#i was so torn between both prompts

[peculiarbeauty]

rapunzael asked: [ COSTUME ]  or [ SHOP ] bc these prompts are so cute omg ✰ ⸻    𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐘   𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐍   𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒    !  ༄

[ SHOP ] for receiver to help sender out with buying appropriate autumn attire.

THE SIMPLE ORANGE SKIRT matched with an adorable beige colored shirt and boots has belle applauding her fellow princess the moment she comes into view. " bravo , bravo ! that's just wonderful ! it really brings out your smile , rapunzel. i think this is the outfit. it would be a cute idea if you and eugene had something that matched. " she is tapping her chin , thoughtfully.

[riddlerosehearts]

figured out how to edit the game files and combine some mods so i could try out different things with gale's earring because i have a lot of thoughts... also gale's earring should really be positioned lower but i'm having an issue with one of the mods, oh well

[dracoryss]

I wanna draw more jaytims and other bats but I'm getting very busy, what a tragedy because I need then out of my system!! I don't even now what I wanna draw, just more of them!

[firepassed]

MORTAL

pain. the pain that hits her form even before she drops to the ground from her elemental form. she feels herself loose balance, but she's determined, and she stands her ground. never in her life has keyleth felt this much pain. shes died before, yes, but that felt like suddenly blink her eyes, unable to open them, then nothing.. then an ache. this? this felt like she’s been ripped apart.

is... is that what's happening? is she dying? what will the rest of vox machina think? will they be able to feel it? and what will happen to her people?

no... no she's taken hits like this before. certainly this feels different then anything she's been attacked with before, but she knows what she's doing. even if she's a little out of practice, she's got things to do, and people to protect, her eyes briefly shifting out to orym's mercenaries, trying to see what they are doing, how they are, expecting the attack on her to be ending and that she will be able to patch herself back up but she doesn't get the chance.

-another strike. she's, the voice of the tempest, the half-elf, is on the ground, and still being hit and hit time and time again. she feels blood filling her throat and the world spin, her hands grasping on the ground to try her best to keep awake and aware, trying to fight without fighting, even as her vision is beginning to blur. blurring vision or not, it's hard to deny the sudden chill in the air, hair standing up on her arm, then the sight in front of her.

...vax? coming to walk her into the beyond? then why is he...?

" don't you even dare. "

an unconscious answer. he's here. he's protecting her. beyond the veil the champion of ravens is here for her. with her.

somehow, though it felt as though it was slowing, her heart began to thunder inside of her chest and she feels herself steadying, trying to heal herself so that she might stand and stand beside him, though she does not even have a chance to note that it's not working as it should as suddenly her vax'ildan is screaming. and transforming... and is gone... her entire being wants to scream, to shout to cast, to do something to save him---

but she can't even move to react-

and then she wakes, the memory having her mind aching and pounding in her head, and though the tempest still feels weak, and as she stands her legs shake threatening to give out on her she moves and gets to work.

it felt as though she is still being torn open, like the blade still carves into her, cutting into her mind, body, heart and soul. blood still drips from the five deep gashes all over her body, she can taste it in her mouth, feel it soak the loose bandages that had been wrapped around in attempts to do to what arcane healing could not, she feels the sweat dripping from her head, hopefully something she's bringing about on her own as she sits on the floor, besides her open window, and not her getting rest as she knows she ought to. in her lap, a notebook, in her hand, a feather, hand shaking as she tries to think on what to write other than to my most dear friends...

how is whitestone?

something happened?

is everything okay after the solstice?

are you both safe?

vax is -

im sorry it's all my fault

i am afraid and scared and beyond that, extremely angry and i think i might die and you need to know something before i do

frustration bubbled inside of her, hot tears prickling at her eyes that drips from her eyes, one hitting the paper a second after a spot of deep red hits the paper, keyleth muttering a curse as she rips out and crumbles up the letter and lets it join the pile that is on the ground. for a moment, she lets her head rest in her hands, not caring if ink spilled on her face, not caring about anything as she tried her best to keep herself together and unable to do so, instead staring at the empty ledge that is unfamiliar, but echos the very feeling she feels inside of her chest.she sniffs. she swallows, and tears still slip unashamed, unembarrassed, wondering if perhaps with the blood still seeping gently from her wounds if perhaps the matron might give her fucking ear with the blood still seeping on the occasion from her wounds. wouldn't that be amusing?

' if you kill me now, i will despise you even more than already. and i will throw everything in my power at you when you come to collect me. ' do. she thinks and she scoffs, her eyes looking beyond as though she might see a raven, familiar or not but again, there's nothing. it doesn't matter. so she instead tries something else to offer. ' if you kill me now, you will never get him back. you need me .' the thought making a smirk stretch on her lips, the goddess of death having something they both understand about each other now, the main difference between them being she is going to do anything and everything that she can even if she must keep true to her duties.

and one of those duties is to vox machina, to her family. and so again she writes---- and when she finishes, she goes through the motions to send it, snowdrop and a blue hyacinth inside the envelope alongside the letter .

dear percy, i know you both are very busy almost constantly but something has happened. i would come to you to make things easier on everyone, but i know not if i can at the moment. i need your help. i need vex's help. and i might need vox machina's help but i know i for sure need the both of you here as soon as you are able. write back if you can, when you can. keep safe. i love you both so very much and give my love to the children. - keyleth

send MORTAL for a scene from my muse's past in which they had a brush with death, either themselves or someone close to them

[antimonyandthyme]

Wouldn't it be crazy...if carcar in the situational prompt list no. 60... one/both of them being hit with truth spell/serum

They’ve all been through it. Oscar isn’t special, or any more special than the nineteen other people who share a track with him. On the cusp of breaking into Formula 1, every one of them had someone who sat them down, acted all nice, like a friend they hadn’t seen in years, then pried them open to get a glimpse of anything rotten. Oscar’s just thankful it was Mark. Someone who Oscar knew cared for him, for real, and this way he could look past the interrogation and assign it some form of kindness. In true form, Mark had gone about it in the most awkward way possible, as only someone who hated doing the questioning as much as he hated doing the answering could, and that at least hadn’t made Oscar’s skin crawl.

Hey, uh, kid. Is there anything you think I should know? Uh, romantic, or otherwise?

Even then, he’d been defensive. His past life wasn’t for sale, newly minted F1 driver or not. The girl he dated for longer than he should have, the guy he kissed in maybe too public of a place. Even in the face of Mark’s sincerity, he’d been torn between honesty and mortification.

He doesn’t know why the memory’s popping up right now. It’s Vegas, and so many things happen in Vegas that outside of the race, not a single other thing bears significance anymore. Oscar doesn’t question it when she gestures him over, or when she points to a deck of cards, laid out on a low table like a trap. Something in the air here shakes out his sensibilities, loosens his tongue.

“Will you tell me who will win?” He pauses, backtracks. She might not even know who he is. There are no cameras around. “I could place a bet if you help me.”

“You aren’t a gambling man.” Her voice is strong, rich like an anchorwoman, completely unlike how he’d expected her to sound. “And anyway, you’ll live it out, tomorrow.”

Oh. So she does know.

The furrow between his eyebrows he cancels out with a bland smile. He gets the impression he should leave.

“I could tell you other things.”

“What other things?” It’s good to keep his mind distracted on the eve of a race. He’s always said that. Has he always said that? Well. He’s saying it now.

She draws a card. “The Fool.”

“Not a good start,” Oscar says. “I think I’m gonna—”

“Inexperience and improvisation,” she says. Her teeth are wondrously bright, straight like gravestones lined up in a row. “Not bad, all things considering.”

All things considering, being how this season is going? What does she know.

“I’ve read this somewhere before,” Oscar says. If it’s a fight she wants.

“The Suit of Swords,” she continues, as if she hasn’t heard him. “A logical mind and a spoken word.”

“You have a preplanned deck, for anyone who walks pass.”

“The Tower. Misery, distress. Unseen catastrophe.”

Oscar grits his teeth. “And then you use the same cards, in the same order, for every person. You’re purposely vague.”

“The Three of Wands. Stepping outside of comfort. Persevering.”

“Everything you say can apply to anyone,” Oscar says. This is as combative as he gets. “It’s all a trick.”

“Ah,” she says, and for a second, Oscar thinks he’s broken through, that she’ll snap at him, shoo him away. “But the Seven of Swords, reversed. A turning point. Starting anew.”

“I’m leaving,” Oscar says. Getting distracted on the eve of a race is folly. He’s always said that. Said that to Carlos, only a month or so ago.

“Only one remedy, for someone as recalcitrant as yourself.”

“I’m leaving,” Oscar says again, tongue like cotton. His feet stay right where they are.

She presses the last card into his hands. That video that had gotten viral years ago, the one where you could hand literally any item off to someone who was speaking on the phone. A shoe, a burger, a baby. This feels weightier than a baby. Oscar’s fingers open and close around the card, a wind-up doll dancing along to someone else's tune.

“Norris is winning tomorrow,” she says.

“Oh, fuck off.”

--

They both went into it with the exact same intentions: to come out of it perfectly intact. It was such a foolish notion from the beginning that they were unwilling to allow any heartbreak over it. So stubbornly, wholeheartedly, they worked their damnedest to come out of it perfectly intact.

If he can look past the way his heart wobbles in his chest whenever Carlos so much as looks his way, Oscar will say it’s been a success. He goes to bed, wakes up, races, while forgetting the intimate press of Carlos’s lips against his. They have a renegotiated new normal, the distance between them adjusted to a boring meter. Just close enough so as not to appear frosty, but far away enough that their shoulders can’t possibly accidentally bump.

“Oscar,” George greets cordially. “Feeling good about today?”

“Like hell I am,” Oscar says, with all the earnestness of a puppy still learning how to use its paws.

Multiple calculations flicker across George’s face. Like how much he actually wants to get into it, and how best to weave his way out of it.

“Chin up,” George says, then turns to Alex.

Oscar rolls his eyes. Catches himself doing it, and makes a concerted effort to pull his eyeballs back down into place. It isn’t like him to be so careless with expression. People act like honesty’s a virtue, then jump back like it could scald the moment it pops up in conversation. He sidles away, and finds himself waving at the crowd, a painless armlength from Carlos.

He suddenly, fervently, hates night races. He’s exhausted. It must be why. When Carlos opens his mouth, says something entirely cordial and normal, like How are you, Oscar’s tongue wriggles itself and lets loose.

“I miss you,” he says. The words are out before Oscar can clap a hand over his mouth. “I feel like shit and I miss you.”

“Right,” Carlos says. Still waving at the crowd, but with his shoulders pushed all the way up to his ears. “And I’m Cleopatra.”

“You’re more beautiful than—aw fuck.” He actually bites his tongue. To stop himself from talking. He needs to stop talking.

“Oscar,” Carlos says. He looks a second away from bolting, except there’s not much place to go, being on a moving bus. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Recalcitrance,” Oscar recites. “And an inability to be honest. Fuck. Fuckkkkk.”

“I’m serious, Oscar. If this is some mind game, you can drop it, yeah? We’re both adults. We can be adults about this.”

“I can’t,” Oscar says pleadingly. “I can’t stop thinking about you and I can’t stop wishing it could be different even though I know I was the one who—”

“Enough,” Carlos says, more hurt than Oscar’s ever heard him. This is what honesty does? Oscar should have burned those cards in front of that woman. “You can’t do this now, it’s not fair. After all you said before, you don’t remember that?”

“I lied, I’ve been lying,” Oscar says. “But I can’t now, apparently, you have to believe me.”

“I don’t have to believe anything,” Carlos says. “I don’t need you fucking up my race.”

“Lando’s going to win,” Oscar says miserably.

“You’re an asshole,” Carlos says, then goes to shoulder his way into some other group, and return to waving at the fans, leaving Oscar now a very painful one, two, three, four, five meters away.

--

Lando—wins? Then gets his win stripped away because of some penalty, moving Max up into first, Oscar into second, and Carlos into third.

She’s right, but only on a technicality. Oscar doesn’t want to give her that. And anyway, second place is pretty damn euphoric. He also gets to spray Carlos with champagne. Soak Carlos with it. Pretend the crinkles on Carlos’s face are for him.

He’s not thinking about his lack of filter when there’s a mic shoved up into his face.

“Obviously, I feel for Lando. It’s never a nice experience when you think you have something, but you don’t.”

Behind him, Carlos is waiting to give his interview. In front of him, the reporter’s face is suitably sympathetic.

“I mean, obviously, sometimes. It’s not even your fault. But sometimes—it is?”

“Right,” she says. “About the penalty, right?”

“Uh huh, the penalty. Sometimes it’s totally your fault. When you push people away.”

“You mean off the track?”

“Yeah, off the track,” Oscar nods fervently. He needs to buy this lady a bottle of wine, bless her. “But Lando will recover, the team will come back stronger.”

“Are you happy with your podium today?”

“Of course,” Oscar says. “I’m happy Carlos was up there with me. He deserves it. I’m happy he’s getting these podiums with Ferrari, so they can see—”

What they’ve given away, what they’ve pushed away.

Carlos is suddenly closer, behind him. Hand on Oscar’s lower back, subtle enough that no one else can see. Chiding, but gentle.

“—see him celebrate with this team.” Safer, but no less true. “I’m. Uh, very happy.”

“Right,” she says. “Just one more thing.”

“Ay,” Carlos says, in that lovely, good-natured way of his. “Is my turn now, no?”

“Of course,” she laughs, utterly charmed. “Oscar, thank you for your time.”

Carlos’s hand on his hip feels almost protective, the way he nudges Oscar away from the pen. Go, go. Button it up. You’re not for sale. Go.

--

Carlos examines the card under the neon glow of the strip. The waxy paper’s almost see through when he holds it up. You stare too long and in the end, you find you’re just looking directly at the lights, hurting your eyes. Unsurprisingly, when Oscar took him to where the woman had her little table set up, she wasn’t there.

“I think you got sold some snake oil.”

“I didn’t buy anything,” Oscar says.

“But you’re being made to pay,” Carlos says, grinning. “I’ve never heard you like that before. I’m happy for Carlos, just like that! To the media too. Impressive.”

“Go on,” Oscar says. “Kick a guy when he’s down.”

“Sorry,” Carlos says, sounding like he means it. Oscar’s heart does that pathetic quiver before it rightens itself. Carlos is always so quick to retract his claws, the moment he thinks he’s drawn blood. “It’s just, you know, kinda nice, having you like this. You’re never like this.”

“You could.” Oscar swallows. Prays that he has it in him to be brave. “Ask me anything now. I wouldn’t be able to lie.”

Carlos looks at him, before looking down at his feet. “That’s cheating, no?”

“For you?”

“No,” Carlos says. “For you. You’re cheating, like this.”

Ah. If Carlos had been anyone else, maybe he could have just asked and spared them both the trouble. Something like, Hey, hey. Be honest. Do you have feelings for me? Instead, Carlos hands the card back. Unwilling to go for the jugular. Classic Carlos.

Oscar wants so much to take his hand.

He clears his throat. “Do you remember. Uh. Before you started in F1. Did you ever have to. Like. Go through all of your past with anyone? Tell them who you dated and stuff?”

“Ah,” Carlos says. “Eh. Well. My Dad mostly already knew everything.”

“I think Mark wanted the ground to swallow him up, asking me.”

Carlos giggles. “I bet you were very embarrassing.”

“I, uh. Wasn’t very honest with him.”

“Good,” Carlos says.

“Good?” Oscar says, like some lost puppy.

“Yes, good,” Carlos says seriously. “It’s not for anyone else.”

Oscar waits for Carlos to ask, even while knowing Carlos never would. Not like that. Ball’s in Oscar’s court, as they’d say. For when he finally works through his recalcitrance and inability to be honest. I don’t want to reveal you to the world. Risk you in the slightest, Oscar wants to tell Carlos. That’s why I said all that I said. That’s why.

The card’s not strong enough for that. Not when Carlos, who’s equally as stubborn, refuses to invoke its magic. He’s protective like that, Carlos. Oscar offers him a wobbly smile, an olive branch. All that he can give right now. Generous that he is, Carlos allows the distance between them to shrink to something almost friendly, almost enough to bump shoulders.

--

Just for the fun of it, Oscar goes back, a couple of hours before he’s due at the airport.

She’s there now, of course.

“I don’t need this anymore,” he says, placing the card back onto her table.

She tuts at him like she’s disappointed, but shuffles the card back into her deck anyway.

“Also, Lando didn’t win.”

“Boy,” she says. “Do you think I actually watch Formula 1? Run along now. Do this your own way.”

“I will,” he says. “Thanks, I guess?”

She laughs. Grins at him in a way that’s both sinister and encouraging. Were her teeth always gleaming gold? “Your flight’s going to be late,” she says.

“Oh, fuck off.”

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 16: Touch-starved

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Touch-starved (🌼)

Summary: After weeks of being incredibly busy, you are starved for Matt's touch, so you seek it out. Of course, he’s eager to take care of his girl.

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst

Word Count: ~960

Read Me On AO3! (Coming soon)

The blue light of his computer screen illuminates his face in a soft white glow. 

His glasses lay discarded next to the stack of court papers Matt is sifting through, weeks worth of work that has kept you apart from him. The wrinkles on his forehead are deeper, and the bags under his eyes are a little more swollen. Though even as he sits there, beyond exhausted and worked to the bone, you can’t help but think that he has never looked more breathtaking.

His arms flex as he types. He hasn’t held you in so long. Do you even remember what it feels like? You’ve both been stressed, but every time you get a minute, the city calls for him, and he has to go. He always has to go.

Matt is starving you of his affection, and he doesn’t even realize it. He doesn’t realize how badly you miss him, or how long your days have been, too. He’s so caught up in this case that you are a mere afterthought, but you can’t blame him. He’s not always like this. You know he loves you, and you know he will make up for it when he’s done, but your brain is far from rational when you just need him to hold you. 

When you need to feel loved.

You get up from the couch, your slippers dragging over the floorboards as you make your way over to him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders. “How’s it going?” you ask.

He exhales heavily. “It’s… not,” he says, leaning his head against yours. 

You kiss his temple. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’m so tired.” He leans back against you, and it’s like your skin is set on fire. You want to bury yourself in him. He squeezes your hand, once, twice, even a third time—I love you, but then he pulls away. “But I need to get this done.”

A whimper escapes you. “No.”

“I’m sorry. You know I–”

“No.” You shove his laptop aside. “I’ve had a shitty day, and I need you.”

You are not the kind of girl who begs. You are not the kind of girl who would force a man to pay attention to her, but you’re lonely. You are so lonely.

Matt tilts his head in your direction. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

“Please,” you beg again. 

For him, you would get on your knees and pray. You would pray to a God you don’t believe in because you miss him, and you would do anything to be held by him. 

He hears the ache in the way your heart hammers against your ribcage. He hears the sad undertone in your voice, the desperation and the starvation from weeks without him. Matt realizes then that he neglected you. He neglected you, and you are begging for him to stop. You are begging for him to take care of you because you may need him, but he also needs you. You are both on the verge of falling apart.

He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your body tightly to his chest. He pulls you close enough for you to melt together like iron.

You almost start crying. He holds you, and you almost start crying like a baby. It’s pathetic, really, and it hurts, but it hurts so good.

You don’t ever want him to stop. You don’t ever want to feel like this again. Missing him when he is right there is most debilitating. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into the crown of your head, cradling you like a fragile porcelain doll. “I’ve got you.” 

Your nails dig into the fabric of his wrinkled dress shirt. His scent fills your nostrils, and it seeps into your wounded soul like a healing balm of solace.

“I miss you,” you confess.

“I know.”

You nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck. “Can you just… take me to bed and cuddle me? Just until I fall asleep.”

Matt seems torn between you and his laptop for a moment, unfocused eyes darting around as the crease between his brows deepens, but then the feeling of you creeps into the forefront of his consciousness, and he succumbs to his heart’s desire. 

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you from the living room to your shared bedroom. His work lies long forgotten on the messy dining table. You are where he needs to be, not in court, not out on the streets, and certainly not in a virtual Word document. 

His work will still be there tomorrow; if he doesn’t take care of you like he is supposed to, you might not be, and he can’t, for the love of God, lose you. You are the reason for his every breath. Without you, he is nothing, and so he lies you down on the mattress, takes off his shoes, and climbs in beside you. 

He sustains you.

Your breathing slows. “Thank you,” you whisper. 

Matt shushes you. “I’m sorry.”

There it is again, the guilt he carries like a shield. You squeeze his hand. “It’s not your fault. I just need to have you close. I need to fall asleep with you,” you say, “because I can’t fall asleep without you. I can’t…” 

A tear rolls down your cheek. He reaches up to wipe it away. The last thing he wanted was to cause you such pain. 

“Okay,” he says, tightening his hold around you. “Okay. I’m here. I’m here, baby.”

You listen to the steady thumping of his heart, the way it slows down with every breath you take. 

He’s here; Matt is here, and he’s not going anywhere. A whispered ‘I love you’ from his lips is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep, safe and sound in his arms.

You are right where you belong.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler

[ode2rin]

if his tendency to spend all of his money on you (not that any purchase could make a dent in his massive empire) wasn't annoying enough, reo had developed another endearing yet infuriating habit—one that left you torn between feeling adored and wanting to throw the nearest pillow at his face.

said man is currently in the kitchen with you, attempting (albeit with some struggle) to be useful by following your every move. tired of his constant hovering, you assigned him a simple task to keep him busy: taking out the groceries from the paper bags.

here came his habit again. the first time he did it, you brushed it off, assuming he hadn't heard you well due to the distance. the second time, you noticed his subtle perks and pouts. now, for the third time, you were determined to catch him.

“reo…” from where you’re standing, you could see how he perks up at your call, “can you pass me the apple?”

silence. 

you’re right. you tried again, just to be sure.

“reo.”

another beat of silence. this one followed by an affectionate sigh and a wry smile on your face.

“love, can you pass me the —”

“here.” 

almost instantly, reo materialized beside you, a beaming smile adorning his face, looking at you like his gaze meant to say, ‘yes. i am love, that’s me.’ he extended the requested fruit with a graceful motion, his fingers gentle as he offered it to you.

this man, really. “so, you can hear me properly after all, huh?”

“yeah? my hearing is fine.” 

“oh, is it? i couldn’t tell because i called you twice, and you weren’t responding. why is that?” you teased, a fond smile gracing your lips as you start slicing the apple you washed.

he pouts, his go-to theatrical gesture that's hard to ignore. “you know why,” he mumbles.

of course, you do. you had used that endearment once, and now, suddenly he insists on being called by nothing else. it had been a slip of your tongue, a phrase that felt like it was custom-made for him and him alone. looking at how his smile nearly outshines the sun when you address him as such, you can't help but consider that maybe love—both the word and the emotion it embodies—is all about him, for you.

you love that smile more than anything, so if it means a simple endearment could paint it on his face, you're happy to oblige. well, not without a few playful teases first.

“what if i’m on the brink of danger — like a crocodile is chasing me, and i’m about to die, and i call out your name like ‘reo!’ are you still going to ignore me? because i didn't call you love?” you turn to face reo briefly, then return to your task of slicing apples, the motion fluid and familiar. 

it's always been the scene – you doing kitchen work and him watching you, because your boyfriend is a little helpless when it comes to knives, pans, and a stove. or in simpler words, anything to do with what a kitchen is for.

“first of all, that's an incredible imagination and such a realistic situation, given that we live in a city far from any vicinity of swamps, marshlands, brackish waters, and wherever the hell crocodiles live,” reo counters, his voice amused and suddenly defensive. 

as he was about to start explaining his second point, you interrupt by placing a sliced apple into his mouth, a light-hearted gesture of “shush” as you hear him out.

but reo is not reo if not stubborn, so even with a muffled voice, he continues. “second, is that what you think of me? you know i will come flying to you!” now, that’s an honest and valid point.

“and lastly, you call everyone a cute pet name. last week, you called a kid sweetie. yesterday, you called a stray cat darling and lovely. then you’re here calling me reo? just reo?” his tone is laced with disbelief, his volume slightly lowered, revealing a hint of embarrassment at his little rant.

a chuckle escapes you as he concludes his argument, prompting you to turn around and draw closer, your arms finding their place around his neck, while his arms encircle you instinctively, holding you close against him.

“reo is my favorite word, though. it’s too bad that you don’t like it.” you murmured.

reo knows what you’re doing. “you’re distracting me.”

“is it working?”

of course, it does. reo isn’t just helpless in the kitchen, but he is a much worse case of helplessness when faced with your warm gaze and soft charms.

he nodded in affirmation, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your back, “have i told you i love you?” he asks, swiftly changing the matter.

“only everyday, love.”

reo began again, ever stubborn and persistent, always eager to prove his point. “that’s not enough. i think i should do it every hour—”

“i love you.”

another beat of silence, again, for the third time. 

if it wasn't evident before, it's undeniable now – reo is really helplessly in love with you. such testament to that is him now gaping and at a loss of words for your sudden declaration.

reo needs you to go back to your usual teasing self; your affectionate version might just give him a heart attack.

smiling to yourself because you caught him off guard, you took your chance. “now, go there and sit. as much as i love having you around, you are an awful cook, let alone an assistant.” you gently pushed his chest, guiding him toward the couch.

“that's not how you speak to your loved one, though.” he mumbled in response, seemingly recovered from your sudden i love you that almost knocked the air out of him.

“are you saying something?”

“i said, off the couch i go.”

you shook your head, a fond smile gracing your lips as you watched him, before heading back to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

your loved one, huh? that’s him, definitely. 

reo and love, to you, it’s the same thing.

note. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY LOVER (i swear i planned something better pls forgive me) i'm late i know but it's still august 12 here :P i don't know what this is but pls take it away from me. reo i love you i love you i love—

[rootedinrevisions]

Kinktober 2024: Day 10

PROMPT: "Do that again."

KINK: Shower Sex

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT. (Shower Sex. Fingering. P in V.) I Mentions of injury and blood (from his job)

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

TAG LIST: @missmarveledsblog I @shanimallina87

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! (I currently have one for Glen Powell & His Characters, One for Bradley/Rooster now, and then a third for WWE/Wrestling. I also can create one for Bucky & other MCU characters if there's interest for more of those characters!)

You stood on the deck, the ocean breeze tousling your hair as your eyes remained locked on the horizon. Bradley should’ve been back by now. Jake too. It had been a routine mission, nothing unusual, and yet… they were late. Much too late.

Beside you, Phoenix shifted nervously, her eyes scanning the same stretch of sky. You caught her glance, both of you exchanging a look that said more than words ever could. They were cutting it too close, and the quiet hum of anxiety had turned into a loud, throbbing pulse in your chest.

Every muscle in your body was tense as you waited. A bead of sweat slid down your back, the anxiety knotting tighter with every second of silence. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to hold on to the hope that they would appear, that everything would be fine.

Then, just as you were about to lose faith, a small speck appeared in the distance. You squinted, straining to make out the shape. It was a jet. Bradley’s jet. Relief started to flood through your veins—until you saw the smoke trailing behind him. Black, billowing smoke, thick and ominous, curling into the sky like an unwelcome shadow.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, and your breath caught in your throat. The plane was damaged—badly. You could see the flames licking at the tail end, and the panic you’d been holding at bay suddenly rushed forward, threatening to overwhelm you.

Beside you, Phoenix stiffened. You didn’t have a headset to hear the communication, but you didn’t need one. Bradley was in trouble. It was all over his damaged plane, the smoke, the way it wobbled unsteadily as he approached for a landing.

A few seconds later, you saw Jake’s plane come into view, circling Bradley as if he were trying to protect him from an unseen enemy. But there was nothing they could do—this was on Bradley now.

You held your breath as his plane descended, too fast, too rough, skidding along the runway in a shower of sparks. It was a hard landing, but somehow, miraculously, he managed to keep the jet in one piece.

As soon as the plane came to a stop, the deck exploded into action. People rushed toward the smoking wreckage, emergency teams on high alert. You stood frozen for a moment, your mind struggling to catch up with what your eyes were seeing. Then, your feet moved on their own, carrying you toward the man you loved without hesitation.

You barely registered the people darting around you as your focus zeroed in on Bradley. He was getting out of the cockpit, slowly, gingerly, like every movement hurt. Payback and Fanboy were already there, throwing his arms over their shoulders as they helped him out.

That’s when you saw him.

Blood streaked the left side of his face, his flight suit torn and singed. His left leg dragged slightly as he limped between his friends, his breathing labored, shallow. But somehow, through it all, he was smiling. That familiar, infuriatingly charming smile you knew so well.

You stopped just in front of him, your chest tight, your throat thick with unshed tears. Bradley looked up at you, his eyes tired but full of warmth. He gave you a small, lopsided grin, his voice hoarse as he said, “Hey, Sweetheart.”

It was as if he hadn’t just been through hell, as if he hadn’t come within inches of disaster. As if he hadn’t almost died.

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms carefully around his torso. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he winced slightly at the pressure, but he didn’t pull away. His arms came around you, one hand resting gently on the back of your head as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. He then buried his face into your neck and shoulder.

“It’s good to see you,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You nodded against his chest, the smell of jet fuel and smoke clinging to him. 

“You scared me,” you mumbled into his flight suit, your voice breaking with the weight of all the emotions you were trying to keep in check.

Before he could say anything more, Payback cleared his throat. “We need to get him to medical,” he reminded you gently. “He’s in rough shape.”

You reluctantly pulled away, your hands still resting on his sides. “I know,” you said, your voice shaking. 

His hand brushed yours as they started to pull him away from you, and you clung to that small touch like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I’ll be fine,” Bradley rasped, his eyes flicking to yours.

You nodded, but you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him—or yourself.

* * * *

Later that night as you stood there at the vanity, the shock of seeing Bradley's blood on your skin sent a shiver down your spine. It felt like a distant reminder of just how close you had come to losing him, a tangible symbol of the fear that had been gnawing at you all day. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the dried streaks on your forehead and neck, realizing how tightly you must have held onto him after he landed—desperate to keep him grounded, to reassure yourself that he was still there.

You quickly turned on the faucet, the steam rising as the water heated. Grabbing a washcloth, you soaked it in the hot water and began scrubbing at the blood. At first, you wiped gently, watching as the reddish-brown stains started to fade, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t just the blood; it was the memory of seeing him hurt, the panic that had consumed you the moment his smoking plane appeared on the horizon.

So you scrubbed harder. The heat from the water mixed with the roughness of the cloth as you pressed it against your skin, trying to erase every trace of the day’s events. But no matter how much you scrubbed, it felt like it wasn’t enough. You could still feel it—the weight of the fear, of nearly losing Bradley, lingering beneath the surface.

Your hands moved faster, rubbing your forehead and neck with such intensity that the skin turned bright red. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. It was as if you were trying to scrub away not just the blood but the overwhelming emotions that came with it—the helplessness, the terror.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, scrubbing at your skin, lost in the repetitive motion. All you knew was that your breath had grown shallow, your fingers trembling as they dragged the cloth across your skin again and again, desperate to wash away something that couldn’t be seen.

As your hands moved frantically under the running water, scrubbing harder and harder at the remnants of dried blood, you didn’t hear Bradley approach. You were too lost in your own thoughts, too consumed by the need to erase the day’s horrors from your skin, as if by doing so you could rid yourself of the fear that had rooted deep inside you.

Without warning, Bradley’s warm hands gently closed around yours, stopping you mid-motion. The sudden stillness broke the trance, and you blinked, looking down to see his larger hands wrapped around your own, pulling them away from your reddened skin.

"Hey," he said softly, concern lacing his voice. "That’s enough."

You stared at the stark contrast between his tanned fingers and your flushed, raw skin. Your knuckles were white from gripping the washcloth so tightly, your hands trembling slightly in his grip. You hadn’t even realized how hard you’d been scrubbing, how red and irritated your skin had become. It felt like you could still feel Bradley’s blood on you, a phantom sensation that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you tried.

“I just... I couldn’t stop,” you whispered, your voice shaking as you met his eyes in the mirror. “It’s like I can still feel it.”

Bradley’s face softened, and he gave your hands a gentle squeeze before releasing them, guiding the washcloth from your grasp and setting it aside. 

He cupped your face tenderly, his thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t even realized were slipping down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he said quietly, his voice steady, grounding you in the moment. His hazel eyes locked onto yours, filled with a calm reassurance. “I’m right here. You don’t need to do this.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “For a moment... I thought I was going to be a widow. A month into being your wife, and I thought I’d lost you.”

Bradley’s face fell for just a second, a flicker of pain crossing his expression before he quickly hid it behind a soft, sad smile. He tilted his forehead down to rest against yours, his voice low and gentle. 

“It’s gonna take more than that to get rid of me,” he murmured, trying to lighten the mood just enough, but you could hear the weight behind his words.

You let out a shaky laugh, though it was more from the release of pent-up emotion than anything. The tension that had been coiling inside you all day finally began to ease, if only a little.

Bradley pressed a kiss to your forehead, the same spot where his blood had been smeared earlier. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I just...” Your voice cracked as you struggled to find the words. “Seeing you like that... I didn’t know if you were okay. I thought...”

“I know,” he whispered, cutting you off gently. “I’m okay now. I promise.”

He pulled you into his arms then, holding you against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. You let yourself sink into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, feeling his solid presence against you. His hand moved to the back of your head, cradling you as he pressed his lips to your hair.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he murmured into your hair. “You don’t have to be strong for me.”

You felt the dam break, the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilling over. You clung to him, your body shaking with quiet sobs as the reality of everything came crashing down. Bradley didn’t say anything more—he just held you, letting you cry into his chest, his hand gently rubbing circles on your back.

After a while, when the sobs had subsided and your breathing had calmed, he leaned back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up? You’ll feel better.”

You shook your head, the thought of leaving him even for a moment felt unbearable. “I don’t want to.”

His brow furrowed in concern, but then a playful spark lit up his eyes. “Do you want to get cleaned up together?”

A small smile formed on your lips at the suggestion, warmth blooming in your chest. You nodded, the thought of being in the shower with him, washing away the day’s tension, felt comforting.

Bradley’s smile widened, clearly pleased with your answer. “Alright then,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Let’s make this a team effort.”

Without hesitation, he pulled off his shirt, revealing his toned chest. You couldn’t help but admire him for a moment, your heart fluttering as he tossed the fabric aside. Then, with a playful glint in his eye, he slid off his shorts, standing before you in just his boxer briefs.

“Don’t think I’m the only one getting undressed,” he said, taking a step closer, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt.

You felt a rush of warmth as he gently lifted your shirt over your head, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He took his time, his touch careful and deliberate, as if he was savoring every moment.

Once your top was off, he stepped back momentarily to admire you, his gaze appreciative and full of affection. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, but it felt good. It felt safe.

“Now for these,” he said, his voice low as he moved to help you with your shorts. He crouched slightly, fingers deftly unbuttoning and pulling them down your legs. The moment felt intimate, yet reassuring, a sense of shared vulnerability that washed over you both.

Once you were both left with nothing covering your bodies, you glanced up at him.  A small smile formed on his lips as he asked, “Ready?”

“Always,” you replied, as he reached for your hand.

He reached into the shower and adjusted the temperature. As the steam began to rise, Bradley stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pulling you against him. The warmth of the water cascaded down, enveloping both of you.

“See? This is much better,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You leaned back into him, the weight of the day beginning to lift with each drop of water that slid down your skin.

With a gentle touch, he began to wash your back, his fingers massaging your shoulders as the warmth of the water wrapped around you like a cocoon. You closed your eyes, letting the moment wash over you, allowing yourself to relax.

“Let it go,” he whispered, his voice soothing. “I’ve got you.”

As the warm water cascaded over you, the tension in your body began to ease, but Bradley could still feel the tightness in your shoulders and the way your breaths came a bit too quickly. He was determined to help you unwind fully, despite having been the one who had just gone through such a harrowing experience.

He turned you gently to face him, their bodies silhouetted against the steamy backdrop of the shower. His hands, warm and inviting, moved over your skin, working out the knots with a deftness that sent tingles through your body. With each gentle caress, he made it his mission to help you forget the world outside.

“Just relax,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

As his fingers traveled down your arms and shoulders, you closed your eyes, surrendering to his touch. But then, his hands began to drift, sliding down to your chest. His fingers found your breasts, kneading the soft skin with a firm yet gentle pressure that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips, and your head fell back against the slick tiles of the shower.

Bradley chuckled softly, a sound that wrapped around you like the warm water. “Does that feel good?” he asked, his voice rich with affection and a hint of mischief.

You simply hummed in response, the sound barely escaping your lips, your mind clouded with pleasure.

“Do you need a little more help relaxing?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave lower, thick with intention.

Again, you hummed, feeling his hand start to move lower, anticipation curling in your belly. Each caress felt electric, igniting a warmth that spread throughout your body. You could feel the heat radiating off him, mingling with the steam in the air, and you were lost in the sensations he was creating.

“Just trust me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he continued to guide his hands over your body, taking his time, cherishing every inch of you as he led you deeper into relaxation and pleasure.

Bradley wrapped one arm around your waist, drawing you closer to him, his warm body grounding you in the moment. The feel of him against you was intoxicating, a steady presence that made you forget everything outside of the bathroom. With the other hand, he began to explore the space between your thighs, his fingers teasingly brushing against your skin.

He started with one finger, moving slowly, gauging your reaction, the sensation sending ripples of warmth coursing through you. You couldn't suppress the soft moan that escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the small enclosure of the shower.

Encouraged by your response, he slid in a second finger, his movements becoming more deliberate as he pressed against the sensitive spots he knew would elicit more pleasure. You clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as your breath hitched, your body responding eagerly to his touch.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low and laced with concern, even as his eyes burned with desire.

You could only manage a nod, your voice caught in your throat as he pushed a third finger inside you. The pleasure intensified, and your back arched instinctively, pressing closer against him as a deeper moan escaped you. Each thrust of his fingers sent shockwaves of ecstasy through you, and you could feel the tension within you coiling tighter.

Bradley watched your reaction with a mix of awe and lust, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the way your body responded to him. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm in the heated moment.

You tightened your grip on him, feeling the strength of his body against yours, a reminder of how safe you were with him. Each thrust of his fingers brought you closer to the edge, the steam swirling around you, heightening the sensations as you surrendered completely to him. You could feel the knot in your belly tightening, and with each gentle curl of his fingers, you knew you were teetering on the brink of something spectacular.

“Bradl-,” you gasped, the sound thick with desire, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips as he continued to work you into bliss.

Bradley’s fingers slowed their pace, and before you could catch your breath, he scooped you up into his arms, his strength surprising you even after the mission he'd just endured. You gasped, your body instinctively wrapping around him as your legs hooked around his waist, trying to hold onto him.

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy,” you murmured, a hint of worry creeping into your voice even in the midst of the heat between you. 

The memory of his rough landing was still fresh in your mind, and the last thing you wanted was for him to strain himself. Bradley’s lips curved into a familiar, teasing smile as he leaned in close, his forehead resting against yours. 

“If I’m ever too injured to take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, “just go ahead and take me out of my misery.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your worry momentarily forgotten as his playful nature eased the tension. But before you could respond, Bradley shifted, pressing your back gently against the cool tile of the shower wall. The contrast between the heat of his body and the chill of the tiles sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation building in the pit of your stomach.

He adjusted his grip on you, his hands strong and steady as they supported you, and then, in one fluid motion, he slid into you. The sensation was overwhelming, and a soft moan escaped your lips as he filled you completely. Your head tipped back, the steam swirling around you, making the moment feel hazy and dreamlike.

Bradley groaned softly, his breath hitching as he held you tight against him, your bodies perfectly aligned. His hands gripped your hips as he began to move, slow and deliberate, each thrust bringing a fresh wave of pleasure. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your body responding instinctively to his rhythm.

The sound of the water cascading down around you mixed with the soft moans and gasps that filled the air. Bradley’s pace quickened, his lips finding your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses as his hips moved in sync with yours. Each movement felt like an unspoken promise, a reminder of how deeply connected you were despite everything that had happened.

Your legs tightened around him, pulling him even closer, as you lost yourself in the sensation of him moving inside you. Every thrust brought you closer to the edge, your body trembling with the building tension as Bradley whispered your name against your skin, his voice thick with desire.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his words sending another jolt of pleasure through you as you arched against him. 

As Bradley's hand slipped between your bodies, finding that sensitive spot again, you gasped, the sensation making your body shudder against him.

"Do that again," you breathed out, your voice barely a whisper, but the urgency was clear.

Bradley paused for a moment, his lips brushing against your ear as a smirk curled across his face. 

“Yeah, you like that, sweets?” he murmured, his voice dripping with playful confidence.

You nodded, barely able to form words as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable level. Bradley didn’t make you wait. His fingers moved again, pressing exactly where you needed him, and the combination of his touch and the way he filled you sent you spiraling.

A rush of heat swept through you as you gasped, your body tightening around him as the pleasure crashed over you in waves. You clung to him, your fingers gripping his shoulders as the intensity of it all left you breathless, your head falling back against the shower wall. Bradley groaned softly, feeling the way you reacted to him, and continued his movements, riding out your climax with you until you were left trembling in his arms.

As the intensity of your shared climax faded, Bradley leaned his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, your bodies still tangled together under the warmth of the shower. 

A few moments passed in comfortable silence before Bradley gently pulled away, the water still cascading down around you both. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips before stepping out of the shower.

Without a word, Bradley grabbed a towel, drying himself off with practiced ease before wrapping it around his waist. Then, with a tender smile, he reached for a second towel and held it open, waiting for you.

“Come on out, sweetheart,” he said, his voice soft but filled with warmth.

You turned the water off, taking a moment to steady yourself before stepping out of the shower. Bradley immediately wrapped the towel around you, his arms enveloping you in its warmth just like he had done with his embrace. His hands gently tucked the towel around your body, making sure you were secure, before pulling you into him again.

"You okay?" he asked, his forehead resting against yours, eyes filled with concern and affection.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as you leaned into him.

[crescenthistory]

hear me out…b4 with paul <333

thanks for your request babe! this fit best as a silly drabble in my mind, enjoy<33

Prompt: B.4 “Kiss me again”

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: sparring, kissing, goofing

The blade whistles through the air, missing your cheek by a breath as you twist out of the way. You’re not fast enough to avoid the follow-up, though – Paul’s foot sweeps low, knocking you off balance. You hit the ground hard, air rushing from your lungs.

He is standing over you in an instant, poised and confident, dark curls falling over his forehead, eyes glittering with the quiet triumph he always tries to mask.

“Yield?” he asks, that edge of teasing already creeping into his voice. He extends a hand down to you, his stance relaxed, clearly feeling like he has already won. Typical.

“I’ll think about it,” you huff, reaching up as if you’re taking his hand. The second your fingers brush his, you tug, hard. He yelps in surprise as you yank him off his feet, using his own weight to pull him down.

He lands hard beside you, his expression startled for a split second before it melts into a grin. You don’t give him time to recover, rolling over to press the flat of your practice blade to his throat.

“Yield?” you echo, your smirk matching his earlier confidence.

Paul laughs, bright and unguarded, and it’s the kind of sound that makes your chest feel too tight. His shoulders shake beneath you, his amusement spilling out in waves, and for a moment, you forget about the training ground and the hours of drills. It’s just him, here, like this.

“Okay, okay, I yield.” His hands coming up in mock surrender. In his eyes, though, there is a dancing, teasing glint that should tell you he’s not done playing yet.

You lift the blade, relaxing your grip – and he strikes.

With a swift movement, Paul rolls you both over so you’re beneath him, pinning you to the ground. Before you can protest, he catches your wrists, holding them down with an infuriatingly smug look on his face. His body is warm above you, his breath still coming fast from the laughter.

“Can’t believe you fell for your own trick,” he murmurs, leaning in close, voice a low drawl meant to needle you.

Your lips twitch, torn between frustration and amusement. “Can’t believe you’re so insufferable.”

“I’ve been told.” He smirks, leaning in even closer, so close now that his breath ghosts over your skin. “But admit it. You love losing to me.”

He loves to push the limit with you, but you won't let him get away that easy.

“Oh, please.” You scoff, squirming under his grip. “I am so above that.”

You throw your hips up on the side of his, mind too focused on not losing to panic over your proximity, as you use your weight and sheer willpower to topple him over, ripping out of his grasp from the momentum.

Both opponents scramble to your feet, eyes trained on the other to catch any small movement. Despite yourself, a smile begins to tug at the corner of your mouth, relishing in the pure childish fun of it all.

Once Paul sees, he smiles himself, shaking his head slightly at your antics.

In the next moment you throw your body around and lunge, taking advantage of his slight distraction.

Your foot connects with Paul’s chest, and he stumbles back, laughing as he barely regains his balance. His grin grows lopsided, wild, as he twirls his blade in hand, trying to recover some dignity.

“Oh, don’t even think about it,” you warn as you see him shift his posture. You know him too well, his signalling, his tells – he’s about to pull one of his flashy moves, the kind that makes you roll your eyes but also secretly impresses you. 

Paul cocks his head, increasingly infuriating smirk still on his lips. “Think about what? Winning?”

You narrow your eyes. “Trying and failing to, at least.”

Ignoring you, his foot sliding forward with practised ease, body twisting in ways it shouldn’t be able to, blade arcing toward you in a sweeping strike.

You sidestep him, just out of range, letting him stumble slightly past you.

“Really?” you tease, pressing in close before he can recover, mock blade at the ready. “Is this the same Paul Atreides that’s supposed to be great?”

“Oh, I’m saving my energy,” he quips, but his breath is coming faster, his shoulders rising and falling. “Just giving you a false sense of security.”

“Right,” you say, repressing an eye roll so you can keep your focus on him. “So, in this plan, I’m supposed to get overconfident and–”

Paul surges forward before you can finish, his blade coming at you in a quick, fluid strike. You barely manage to block it, relying on your reflexes as you twist and catch his wrist in your hand, using his momentum to throw him off balance. He stumbles, wide-eyed, and you spin, finally pressing him back against the smooth stone floor of the courtyard.

His back hits the ground with a soft thud, and you’re on him in an instant, straddling his waist, pinning him down. Your practice blade presses lightly to his throat, though your grin is what’s really sharp now.

“How did that work out, huh?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Yield, or are we going to keep pretending?”

Paul’s breathing has quickened beneath you, but there’s still that mischievous glint in his eyes, even as he raises his hands in a final surrender. “Alright, alright,” he says, smiling. “You win this round.”

You can’t help the triumphant laugh that bursts from you. “Oh, don’t look so surprised.”

“I’m not,” he replies, his voice dropping an octave as he looks up at you, his eyes flicking to linger on your lips. “Not when you fight like that.”

Your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat. It’s all playful until it’s not.

Maybe if you weren’t full of endorphins from the fight and, more importantly, the win, you would have thought twice. Instead, you drop your knife in favour of his cheek and lean down to catch his lips with yours.

It’s short lived, seconds feeling like minutes when you’re this high, but when you pull back, Paul’s hands shoot up to secure you by your waist and neck so you can’t go far. 

He whispers your name with a wild look in his eyes. When you meet that gaze, you realise what you did and what it meant.

Paul tilts his head up slightly, lips still brushing yours. “Kiss me again,” he murmurs.

For a second, you’re frozen, caught in the quiet intensity of his gaze. His voice i soft but insistent, and the teasing banter from a moment ago seems to have slipped away. The challenge remains, though.

“Paul…” you start, but whatever you were going to say fades as his hands tighten on your hips, urging you closer.

“You heard me,” he says, his tone lighter this time, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re going to deny the victor their spoils?”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. “Pretty sure I’m the victor.”

When Paul rolls you over this time, it’s with lazy ease as you don’t feel the need to fight it. His hand falls from your face to hold him up, most of his weight being placed on his hips on yours.

“What about now?” 

“Doesn’t change a thing, Atreides.”

Still, you give into him and tug on his hair to bring him back down into another searing kiss. What started as a playful gesture shifts into something deeper, something that makes you forget about the sparring match, about the training grounds, about everything except the feeling of Paul’s lips moving against yours. His hands slide up your sides, settling on your waist, and his fingers flex slightly, like he’s anchoring himself to the moment, to you.

When you pull back for air, your foreheads resting together, Paul is smiling –  that rare, genuine smile that you only ever see when it’s just the two of you, away from all the expectations and responsibilities.

“You know,” he says, voice breathless but still tinged with humour, “you didn’t have to knock me flat to kiss me.”

You snort, rolling your eyes as you sit back slightly, still straddling him. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides,” you add, raising an eyebrow, “if you wanted to kiss me so badly, you could’ve won.”

Paul laughs, full and bright, and you feel his body shake beneath yours. “Oh, I let you win.”

“Right,” you drawl, shifting to poke him in the chest with your finger. “Sure, sure. Go on and keep telling yourself that, future Duke.”

His grin softens, and he reaches up to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’d rather be here.”

The way he says it so earnestly hits you somewhere deep, making your heart stutter in your chest. You swallow, your playful bravado slipping for a moment as you meet his gaze. He’s looking at you with that same intensity, the one that makes you feel seen in a way that’s almost too much.

“Paul…” you start again, but he interrupts with a playful grin, his hands slipping to your waist again.

“Don’t go all serious on me now,” he teases, though there’s a gentleness to it, a way he’s pulling you back into the easy, playful rhythm you share. “You’ve still got me pinned. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

You laugh, shaking off the sudden tension. “You mean while you let it last?” Your tone imitates his.

“Exactly.”

“Well, if we pretend I’m in charge,” you say, leaning down again, your breath mingling with his, “then I say we take a break from all this training.”

Paul hums in agreement, his lips brushing yours again as he murmurs, “You always have the best ideas.”

“Now you admit it.”

[alecvolturiswifeforever]

a warm welcome home 𝜗𝜚 ׅ ۫ demetri volturi x reader

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT - MINORS DNI

a/n: a little request for @agirllovespancakes because you are the cutest little mutual i ever did follow and i adore you 🫶🏻

tag list: @your-next-daydream @agirllovespancakes @icefrozendeadlyqueen @iloveslasher @julesofvolterra

based on prompts from here and here

A broken giggle leaves your mouth as you wake up from your slumber to a familiar coolness pressing up against your back, something - someone snuggling into the crook of your neck with a deep sigh. A soft yawn escapes you, though not before you allow the raspy whisper to leave your lips. The grogginess of sleep still hung over you, and you were partly convinced your desire to have Demetri back with you was causing you to hallucinate his very presence.

“You’re back?”

You hear him hum softly, the sound rumbling through his chest and transforming into a soft purr when you lifted a hand to scratch at the locks on the very top of his head. After a moment of silence he lifted his head from your nape, your hand falling back down to rest on your hip. Demetri lightly tugged at your shoulder, an easy attempt at pulling you flat onto your back.

You took the chance to rub at your eyes, another yawn escaping unbidden before you look at him - though you realise he is already watching you intently, propped up on one arm and admiring you with the look of adoration you so very much adored. Blushing, you move to press your face into his chest, already knowing what’s to come before he even has the chance to open his mouth.

“Mmm, I have missed that adorable little blush.”

You whine at him instantly, pulling your face away from your hiding place to send him a scolding look. He quickly dismisses it, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You smile against his mouth and without hesitation you tilt your head just a teeny bit back in order to deepen the kiss. He shifted himself to hover above you with a groan, soft kisses quickly becoming much more heated, and it wasn’t long before he parted your legs with his knee in order to slot himself between your thighs.

His kisses began to break away from your lips, moving and travelling down across your jaw, towards your neck. He ravished your clavicle for a moment or two, taking extra care to suck a blossoming mark onto your sweet spot before continuing his journey down. You inhaled sharply, your shirt quickly torn from your body, the sound resonating throughout the near silent bedchamber. You pouted at him when he smirked up at you.

“I liked that shirt…”

“It was my shirt-“

“Still-!” You deepened the pout with an exaggerated sigh. “It was comfy…”

He chuckled against the skin of your breast, easily distracting you with each featherlight kiss he pressed onto your skin.

“You may wear as many of my shirts as your heart desires, darling.” He paused to press a lingering kiss your lips “That one simply looks much better on the floor.”

Your body immediately betrayed you as he began to kiss across your breasts and down to your navel, arching into him with the smallest of moans. You felt him smirk again, dragging the tip of his tongue in a gentle circle around your naval, travelling down to lightly trace just above the elastic of your panties.

“Come now, you can do better than that sweetheart.” His fingers teasingly made their way across your folds, not once slipping beneath the fabric that acted as a barrier between you both. “Don’t be shy baby, you know I love the way you moan my name.”

With that he pounced, attacking your clit through the fabric as you let out a gasping moan of his name, subconsciously rolling your hips into him as he suckled you gently. He hummed against your sex when you let out a whimper, using his thumb to stroke your hip gently. You follow your whimper with a loud whine as he pulled away, squirming in his hold at the loss of his mouth.

“Is this okay?” He asks, staring up at you from his place between your thighs.

“Yes I-“ You groan as he, once again, places featherlight kisses across your panty line, never once breaking the eye contact he shared with you. “Demetri-! Please-!”

He shushes you smugly, hands finding the edges of your underwear and tugging them down your legs, completely discarding them onto the floor with his previously torn shirt. “Relax, darling. I’ve got you.”

His lips attack you once again, only this time there was nothing stopping you from feeling the way his mouth slanted across your heat, burying his nose into your wet cunt and inhaling the scent of your arousal. You let out a loud moan, one hand subconsciously making its way to the top of his head and carding your fingers through his hair. Demetri purred once again, the vibrations sending another wave of arousal through you and leaving you dripping onto the sheets below. You felt his tongue move lower, probing at your entrance and drinking up your essence. A cry of pleasure left your throat before you could even process it, and he groaned in response, reaching up and taking one of your hands in his own to squeeze it gently in comfort. He growled, allowing them to remain interlocked atop of your chest, occasionally grasping a tad bit tighter.

“My gods, Y/N.” He grunted before pulling away even more, leaving you a whining squirming mess. “You taste fucking divine.”

As if to prove a point he pulled himself up and pressed a hard kiss to your mouth, coaxing your lips open. You keen at the taste of you on his lips, reaching up to keep his mouth on your own before letting go of his hand, reaching down to attempt to free his cock from the restraints of his slacks. He took pity on you when you struggled, letting out a breathy laugh against your lips as his hands moved down to finish the job for you. Pulling away to catch your breath for a moment, he used it to his advantage, pulling his shirt off as well and allowing for his body to be completely bared to you. With a soft moan at the sight of him, his hands came up to cup your cheeks, pulling your lips to his own before travelling down to your breasts. He kneaded them softly with his palms - thumbs brushing over your nipples.

Demetri moaned, louder than he had done previously, as you arched your body completely into him. Using his right hand, he quickly reached down, brushing his hard cock through your folds in order to gather some of your arousal, using his hand to spread it over himself before entering you in one swift thrust of his hips. You cried out, tears springing to your eyes at the sudden onslaught of pleasure filling your senses. He shushed you, hips pausing to allow you a moment of relief before he made you see stars. As you adjusted around him he spoke softly, sweet nothings harmonising surrounding you, followed by the softest of kisses across various parts of your face.

“My sweet darling girl, how gorgeous you look when you’re taking my cock.” A soft kiss to your nose.

“You always take me so well, so eager to please me.” A soft kiss to your cheeks.

“My pretty little girl making me so proud - so beautiful you look when you’re beneath me” A soft kiss to your forehead.

And when he was completely sure you were ready, he began to move, smiling adoringly when your head tilted back in ecstasy. A series of high pitched noises sounded out from the back of your throat, and he couldn’t help but chuckle before grunting as you clenched around him.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

You nodded eagerly, the only thing you could do as your nerves began to go haywire, pleasure spiking across your entire body. “You gonna cum for me, sweet girl? Let me hear those pretty little noises you make.”

You responded with a whine, which was quickly replaced with a sobbing moan as the tip of his member hit that oh so familiar spot inside you. Clawing at his arms you let out another, then another and he that was followed up by Demetri’s low growling, allowing one of his own to slip past his lips. You felt him reach the spot once more, and you felt the coil began to tighten in your abdomen, spiralling around and threatening to push you over the precipice at any given moment. He continued to attack your sweet spot with his cock, also reaching a hand down to your wet pussy in order to rub slow circles on your swollen bundle of nerves, timing it just right with the thrust of his hips. A gargled moan escaped you before you spoke up:

“‘Metri-!” You sobbed “I-m g-gonna-“

“That’s it darling, cum for me like the good girl you are.” His words were a growl and you let out a screaming moan as his final thrust sent you hurling over the edge. He immediately covered your mouth, shushing you gently before unintentionally letting out a loud moan himself as he felt you pulse around his sex, throbbing with the need of release. It seemed as if your climax had guided him into one of his own, because the next thing you knew his body was slumping against you as he painted your walls with his seed, completely filling you until you couldn’t take anymore.

Coming down from his high much quicker than you had, he smiled, feeling you shake beneath him as you panted in desperate need for air. He moved his hands to your hips, slowly pulling out of you and wincing when you hissed in pain.

“Sorry, gorgeous.” He kissed your forehead gently in apology, melting as you smiled up at him lazily. “You did so, so good for me - made me so proud. Now let me get you cleaned up, hm? I think you deserve a few more hours of sleep after that.”

He did just that, cleaning you as gently as he could with a washrag and wincing with you when he brushed over your sensitive folds. He wrapping you up in a blanket, cradling you to his chest. “I love you, my pretty little human.”

“Love you, Demi - so much”

He heard your soft whisper, right before you fell completely back into blissful slumber, happily snuggled into the comfort of your mates embrace. He smiled to himself happily as he stroked you hair, completely content with his welcome home.

[miss-cincaide]

Explain Yourself, Woman

Summary: It’s time to set up the Halloween decorations, and you’re excited about it. You’ve even agreed to let Yuji’s odd cousin, who’s just exited prison, help out. You could never phantom that Ryoumen Sukuna had no clue what Halloween was or why you’d put cobwebs in the ceiling. 

Pairing: Fem! reader x Yuji Itadori; Fem! Reader x (ex-con) Sukuna Kinktober prompt 9: Non-con WC: 4.6K Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Non-con/dub-con, quickie, unprotected P in V, fingering, cursing, alcohol,

“I promise and swear on my life he will behave, please so pretty pretty, please? I am ready to do whatever!!” 

You couldn’t see much of the pink-haired boy, except the back of his head with the newly trimmed black undercut and even fluffier pink hair, as he sat on his hands and knees in front of you, head pressed to his hands, forehead to the pavement in the most pitiful and submissive dogeza you had seen in your entire life. His whole body was in the middle of the street, with your shopping bags on either side of him, effectively blocking anyone from walking by you two in your residential area. 

A cyclist passed by, repeatedly pinging his bell to get Yuji to move from the middle of the street. When Yuji didn’t, the cyclist drove out onto the main road at the last minute, flipping both of you off as he passed you by.  

You felt your face flush slightly underneath your hands. The embarrassment of your best friend’s dogeza in the middle of a public street only amplified your overall embarrassment associated with that idiot. Your only salvation was that Yuji remembered his cousin when you were almost home and not in the middle of the packed shopping district. 

Then, you were sure you would have died of embarrassment. 

“Please?-” his voice grew louder, his tone more desperate, and if he could bury himself beneath the pavement to you, he most certainly would have. 

 You hated the emotion that stirred in the pit of your stomach. The gnawing, burning feeling that hated seeing Yuji beg for anything, especially in front of you. The side that wanted to give him whatever so he could return to his usual bright and bubbly self. “Well ye– I don’t know, Yuji” You caught yourself at the last minute before you could promise the world to your best friend and lover. “He’s.. you know, kinda scary.” 

“I swear and promise Sukuna’ll be on his best behaviour,” he reassured you in a heartbeat.”You’re the only one, YN, who isn’t completely terrified of him or judges him for his mistakes. C’mon, this is his first Halloween out, and he is entirely alone? Pretty please with a cherry on top?” 

Being alone on Halloween wasn’t a big deal unless you were an Itadori, which is worse than missing Christmas and Birthday combined. It was the celebration, the day to be with your friends and come up with mischief. The one day a year, you all were just goofy, carefree friends before life caught up to you. 

The guilt tripping worked. 

Groaning, you dropped your hands away from your face with a whiny “fiiine,” followed by a more serious, “You owe me big time, bud.”   

“You’re the best!” Yuji scrambled to his feet in seconds, and bags gathered back into his hands. A beat of awkwardness was between you, an almost embarrassed silence which Yuji instantly broke with, “Last one to your door is the rotten egg making bento for tomorrow?”

You laughed, the tension disappearing. “ I want those awesome onigiri you make with the soft-boiled egg in the middle!” You declared only for Yuji to remind you that you hadn’t won yet. 

But you may have. Your house was four blocks away, but yesterday, you found a lovely shortcut through a newly torn-down house that was just an empty, debris-filled lot, effectively cutting your getting home time in half. Even if Yuji were faster, he’d not anticipate you to take off down another route. So you’d win by taking him by surprise! So, You felt like you had this in your pocket as both of you got ready to sprint, just waiting for him to start you guys off.  

“Also, Sukuna-will-be-here-tomorrow-to-help-set-everything-up!” And then Yuji took off running as if hell hounds were after him as you stood stunned, processing his words. 

“Hey! That’s not what we agreed on!” You called after him, beginning to jog at a much slower pace, all forgotten about the shortcut, egg-filled onigiri or anything besides the fact that Sukuna would be on your doorstep tomorrow. 

“Cheater!” You yelled after him into the empty street. Earning yourself a stink eye from the nosy neighbourhood watch lady, who was peeking up at you over the hedge of her fence. You gave her a wave before your jog turned into a slow walk after Yuji. He better not think you would make tonight's dinner and tomorrow's lunch after the stunt he pulled. 

You mercilessly roped Yuji into making dinner that night, bento for the following day, and breakfast. He promised to do the week's shopping for you and be at your place the following morning. 

However, at 10:30, there was still no sign of Yuji, who had promised breakfast or shopping. But there was a roar of a motorbike that disturbed your otherwise calm suburban neighbourhood area. The motorbike drew nearer and nearer, tearing you from your monotone ranting about Yuji to no one but yourself and the cobwebs you hung up. You stood atop a ladder in the hallway, slinging the fake tangly web from the room's corners to the hallway lamp in thick white ropes to which you’d tie giant spiders and tiny ghosts. 

Another roar from the bike, as if announcing his arrival, before it stopped and grew silent outside your house- a relatively flat brick building three stories in height that held four apartment units on each floor. Something told you that noisy horror, the owner, was there for you. 

Carefully, you climbed down the ladder. Your feet made contact with your hallway floor just as heavy pounding sounded on your front door. A pause, a literal half minute before the pounding repeated with such violence, you wondered how the entire thing didn’t fly off its hinges and hit you in the face. 

 “I’m coming”, You called as the door shook and the person on the other side kicked it. A second later, you unlocked it, coming face to face with Yuji’s lookalike. The resemblance was uncanny- the same pink hair with the black undercut, the same face shape and build and even similar clothes. Hell, you swore he smelled the same way Yuji did. The glaring difference, however, was the blank tattoos that littered the man’s face and neck and snaked under his casual clothes. “Y-yuji?”

“ Gahh, You think I’m that brat?” 

Not Yuji, you concluded, as the man brushed past you into your apartment without even being welcomed in. You glared slightly as he didn’t kick his shoes off but rather strolled right in over your rugs and towards the living room, where he flopped down on the couch beside the boxes of Halloween decorations, one arm over the backseat. At the same time, the second one rested in his lap, tapping away as if expecting to be served. 

“Get me a drink” 

Your eye twitched in annoyance at the order as you headed into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a pitcher of water and a glass, which you slammed into the table in front of your unwelcome guest. “Serve yourself, or wait until Yuji shows up. I am not your servant.” 

Sukuna raised an eyebrow before he threw his head back and laughed. An unkind sound that made the hairs stand on the back of your neck. Rather than show your fear, you moved towards the bags of decorations you and Yuji had gotten the day prior and pulled out another bag of thick white cobwebs with tiny plastic spiders. You ripped the bag open, sending stapes that held the plastic bag together with the paper tag everywhere, with one landing into Sukuna’s lap. 

He stopped laughing, and you thought the ex-con was going to kill. “Yuji was right; you have guts. I respect that, woman.” You guessed ‘woman’ was a step above ‘brat’, but you weren’t wholly confident and were not about to ask him either.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw him reach over and pour himself a glass from the pitcher before downing the entire thing in one go. There wasn’t a ‘thank you’ in sight as he placed the glass back on the table. Then he reached over to the bag of trick-or-treat candy prepared for the Trick-or-Treating neighbouring kids forgotten on the table and pulled out a Snickers bar. Without asking, he tore the wrapping open, broke off a piece and ate it. He made a face, but to your surprise, he did not comment on the treat. “What’re you doing, woman?” 

You looked up from untangling the last spider before stretching out the cobwebs. “Decorating”, You answered flatly, going over to the ladder and climbing the wobbly thing towards the ceiling. You didn’t look at Sukuna as you perched on the top step's edge and put the cobwebs' first edge on the pre-prepared hook. You shifted, too lazy to climb down and move the step to reach the next hook until you practically balanced on your tip-toes, your entire body and the ladder shaking from the effort. When you missed the last hook for the third time, you huffed in annoyance and climbed down. 

“Give it here” You didn’t realise Sukuna had come up to the stairs until he was beside you. He took the remaining web from your hands and climbed confidently onto the ladder before he saddled the top stair, one leg on either side.* A second later, he angled his body and effectively walked the ladder between the cobwebs and remaining hooks, leaving you gaping like an idiot. Then, once the cobweb was hung, he beckoned with his hand. When you didn’t move, he glared at you with narrowed eyes. “Next one, woman.” 

The order snapped you out of your daze, and you rushed back to the living room to open the next bag of decorations. “Those go in the corner-” you pointed where you meant, only to receive a glare and a tsk in response as he already began hanging it up, not caring or even listening to the end of your sentence. You remained quiet after that, just passing him decoration after decoration, which he set up from the hallway to the living room, to the kitchen and the bedrooms before finally walking the stairs towards the bathroom, where he quickly took down your giraffe-themed shower curtain to replace it with a more theme-appropriate glow in the dark one with bloody handprints on.  

You quickly realised two things: Sukuna had a knack for decorating, finding ways to turn your spooky vision even more spooky than you imagined it, and second, he didn’t say much as he worked. He motioned with one hand for the next decoration and the other for the tool. It was then your job to figure out what he wanted unless you wanted to face his glare. Still, over the coming hour, you felt yourself inevitably relax. He had a sharp and rude mouth on and a mean look, but as Yuji said, he wasn’t inherently causing trouble either and not what you expected from someone who had spent his youth locked up behind bars for heinous crimes. Most certainly, you didn’t expect a violent ex-con to be in your apartment, hanging up paper cut-outs of pumpkins and ghosts.  

“Let’s take a break”, you offered from the doorway, raising a bottle of beer in silent offer for a drink. 

The sneer on Sukuna’s face made you almost drop the drink. 

You yelped loudly as he jumped from the ladder in one fleeting move before ripping the cold one out of your hands. “ Damn greedy woman, made me drink water when you had this” his scolding sounded more like a certain death if you ever served him water instead of beer. He downed the bottle in one go, then grabbed the second beer you had gotten for yourself before heading back to your couch, leaving you standing with just an empty bottle. 

“Seriously?!” you hissed to yourself, going to the kitchen and retrieving another before going where he was. You sat on the armchair opposite, your eyes on your phone as you typed out yet another message to Yuji, asking where he was. 

“So explain yourself, woman,” you looked up as Sukuna addressed you, then tilted your head to the side in slight confusion. He motioned towards the decoration, but when you still didn’t reply, he spoke with a sneer, “Why make it look like you haven’t cleaned in centuries?” 

“Because it’s gonna be a Halloween party,” You said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world,” Like our entire floor is going to be like a huge party, with different themes between each apartment.” 

When he didn’t give you any reaction, you changed the apps on your phone and opened up the pictures from the last Halloween before reaching it over and showing him. “So you see, the first apartments have a scary corridor, then in the third, there’s a huge nightclub, and here we’ll set up a drinks table and refreshments, and it’s gonna be sorta like a calm place to relax and chat–Hey!” You yelled out as Sukuna’s ice-cold hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged you into the couch beside himself with a single yank. His other arm was still wrapped around the back of the sofa; you could feel it against your neck as you hit your new seat. He didn’t heed you before bringing your phone closer to his face, flickering through the pictures. 

“So booze and bloody-murder screaming?” you nodded with a grin as he began to understand what you were getting at “ and slutty women?” 

You grimaced a little at the last description, but admittedly, you couldn’t deny the accusation. Most people who attended this four-apartment party were local unit guys and girls whose definition of modesty was non-existent. Admittedly, you weren’t much better after a few drinks. “Well…” you cut yourself off as Sukuna reached into one of the Halloween shopping bags that was half empty; the only thing remaining in that bag was a seductive cat costume that Yuji had practically drooled over when you tried it on the day prior. 

The sight of it made Sukuna burst out laughing. “ A giant pussy? How fitting.” He taunted as you reached for the costume with a bright blush. 

“Give it back!” you whined as Sukuna kept it just out of reach, one hand waving it above your head in a taunting display while the hand that had rested on the couch gripped your shoulder, preventing you from standing or launching after it. “Hey, it’s not fair!” 

Sukuna’s sadistic grin said, ‘Nothing’s fair’ as he waved the costume again in your face, then yanked it back at the last minute; “You want it back? Then you will tell me everything about this little party of yours, woman.” 

“Then ask like a normal person!” You cried and made another launch for the costume. You paused mid-way through as you heard the front door bust open, followed by the ruffling of plastic bags and pounding of feet. 

“Y/N, I'm so sorry I overslept, but I'm here now and-” Yujis cut himself, gasping for air, chopping out apologies in between breathing.

You glanced over at him. 

“ I’m still pissy with you.” You said simply before crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back against the couch. You tried to look disappointed or stern or at least annoyed at Yuji. 

Your boyfriend hung his head while slowly raising one of the heavier bags. “Brunch? And a mimosa to go with it?” The puppy dog eyes and the quivering lip won you over almost as much as the promised breakfast-turned-lunch and a drink to sweeten the deal. Your lips pulled up into a huge grin. 

“Get in the kitchen” Your tone was teasing, and Yuji responded with a salute, moving to pick up the bags again.

“Pfff, as if that brat knows how to cook anything,” Sukuna spoke up, momentarily pausing from flickering through the party pictures on your phone. 

You spun your head around to face Sukuna, a scowl on your lips. “As if you could do any better”, you huffed and saw his eyes narrow in a murderous warning glare. After being exposed to them all morning, it didn’t scare you as much anymore. So you just raised your chin, the challenge present. 

“Tsk, insolent woman, I’ll show you.” Sukuna pushed himself off the couch, throwing the costume back at you, and followed Yuji to the kitchen. A moment later, you heard Yuji’s loud voice, ‘Thanks, cousin,’ before he flew out of there as if hell’s fire was under his feet. 

Yuji made a bee-line straight for the couch, plopping down beside you. His arm reaches out and wraps around your shoulders, Coxing you away from studying your costume. “Hey,” his tone was playful, loving, as his other hand brushed some flyaway hairs off your face. 

“Hey yourself”, you returned the favour, brushing your hand through his hair, feeling the lingering waxy-sticky texture on your fingertips. “Should I be worried? You know, about my kitchen and your cousin?” 

“ Neah” Yuji brushed the tip of his nose against yours, his lips up in a slight smirk. “Thanks for getting me out of kitchen duty, by the way.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, shoving him playfully away seconds before he could kiss you. “I didn’t ‘get you out of anything’, Sukuna volunteered.” 

“Sure he did” Yuji tried to close the distance again, only to have his lips meet the plastic packaging of your costume. “Baby~” 

“ Nope, still pissy with you. So no kisses for now,” your tone of voice dropped to a whisper, “I don’t wanna snuggle with your cousin here.” 

“You care what he thinks?” Yuji sounded doubtful, and you merely rolled your eyes. 

“No, I care about keeping decent appearances. And I doubt I’d be able to stop now, with just a kiss” You give Yuji a wink, seeing his face flush a crimson red, then duck out of the way as he dived towards you to get that kiss and a little more. “Now, c’mon, the faster we get started, the faster we’re done with party-prep.” 

Yuji whined, a pout on his face the entire time you kept setting up the last of the so-called calm corner, which would be your apartment for the upcoming party. He hadn’t stopped pouting by the time Sukuna was done with brunch, and the three of you sat down, something the older cousin remarked on. 

“The fuck’s gotten his panties in a twist?” Sukuna asked as Yuji looked like a dark cloud loomed over him, poking at his breakfast sausage with half-hearted enthusiasm. 

“Just leave him be.” You replied sharply, tense at the fact that Yuji had to be so bloody and childish and make a huge deal that you set some no-kissing boundaries in the presence of guests in your home. 

But you figured he would cheer up once the last of the party prep was finished, and you two got some alone in your bedroom. Even if Sukuna was going to crash on your couch- because you would be damned three times over before you let the ex-con land back in prison for drunk driving or crashing on his roaring horror on the way home. No, you would pretend it was just You and Yuji and forget all about the ex-con on your couch, separated only by a heavy oak door. And you’d make it up to your sulking boyfriend with a ton of kisses, you were certain of it. 

When it was finally bedtime, Yuji surprised you by showering, changing into his usual t-shirt and boxers combo and jumping into bed. However instead of laying on his back, legs spread waiting for you to crawl to him, he rolled over to his side, away from you, so he faced the bedroom door instead of you. You frowned but made an attempt to crawled closer in your silky, half sheer nightgown and specially picked skimpy panties, no bra, a sultry pouty look on your face. 

“Baby”, You purred, reaching out a hand to trace down his bicep. Yuji shook your touch off. You reeled back, hurt and confused by his reaction. “Yuji?”  

“You didn’t wanna kiss me,” Yuji stated. 

You gaped and sat down in the middle of your bed; your jaw dropped as you gathered your thoughts and the unmistakable implications of his words. Then your expression darkened. “Are you seriously punishing me for not wanting to kiss you in front of your cousin?”

Yuji shrugged in response. 

You sat in bed for a moment, the sting of rejection hurting worse than you expected. Here, you were prepared to make it up to him for no kisses all afternoon, and he acted like he didn’t care. He just sulked in bed like an immature child. 

Fine then. You got off the bed and waited a second to see if he would change his mind and pull you back into it. But Yuji didn’t move, so you threw on your silky bathrobe over yourself, tying it firmly into place. “You wanna sulk? Then sulk. I’m going downstairs to get some cooking prep done for tomorrow. You know where to find me if you want to get some!” You stomped to the door, paused and gave him another chance to stop this childish charade of pushing you away because of something so small.

But Yuji didn’t move, and you stepped out of your bedroom door and slammed the door behind you. 

You cursed when you remembered Sukuna was sleeping on the couch. But you didn’t hear him stir and walked briskly in the darkness to the kitchen. You didn’t want to wake Sukuna by turning on the light- the last thing you wanted to do was deal with his condescending glare and bossy ‘woman this- woman that’. No, you went straight to the sink to pour yourself a cup of water, your body practically shaking with rage. 

A rage that only increased as you heard footsteps walk after you into the kitchen. They stopped quickly from you, and you didn’t turn around to face him. Nothing happened, and there was silence and darkness around you. Your frustration mounted, and you brought the glass to your lips, gulping down the water and then choking on it. 

A hand tapped your back a few times until the water got out of your lungs and then lingered there. “ Thanks, baby, you changed your mind for a little late-night fun? We should go upstairs- ah!” 

You gasped as he pushed you up against the sink. Two hands firmly gripping your waist, hard cock pressed against the curve of your ass. His chest against your back, applying just the right amount of weight to have you bent slightly forward, gripping the sink. 

“Y-yuji baby-” You gasped, grinding back against him. “W-We can’t! Y-your cousin is here; he’ll hear!” 

The only response you get is a shift of clothing, feel your bathrobe get hiked up, and his hard dick slide right over the barely there panties. “Mphfmm” Your hand flies up to your mouth, your teeth biting into your fingers to keep yourself from moaning. 

Fuck Yuji’s never been this rushed. Never straight to the act, bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you like a street whore,kinda-guy.  It’s always slow and sensual to make love. Fingering, eating out, lube. Sex with Yuji is always a several-hour slow ordeal. 

This was hot and hard; the hands-on your waist kept you bent, your arm against the sink the only way you braced yourself against the motion of his hips. But goddamn, that angle made your knees weak, the way his cock slid between your slick puffy folds, the tip bullying against your clit with every thrust.

“Mmmneah Y-Yuji, he’ll hear– ahhh god, I’m close” You bite your hand hard to silence the scream as he pushes his cock inside you. The hand dropped away from your waist and grabbed your leg, throwing it up on the counter. 

“Oh fuck!” You moan, even as both hands land on your mouth. But the new angle, the speed, the slap of his balls against your ass and his bullying cock leaves you weak. The moans slip through your fingers as you cum all over him,  your body shaking like a leaf.

“Ahh, oh god, mmm” you’re moaning and cooing. He kept thrusting, each movement growing more rapid, and you’re fucking crying at how good it feels. Intense and so fucking hot. You’re not bothering to hide your moans or gasps anymore, taking every single thrust until you think that final extra hard one, followed by hot spurs of cum filling your pussy and overflowing out, making a mess between your legs. 

“Fucking hell, Yuji”, You rasped out, your hand gripping the counter as he pulled out of you. You just sat there for a moment,  high on the rush and the pleasure. A painful slap on your ass startles you out of your thoughts, and you yelp, partially in pain and partially in surprise. That’s not something Yuji did; the feeling of wrongness set over you. But your mind doesn’t let you focus on that- instead, it reminds you of Sukuna sleeping on the couch a few paces away and the horrible never-fading embarrassment if he were to wake up, go to the kitchen and find you in the very porno-like position, with a leg thrown up on the counter and hot cum flowing right out of your newly fucked pussy.

You hurriedly threw your leg back down and re-tied the bathrobe over yourself. You took another clunk of the half-abandoned glass of water, then set it in the sink before you tiptoed out of the kitchen. On your way out, you threw a glance at Sukuna but saw him fast asleep on the couch, soft snores escaping him, arm over his ears, facing the back of the sofa. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding and head to your bathroom. 

You did a quick cleanup, just enough to remove the worst mess between your legs. Then, you headed back to your bedroom. 

You saw that Yuji was up. His hands fidgeted nervously in his lap, and his gaze was firmly planted on his hands. He didn’t say anything as you stepped towards your side of the bed and slid under the warm covers of your bed. You laid on your side, yet even before you settled down, he was on you, his hands wrapped around your side, his face buried into the crook of your neck. 

“I’m so sorry, baby”, Yuji mumbled.. “It was stupid of me to push you away. I just. I didn’t expect you to get along so well with Sukuna, but I got. I'm a little jealous.” He rubbed your side slowly until the tension finally left your body, and you breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You’re forgiven, " you mumbled, pressing your body closer against his. “No, no baby, I was a total ass; let me make it up to you, show you how sorry I am” Yuji pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his fingers making their way between your legs. “Ohh baby, damn, you’re so sticky already, so wet, my little minx.. Oh hey, is that cum inside you?” 

His words make your blood run cold; your heart drops to your feet as you realise whose dick you had inside you moments earlier. 

Author note: Did I skip days a little bit? Yes I did, but I really wanted to know what you guys would think about this more story-based smut. That's the type of fics I'd wanna publish in the future, question is, is it the type of content you'd wanna read?

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All fics are unique works by © miss-cincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reworked/reposted/copied anywhere, please inform me!

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part Eleven

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: you stabbed him and now you handcuff him, blood play, wound play, the events in this part are probably not hygienic or realistic but my thots took over, you both cry, mentions of killing/death, brief depiction of killing

A/N: I would like to add that reader and Feyd have such a toxic relationship but god do I love it so much (also the writing god possessed me and made it possible for this to be published now instead of tonight, god bless)

You push the dagger in to its handle.

It comes back slick with blood.

You use it to quickly unlatch your bindings, then shift aside as Feyd falls onto the bed beside you. Without thinking, you place a knee on either side of his waist and set to inspecting your work — the cut is deep, weeping ink-colored blood. A depraved part of you wants him to suffer, to feel pain as unimaginably deep as you did. And you do not want him to clot quickly.

Feyd’s hand ghosts over the wound. Blood spills onto his alabaster skin, the bedsheets, on the leg of your pant nestled into his side. And all the while he gazes up at you endearingly, face noticeably paler, blood coming to gather at the corner of his lips. You lean forward to kiss him and lap up the droplets of blood, he groans; you’re pressing your entire weight into him, into the wound.

“I want you to hurt,” you whisper against his mouth. You put your fingers to the wound, Feyd shifting uncomfortably as your nails bite into the recently torn flesh. Beneath you, his cock stirs, and in response you dig your fingers in deeper.

His flesh is warm. Wet.

“Fuck,” Feyd mutters.

“I want to hurt you and you’re enjoying it,” you sneer at him, “perhaps I should just stop. Chain you up to the bed, see how you like it. Leave you to bleed out alone.”

He doesn’t reply. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes — he knows that he’s supposed to atone for his family’s crime, play his part in your twisted battle of wits, but there’s no denying his swelling, twitching cock, eager to make contact between your legs. He grimaces as you remove your hand, breath expelling in shaky bursts.

Feyd watches you reclaim the cuff, hook it around his wrist and then do the same with the cuff on the other side of the bed that Wyn hadn’t bothered to attach. You secure both cuffs so that his hands are pinned above his head. He looks infuriatingly gorgeous like this, blood wetting his skin and your hands, muscles tensed and pain spasming his handsome features.

You grind against him and his hips buck.

“Fuck,” he says again.

You lose yourself, slightly, at the sight of him like this, and you’re entangled between vengeance and desire. The urge to maim him paired with the dreadful urge you have to ride him.

Why couldn’t you do both?

You rake your nails down his chest, creating trails of angry welts from sternum to navel. His breath quickens. Blood pools near the site of the wound and you drag your fingers through it.

“Interesting. You bleed just like the rest of us, Feyd-Rautha.”

“Do you want another taste?”

He inhales sharply. You’ve angrily pressed your palm into the wound, resenting him for reminding you of your transgressions. You growl, “You won’t find humor in this when I’m done with you.”

Fingers bloodied, you put them to his plush bottom lip — fuck, his lips drove you wild — and down his chin, the column of his throat, over the welts you’ve created. He writhes. You unbuckle his pants and, without any trace of kindness, tear them from his narrow hips. Feyd whimpers as the sudden movement prompts a gush of blood, and you grin at the reaping of your effort. He glares.

You scoop more blood like a painter from its palette. His cock is standing to attention, arched backward slightly, flushed and threaded with pulsing veins. Starting at his swollen head, you trace your fingers up and down, coating him thoroughly with his own blood. It takes several applications before you’re satisfied. An entirely addictive sounds escapes him when you fist the base of his shaft and start pumping, the slickness of the blood easing your work.

You stroke him over and over, varying your pace as not to guide him to orgasm. He rallies against you, straining at the cuffs. Although you can’t see it, you feel him dig his heels into the mattress in an effort to gain purchase, anything to channel the desire unfurling inside him. And all the while you watch him, fascinated, bleeding profusely yet so eager for your touch.

The mighty Feyd-Rautha, champion of Giedi Prime, shuddering and moaning beneath you, pre-cum leaking from the slit of his cock. It draws heat to your core. With his hands over his head, his mobility is limited, and you use this to your advantage: maintaining a steady pace on his cock with one hand while the other explores his body, dipping down to cup his balls, trace his thighs, then back up to tease his taunt nipples and the wound in his side. Feyd cries out, eyes rolling back and hips snapping.

You revoke your hand. He’s practically shivering now, undoubtedly torn between pain and pleasure. You climb carefully off his lap. Feyd’s gaze burns into you as you strip off your clothes until you’re standing only in your panties.

“This should only hurt a little,” you tell him. The muscles in his stomach jump and flicker as you resume your kneeling position, this time decidedly higher.

Your clit is aching for friction, so much so that you grind your center into him, right over the wound. He grunts in pain with each roll of your pelvis, seeking out your pleasure while you aggravate the place where the dagger had slid in, breasts pushing outwards. You can see it on his face, what he would do if he could use his mouth on you, his hands, but the pain is too great. Tears spring to his eyes as he fights the crashing waves of agony while you ride his wound.

“It’s not enough,” you utter, mostly to yourself, “it’s not enough.” Not enough pain.

You slide back down his body, reclaim his cock, then notch its head at your entrance. You’re slick with your own desire, and his blood, and you have to fend off his bucking hips to prevent him from penetrating you. The sensation of him gives you shivers, racing up and down your body.

You brace your quivering thighs and sink down on top of him. Feyd howls as your walls clamp down, taking him in one swift movement. You can’t help it — your head lulls back and your body bows, gripped by a wave of unbelievable pleasure. He fills you up so neatly, so fully, that you’re in despair when you pull away, then plunge back down with even more force. It reminds you of the throne room, how you had wrested the power from him. But you were na-Baron and na-Baroness before, this equates to something much more primal, raw, two blood-soaked fighters in an arena of your own making.

You ride him to completion, cuming on his cock twice before he finally musters the words, “Enough. You’ve got your punishment. Now let me fuck my wife.”

You pause with him still seated deep inside you.

“I don’t think I’ve yet reached the depths of your pain,” you tell him in reply.

Feyd’s eyes flash. “No weapons can maim me as entirely as having you naked in front of me and without the use of my hands to touch you. There will be no show of blood for how you’ve tormented me. No physical measure. Let me fuck you now so that we may be equals again.”

Seconds after you unlatch the cuffs, Feyd is on you. He all but attacks you, mouth hungrily searching yours, hands grabbing at your body. Effortlessly he flips you onto your back, blood gushing from him. He wavers, probably from loss of blood, before burying himself inside you. You cry out, wringing pleasure from him with each thrust, the feel of his hands more rewarding than anything without them. He’s on every surface of you — pressing kisses down your neck, your breasts, pulling each nipple into his mouth and giving them a lewd suckle. His hands grab the backs of your thighs, your ass, pin your hips to the bed so that you can’t move.

“You. Are. Mine,” he grunts with each thrust. His voice is wreathed with anger. Possession.

Heartache.

You can’t even begin to examine this before he spears you even faster, with more vigor, words slurring together with impassion. “You are mine, jewel. I thought you dead. I thought you taken from me. But no one can take you from me. No one. You don’t even possess that ability. I am the keeper of your life.”

He’s becoming more and more incensed, his pace growing sloppy and unpredictable. You feel a wetness by your neck and you realize that it’s not blood causing it but rather a furious outpouring of tears from your husband, his jaw clenched and brows furrowed in concentration.

“Mine.” Thrust. “Mine.” Thrust. “Mine.”

You cling to him, hold him the only way you know how, with your legs wrapped around his waist and your nails down his back. It’s as if you’re trying to merge into one being, take this man as part of your own flesh and, in addition, make his sorrows and pain yours. You taste the salt of your own tears as you both rise and crest like waves against one another, finally not opponents in a war that you can’t win but allies in a surmountable battle.

Feyd cums first, but you follow quickly after. Pulsing and shuddering, he cries into your neck as he fills you with his seed, clutching your body to him just as tightly. Both of you are gasping for air from the exertion, the tears, the culmination of your pleasures being chased down in such a heightened state. Feyd withdraws from you. He allows one hand to press against his wound protectively, but then surprises you by placing his bloodied handprint on your breast.

Above your heart.

“You are mine,” he says, “and I am yours.”

Hot water pours down you in rivulets, interrupted only by Feyd’s hands as he washes your body. Crimson water swirls down the drain. You take turns silently scrubbing the blood from each other and swapping stolen kisses, Feyd wincing each time the water makes contact with the wound. You start to form some semblance of an apology but Feyd silences you with a formidable look. “It was necessary,” he tells you.

The bloodied sheets and discarded clothes are much harder to rid of. And there’s no saying what Doctor Wyn was thinking when you told her that Feyd now demanded her attention, what she thought when she saw the horrible wound etched into his side. But, to her credit, she never asked any questions, and you never gave her any answers.

You could see why Feyd hired her.

And when someone wasn’t aggravating the wound, it healed much faster. Feyd refused any ointment that would erase the scar, however, which you knew he would. He kept every scar from every fight like badges of honor. You knew most of them well by now, and had your fair amount of contributions. And although you never explicitly discussed what happened between you two that day, you felt it between you like a tether, binding you together in a way that even you had no words to describe.

And that’s why you stall the Baron’s wish to seek an audience with you. You won’t go without Feyd.

He’s stubbornly vague about everything, too, claiming that it would make more sense to wait to hear everything unfold at once. You’ve missed too much while self-contained and now feel eager to return, to start the plot against Feyd’s uncle.

“I have my ideas,” he says one day when you’re begging him incessantly, “but first hear what the Baron says, make your own judgements. Revenge does not happen overnight.”

This irritates you, but you ultimately oblige.

Finally the day comes for your visit with the Baron, and you make sure to wear your best dress. Instead of the usual monochrome Harkonnen colors you’ve chosen a bright red, a thin fabric that clings to your figure. Feyd’s lips twitch when he sees you.

“You wear red to invoke the ire of the bull.”

“The Baron is no bull,” you retort. You think back to your grandfather’s legacy, of the dark eyes of the bull staring at you while you sat at the table on Arrakis. And while the Baron was not a bull, you were determined to have his head anyway.

Feyd grabs your hand, feathers his lips over your knuckles. “You look exceptional.”

You smile at him. “Let’s see what your uncle has to say.”

You made it a condition of the meeting not to be held in the throne room — you didn’t like the imbalance of power. Besides, you weren’t a lowly citizen come to collect their stipend, you were the na-Baroness, bound to the na-Baron in a bond that transcended the intricacies of power. You were no longer two beings but one, a formidable union. And as you sneak a glimpse of Feyd before you enter the dining room, you’re only emboldened by the resolve you see in his face; he is a fine partner to have in battle, indeed.

The doors open and his hand brushes yours once, a subtle indication of his fealty to you.

Your chin is raised and your stride confident as you approach the table. “A meal then, between family,” the Baron had said when you declined his offer to meet at the throne room. You notice that neither the Baron nor Rabban stand when you enter, which digs under your skin like a splinter.

“Don’t spare your na-Baroness with your pleasantries,” Feyd rasps darkly.

“This is not a political endeavor,” the Baron replies. If he realizes just how agitated his nephew is, he doesn’t show it. “Sit, sit. We dine together finally. I am only too glad to…catch up.”

It’s difficult to keep your composure neutral. Here before you is the man who orchestrated your family’s deaths, the one who carried them out. Hatred burns inside you.

You take your seat, Feyd beside you.

“We’ve already had our catching up, haven’t we, brother?” Rabban’s gaze is cutting.

Feyd just stares evenly back at him. “I remember.”

Rabban grins triumphantly. “And I’m glad to see that you’re healing well.” Before you can inquire about this — was Rabban the cause of the scar across his face? — the former turns his attention to you. “It is my dear sister-in-law that I need to reunite with. Isn’t that right?”

“Need is a strong word,” you retort. “I was under the impression I didn’t have much choice.”

“Oh, how you wound with your words as well as the blade,” Rabban replies, feigning insult.

“You seem to know quite a lot about blades, Rabban. Is that how you dealt the deaths of my family?”

Rabban sneers. The Baron holds up a large hand, his voice punishing, “That’s enough.”

“I’ve only just started,” you bite back.

“Brother, temper your wife,” Rabban says. “She speculates that which she has no knowledge of.”

You open your mouth to reply, outraged, but Feyd beats you to the punch. “My wife will do and say as she pleases. You should just be grateful that she hasn’t slit your throat yet.”

“There will be no deaths today,” the Baron warns.

“Because you’ve had your fill of them?” You counter. Under the table, your fingers form claws.

“Let me give you the truth, na-Baroness, so that you might stop leveling accusations,” the Baron replies coolly. “You are new to the Harkonnen so I may forgive you this once. You were not born as we were. That being said, we were the original defenders of Arrakis. It is our planet. And as you know we will do whatever it takes to defend our own.”

You can’t help it. You snort. Is that what he was doing when he cajoled his young nephew? Put more darkness in him than necessary?

“With the help of the Emperor, we were able to reclaim Arrakis. We tried to give House Atreides the option of conceding but they staunchly refused. We did only what we had to do.”

Your eyes narrow. “The Emperor aided you?”

This, you knew, but you wanted to hear an explanation from his own mouth.

“We both had certain…lofty aspirations…that the other could provide. It was a rational exchange,” the Baron says, as if talking about expanding trade routes instead of lives. “The Emperor was fearful of your father and his power. Now he has to worry no more.”

Conversation subsides as servants place food in front of you, some kind of bird drenched in a sickly colored sauce. The only person to touch it is the Baron, who savagely devours it without any use of utensils.

“You lie,” you finally say. “My father had no intentions of usurping the Emperor as you claim.”

“The Emperor is a…fickle man. He knows his own weaknesses. I cannot blame him for his fear.”

“And why did he partner with you?” You ask. “What did you gain from this?”

“Arrakis,” the Baron answers simply.

“You said that you both had aspirations that the other could provide,” Feyd presses, taking the words from your mouth. “You eliminate the House Atreides for the Emperor, but you are not the sole benefactor of Arrakis. You must know that I would rather perish than take orders from you.”

The Baron wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I suppose the news will come out sooner or later. Rabban?”

News? What news?

Rabban grins at you and Feyd. “The princess Irulan and I are engaged to be married.”

Shock seizes you and keeps you from forming any sort of response. The Emperor gave his eldest daughter to Rabban? Thoughts race through your mind. Not only did that mean the Baron had his influence in Arrakis but now the entire Known Universe as well. Dread fills you. How had anyone allowed this to happen?

“That’s not the congratulations I was expecting,” Rabban continues, clearly pleased with himself.

Feyd’s fist strikes the table, causing the silverware to rattle. “You gave me Arrakis over my brother, but now you secure him as Emperor? What are you playing at, uncle?”

“Your brother is willing to…follow my orders, as you so eloquently said. His loyalty deserves recognition.”

“This is a grave error,” Feyd snarls.

“Jealous, are we?” Rabban asks, drawing the attention back to him. “This could’ve all been avoided if you’d only accepted my offer,” he says to you, then Feyd, “and then you could’ve been in my position, heir apparent to the Empire.”

Feyd shoots to his feet. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

“Boys,” the Baron snaps, intervening what you are certain would’ve been a death match, “everything is now in place. Feyd-Rautha will rule Arrakis and its coveted spice; Rabban, the Empire. Instead of fighting you should be celebrating the fortune of the Harkonnens.”

Silence descends.

This was worse than you imagined. The Baron had manipulated everyone here to get what he wanted. It was he who would profit from the marriages he forged for his nephews.

“Now, Feyd-Rautha, you must put aside your envy. You and the na-Baroness are required to return to Arrakis in a fortnight.”

It feels as if someone has poured ice water down your spine. “What?”

“You think you can rule from Giedi Prime?” The Baron asks, bemused.

“Fine.” Feyd looks to you but no one else. “We are done here.”

You want to challenge him, to remain where you are and root out more truth, but to do so would to humiliate him. You avoid the eyes of the Baron and Rabban as you pick up the skirt of your dress and follow after him dutifully.

The doors slam shut behind you with a resounding thud.

As you search for something to say, Feyd screams, visceral and terrifying. In a blind fury, he cuts down the two closest servants with his dagger, their blood splattering the ground as their bodies slump to the floor. His shoulders heave, dagger gripped tightly in his grasp, and he whirls on you wildly as you approach.

“Do not give them the satisfaction,” you whisper urgently to him, grabbing his face. Your touch soothes him ever so slightly. “Their time will come but first we must consider how to proceed, formulate a plan that will leave them in their graves. They will not go unpunished.”

The dagger clatters to the ground as Feyd finally releases it.

“I will not rest until then,” he swears.

You rock up on your toes and press your forehead to his, holding him to you. “Neither shall I.”

Part Twelve

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[haykawas]

✩•̩̩͙*˚ UNREQUITED ROUTE

this is one of the possible endings to a story! lost yourself? begin here! You've chosen to proceed with our favorite long haired beauty! You love to hurt yourself, don't you? Enjoy <3 – wc : 4.4k

It’s Suguru.

You don’t acknowledge his presence, and instead just try to quicken your pace so you can get home faster. It’s a good thing you live so close to his house, because it’s freezing and you’re only wearing a shirt.

You’re fumbling with the keys of your apartment, your hands trembling when you hear him clearing his throat a few steps down. You can clearly imagine the expression that would be etched on his face if you were to turn around and take a look at him.

Annoyance, impatience, confusion even. And he would be right to feel that way.

The click of the lock echoes in the dead of night, and you immediately try to shut the door to block out everything. 

But Suguru’s foot shoots out, wedging between the door and the frame and preventing it from closing completely.

“Are you going to hear me out, now? Or do I need to blow down your door?” He asks with a slight frown.

“What more is there to say? It looked pretty clear to me.”

“So running out was the best option to you? At least hear him out.”

“Why are you always so optimistic? He doesn’t like me, Sugu’, end of story! Can you leave me now so I can go cry in my bed, or is it too much to ask?” You exclaim, and the look in his eyes tells you he won’t be letting this go anytime soon.

“Alright, fine, I give up. Do whatever you want.” You let out a frustrated groan, releasing the door so he can get inside. He closes the door behind him and follows you to your room, but you act as if he isn’t there.

“I think you should get back.”

You press your lips in a thin line, ignoring him even as he keeps following you like your shadow.

Irritated, you finally turn back to face him, a mix of frustration and anguish on your face. “You know what I think? That he would be there if he cared like you said, but is he?” You ask, voice laced with the weight of disappointment and hurt. “Why are you here when he’s not, Suguru?”

You feel like you know the answer before you’ve even asked the question. And he knows you do too. Yet you refuse to open your eyes and see what’s been in front of you the whole time.

“Because I care about you!” He blurts out. “I care, alright? Even if you have a hard time believing it.” His words hang in the air, and you can’t ignore the way your heart skips a bit at his admission.

“I know you do.” You reply softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Because you do know. When Suguru cares, he cares deeply. You always felt like he constantly tried to protect you from whatever came your way, and the realization makes your chest tighten.

“Now that’s the thing, I don’t really think you do.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “God, sometimes I just…” He trails off, the hesitance shining in his eyes reflecting the vulnerability of what he’s trying to tell you. 

“I just wish you looked at me the same way you look at him.” He breathes out.

And you don’t know if it’s the way he looks at you that prompts this reaction out of you, or something else entirely, but you can suddenly feel the need to get closer, to feel the heat radiating off his skin and smell the scent of his perfume.

You’re torn, you don’t know what to say to him nor do you really know what he’s trying to tell you. – Yet you do.

And as his stray locks brush against your shoulder, making your skin tickle, a strange sense of intimacy unfurls between you.

You both know it’s wrong. So why are you leaning forward, wondering what his lips would taste like against yours?

Yet Suguru moves away before it can happen, and he takes a few steps back. You can’t help but feel disappointed.

“We can’t do this.” He says, just like you knew he would. He’s right, and you know that. Yet you want payback, you want to hurt Satoru as much as he’s hurt you all this time. It’s stupid, and petty. You don’t care.

You scoff. “Oh, we can’t now?”

“I can’t do this to Satoru.” To you. 

Your laugh is bitter, “Ah, Satoru. Well, considering what just happened, I think he’ll be fine.”

He whispers your name, pleading, almost begging, and your heart clenches at the sound. “You’re upset, it wouldn’t be right. Wouldn’t feel right.” He adds, but he’s lying through his teeth, — Anything would always feel right if it was with you.

You turn your head toward Suguru, locking eyes with him, “You’re really gonna make me say it?”

You lick your lips, and Suguru’s eyes can’t help but flicker up and down at the motion, before swiftly looking away, almost in shame. “Make you say what?”

“That I want you, Suguru.” You plead, “I need you.” His gaze flicks back to yours, and you can feel his hesitance. It’s thick like butter, but so is the tension between you. So you step forward, slowly as to not startle him, because you’re scared he’ll disappear if you aren’t careful enough. You add, your voice a little raw, “Please.”

It’s the last straw. 

Something breaks inside of him. 

Because he has you there before him, telling him you crave him, practically begging for him to do something about it. And Suguru tries, he desperately does. He tries so hard to hold back, because you’re in love with his best friend, and he’s practically sure Satoru might also have a thing for you — although he’s been pretty shitty at showing it. 

But you’re there. You’re real, and you’re so, so close. You’re looking up at him with lidded eyes, and you’re so beautiful he feels himself blush. 

He knows that if he starts this, and does as much as lift a finger, he won’t be able to stop. And you know that, because eyes don’t lie. You see the little restraint he had falter and crumble, like a card castle in the wind. 

The way he looks at you is unhinged, almost primal, and it’s making you dizzy. It’s like he’s peering inside of you, probing at every corner of your soul and seeing the deepest parts of you, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

He’s the Apex predator, and you’re prey.

It’s dangerous. You can’t get enough of it.

“Yeah?” He says, and the way his voice drops down an octave makes your heart quake. “You want me?”

Yeah. Your lips part to answer his plea, but your breath catches in your throat when you see him walk up the rest of the distance to you, his deft fingers rising to his ponytail to yank out his hair tie, freeing his long hair. It cascades down his back, and you feel it tickle the side of your neck when his mouth finally meets yours. He swallows the words you want to say, sucks them out of you with the swipe of his tongue and the bite of his teeth. You gasp in surprise, your fingers trembling as they instantly find him, and you harshly tug on his shirt to pull him closer. 

And oh, how his lips are sweet. They taste like honey and sugar, so exquisite you feel yourself drown in the depths of him. His distinctive scent of rose and sandalwood invades your senses and you drink him in like a parched traveler.

If someone had told you this would happen, that you would be here, kissing Suguru Geto of all people, you would have just laughed in their faces. He’s always been your best friend, one unlike Satoru was to you. While Suguru was more like earth — calm and grounding, warmhearted and dependable, Satoru was like ice — impulsive and passionate, carefree and unpredictable. While Satoru was like an adventure, Suguru felt more like home.

You’ve always seen him as nothing more than one of your best friends, your brother from another mother, but now?

Now he’s undoubtedly there, holding you, kissing your lips with so much hunger you feel like you might fall apart under him. 

“Make me forget, please.” That’s all you can say when you finally part, out of breath, your chest heaving heavily. 

It’s all in the eyes. It’s always been this way with Suguru, and you’ve learned to read him like an open book with time. It’s there, hiding behind his chocolate hues, this bundle of emotions he’s been suppressing for so long that is now threatening to crack, break, and spill out all over the place without restraint.

And it is raw.

He wants to eat you alive. And if this is the way he simply looks at you, you can’t help wondering what he’s even thinking about you. 

His gaze is like a drug. It is so needy, so desperate you feel goosebumps rise on your skin. It is undeniably making you shy despite your eagerness, but it feels so good. 

You feel seen.

Even though he might seem in control to the foreign eye, that’s not quite the case. Suguru’s eager and greedy, he’s kissing you like a starving man, but his body cannot lie. Not to you. 

Never to you.

It shows in the way he complies and obeys your every whim like it’s easier to do so than it is breathing. In the way he shivers when you do so much as rap your nails against his back, and kiss your way down to his neck.

You are in charge, and he lets you be. He likes it that way.

He lets himself fall on the mattress, pulling you down with him and gripping your thighs as you settle down on his lap. His breath hitches in his throat and he has to hold you in place before your squirming causes an unwanted accident.

The sounds he makes prompt a smile out of you, and you take a moment to detail him. He’s sprawled on the bed, his long black hair spread on the sheets and framing his face so beautifully.

His plump lips are slightly parted, and his naked chest slowly rises and falls to the rhythm of his breathing. And under the moonlight, you swear he looks like an angel.

But you don’t need an angel now. You need your best friend to rise, grab your neck and  ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶l̶o̶  – fuck you senseless. So you go for it. You lean down and reach out to grip his collar, and he has to prop himself up on one elbow to keep up with you.

“Will you, Suguru?” You bat your eyelashes at him, and he swoons, “Make me forget?”

His face is a few inches away from yours, his hair disheveled as he looks up at you through his eyelashes — he is so close they tickle you when he blinks.

“Anything.” He whispers tenderly, as if breaking character for a moment, “Anything for you.”

And he means it. Although you can’t possibly know that, Suguru has always been yours, and he’ll always be as long as you’ll have him. But you’ve always been Satoru’s.

He’s long accepted that fact.

Your hand moves to rest against his cheek, while the other desperately fists the fabric of his shirt to bring him even closer. He’s still looking up at you, your position giving you the advantage, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Kiss me again — like you mean it.” He implores and you comply. You do not have it in you to deny him when he looks so desperate for you. He immediately angles his head so you can kiss him better, and the scrape of your teeth against his bottom lip prompts a groan out of him.

The way you make him feel drives him insane, and he’s utterly ashamed of the amount of power you hold over him without even being aware of it. Suguru feels like a virgin all over again, with the way the simple brush of your fingers makes his heart jump, and his body shiver. He’s daydreamed about this moment for so long to the point it almost feels natural to be with you like this, and he’s afraid it might be his mind playing tricks on him. It’s selfish, but it feels so good. It’s like scratching an itch that’s been bothering him for years. He feels alive. He’s never experienced anything like it, and it scares him. 

But you know nothing of his inner turmoil, and while he’s focused on the way his heart soars, you’re more focused on the sensations and the pleasure it’s bringing you. On the way you can feel your mind slowly ease as he keeps worshipping your body.

You don’t care that you’re using each other. You want him, and he wants you. It doesn’t matter that you still have Satoru on your mind when it’s his friend, your other best friend, who is under you. It doesn’t matter to Suguru either, because it’s him with you, him that is making you gasp and squirm under his touch. 

It is enough for him – he has never thought he would get there with you in the first place. 

Your hands are busy as you fumble with the last buttons of his shirt, having just discarded yours on the floor, and Suguru can see how eager you are.

“Fuck,” He swears, but his voice remains soft as he gazes at you, detailing your almost naked form. His eyes find yours again, and they’re sparkling with an emotion you don’t seem to recognize. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

He smiles at the way you turn your head, breaking eye contact with an impish smile. You’re flustered.

How cute.

And this moment is perfect. It’s perfect and yet, he has to ask. Before you go further and completely free him from his pants, your hands making quick work of his belt, he has to know that you’re as sure about this as he is. 

He doesn’t think he could bear seeing the regret on your face come morning. The disappointment in your eyes when you would wake up, only to find him and not his friend in your bed. 

It would destroy him. It would destroy you, and everything in between.

So as difficult as it is, he halts you with a finger on your lips when you lean in for another kiss. 

He asks, “Are you sure you want this?” 

It is innocent and full of good intentions – and you know it is in the way he strokes your cheek with care, his eyes giving you his undivided attention. 

Yet you’re stupid and frustrated, and your heart aches so badly you just need someone to make it stop. So you can’t help but scoff, and say, “It’s like you want me to crawl back to him.”

The look he gives you makes you want to crawl into a hole, and you immediately want to take it back. 

Because if there is one thing Suguru doesn’t want, it is seeing you desperatly running after his best friend the day after you’ve shared all of this. After he got to taste your lips and map out the curves of your body.

Gone are the caring gaze and the gentle touch – his eyes darken considerably, the hand that has been caressing the skin of your thigh ever so softly tightens around it, and it’s sure to leave imprints by the time you two are done. You can tell by the way the muscles of his jaw clench that he is pissed. Your heart thuds in your ears.

You are not used to this version of your best friend.

You can’t say you dislike it.

You wince at the way he says your name. Slowly, voice soft as it always is. Yet it’s different this time. It’s fueled with new emotions – frustration, annoyance, jealousy. 

And oh, it looks so good on him, you can’t help but smirk.

That is your second mistake.

“Do you think it’s a game?”

Your smile falters, and you can’t seem to hold eye contact. Your cheeks flame, body tensing with apprehension. You lick your lips, wanting to answer honestly, but your brain feels too full of static for any sense to come out of you.

What isn’t a game? You think, but nothing comes out of your mouth. Your brain gives out and abandons you, like it sensed a predator too strong for him to defeat.

You feel chills run down your spine. A mad Suguru is an uncharted territory, that is undeniable, as he’s always been the reasonable one of your little trio of friends.

Suguru grabs your jaw so he can look you in the eyes, and growls, “Look at me.” There’s something like a warning in his tone, and you hate the fact that you absolutely love it. 

He just stares at you, and you want to squirm. Your cheeks are hot, and he can definitely feel your excitement. It’s seeping through your underwear, and it’s obvious you feel self-conscious about it in the way you try to squeeze your thighs together, worried he might uncover your secret. 

You seem to forget he knows you by heart.

“You want to forget? I’ll make you forget everything.” He pulls you further into his lap, and  the hand cradling your thigh slightly tightens, while the other one reaches into your hair. 

“I’ll make you forget his name.” He kisses you, hard and deep as the hand on your thigh rises ever so slightly to rub circles on the sensitive flesh. 

“The color of his eyes.” He nips at your skin, tentatively licking and sucking on your neck, just below your jaw, and you can’t help but whimper. Your head instinctively lulls to the side to grant him access—  And you can’t think, you don’t need to when he’s willing to do it for you. He knows what you’re thinking, what you want. What you like.

After all, you’re best friends. And best friends know best.

He would take all of your pain away, if you would just trust him.

“The sound of his voice.”

The pressure of his hand leaves imprints, all of which make their presence known the minute he pulls back. You whine at the loss, wanting to grab his hand and drag it back, but he’s got something else in mind.

Your voice is lost as he steals your breath, his words still ringing through your mind as he slowly moves down, kissing your throat, your collarbones, your chest.

You arch your back. It feels good, but this isn’t enough. Greed possesses you, clouds your mind entirely and makes you want everything all at once. His movements are slow but deliberate, and you quickly realize what he’s doing. You want more, you want him everywhere, and he’s making you wait for it.

He is teasing you. He is torturing you for having the audacity of bringing up the man you’re in love with in a moment so intimate, so pure. For making him ache for you when he knows your heart will never beat for him the same way it does for Satoru.

You can’t blame him. It doesn’t mean you can’t retaliate, though. In a surge of confidence, your eyes snap open, and you fist his hair with one hand to pull his mouth back to yours, hard. You decide he won’t get to mess with you, play you like an instrument, as you start grinding on him. And it’s hard, it’s throbbing beneath you, unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

Suguru doesn’t let your game last, though. He grabs you by the waist, lifting you to throw you on the mattress. Your back arches as you fall on the sheets, and he swiftly gets ahold of your wrists to pin them above your head. You gasp as he climbs over you, and your eyes meet his only to find him grinning at you.

He’s enjoying this way too much, it seems. You want to wipe that smirk off his face. – But you cannot deny his smile warms your heart.

His hand runs over your ribs, your thighs, until it stops at your lower belly. It is clear he is taking his sweet time, and although he doesn’t say a word, his silence speaks volumes. His eyes speak to you, telling you to beg. Ordering you to.

You do. You give in, pleading for him to touch you, to give you a taste of him like nothing else he’s ever gifted you with. 

Satoru’s always said that Suguru’s love language was physical touch, and you’ve never believed that. That’s when you change your mind.

In one swift motion, his fingers slip under the waistband of your pants, and he enters you with one, then two broad fingers. You are impossibly drenched. So much that they slip easily, so quickly you can’t help but let out a strangled cry at the sensation.

You whimper against his shoulder, and you wish you could just reach out and grab onto him. Instead, you strain against his grip, hips desperately bucking against his hand. 

Everything becomes about Suguru. About his smell, his touch, his voice.

His voice is but a murmur, it is saccharine when he whispers in your ear, his lips brushing your lobe, “Did you forget already? The way your heart beats faster when he’s in the room?” He rhythms his questions with quick thrusts, curling his digits so that they hit your sensitive spot. Your arousal pools over his palm, and the sound of your squelching makes him even harder.

“I’ll ruin you until he’s nothing more than a fleeting memory.” He growls, and the sound has you mewling and clenching your thighs.

That’s when you feel it rise inside of you. It rises and spills out, and suddenly he’s all you can think about.

You’re drowning in your essence, coloring the sheets a shade darker and it is all because of him. He releases your arms and lifts you easily, pulling you on his lap once again.

Finally.

Your legs slide up, clinging to his waist as he shrugs down the last piece of clothing that still separates the two of you. It springs out, free, hard, and pulsing, and your mouth waters at the sight.

It is burning hot, pink, and throbbing and you’ve never noticed how beautiful your best friend was until now.

You bite your lower lip, eyes wandering over his face. You nod into his chest when he silently asks you if it’s okay, and of course he does. He’s always been so gentle.

Your fingers bury themselves in his locks, fisting his hair when he finally lines up with your entrance and fills you full of him, and your teeth bite his shoulder at the intrusion. It is sure to leave a mark, – he wants it to. 

He’s burning his way inside of you, marking you up from the inside, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this full. He pulls you taunt against him, hauling you up by your thighs and thrusting hard and slow like he’s disciplining you. He holds eye contact, of course he does, and although his movements may be harsh, his eyes… His eyes are so gentle, so full of…. 

No.

You mentally laugh at yourself. You’re dreaming, he could never… 

You cry out a moan when he hits the spot, and processes to abuse it repeatedly. He takes you like you’ve never been before, it feels so… Different. The fact it is Suguru you’re sleeping with makes all the difference. Everyone knows how close the two of you are, how complementary, and even Satoru keeps saying how you two are so much alike. You used to think he was exaggerating.

You’re not so sure he was, with the way Suguru seems to know what you need before you even formulate the thought.

Yet he’s always known. He knows what you like and dislike, what you want and don’t want.

He knows which expressions you make when you’re happy, sad. When you’re excited.

And now, he even knows what you look like when you’re close. Your lips are parted, your eyes a little glassy, and with the way you clench around him he has to do mental sports to not burst inside you.

You’re driving him insane. 

And while you’re bouncing on him, his hand starts rubbing at your clit, the combination turning you into a blabbering mess. It’s all too much. Your foreheads are pressed together, your hand still buried into Suguru’s hair and you close your eyes when your whimpers turn into full-blown wails. He pulls you into a deep kiss and swallows your moans as you burst.

He feels it coming too, and you see it. You nod at him, giving him your okay to come within you, to paint you with the white of his release and the red of his bleeding heart.

Yet he objects and pulls out before it happens. You’re confused, he sees that, – but you’re still in a daze. 

He won’t allow his feelings to take this away from you. Maybe someday, in another universe, he would allow himself to finish with you, to paint you with his colors like you did with yours.

Maybe on the day you’ll finally be his and his only, on the day he won’t have to be ashamed of feeling so strongly toward his best friend. This isn’t the day.

And when you go back to your senses, you can only see him looking at you with a smirk. It seems forced, a little sad even. But maybe it’s just your daze that is making you see things that aren’t there.

And just like that, he asks, “So, what color?”

“Hm?”

“What color are Satoru’s eyes, sweetheart?”

“I…I…” You try to pull yourself back to reality, but you cannot do it. You can’t seem to remember the color of your best friend’s eyes.

Suguru grins, and his voice sends a tingle down your spine when he says, “Good girl.”

Satoru Gojo 1 - Suguru Geto 1. Now, they are even.

So, are you happy to have ruined your chances with the love of your life? Or did you really?

secret route (coming soon!)

beautiful evil man with long hair save me

rbs are much appreciated <3

[cinnamonroll-anon]

lmk request!

wukong and mac (separate) had a nightmare and s/o came to comfort?

a/n: thank you both for the request! Since you both had the same prompt i decided to just put the two together! Sorry for my long absence have some comfort for your heart!

Terrible Visions: Sun Wukong x Reader, Macaque x Reader (Separate)

Warnings: angst to fluff, comfort (giving), mentions of violence and mentions of death. SEASON 5 SPOILERS! (not much but will brush up on events that take place!)

Sun wukong:

Honestly, what hasn't come back to haunt the infamous monkey king? Behind his usual suave facade, he was constantly stuck in his own head, thinking about his past and what problems could await on the roads ahead. If we're being honest here, he's stressed of having to save the world or having to face his own mistakes and shortcomings. He can never live down his own choices, not entirely at least. There would always be a whisper of doubt breathing down his neck, it would never fail to make him feel ashamed of himself. Luckily for him, he can play things off perfectly and no one would know any better from his usual laid back attitude. He wouldn't allow anyone to see the burden on his shoulders, or see how weary he's grown over these recent months. Well, everyone else except you.

You have been with Wukong for a while, so you're no stranger to his attempts at keeping you at an arm's length. It was a prominent problem in your relationship. He simply wouldn't tell you what was bothering him, even if it was something so miniscule that you could stop doing. Nowadays, he tries to open up to you and to express himself to the best of his ability. It was a promise you both made to each other as your relationship continued to flourish. He'd communicate with you and you'd understand him and try to meet him in the middle. It was a fair compromise that has saved your relationship on multiple occasions.

It took a great level of trust for him to feel like he could share his worries with you, he didn't want to trouble you... At least it was partially true, especially with all the guilt that's been dying to swallow him whole. He felt as though he had dragged you down into a mess like he did with MK, and that he was the one to blame for all of his suffering, as well as yours. Another part of him wouldn't allow him to love or care as deeply as he used to. Not again because, he knows what love really leads to... To pain. He had promised himself once in the past to not let his heart suffer again, to never go through another heartbreak. It was that promise kept getting in the way with his new ambitions and his heart's desire. To be with you.

Unfortunately as all things do, these emotions build up, and when they resurface, they present themselves to the great sage as he finds enough tranquility to sleep at night. He could only keep his thoughts to himself until they started pouring into his subconscious. The nightmares weren't as frequent but they'd manifest horrors that would leave him restless and fearful. Even in his slumber, he couldn't find rest.

Maybe he would be trapped in the mountain with no one to talk to, feeling condemned, forgotten, unloved and lonely. He'd stay there, unmoving and vulnerable for eternity. Perhaps it would be all the splitting headaches with his circlet, punishing and agonizing. No matter how much he begged for it to simply disappear, the torment would only continue. He would dig his nails into the groud, clawing into his head in desperation, howling in pain and sobbing for anything to stop it. He'd never find that solace here.

Maybe it was the day he struck Macaque. It would always be the same outcome, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. To change it. His body would move without his permission, his mind torn in-between this urge to kill him and hopelessly trying to stop himself. He saw his old friend laying beaten down, he watched as Macaque tried to move to get away from him helplessly. Was that fear or hatred he saw in his eyes? He couldn't tell before he felt the way his staff punctured through his eye, cracking entirely past his skull. No matter how many times he'd watch the scene unfold, it never ceased to be any less gut wrenching when he drew the final blow. It was all worse when he could smell his blood, practically taste the hot irony liquid in his tongue.

Sometimes it was failing MK. Failing him as his mentor. He knew he wasn't the best at teaching, honestly it had stung him when MK searched for guidance in Macaque. It just didn't help ease his nerves or reassured him that he was doing the right thing. He's put the kid through so much, yet he always kept his distance from him. He couldn't afford for him to get close, not again, not after everything he's been through. MK sacrificing himself was painful to watch, and luckily for him, he'd get to relive that moment. One second he was contemplating losing his Immortality and his life, and the next that familiar excruciating pain would crush his head again. He couldn't't move to save him, to sacrifice himself instead. The worst part was seeing that look on MK's face through his tears and screams. He almost lost him, but in his dreams he wouldn't come back, and in his eyes his world would still remain shattered.

The lady bone demon's control was the worst dream he could ever be faced with, because instead of any other circumstances hurting his friends, he was killing them all... One by one. A ruthless frenzy and an unstoppable slaughter, all for her destiny. Her voice would pound against his head and her command over him was absolute. He couldn't even cry if he wanted to.

He'd wake up in cold sweat, lunging to sit up and gasp for air. He had startled you awake, promoting you to wearily sit up with him.

"Wukong? What's the matter?"

He gripped his heart feeling it's frantic palpitations as he took harsh breaths. Maybe, the worst nightmare of all... Was losing you. He condemned his head for getting so creative with ways he could lose you. Meanwhile, you observed him, trying to read his expression. You sat there for a minute before you gently placed your hand ontop of his own.

"Wukong-"

"P-peaches, hey y-yeah, sorry about that! Just ah, y'know ehe thought i lost my streak. And to Macaque no less!" He answered with a strained smile, you could see a him covered in sweat.

"Uh-huh, so you're expecting me to believe that you're this worked up... About your videogame?" You deadpanned as you were fighting to keep your eyes open. With or without them open you can hear how shaken up he was.

He stumbled over his words and another half assed excuse before taking a deep breath and looking down at his hands.

"You're right- It, It wasn't about videogames... I had another nightmare."

You noticed how fragile his voice sounded, that and how ashamed of himself he looked. Was it his pride or perhaps it was the horrible attempt to brush you off? It didn't matter to you in the moment as you gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Honey, that's awful. Do you want to talk about it? Or maybe cuddle-"

Before you could finish your sentence, he quickly pulled you into a tight embrace. You gradually hugged him back, wrapping your arms around him, gently rubbing his back in a comforting manner. You could feel his racing heartbeat against you, how ragged his breathing was before they began to even out. Much of your relief, he was slowly calming down. His tail wrapped around your waist, giving it a tight squeeze, trying to ground himself in the present.

"It's okay Wukong, you're safe. I'm here for you, thank you for telling me. I want to help you with things like these, okay?"

"Even if i wake you up in the dead of night?" He spoke through a chocked sob, he was trying really hard not to cry, but it was so hard when you were so willing to sacrifice sleep and time just to help him. He tightened his hold on you, burying his face against your shoulder, either for comfort or to hide his face from your view, you didn't bring it up as you placed a kiss to his head.

"Yes Wukong, even if you woke me up at four in the morning," You replied with a chuckle. "I'd rather have missed a little time asleep than having you dealing with a nightmare all alone. Especially if I'm already here for you."

He shook his head as he let out a heavy sigh, you could feel your shoulder getting wet by his tears. After his initial fear had finally passed, he began to move again. He first placed his hand behind your head before he hesitantly pushed you away, only enough to look into your eyes. He mused to himself how sleepy you looked, before remembering he was the reason you were so worried about him now and awake.

"I'm sorry... you shouldn't be up at this hour Peach, i didn't mean to-"

"It was a nightmare Wukong, you didn't exactly plan it." You interrupted him as you delicately held his face in your hands, "Besides I already told you I'm not going anywhere. Im sticking with you no matter what, be it sickness, a nightmare or the world ending, again... I'm with you Wukong."

He swore he could barely blink back the tears in his eyes threatening to pour again. Despite it all you, were still here. You stayed by his side. You were still kind and loving to him, even if he wasn't always as vulnerable or open with you. You were more than willing to help him through it, to save your relationship... to save him. That was so brave of you, he hoped you knew that. He wished he could tell you, but he wouldn't say it... not today at least or now. He smiled warmly before laying back down, pulling you into his arms as you laid your head on his chest. He held you close as he felt himself become more tired, but before he could close his eyes again you pressed a lazy kiss against his lips.

"I love you Wukong, goodnight my love." What wonderful words to hear, he thought to himself, before finally letting his muscles relax and his jaw unclench. He finally felt safe and loved... all in his beloveds arms. He truly felt like everything would be okay. He looked down at your already sleeping form, god, you must've been truly exhausted he thought to himself. He waited a bit until he knew you were sound asleep, not taking any chances to wake you again, before he placed a loving kiss against your forehead.

"I love you too Peaches, if you only knew how much you mean to me... Goodnight love, see you in the morning."

Macaque:

He's more open to you about his nightmares. You've been with him for this long, so he trusts you're not going to hurt him when he lets down his guard. You've proven yourself to him time and time again that you won't take advantage of him or harm him. On the contrary, you treat him with compassion and respect, even when he has felt undeserving of your grace and patience. Youve always so considerate and understanding to him. He swears he doesn't deserve you, he knows he's definitely not the best guy around, but if you stayed this long and showed him you're not going anywhere, then he'll be damned if he doesn't try his hardest to appreciate you and show you how much he cares about you too.

But his nightmares are a sore spot for him, especially telling you what happens in them. He'd rather forget they happened at all, but those images in his mind refuse to leave him. Why must he be reminded of how much he suffered now that he's living a better life? He's gotten close to wukong again, albeit the two still bicker, but he knows now that wukong trusts him. It's a work in progress, but their relationship was mending slowly, it all starts with a little bit of trust. And then there's you.

He'll admit that he wasn't planning on ever having a partner, with all his issues, he considered himself the least qualified in the romance department. And yet there he was, spending his days with you happily. You had even stayed with him while he was on flower fruit mountain, you would enjoy the cuddle sessions the little monkeys had with Macaque. Even if he wasn't all too thrilled with the arrangement but, he couldn't deny how adorable you looked with the little ones clinging to you.

It's been a little over a day or two since the pillar of heaven was restored, you and Macaque having been enjoying some down time from the world's end. It was such a shame that in these peaceful moments his mind would still be plagued with these horrible nightmares. Even before he met you they were quite common, it made his lifestyle change as he avoided sleep, staying up throughout the night until eventual exhaustion would overtake him. If he pushed his body to the limit the chances of having a nightmare would decrease. Not the healthiest choice on his part, but the one that has worked for him over time.

But that all changed with you. You have given him a safe space, a home he could call his own. He trusted you and he let himself relax around you, and this would cause him to fall asleep at a more reasonable hour. He was still a night owl but it was harder for him to stay awake when you were so close to him, so warm and peacefully asleep. He couldn't overcome the temptation of resting alongside you. Although that peace would be short-lived.

Every bad experience he's had gets relived and reimagined in each nightmare. The most common type is getting betrayed. It ranges from getting abandoned and feeling worthless to being used for someone else's benefit. If he's had a nightmare of you betraying him, he would be a bit distant. Luckily he was willing to talk with you about it, in which you reassured him that you just wanted to be with him because you loved him. You weren't going to leave him or cheat on him.

Another common nightmare he's had was recollecting the day Sun Wukong not only turned on him, but killed him. It was always a brutal but hopeless cause. His heart was heavy with how wukong so easily sidelined him, how everything they had been through meant nothing. That he no longer meant anything to his friend. This dream was too realistic, he could feel every strike and how tired he was becoming. Nothing he could do was enough. Not against a force like wukong. The most horrid part was when he finally looked up at wukong in defeat only to be met with an agonizing pain to his eye. This nightmare would cause him to wake up yelling and holding his eye, feeling the phantom pain the dream left behind.

The least common dreams he had that would leave him mortified were the ones of the Lady Bone Demon. Being forced to do her will or have his life taken away from him again. He thought he was clever losing the key, but somehow she always escaped. Having the slow threat of her crystals on his body being a horrifying experience, especially the days in which he would become paralyzed in fear, going stiff in his sleep. Sometimes she would make him kill Sun Wukong and MK and there wasn't any fire of Samadhi to save him from being entirely consumed by her will. The worst one of all was when she found out about you, sending macaque to kill you, her champion didn't need any distractions after all. No insignificant mortal will stand in the way of his destiny.

Macaque would jolt awake, taking in gasping breaths before looking around the room. Hed sigh in relief, he was home, he was safe, just another stupid dream. He'd stay awake in bed, looking up at the ceiling in hope's of falling asleep. He couldn't shake the vivid images from his mind and he felt agitated and restless, he couldn't sleep again. He then looked over at you and the sight warmed his heart a little. You were peacefully asleep, it was a miracle his sudden movement didn't wake you, but he was silently grateful. Hed hate to wake you up since you looked oh so blissfully asleep. He couldn't do that, not to you. So he decided to discreetly get out of bed before using a shadow portal to drop himself into the couch. It was a better option than having to maneuver himself quietly through the room with you soundly asleep. Waking you up was simply a chance he didn't want to take.

He would sit in silence on the couch simply trying not to think about whatever dream plagued his mind. At first the silence was normal but he quickly found out how not wanting to think of something made you think of it more. The silence would become unbearable so he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. He opted to mindlessly watch tv, turning the volume down to the lowest possible. It was the perks of having six ears.

You woke up, having stirred from your rest at the lack of his presence. You drowsily felt his side of the bed. It was empty, so you sluggishly got out of bed to look for him. He could hear you coming towards hims, yet his entire focus was on the nonsensical noises of the TV, he couldn't bother to pay attention to what was happening. You eventually made your way over to him and plopped yourself down on the couch next to him. You leaned against him, laying your head on his shoulder. He went tense at the sudden contact, not like he wasn't already stiff as a board as he tried to force his attention away from his own thoughts.

"Hey Honey, what's got you up so early?" He asked casually as if he also wasn't up at four in the morning.

"I didn't feel you in bed with me anymore... Are you okay Macaque?" You fought off the drowsiness in your eyes, but leaning against him and feeling his warmth was lulling you back to sleep. No, you had to make sure he was alright, sleep can wait. You slowly were able to get your hazy mind working before you felt how stiff he was against you. He usually eased up to your touch by now, even when he was caught by surprise.

He notices your discomfort before he wraps an arm around you, slowly relaxing against you. He gave you a soft smile as he took in your sleep ridden state. It was heartening to him that you missed his presence, even when you were asleep. But he wasn't exactly thrilled that he still somehow woke you up, but having you with him did relieve him of his worries.

"Sweetheart, listen... I'm sorry for leaving you alone but i just... Had a nightmare and i didn't want to wake you up about it. But i still did." His answer was honest but filled with disappointment in himself. He really wanted to handle it by himself, but a part of him knew he could never ease his mind the way you could. Having heard his explanation you leaned into him, giving him a tender hug. He's still for a moment before he finally wraps his arms around you tightly, allowing himself to be comforted by you. You gently ran your finger through his fur, it was like your every caress alleviated his aching heart and it wasn't long enough until he began to quietly cry against your chest.

"I-I didn't want any of this to happen... I didn't want to go through with it, I had to-" He murmured against you. You could tell it had been a horrible nightmare, especially if it broke him down like this

"I know baby, but you're not there anymore. You haven't done anything, you're at home... It was only a dream, you're safe... I'll keep you safe." You quietly reassured him, calming his anguish and placing kisses where his tears ran, gently wiping them away with your thumbs as you held his face. It was when you held him so close that you noticed it. His glamour was off. You could see his six ears, all the scars on his face and his eye, you wondered how you didn't notice it before. Then again being awake at four wasn't exactly peak conscious behavior and it was still dark, the only light being the dim glow of the TV.

Macaque felt safe in your embrace, enjoying the sound of your voice. He would normally be uneasy listening with all of his ears, but your voice was like a serene river to him, calming and comforting. He would gladly listen to you talk for hours about anything, but when you directed it at him and used it to ease his pains, it was simply heavenly.

After a while of hugging he thinks you might've dosed off then and there.

"Hey darling, are you still with me?" He asked quietly as he gave you a soft shake. The only response you gave him was a low, albeit late, hum of acknowledgment.

"Yeah, yeah, wide awake." Which ears a soft chuckle out of him before makes sure you're secure in his hold. Before you can ask if he wanted to head back to bed, you feel a swoosh before having landed on the soft and familiar mattress. You weren't even going to lie, his shadow portals were convenient. You probably wouldn't have made it back to the room with how tired you felt.

"A heads up would've been nice." You mumbled against him.

"Nah, I'm sure you could've handed it." You could practically hear his signature smirk in his tone.

"What if i couldn't and it scared me?" You joked as you pushed yourself away from him, earning you the sight of his handsome grin and un-glamored glory.

"Come on sugar, you're telling me you're scared of a little gravity. You'd think you'd be used to it by now." He chuckled as he patted your head before ruffling your hair.

"Hey! My hair, you're messing it up!"

"You have the wildest bed-head baby, you should be thanking me."

"Oh, I'll give you a thank you, alright. Keep this up and I'll smother you entirely." You challenged him with your own mischievous grin. He didn't believe your little threat for one second.

"Oh really? I'd like to see you try~" You then held the sides of his face before pulling him into a barrage of kisses. He's caught by surprise, unable to get away from your devoted kisses. He nuzzles against you trying to fight off his embarrassment, but you're so cute and oh lord, he feels like he's malfunctioning. Even after all this time he wasn't immune to being overwhelmed by your affections, having gone most of his life without them. Eventually you slow down your kisses, instead you poured out adoring words about every feature you love about him before giving it a kiss. You took your time, letting him know how much you loved him with each soft murmur and soft peck. That you loved him dearly and found him captivating, even with his glamor off.

"I think the scar makes you look hot" you ended off on, trying to brighten up how he might've felt about his appearance.

"Oh really? Is that so?" He smirked before finally wrapping his arms around you, pulling you against him to cuddle. You soon felt the familiar sensation of his tail curling around you protectively. You both held each other tenderly and you leaned closer to leading him into a slow kiss. Your lips molded into each other lovingly, parting to look into each other's eyes with nothing but adoration. You trailed your hands through his hair until you reached his ears, gently scratching the back of them and caressing them. He let out a content huff before resting his head against your chest, closing his eyes, allowing himself to be lulled back to sleep by your warmth and the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. You place a final kiss against his forehead.

"I love you Macaque, I hope you only have sweet dreams tonight." He didn't need to when his time awake with you was his greatest dream come true.

"I'll always love you, thank you my love." That was all he said before pleasantly falling asleep, safe and loved in your embrace.

back

[readychilledwine]

Dessert for a King

Summary - Bringing home fruit from the Summer Court causes a pleasant surprise

Warnings - smut, NSFW, Food play, oral female receiving

A/n- I end @cassianappreciationweek with a cute food play quickie. I want to take a moment to thank the organizers of Cassian week for working so hard to put together this event for us. So much unseen work, time, and sometimes money goes into these things that make this fandom so much fun.

I wish I hadn't been in such a funk and could have partaken in the prompts more. I have a few pieces that are technically done and followed the prompts. Once I'm more me again, I will get them posted.

🗡Cassian Masterlist🗡Master Masterlist🗡

“Well those look delicious,” Cassian's voice appeared behind you, making you glance at him as you continued rinsing the fruit you had purchased in Summer. “What's the plan for them?”

“I planned on just making them fair game,” I began rinsing the dark cherries before laying them on a towel to dry and doing the same with the strawberries. “I wasn't planning anything special. Hands grabbed your hips before one reached out, taking one of the strawberries and holding it to your lips.

“Then I guess it's a good thing I do.” You laughed as he continued trying to get you to eat the supple fruit. “Come on, angel, indulge me.” You licked the strawberry before wrapping your lips around it, teasing him like he was asking for.

Within moments, you found yourself on the counter, deeply kissing your mate as he savored the juicy still lingering on your lips and tongue.

“We have chocolate,” his voice had dropped, eyes following to where your finger pointed towards the cabinet. “Good girl.” Cassian worked quickly, grabbing the strawberries, chocolate, and a few cherries into a bowl and throwing you over his shoulder. You had assumed you two were heading for your shared bedroom, only to be surprised when he laid you down on the table and set the bowls around you.

“Cass, what are we doing?”

“Playing,” his fingers brushed your sides, stroking the soft curves of your body before resting at the neckline of your dress. There was no time to stop him. No time to protest as your favorite shirt was soon left torn down the middle. “And that? That was in my way.”

You thought he would assault every inch of your skin he had exposed, treasuring you the way he always had, but instead he backed away, pulling your skirt down with him and leaving you bare. He began cutting the cherries and strawberries, decorating your body in dripping fruit. Cherries halved and rest on your sensitive nipples, a strawberry above your core. He handed you the bowl of chocolate, smirking as you knew to summon your powers and melt it to a comfortable temperature for him.

He began slowly pouring the chocolate over you, being sure not to get the warm sticky liquid too close to anywhere you'd previously told him was a no. “Perfect dessert, sweetness,” he groaned out.

The kisses and licks started on your neck, cleaning everything from there as chills ran down your body, settling deep into your core. He paid attention to the spot that drove you wild, sucking a deep bruise into that area, a reminder to you and sign to anyone else of what was coming. He continued kissing down, eating the cold cherry resting on your left nipple with a satisfied hum.

He stayed there, loving and cherishing that bud until it had formed a peak that he could pinch as he licked the chocolate running between the valley of your breasts and repeated the same motions there. It was slow pleasurable torture. Knowing what was coming. Knowing his mouth would be where you desperately craved all too soon. Each movement placed him closer and closer, driving to the brink of insanity and aching for what you both knew you wanted. You could have sworn you released a noise like a cry when he finally kissed your inner thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin there before moving to clean the mess he had made with the other one.

“Been so good, sweetness. An absolute angel,” he kissed your thigh again before actually sinking his teeth in to make you scream. “Deserve a reward, don't you?”

You could only nod desperately, eyes wide as you whimpered for him. The kisses now went higher, nearing your dripping core that filled his senses with a primal need. He could practically taste you on his tongue already. The bittersweet honey-like flavor that had earned you your nickname. You both moaned when he made first contact, tongue gliding through your folds until it found your clit. He was slow, continuing the motion and taking his time, savoring you like you two had all the time in the world to be there. To be with each other.

The bond began to hum as he picked up pace slightly, pushing his tongue as far in as he could to drink from you as if you were the very nectar of the Gods. And to him, you truly were. He craved you, he yearned for you. Moments away from you always caused something like this. A deep ache he could only settle by having you in every sense of the term.

You began to pant softly, moans tumbling from your lips as the room began to feel more humid. The anticipation, the preparation, the slow burning feeling in your gut had you on edge, eyes fluttering shut as you whispered Cassian's name. “More,” you begged so softly he could have missed it. “Please, more.”

A single finger pushed in with ease then, barely enough compared to the length hiding, straining to take you beyond your limits. But it curled perfectly, teasing that spot only Cassian could ever truly find. His lips wrapped the bundle of nerves as his finger worked, licking, sucking. Gently scraping teeth against it. He wouldn't settle Until you were screaming, crying and begging for release.

And he wasn't far from getting it. You both could tell by the way you were tightening Around that single digit, by the way you were a mess of moans and whispers, by the way you stomach felt tight and as if you were on fire.

One second...

Two seconds...

Three seconds...

A fall.

You crumbled for him, whimpering and moaning his name like a broken prayer to a long-lost God. He pulled away after he forced you to ride out your high, eyes dark and breath heavy as he licked his finger clean. “Our room. Now.”

His command left no room for argument. No discussion to beg for him to just fuck you on the table you all shared family dinners at.

No. It forced you to bend. Breaking to his will as he pulled you up, hand resting on the back of your neck, forcing you up the stairs to endure one long night.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[hansensgirl]

summary. | Ransom can’t resist his innocent step-sister.

prompts. | Ransom Drysdale + Step-brother + “Don’t you love it when I touch you like this?” + Innocence, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!step-brother!Ransom Drysdale x innocent!fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, dubious consent, stepcest, orgasm (f), smut, pet names, innocence kink, corruption kink, both are of legal age, allusions to fingering, possessiveness, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics

Ransom coos at you as you lay in his bed, wearing nothing but one of his sweaters. He insisted you put it on since you’re just so pretty when you’re in his clothes. Of course, you listened to him—you love your step-brother.

And you’re a bit scared of him, too. You’ve seen how he treats his parents, but to you, he’s exceptionally kind and patient. 

You’re between his legs and watching a movie on his television, giggling at the comedic bits whenever they occur. Ransom is torn between looking at you and the film, but he settles on you ultimately. 

Ransom can’t help the way he feels about you—the darkness that takes over every time he thinks about his innocent little step-sister. He fights with the urges that spur him on, the ones that’ll wholly corrupt you and turn you into his personal plaything, despite how wrong it is.

He smoothes his large hands over both your thighs, caressing the supple skin as you sigh in delight. Your little noises are music to his ears—and he wants more. He always does.

Your step-brother slides his hands up the sweater, and he finds your panties. He plays with the lace edging and little bow on the front, making you gasp and giggle. “Ran…” you say, voice quiet and soft. He shushes you, reaching up to grab the waistband on your underwear.

Skillfully, Ransom pulls your panties off, leaving you exposed to him. Your position between his legs remains the same, except now, you open yourself up to your step-brother a little more by parting your thighs. 

Ransom’s fingers play with your folds, finding that you’re wet. He curses under his breath, wondering if you were thinking of something or someone. Was it him? It better be him. 

You’ve long ceased paying attention to the movie, instead focusing on the screen because you don’t know what else to do. You’ve never been touched like this by anyone—not even yourself—but it’s Ransom, your kind step-brother, who has taught you so much. It feels right and so fucking good.

“R– Ransom…” you whimper when he finds your clit, rubbing it gently. “Don’t you love it when I touch you like this?” he asks, and you nod your head. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ransom further questions. “Y- Yeah.”

He presses down a bit harder on your pearl of nerves, picking up the pace. The wet sounds of your pussy fill the room, and so do your adorable moans. Ransom’s hard cock is against your back, and he grinds it on you every now and then, desperate for some relief. 

Involuntarily, your back arches into Ransom, and he nuzzles your cheek. “Yeah, that’s it,” he urges as your whimpers become louder. He has half a mind to use his other hand to finger you, but he knows he can’t do that just yet. You’re a delicate thing, one he’ll enjoy breaking in slowly.

Instead, Ransom palms your tits through your sweater, massaging them to add to your pleasure. 

You feel as though something inside of you is building up as the tingles strengthen rapidly. You’ve never felt this way before, and you’re confused. 

“R– Ransom? Feels funny down th– there,” you tell him, voice a bit whiny. “Oh, yeah? In your pussy, princess?” he questions. “Y– Yeah, in my p– pussy,” you repeat, and he growls. “That’s normal, baby. Just let me keep touching you,” Ransom says. 

You nod and relax in his arms, limbs twitching as you approach your first-ever orgasm. You moan Ransom’s name as you come, and he realizes that he is so hard it hurts. Your step-brother makes you ride out your climax, rubbing your clit in fervour until he can tell it’s too much.

Your chest heaves as you reel from the pleasure, head lolling against Ransom’s chest. “How about we try something else, hm?” he questions, and you don’t have a chance to reply when he prods at your leaking hole.