.”

Randy’s head fell back for a moment as he tried to collect himself before looking back down at you. The sight of you choking on his cock made it twitch in your mouth. Pulling you off he picks you up dropping you on the bed.

“We’ll finish that later but right now I need to fuck you before I lose my mind.”

He spreads your thighs pressing a kiss to each knee then slowly slides into your wet heat both of you moaning as your walls stretched to fit him. You knew that you were in for a very long night.

[jermer10]

If possible could I ask for yandere tf2 mercs (all or your favourites, whichever you choose!) with an enemy reader?

I imagine the mercs aren't too happy about this as most of their time is spent apart.

Keep up the fics!!

TF2 yandere mercs with an enemy s/o

nsfw, gn reader | i love yandere mercs holy cow

tw: violence, yandere behaviour, sexual themes

drabbles under the cut :P

Scout: - insanely delusional - just as he acts with pauling, he convinces himself that you are totally and utterly in love with him, that you're saving yourself for him and that you specifically target him during battles because you feel the exact same love-rage he does when he sees you!! - every shot to the head, every punch, kick, scratch leads him to becoming increasingly infatuated - he treats you as if you're already his partner, and i mean hey, why wouldn't you be? you're showing all of the signs! you're practically slobbering over him the same way he does to you! - goes into a fit of jealous rage when someone else kills you - he prides himself of having a domination streak over you, letting you know who the big guy in charge is - this likely only serves to piss you off, unfortunately you probably don't feel much of the same towards him - even if you do return his feelings, you'll often find yourself feeling far too overwhelmed with his infatuation

Soldier: - a clingy mess - for a man who prides himself on being 'the epitome of what independent, masculine america stands for' (whatever THAT means), it seems he has attached himself to your hip - is not afraid to harm or (in the majority of cases) straight up kill someone who tries to separate him from you and has done this both in front of you and behind your back - doesn't even register the fact that you are the enemy, he decides that it was a mistake and you were always meant to be on his team - your escape attempts barely cross his radar, he always finds you and when he does he always chalks your absence up to some sort of foul play - this usually results in another death of a random loved one because "OF COURSE THEY WERE TO BLAME! THEY STOLE YOU FROM ME!" - has no boundaries or limits, not outright violent or aggressive towards you but will do anything in order to keep you beside him - all in all not a huge threat to your safety despite the fact that he is supposed to be your combatant, he's just incredibly annoying

Pyro: - the epitome of a sadistic yandere - they come off as a sweetheart, out of battle they buy you things, shower you in praise, act as if you aren't even enemies - but pyro enjoys hurting you, and this especially works in their favour when you're on the opposite team - utterly ruthless whether they're physically harming you or taunting you from across the battlefield, you leave the match feeling miserable - they love seeing you cry, half-assedly comforting you, and in turn causing you to grow this needy codependency where they say that they "don't reeeeaaally mean it!" and you somehow continue to believe that bold faced lie - they will eventually kidnap you, and yes they will torture you whether you've been good or not - no one even knows it was them who did it, they're just that convincing in their unassuming facade - don't get me wrong! they do love you in some sick way! they just only know how to express it through violence </3 (and NO you cannot fix them)

Demoman: - another clingy merc, only this time you're best friends - yes, he is aware you're supposed to be enemies on and off the battlefield, but his feelings for you outweigh the not so gentle reminders from his teammates that he needs to shoot you when he encounters you, not flirt - extremely manipulative, he uses his alcoholism as a cover for how intelligent he really is - would charm you with words of affection and chaste touches, he ensures that you are 100% into him before asking you out - then he isolates you from everyone you love, preoccupying all of your time, supporting you in any interest that doesn't require you to communicate with other people - he is CONSTANTLY there, whether you're aware or not. you literally cannot get away from his, quite literal, watchful eye - if you realize what he's doing, you sure as hell haven't made any steps to try and remove him from your life, nor have you set boundaries - after all, where would you even run? who would you even tell?

Heavy: - controlling and protective - he refuses to harm you, nor let anyone on his team harm you, this leads him to completely incapacitating you during battle so you're essentially useless - your teammates hate the extra attention you receive, they hate even more that you can't help whatsoever, eventually they tell you to stay at base, no use for you to come with if you're not doing anything - eventually when you do go missing, they just assume you left - heavy corroborates this story, telling the Administrator that he heard rumours of you packing up during the night and fucking off - little do they know you're tied up, gagged, and blindfolded in an unused, heavily locked and guarded maintenance room - he will not let you leave, he's more likely to pack up and take you back to russia than to ever let you see the new mexico landscape again - you are going to rot in a maintenance closet, or die trying to escape

Engineer: - very chill and normal surprisingly? - or so you think. he doesn't come off as creepy or odd the way the other mercs do, he is totally and utterly normal to a fault - he fights you during battle, kills you, dies to you, thanks you for a good fight afterwards - and then your devices begin spasming, your anti viruses go off, your phone calls have a strange staticky sound and a beeping you've never heard before - against your better judgement, you go to engie for help. he "fixes" them for you, and in the process gains your friendship and trust - you start hanging out with him outside of battles, unbeknownst to you that he is observing your every move and thought through your phone and laptop - uses this information about you to become closer to you, buying you gifts you're unable to afford for yourself, performing the kinds of romantic gestures you read about - if he wasn't constantly watching you and obsessing over your whereabouts, he would barely even qualify as a yandere!

Medic: - this guy is creepy, off-putting, odd, and strange! - he doesn't bother hiding his obsession with you, he actually goes out of his way to push your boundaries to see how far he can go before he breaks you - depending on how you respond will decide your fate with him, either way he is not going to let you go so you might as well adapt! - if you show outright disgust or hatred he will kidnap you and store you in the medbay, experimenting on you for hours with no relief, punishing you for your insolence - if you reciprocate he will still kidnap you, only this time he treats you like a doll, treating your various cosmetic 'ailments' in order to make you the perfect creature - he is incredibly strict and commandeering, if you step out of line for even a second he does not hesitate to torture you - he only rewards you with sexual favours and new clothes, you are quite literally just a doll for his enjoyment - he tells you he loves you, but you're not so sure you believe it

Sniper: - likes to hunt you - he treats you like how one would hunt a deer, seeing you as the ultimate prize and reward for his patience - wants you to find out about him, wants you to find it endearing and sexy, wants you to make the first move - he is the most self aware, snapping out of his obsessive haze regularly and vowing that 'this time will be the last' as he aims his sniper at your head and blows it off - but it never is. he is totally and utterly addicted to you, and it only gets worse the longer he waits for you to offer yourself to him, so he takes action - he corners you in the middle of a battle and takes you then and there, you'd think it was sexy if he didn't kill you immediately after - then a strange, sadistic game of cat and mouse ensues, he stalks you day in and out and you know, you entice, and you keep this little thing you have going a very well kept secret - the only relationship between the mercs that becomes mutually beneficial

Spy: - by far the most manipulative and cunning merc - he can spend years leading you on, flirting, dropping subtle hints of his overwhelming, consuming obsession with you - he showers you will affection and gifts, with luxury holidays and designer brands without ever actually committing to you - he lies about sleeping with other people to keep you wrapped around his finger, he lies about having another family, kids, another life - he treats you as if you're his special side piece, that no one must know about you, that what you have is a secret - he constantly backstabs you (literally and figuratively), both teams know your deepest secrets, they know your favourite position, they know the names of all your stuffed animals - he treats you like shit and promises to be better, all whilst staying up every night concocting another way to keep you intrigued with him, to keep you by his side, it eats him alive - you have a love/hate relationship, the most toxic man alive istg

[britany1997]

Hey it’s me!! 😁 just wanted to say keep up the amazing work and if you don’t mind, ima throw in a request! If you don’t feel like doing it, feel free to delete it! We do share a favorite, that’s for sure, paul! However do you write for Paul x reader x marko? If so here’s what I have (totally can just write for one too. Doesn’t have to be both! Like your rules said, have open artistic freeedom!) :) >

Paul x rocker fem! reader x marko? Maybe like a woman who loves rock but definitely dressed to impress? Like a blinged out jacket and leather skirt? Huge! Huge hair! (Kinda self projecting aha-) but would love to have like a blasting bike ride? Have blaring music riding down a Santa Carla high way on the back with one of their bikes just being terrors on the road? Being ahem ✨bike candy✨ or ✨backseat princess✨

And a spicy idea— maybe RIDING *wink wink* one of them while they ride their bike? Or sit on the bike. However? Just sounds like some shit they’d do. But really it’s open to you. I’m just projecting some ideas I’ve had for a while!

Love the visual of them all standing at a gas station like ✨⛽️🧍🏍️✨⛽️🧍🏍️✨⛽️🧍🏍️✨⛽️🧍 🏍️all filling up their bikes and just jingling subtly with all the jewelry and chains.

So sorry this got long. LOL! But again keep up the great work and I’ll always support you boo! 💗💗

Passenger Princess

Hey bestie🫶 thanks so much for the encouragement, you’re so sweet🥹 this was so fun to write! Hope you love it💕

Paul x Fem reader x Marko

Reblog or comment to support my writing:)

Warnings: Smut minors DNI, fingering, nipple play, riding (fucking on the bike while it’s on) biting, cum eating, p n v sex, think that’s it

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

You squealed, bouncing on the back of Marko’s bike as he sailed over yet another bump in the road. You brought your hands closer together, tightening your grip around his waist. Vampires weren’t exactly the most cautious drivers, and you weren’t wearing a helmet.

Your boys had tried, but you’d refused. You spent way too much on hairspray to have your masterpiece ruined by helmet hair.

Marko had rolled his eyes at your protesting, but Paul had understood.

“It’s hard work keeping up with a mane like this,” he’d pleaded your case while fixing his own glorious hairstyle into place.

You almost regretted it when Marko hit a huge pothole, but nothing beat the feeling of the salty sea wind blowing through your locks while you zoomed through Santa Carla at night.

Marko turned towards you a bit when he felt your grip tighten around him. “Gonna stop to fuel up soon bella ragazza,” he promised.

You nodded back and leaned your head against his back as he sped.

The hum of the motor died down as Marko pulled to a stop at a pump. It wasn’t long before Paul rode up to the other side.

“Hey slowpoke, was wondering if you’d make it here before morning,” Marko teased.

“Ha ha.” Paul replied, “had to drive behind ya so I’d catch her if she flew off the bike Evel Knievel.”

He dismounted and strode over to your side as Marko began to fill up his tank. You moved to slide off but Paul picked you up before you could.

“Hey!” you exclaimed as he spun around with you in his arms.

“Princess like you shouldn’t have her feet touchin’ the ground baby, we’re gonna carry you everywhere,” he promised as he rubbed his nose against yours.

You blushed at Paul’s sweet talk, “yeah you’re a real prince Paulie, you gonna put me down now?”

Marko shoved the fuel dispenser back into place before stealing you from Paul. “Serious baby,” he smiled as he held you, “let us take care of our pretty little rockstar yeah?”

Your face flushed a deeper red while Paul pouted at his suddenly empty arms. “Not cool bud,” he mumbled.

“Go fill up your bike Paulie,” Marko teased as he placed you back on his motorcycle.

His hands fell to your knees as he pulled them apart and moved to stand between your legs. You let out a tiny gasp at his sudden closeness.

Marko leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he began to toy with the hem of your jet black skirt. He licked your ear, forcing a whimper from your full lips.

“Love you in a skirt dolcezza,” he placed his hands on your thighs, pushing up the skirt so it bunched around your hips.

“Marko,” you warned, “people will see…”

Marko quirked a brow as he took one of his hands from your hips and reached under your skirt. A gasp fell from your lips.

“See what baby?” he asked as you fought to keep a moan from spilling out, “see me standin’ in front of you? Can’t see anything else from this angle,” he pulled your soaked panties to the side and pushed a finger into you. You took in a sharp breath.

Paul waved frantically, causing your head to turn as Marko crooked his finger inside you. “I dunno guys, I’m seeing a lot more than standing from over here,” he mocked.

“Jealous,” Marko sing-songed.

Paul crossed his arms, his lip jutting out as he leaned back against the pump.

You reached out for him, your other hand wrapped around Marko’s shoulder. “Need you too Paulie,” you breathed between whimpers and moans as Marko pushed another finger into you, swiping his thumb across your swollen clit.

If Paul had a tail it’d be wagging. His smile stretched from ear to ear. He came up behind you, pulling off your deep purple leather jacket and sliding his hands under your top. “Thought you’d never ask honey,” he whispered in your ear.

“Hey Paulie,” Marko smirked as he continued to toy with you.

“Hey Marko,” Paul replied as he leaned forward.

Marko’s lips met his, both boys pressing their bodies against yours as they shared a sensual kiss.

The sight, combined with Marko stroking your clit, and Paul circling your nipples threw you over the edge. Your head fell back onto Paul’s shoulder as you coated Marko’s hands with your release.

Marko smiled into Paul’s lips as he felt your legs shake. He pulled away from Paul before withdrawing his fingers from you with a pop. You whimpered.

He sucked his middle finger clean, “mmm so sweet baby,” he said, kissing your forehead, “wanna taste Paulie?” he held out his hand to Paul.

“You know I do,” Paul replied as he leaned forward and sucked the rest of you off of Marko’s pointer finger.

“Taste so good honey,” Paul whispered in your ear, “that’s why I call ya sugar,” he winked.

Your head turned towards him with a lazy smile, “you’re pretty sweet yourself Paulie,” you pecked his lips, “you too,” you pecked Marko’s.

“But I’m gonna spend the rest of our joyride with sticky thighs, so not fair,” you pouted.

Marko’s angelic face turned devilish as a smirk spread across his lips, “can’t have that now can we bella?”

He kneeled in front of you as Paul held your waist from behind. Your hands found their place in Marko’s curly hair, pulling lightly as he licked your thighs clean.

When he finished he smoothed your skirt back into place and put his head on your lap, “can’t get enough of you pretty girl.”

You couldn’t stop the blush that rose to your cheeks, they knew exactly what to say to make your heart race.

Paul cleared his throat from behind, “speaking of not gettin’ enough, I think maybe I deserve to have ya on my bike the rest of the night.”

You giggled, “ok Paulie, whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want? How bout I take you for a ride then?”

You shot him a confused look, “Isn’t that what you just said?”

He smirked, “no babe, I’m takin you on my bike, but I’d also like to take you on my bike, ya know?”

Your lips parted in shock.

“Betcha wish you had that helmet now, huh babe?” Marko teased.

You hesitated, but the proposition made your thighs clench. “What if we crash?”

Paul’s face turned serious, “sugar I wanna make you feel good, I would never let anything happen to you,” he promised, “if you’re not comfortable, say the word and I’ll just drive you around, it’s whatever you want baby.”

You bit your lip, “no…I want to,” you told him, your voice heavy with desire, “I trust you.”

He smiled and kissed you softly, “I’ll take real good care of you babe I promise.”

He slithered around to your front, wrapping his hands around your thighs and squeezing lightly. He moved down and slid his hands up your skirt, rolling down your panties and stuffing them in Marko’s back pocket.

“Paul,” you breathed in shock.

“Just woulda gotten in the way sugar,” Paul winked as he squeezed Marko’s ass.

You smiled as your wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He slipped his hands under your thighs and carried you to his bike, placing you down towards the front of the seat.

You turned slightly to reach out and unbuckle paul’s belt, much to his surprise. You winked, “it’d just get in the way.”

He smiled and kissed you as he took over for you, turning you back to face the handlebars before freeing himself from his jeans and mounting the bike behind you. He flicked the kickstand up, but before he could start the engine, you gasped.

His brow furrowed and he leaned around to your side, “what’s wrong baby?”

“My jacket…” you pouted.

“Got it!” Marko called from his bike, holding it up for you to see, “don’t worry dolcezza, I know a thing or two about keeping a jacket safe,” he teased.

You smiled, “let’s ride.”

Paul smirked, “don’t gotta tell me twice.”

He reved the engine, sending pleasurable vibrations throughout your body. You squeaked.

Paul laughed softly, “don’t get too excited, not even inside you yet honey.”

You couldn’t see him behind you, but you knew he was smirking. You rolled your eyes.

You gripped the handlebars, your hands sandwiched in between Paul’s so he could steer. He kissed your cheek before taking off down the road, Marko not far behind.

Paul pressed into you slowly as he maneuvered the bike.

You moaned as you felt the familiar stretch of him. You pushed back onto his throbbing cock.

He was half way in when he popped a wheelie, knocking a gasp from your lips and causing you to slide down on his dick until he was balls deep inside you.

“Paul!” you screamed, half in shock and half in pleasure.

He kissed your cheek in apology, “sorry sugar, couldn’t wait, you feel too good,” he moaned, “god you’re so warm, and wet, and tight. Fuck. Love this pretty little pussy more than anything. Love you more than anything.” His praise sent shivers through you.

He bit down on your shoulder as he began to move in and out of you slowly, rocking his hips in a steady rhythm, careful not to give you too much all at once.

Moans, gasps, and whimpers fell from your lips as Paul fucked you gently.

After awhile, he pulled a hand from the steering wheel and pushed you towards the fuel tank, pressing you clit up against it. He twisted the throttle, causing the bike to speed up and the tank to vibrate harder.

“Fuck Paul,” you moaned loudly as you felt the vibrations rip through you.

“Mmm feel good baby?” he whispered as he rolled his hips into you roughly, stroking the spongey spot deep inside you. You both moaned in unison as his movements caused you to clench down around him.

“Close sugar?” he asked, his voice strained and thick with arousal.

“Yeah,” you breathed in reply, “you?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, “cum with my baby, coat my dick for me,” he said as he roughly hit your g spot once more.

That sent you tumbling over the edge and you fell apart on his cock. He moaned your name as he came inside you, filling you up.

As he came down from his high, Paul pulled over to let you catch your breath. As soon as his kickstand went down, you collapsed forward on the motorcycle, exhausted. Your cum and his leaking out of you onto the seat.

He chuckled and gathered you up in his arms, holding you close to his chest. “You with me baby?” he asked as he pushed sweaty strands of hair from your face.

“Yeah,” you sighed wistfully, “let’s do that again sometime.”

Paul laughed, “whenever you want babe, just say the word.”

Marko pulled to a stop next to the two of you. “How’s she doin?” he asked.

“She’s great,” you replied, “maybe ready to head home.”

Marko’s lips pulled up into a smile, “sounds good, but first…”

He stole you from Paul and set you down on his bike seat, legs facing him.

“First what?” you asked confused.

“Gotta take care of those sticky thighs again bella,” Marko winked as he kneeled down in front of you.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Italian words:

Bella Ragazza- beautiful girl

Bella- beautiful

Dolcezza- sweetness

Taglist❤️:

@ghoulgeousimmaculate @misslavenderlady @6lostgirl6 @anna1306 @consuming-karma @pixielostboy @bloodywickedvamp @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @flower-crowned-lady @paulxbathbomd @ria-coolgirl @lostboys1987girl @warrior-616 @dwaynesluscioushair @its-freaking-bats @feardot-com @solobagginses @vampirefilmlover @arbesa-mind @peachpixiesstuff @miseryharvester @dwaynedelight @bitchyexpertprincess @kurt-nightcrawler @arenpath @mickkmaiden333 @chiefdirector @memphiscity69 @simpingforthe80s

[todaysdocument]

Position Description for Mercury Astronaut

Record Group 255: Records of the National Aeronautics and Space AdministrationSeries: Reference Files of the Special Assistant

[underline] SS - 6.3 [/underline] [Stamped: Space Task Group] B

NATIONAL AERONAUTICS AND SPACE ADMINISTRATION

1520 H STREET NORTHWEST

WASHINGTON 25, D.C.

TELEPHONE: EXecutive 3-3260, TW: WA 755

IN REPLY REFER TO -

[Stamped: RECEIVED NASA SPACE TASK GROUP JUN 19 2 01PM '59]

[manuscript] 3

[underline] S S- 6.3 [/underline]

SO-14

SP - 2.6 [/manuscript]

Lt. Paul P. Bennett, Jr.

BuPers - A3122

Arlington Annex, Rm. 2603

Washington 25, D. C.

Dear Lt. Bennett:

In accordance with our telephone conversation of June 15 the following is a resume of the position description for the Mercury Astronauts.

[underline] Position Title [/underline]: Mercury Astronaut

[underline] Duties [/underline]: Participates in indoctrination, developmental research, and pre-flight training programs under conditions simulating flight profiles of the type expected to be encountered with Project Mercury. Operates and/or observes fixed-base and moving-base simulator tests, serves as subject-under-test, and assists in the analysis of data for the evaluation and development of various boosters and of communication telemetry, display, vehicle-contol, envirornmental-control and other systems involved in launch, atmospheric escape, orbital flight, re-entry, landing and recovery. Participates in specialized training exercises such as centrifuge programs to build up tolerances to motions and forces associated with launch, flight without gravity, and atmospheric reentry, and to develop proficiency and confidence for vehicle operation under such conditions.

Sincerely yours,

/s/

Clotaire Wood

Technical Assistant to the Deputy Administrator

[Stamped Routing List]

BLAND

BOND

DONLAN

FAGET

GILRUTH

HAMMACK

JOHNSON [initialed: lwj]

KRAFT

KYLE

MacDOUGALL

MATHEWS

MAYER

MEYER

PRESTON

PURSER

RICKER

[strikethrough] TAYLOR [/strikethrough] [initialed: G]

ZAVASKY

ZIMMERMAN

AERO MED [initialed: HBf]

[initials: ATS]

SPACE FILES

[manuscript] COPIES TO:

SHEPARD

SCHIRRA

CARPENTER

GLENN

[beatlesficrecs]

fic rec: Two Kinds

by Lollytree

Link to fic

Summary:

John and Paul during the filming of Magical Mystery Tour.

Why I like this fic:

Another great John POV; and a story about an interesting, fraught time for the Beatles and J/P. This one has an *excellent* John-Jim moment, too, and does a great job overall folding the past into the present. The sex is especially hot this close to disaster, but the story ends just in time for weaklings like me to dream of a fix-it.

I re-read this one after a long time, and it holds up. Check it out if John’s voice, John vs. Jim, and Magical Mystery Beatles are your thing!

[joesanrio]

Hey girl, can I have a Jey uso fic. Like you’re Paul’s daughter and like completely off limits. But he ignores that. It doesn’t have to be exactly like that, that was just the vibe. Lots of smut tho. Only if you’re comfortable. Thank you boo

Hey!!! Omg- I love this bcs I’ve been wanting to write abt Jey for a good while!! 🩷 I hope I didn’t disappoint.

Nobody will know | J.U

Summary: Being the daughter of Paul Heyman comes with its perks, but everyone knows that despite their attraction to you they could never have you…except him.

Pairings: Jey Uso x fem!reader || non-established relationship

Warnings: Secret relationship, teasing, closet!smut, nipple play, oral (m. recieves), asskink!jey, face grabbing, dom!jey, sub!reader, multiple orgasms, p in v (unprotected), creampies, L bombs, etc.

Word count: 2012

Ratings: Smut | 18+

———————————————————

“What’s up little miss untouchable?” Jey asked as he entered the locker room, as much as I pretended to hate the nickname, it always sounded so good coming from him. I smile before rolling my eyes as he sat down on the couch beside me, “I’m fine. Just got done filming.” I say avoiding his gaze. He doesn’t speak, instead he stares at me without even caring about how many people are in the room waiting for his acknowledgement. “You’re riding with me back to the hotel, right?” His voice entering my ears in a low whisper, I nod as he pulls away to talk to the other guys in the room.

Everyone knew that due to my dad’s overbearing presence that I was off-limits, barely getting to hang out with the other stars especially the male ones. Jey was different though; he and my father had this false sense of trust with each other which made him the only person who could even get a hug from me. But as much as my dad is protective, he’s also naïve to what goes on around him.  

“What’s going on with you and Jey?” Natalya asked as I walked down the hall, my neck whipped back quickly as she startled me, “Oh my gosh Nattie! Nothing.” I gasp as her eyebrow rises with an unbelievable expression. “Nothing; is like a simple ‘Hey’ not a nickname and whispering in ear.” She says looking me up and down as I roll my eyes. “Okay! Maybe a little something but you know how my dad is… so it’s always nothing.” I say giving her a stern look as my dad walks down the hall with Roman. “Mm’kay whatever you say.” She turns back around when she spots my father making his way towards us, giving me a quick hug and leaving.

---

“You look gorgeous.” His voice muffled into my neck before sucking a small hickies onto my throat, my head falls back against the wall before my arms wrap around his shoulders. Pulling him closer his sultry breath falls onto my collarbones once his now kisses go farther down, placing a gentle kiss above my cleavage as his hands hold my waist tightly. “S’good.” I moan out softly while his lips are now forming into a smirk on my soft skin, my hands grabbing the hair on the nape of his neck to pull him up. Jey’s lips always fit perfect with mine, the taste of his cherry ChapStick now on my plump lips once his teeth pull softly at my bottom lip.

A loud knock on the door causes us to separate, “I’m on a call, give me a sec.” Jey calls out as his thumb rubs my smeared gloss from the side of my mouth and pecks a quick kiss onto my lips. “My bad, I’ll come back later then.” I hear Kevin from the other side of the door before his footsteps are heard leaving from the door and down the hall. Looking Jey up and down as his print is now visible in his sweats, “We got to go.” I say as fix his hair that’s ruffled up from my grasp.

Leaving the room, the cool air hits my warmed body. “Damn.” Jey says as he sees me in the new lighting while we walk to the parking lot to leave, looking over at him confused he says nothing but almost hits the wall as he admires my face. “Stop being silly and let’s go.” I say as his gaze leaves my eyes to fall onto my now wet and plumped lips, “Want to go back?” He stops and juts his head back towards the hallway. “Jey! Cut it out.” I giggle as he continues walking and opens the door that leads outside.

“So nice.” I say as we walked up onto his rental car, he pops the trunk before putting his luggage in first. He smiles before grabbing my suitcase and placing it in the back, I walk to the passenger door as he unlocks the car, and we get in. “Oh my gosh. It’s so pretty!” I exclaim as I admire the interior, but Jey’s too busy admiring me. “You’re pretty.” He smirks as I look at him unamused while he starts the car.

I can’t help but smile as we finally leave the arena, Jey takes no time as his hand is now resting on my thigh. I stare down at his huge hand before it moves further between my thighs, popping his hand he pulls it back to rest above. “You need to focus on driving.” I scold as his fingers rub little shapes onto my bare leg, “I got this.” He says as he gives me a quick look before focusing back on the road.

---

Jey’s lips fall onto mine as his kisses make my skin burn in lust, his large hands kneed into my waist as he hovers above me. My arms immediately wrapping around his shoulders to pull him down further on my body, his hips grinding eagerly into mine. “More.” I muffle into his now plumped lips, his eyes opening to look at my needy expression. He pulls away from the kiss to remove his shirt, which I follow suit as my red lace bra is on display. Jey bites his lips as his hand cups one of my breasts and his thumb rubbing over my nipple, I moan out softly at his delicate touch.

“I thought you didn’t like lace?” He questions as he lays back in between my thighs to get closer to my breast, “I never said that.” I gasp as his tongue licks down from my collarbone to my sternum. His smirk felt along my chest, as he pulled my bra to the side to suck onto my hardened nipple. Jey’s other hand coming up to play with the other, “Fuck...” I moaned out as his teeth pulled at sensitive bud. His tongue not far behind to soothe the area, he then switches to the other side.

My hands wanting to grab onto something as Jey pleases me, I pull his face up from my chest to kiss him. “You’re so sensitive.” Jey’s lips muffle against mine as I moan into the kiss while my hands now fall onto his biceps. His hips rocking against my core, making my back arch into his hold when his hand leaves from my breast to my waist. “Just fuck me already.” I whine before biting onto his bottom lip, causing a quick slap to make contact with my thigh.

“Fine, but you gotta do all the work since you have no patience.” He said pulling away from the kiss and leaning back onto his knees. A pout forming on my lips as I lift my hips to remove my shorts that I’ve yet to take off, “Fix your face.” Jey says grabbing my chin roughly, making the wet patch on my matching red panties darker. He lets go of my chin before pulling at the strings of his sweats, looking up at him as he pulls his large cock from the restraints of his pants.

We repositioned ourselves, Jey laid back on the pillows with his hands behind his head, his cock standing up as his tip glistens in the dim light. In between his legs, I lean forwards and I wrap my hands around the base of his large cock. Drooling at the sight of the precum leaking from his tip and the small twitches of his cock when I run my finger over the slit. He groans deeply as my lips wrap around the tip, the salty taste of the precum collecting on my tongue as he throws his head back in a bliss. “You’re so big.” I moan before licking from the bottom of the base to the top of his tip, his hands moving from behind his head to fist my hair into a ponytail.

“Put in your mouth baby.” He moans as I relax my jaw to take as much of him into my mouth as possible while I use my hands for the rest. His hips rolling up into my mouth before his tip pushes into my throat, his hips faltering at the tightness. “You like that?” I moan as I pull away from his cock as his eyes close and he nods. “Oh! You’re doing so good!” He praises me as I suck on his tip, his hands pushing my head further down his cock. Feeling his twitch in my mouth, his hips thrusting faster, I hollow my cheeks as he lets out a loud moan.

“Take it Baby, oh fuck- Yeah Just take it.” He moans as he holds my head down while his cum coats the back of my throat. His hands falling from my hair as his head is thrown back onto the pillows with his eyes closed, pulling away from him slowly I swallow the cum. “Swallowed it?” He says deeply as his eyes open for a slight moment when I stick my tongue out for him. “Good girl. Now come ride me.” He speaks breathlessly, as I smile and crawl onto his lap.

Sitting on his lap, the feeling of his warm, wet cock in between my folds as I roll my hips slowly on Jey’s. Moaning out quietly as my damp panties add to the pressure of my clit, “Such a cock slut.” He groans as his hands hold onto my waist. I bite my lip as I grind harder against him, before lifting my hips to pull my panties to the side. Jey’s eyes immediately falling to my glistening folds as the wet sounds of our arousal fills the room, “I love it so much.” I moan before grabbing Jey’s cock to insert into my entrance slowly.

Filling me up as I slide down his cock, my hands pressed against his tattooed chest. “Shit, your pussy is so tight.” He moans as I bottom out onto his cock, “Only for you.” I gasp breathlessly as I wait to adjust to his size. His hands holding on my waist and rubbing as I begin to bounce, “There you go, look at you.” Jey moans as his eyes look up into mine. I toss my head back as my breast bounce in front of me, the soft sounds of my ass slapping back down onto his hips filled the room. Leaning down to capture his lips, his hands moving into the curve of my back.

“You smell amazing.” He smiles on my lips before his tongue enters my mouth once he places small smacks on my ass. Gleaming at his compliment, riding him faster, “You’re always so sweet to me.” I say as kiss his neck. His breathy moans leaving his mouth as I begin to suck a hickey on his neck, pulling away to admire the darkening bruise. His hands now helping me bounce on him, “Oh- I’m gonna cum!” I squeal as Jey’s hips drill up into my core.

His hip randomly stops, making me whine out in disappointment. “You’re going to cum- cut it out.” He flips us over, his cock running in between my folds before enters back in my entrance. Almost cumming immediately, he pounds into me mercifully, “S’good!” I moan out as Jey’s hand grabs my face gently to have me look at him.

“So desperate.” He smirks as I clench onto his cock, “Oh you’re going to cum? Want to cum on my cock.” Jey squishes my face as my eyes are fluttering shut, his thrust never faltering as I cream onto his cock with a shaking orgasm.

“Damn girl.” He smirks before placing a rough kiss onto my lips, he holds my hips down as he fills my core up with his warm cum. “I love you.” I gasp as his fingers find their way to my clit and rubbing small circles, “I love you more baby.” He smiles as we calm down from our intense orgasms.

[crepesuzette2023]

As the most infamous fic reccomender do you have anything which will get me out of this depressive pit I've recently fallen into? Something like 'I need you darlin' where its like a well-rounded full story of them falling for each other.

As someone who's familiar with "the long, dark tea-time of the soul," I'll do my best!

The I Need You Darlin' verse (@beatlessideblog) is definitely my go-to as well when I'm stranded on the emotional equivalent of wherever that was where they filmed The Terror, so we share that love. :-)

Many of my comfort reads are on the shorter side: smutty or humorous one shots, but your ask for well rounded stories made me think of these longer fics, too. Hopefully some of these spark joy:

Weddings (@ohjohnnysblog). John and Paul get married in their hearts in Paris '61, and before the law in 2014. They go through many ups and downs, but it all ends well.

I also enjoy 5 Thomas Lane (@chut-je-dors): Modern AU in which John and Paul are married dads. This one is more of a collection of long, one-shot chapters set in the same world rather than a fic with an overarching plot, so perfect for coming back to. The extra Phone Sex is a hot and funny. And check out this art!

A story I keep thinking about is Whatever Fate Decrees (@dailyhowl). John and Paul are an artist and musician, respectively, but still find each other. Lots and lots of pining, but a happy ending, I promise...and Brian lives! <3

Beautiful and so hot my dignity doesn't stand a chance: always, no sometimes (@stonedlennon). Private moments with John and Paul during the lead-up to Sgt. Pepper's.

Suffer Fools Gladly (@aquarianshift): John and Paul through the Beatles years. Four times they almost kissed, and one time they did. One of my favorite endings: zucchini-bread-bearing Lesbians ex machina!

Can You Still Love Me Tomorrow (@imaginebeatles). It's a sweet, romantic Christmas story, but lovely in any season. Modern/fake dating AU. Note the 'slutty!Paul' tag.

And here is a story-in-miniatures: Three lovely vignettes of young J&P through Mike McCartney's eyes, by thinkpink20: Sunday Morning, Boys, Interrupted, and Sleepless in Wales. Bonus: The Photograph, in which John gets to thinking after seeing one of Mike's portraits of Paul.

This is on the short side, but so comforting: Paul and John take a bath in Hamburg! (after bombardment, sonya, by inherownwrite)

Other comfort-/'satisfying my urgent need to laugh my ass off'- stories:

You Might Well Arsk (snugglesweaters). Barista John and student Paul strike up an email correspondence. One thing leads to the next...

Paul's Got John's Thigh, And He's Not Letting Go! (@waveofahand). Press conference shenanigans.

Fixing A Hole: Beatles Songs Scientifically Sorted In Order Of Gayness (@chut-je-dors, @imaginebeatles). Just gimme some truth.

[originalcharactersexyman]

Hiya! Howdy! Id love to toss my goofy silly mailman tf2 oc in the ring if there were slots left! His names Brodie :> Heres his toyhouse

Meet YOUR 10th Class Merc. The Courier. His name is Brodie 

From New York! Go Yankees!

Around 32-34

6"1

Lets take alook into the past: For a lot of his life he has committed ,,, so much fraud. So much. All of it. Mail fraud tax fraud voter fraud healthcare fraud identity fraud. Even credit card fraud when credit cards came out in 1966.  Frauding it up ever since he was a kid delivering newspapers and snooping in neighbor's mail. 

Eventually his fraudulent lifestyle catches up to him and lands him in prison when he suddenly became the inheritor of a minuscule fraction of Australium. And a certain group of individuals did not take too kindly to some rando getting his hands on the  insanely precious resource.  In order for the Australium to be ‘misplaced’, Brodie had to die. And die he did. Not long after being incarcerated, he was hanged for his many, many crimes. A bit of overkill, really, but it was apparently the only way. Plus a lot of the guards and inmates kept finding themselves in varying degrees of debt so two birds one stone. Miss Pauling herself attends the hanging to make sure Brodie does die and sure enough he is pronounced dead. As dead as it gets. 

Well. Mostly.

As his soul prepares for judgment in hell,  Brodie decides “I am absolutely not ready to be dead yet.” Soo he convinces Satan “hey you guys got the wrong guy. I’m blah blah blah, here’s my ID and credentials n whatnot. Here’s who you’re actually looking for” (a lie obviously) but Satan’s like “Oh shit. Um wow- this, like, never happens. Lemme…fix that real quick.” (This is intentionally left vague and about how much hell tell ya about it with changing details each time)

Back in his body, Brodie sits up, completely nakey, save for the body blanket, and startles Miss Pauling who instinctively has a gun to his face. Quickly thinking, Brodie strikes a deal; “Hey hey! Don't Shoot. Uh, listen.  Technically, I was pronounced dead.  Obviously you can keep whatever I was supposed to inherit, I won't even give it another thought but just lemme go - please?”  Sure enough, Miss P agrees, except now Brodie has to…start over again.  Which isn’t a big *deal*, but it’ll take him a minute to get back on his feet since his last identity is supposed to be cold turkey. 

Though, this gives Miss P an idea.  “Hey, do you want a job?”

So he’s back, babyyy. Brodie is a new man (who legally doesn't exist) and is recruited by Mann Co to be the teams smuggler mailman and a merc when violence is needed!!  Someones gotta deliver the mercs all their niche needs and all that, ya know? Someone who ain't afraid to get their hands dirty or have fingerprints or the same teeth they did before or leave any paper trail!  Someone who isn't afraid to break into the next city over's local zoo and get some baboon uteri and hearts for medic, or do a 24 hr trip to Australia for Saxton hale pain tonic for sniper (so they avoid import fees), wine for spy, copious amounts of Tom Jones merch for scout, crates upon very weighty crates of ammo for Heavy, etc etc. Even just snacks from each mercs country (that Courier def sneaks bites from but dont tell anyone shhhh). Or just the pizza the mercs ordered in town.

Need something delivered? Brodie is your Courier! (He has to as his contract states, lest he break it and is 'super killed'.  No its not explained what that means but Brodie don't intend to find out.)

--

He's a bit of a goofy guy.  Quick witted when it comes to fraud but would ask Alexa what 4 x 12 is. His undying passion is committing petty crimes and scams and changing people's legal last names to something like "Scrotum". He's very *very* nosy and will read the merc's mail before he even gets it to them. He's got gossip to share. He loves snacks and has an awful diet consisting of gas station foods. Caffeinated soda and donuts are go-to's, especially on the road. His fav mode of transportation is on his motorcycle.

WOOF thats a long one lol Thank you sm for ur consideration !

WELCOME ABOARD!

Seats Taken: 22/24 (TWO LEFT)

[50shadesofoctarine]

I've finished sketching Ineffable Instincts P.3!! I'll ink and colour it tomorrow.

Details and such under the cut:

I had fun doing the bookshop architecture.

Notice the transition from the Bentley's tyres to the steering wheel. I looove shit like that.

The spokes in the steering wheel also act as panel borders!!

Again, I'm a sucker for a good transition. Notice how the pillar bleeds into the bookshelf. Also, how the book becomes the Bentley's seat divider.

The book titles, in order, are:

Jingology (a QE in joke)

My Cloaca and Me (Although I need to fix the spelling of cloaca, now that I look at it again.)

Dictionary: but not in alphabetical order.

Rickroll - Book Edition

Words

I like that Aziraphale's book indicates to the viewer that he's not paying attention.

For this comic, I had to ask myself the question: "What would Demon Sex Ed look like?"

This is the answer I settled on.

(666 is the Greek numerical spelling for "Nero" - Paul was trying not to get killed for treason so he wrote that part of the bible in code.)

I had fun with these chapter titles.

@goodomensafterdark