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a-d-nox · 3 months ago

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astro hypothesis: dress for the occasion

everyone is always mentioning to dress like your venus sign. recently, i have seen a lot of tiktoks where people are like dress like your crush/boyfriend's venus sign to look like his dream girl. and i was like what about dressing for the occasion? which brought me here! grab your venus persona and take a look at the houses.

5h - prom, dances, dates, and clubs

5h cancer (4°, 16°, 28°) and/or 5h moon: elegance is key. you might be drawn to long, flowy gowns with shimmery fabric. something light but glowy! often the fabric is dark (black or midnight blue) or slivery/white. a sweetheart neckline or off the shoulder cut tends to look beautiful on these people. often you are drawn to semi-sheer fabric as it adds some mystique to your appearance.

5h libra (7°, 19°) and/or 5h venus: light pastels or ivory are likely to grab your attention but a plain white or black dress is likely to give you that elegant/timeless look that you want most in pictures to remember your day (otherwise, you might take pictures in a colored dress and turn on a black and white filter). you want the wow factor! so a-line, a ball gown, or fit-flare dresses might be your go to look. a floor length dress is likely a must for you. silk, satin, chiffon, and/or organza are likely on the tags of these dresses even if you don't know what these materials are by the naked eye. dresses with a sweetheart neckline or off the shoulder sleeves are likely to make you feel elegant. you may like very simple accessories - plain earrings, a dainty bracelet, small pendant necklace, classic heels, etc. a v-neckline, bateau, or strapless design is likely to fit your elegance same could be said about a low back dress.

5h aquarius (11°, 23°) and/or 5h uranus: you are likely to be drawn to the blue family (sky, sea, ocean, water, turquoise, etc.). iridescence/holographic/shimmery material might draw your attention in a store. you often go for something very atypical in the store (might be from seasons ago - its likely the last of its kind). something a-line, flowy, and/or high-to-low might be of interest to you - the cuts of a dress bring interest to your favorite parts of yourself (example, maybe its a two piece dress). something high neck or off the shoulder is likely of interest to you as well. a loose braid and/or waves might be all you need to finish out your look.

7h - wedding attire

7h aries (1°, 13°, 25°) and/or 7h mars: as a bride you should be wearing pure white. nudes or off-whites aren't likely to hold your attention anyway. grab the pure stark white. it is likely that reds are going to be an accent of this wedding - roses, nail, polish, bridesmaid dresses, etc. but if you aren't in the wedding party, go for the red whether its a fiery red or a deep burgundy, its the way to go! no matter if you are the bride, the guest, or a member of the wedding party - you should opt for a fit flare dress or mermaid silhouette. or be really dramatic and go for a deep slit, a plunge neckline, or something backless! the devil is in the details too so things like careful beading, sequins, or embroidery should be something critical to your look (if not the fit and/or the drama). alternatively, minimalism/modernism might be something you enjoy for your look.

7h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°) and/or 7h mercury: as a bride, you might lean towards ivory or whites with an undertone of some color (like a blush). you don't tend to go for the traditional white color, in my experience. if you are a guest or in the wedding party it is likely you will find yourself in soft pastel colors! movement is of the utmost importance to you so opt for a-line or flowy gown. you might also enjoy wearing things that are asymmetrical - the hemline might be high to low or you might like the one shoulder strap design. these people also like details in their dresses whether it is lace, embroidery, beading, ruffles, tiered skirts, or glitter - the options are endless. chiffon, tulle, or organza might be the fabrics for you because they are light and breathable.

6h - everyday clothes and workwear

6h pisces (12°, 24°) and/or 6h neptune: soft fabrics like cotton, silk, or jersey in gentle, soothing colors such as ocean blues, seafoam greens, lavender, and soft pinks. loose, flowing clothes like maxi skirts, wrap dresses, or wide-legged pants that move gracefully. style would likely be bohemian and free-spirited, incorporating layers, delicate patterns, or subtle prints (florals, paisley, etc.). clothes would be cozy and easy to wear—think oversized sweaters, soft cardigans, and flowy blouses. might like jewelry that is delicate, handmade, seashells, pearls, and/or celestial themed.

6h libra (7°, 19°) and/or 6h venus: these people have a natural sense of style and an appreciation for their appearance. outfits would likely be classic, well-tailored pieces in soft, neutral tones like blush pink, dove gray, cream, and pastel blues. the fabrics would be light and luxurious - like silk blouses, cashmere sweaters, or satin skirts. well-fitted blazers, A-line skirts, and or high-waisted trousers make them look polished and graceful. they effortlessly blend comfort with sophistication. everything else is minimal yet thoughtfully chosen - delicate gold or silver jewelry, a stylish handbag, etc.

9h - graduation and religious events

9h taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) and/or 9h venus: elegance, luxury, and comfort ("it has pockets too!"). a sleek, well-structured dress in an earthy tones like emerald green, soft brown, or blush pink. the fabric might be luxurious, like silk, satin, or velvet. a silhouette would likely be timeless and flattering - a wrap dress or an A-line dress that cinches at the waist, emphasizing femininity and grace is well suited for this placement. delicate embroidery or subtle jewelry accents. understated but beautiful accessories, like a simple gold necklace or pearl earrings.

9h leo (5°, 17°, 29°) and/or 9h sun: bold, glamorous, and attention grabbing. vibrant colors like gold, fiery red, or royal purple. the fabric might be something that shimmers or catches the light, such as sequined, satin, or metallic materials. a silhouette could be daring and statement-making, like a fitted flair dress, a high-low hemline, or an off-the-shoulder design. ruffles, a thigh-high slit, or an open back, ensures all eyes are on them. accessories would be bold—think large, sparkling earrings, a dramatic statement necklace, etc. yes, realize what my sub-header is for this section.

9h sagittarius (9°, 21°) and/or jupiter: it's never just one graduation or church event and thus never just one dress/opportunity. the dresses would likely have a regal, flowing quality to it. jewel tones like deep sapphire, royal blue, or amethyst. flowy, A-line, and/or empire waisted dresses that gives a sense of movement. fabric might be lightweight and ethereal, like chiffon, tulle, or silk. intricate embroidery, beading, etc. accessories would be tasteful but luxurious, like a delicate gold bracelet or a jeweled hairpiece.

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#astrology #astro community #astro placements #astro chart #natal chart #astrology tumblr #persona chart #astro notes #astrology chart #natal astrology #astrology readings #astrology signs #astro #astro observations #astroblr #venus persona chart #persona chart observations #what to wear

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endereies · 2 months ago

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ATTRIBUTES AND QUALITIES - MS - BLURB

Pairing: bf!matt x gf!reader

Contains: The details of Matt as your boyfriend, on and off camera

Requested?: yes by @bernardsbendystraws - Request

Author's notes: This shouldn't have taken me so very long to write but neither should almost everything on my platform

Word Count: 1692

╰┈➤ SFW

༊*·˚ You both tended to avoid social situations, this included date nights

You had fixed your dress one too many times for it to slip Matt's conscience. It was adorned with two perfectly symmetrical bows which lined the skin of your shoulders. They barely reached the built in corset line, covered in a soft silk. It was so barely blue to the point where you could only see it in the dim lighting of your room. Pleats curve at your hips and flow to your knees. It was clear how much you were smitten with the fabric. Matt watched you steal glances at the mannequin poised at the front window, hence his insisted purchase.

Delicate touches, traced your hips from behind and as much as you felt unease within the situation, you melted into his touch. "Hi pretty" His voice felt so pure against your neck and you couldn't help but giggle. A few peppered kisses later, he leant back to watch the reflection of you both in the full body mirror. Knitted material covered his arms, covering sections of his darker belt. That was wrapped round his light-wash jeans that became a staple in his wardrobe.

"Hey Matt" It was a timid voice that escaped your mouth, you hadn't meant for it to. It faded into the air but when you finally looked up you were met with Matt's gaze, falling heavily on you. He smiled against your neck, allowing his breath to tickle he skin.

"You don't want to go out tonight do you..?" Guilt filled you almost instantly. You were aware that he had made reservations at this fine dining place he pointed out one late-night drive. It was a high end place but the atmosphere was one to be appreciated. Yet tonight you were dreading it.

"Baby, I'm sorry. I know you booked this fancy place but I-" His fingers quickly silenced you as he pressed them against your lips. He dryly laughed and turned your chin to face him directly. "I was hoping you'd say that..I just want to watch movies alongside you. How'd you feel with that, love?"

You sighed deeply, letting yourself relax onto him. "I'd love nothing more."

༊*·˚ He loved to make you feel safe and loved whenever he could

The last few days had been filled with thunderstorms that stretched into every evening. Tonight was no different. Several hours had gone by and nothing showed signs of the storm easing up. Clouds remained dark and your window was covered in drops of rain that sped down the glass. It wasn't that you hated the way the clouds lit up to reveal the purple hues. It was the way the thunder clapped unexpectedly that made you tense. It was deafening and not even the steady hums of your playlist could block out the sounds.

You had given up the idea of sleep and simply attempted to sleep between the duvet and pillows of your bed. Bunches of fabric were huddled near your chest and practically covered your face.

"Baby? I'm home!" Finally Matt had come home from his filming session that got cut early from the rain. They all agreed it would be better to continue when sounds of water and lightning didn't fill the mic.

He wasn't oblivious to the way thunder made you uneasy, he had seen you more than once feel uncomfortable and refuse to relax. Although never this bad.

Once he was met with silence, you heard him wonder around the house. It wasn't long before he creaked open the bedroom door. You could see the way his expression softened thanks to the bursts of light outside.

"Are you okay..?" The answer was obvious when he saw stray tears lingering on your cheeks. Rustling was quickly caused by the shaking of your head, not trusting your voice to not let you down.

He caught on your feelings instantly and slid under whatever duvet you hadn't bundled at your chest. You felt his body slide next to yours, the warmth welcoming. A sudden crash of thunder echoed through the room. Matt would be lying if he said it didn't feel good when you immediately reached out for him with closed eyes.

"You're okay baby.." Reassuring words slipped past his lips as he caressed your hair gently. "I got you."

༊*·˚ He always managed to slip your name into a conversation

Tara had thrown one of her iconic parties and as per Matt's request, you were by his side. Finally meeting some people you had dreamed of seeing for years, it was safe to say you were happy.

The whole night you were beaming alongside Matt and his friends. Dressed in a light silver dress that has small glitters embedded in the fabric, Matt could watch the way you shined forever.

"Hey baby? I'm gonna go with Nick and see Tara for a moment. I'll be back" It was hard to suppress a chuckle as his brother pretended to gag at the pet name. "Go ahead y/n."

With the lack of vibrant lighting, he easily lost you in the crowd but once he turned around he caught the eye of Jake. "Matt, didn't think you would turn up if imma be honest." His eyes took in his outfit, carefully put together. Laying on his wrist was a bracelet that caught his eye. "Woah, nice bling. How much was that?"

"Oh, I'm not sure, my girl got it for me a few weeks ago. She asked if I could wear it to match her dress tonight." A knowing smile crossed Jakes's face and a slight laughed escaped his lips. "Ahh is that so."

༊*·˚ He hates the way you think so low of yourself and would always defend against any negative thoughts you had

You had been shopping around stores on one of the rare days that Matt had no work on. You had been invited out to an event with your friends so it only seemed fitting to find a specialized outfit.

He was patiently sat outside the fitting rooms with the assortment of bags surrounding his feet. He saw a figure walk out and when he finally lifted his eyes, his jaw dropped. You were wrapped in a gorgeous red fabric that was cinched at the left side of your body. It had laid gently across your mid thigh.

You opened the curtain and revealed your outfit to Matt. "Woah.."

"I know, I'm not really a fan of it, I mean.." Your words trailed off as you looked down towards your stomach and hips.

"What are you on about? I'm obsessed with the way this looks on you, It looks even better when you feel that way too. This dress highlights your best features, baby. All of them."

You placed yourself in front of the mirror and tried to brush down any features you felt mildly uncomfortable with. Matt had come up behind you and placed his hands on your hip while resting his chin on to your bare shoulder.

"My pretty girl." He sighed into your neck and that was enough to pay for the dress with your Matt's card later.

༊*·˚ He would always pamper you whenever you felt unwell / on your period

It had been about an hour since Matt left your apartment. All you asked was that he pick up some chocolate to satiate your cravings, which had been an upset for the past six hours. The sharp pains in your stomach had only gotten worse, even after medication. Every time that Matt crossed your mind it only made you feel so needy, clingy. Like a burden.

Little did you know that Matt was rushing around several stores for more than your sweet treats. Any time you made a comment about something you liked, he made sure that you got it. A bouquet of your favourite flowers had ended in his basket, along with an assortment of treats, a candle with your preferred smells inside, a pink bath bomb and of course, Pads and tampons.

He hadn't meant to take so long but when you finally heard the front door of your apartment click open you were full of relief.

The gentle knocks on your bedroom door spurred you to sit up against the headboard, the hot water bottle across your midriff.

"Hey sweetheart, I'm back" His voice was meek, as if you had barely woken up.

"What took you so long, Matt? Did you get lost" A slight giggle passed your lips, met with a shake of Matt's head.

"No, baby. I just went on a little spree." That's when your jaw dropped. Finally, he pulled the bags from behind the door and placed them heavily at the end of your bed.

"So, at first, I was only going to get you the chocolates, but then I saw these Haribo's I remember you practically stole from me because they were 'too good to resist'." The bags of confectionary rustled on the blankets. "Then I saw this candle and it was blue, which grabbed my attention. Then I saw it was your favourite so of course I grabbed it. I had to get you pads and tampons. I know you alternate so I grabbed both kinds." A small pile began to form at your feet. "Oh! I also saw some fuzzy socks so they went in and i stopped at Lush to get you a bath bomb. They didn't have your normal one so i got a back up one for you!"

His gaze finally met your eyes, staring at the pile with tears forming. It was obvious you weren't blinking so that you didn't cry. You knew if you had tried to speak, your emotions would quickly be revealed. if they weren't already by your expression.

"Y/n..? You okay.. did i do something wrong..?" With an insistent shake of your head, you denied his words.

"You did all this for...me?" You looked up to him in mere disbelief. "Of course I did. I always will. I can tell you needed this."

"Matt...thank you.."

"You can thank me once I've run your bath, okay love?"

@melliflws @axolotllover225 @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerslover @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @sleepysturnss @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris

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solbaby7 · 1 month ago

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I would like to order a Vodka Cranberry neat please, with a salt rim and add a lime if that’s allowed please 👀😏🫶🏼

if that’s allowed? honey we all know by now i will ride the angst train until the wheels fall off🫡

[ “why do you even care?” “because i do” + smut/angst + az ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

“Will you—will you just stop for a second and listen to me?”

“That’s all I ever do, Az.” The words wobble, a combination of anger and sadness ruining its stability. Tears stream down your face, staining the silk of your dress and smearing makeup that took you entirely too long to perfect. “Listen to you and all your bullshit promises that you never fucking keep.”

His stealth is frustrating but not more than the pure self-hatred that brews when you can��t fight the desire to glance over your shoulder; foolishly allowing your chest to bloom with heat when you realize he was following you.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this anymore.

He promised to stay away.

Too dangerous, he said. Worried for your safety, he insisted.

Refused to be responsible for the guilt that would ensue if something horrid ever happened to you; a truth he can’t confess but you’re well versed in reading between the lines.

“I know, I’m sorry—just please hear me out. Put me out of my fucking misery because I can’t keep watching you go out with males who don’t even deserve to share your air.”

If you weren’t so hurt, maybe your mind would’ve latched onto the last part of his sentence rather than the first. “Put you out of your misery?” The harsh click of your heels on cobblestone halts so abruptly it makes Azriel bump into you a little. Bare arms brush against the sturdy material of his leathers as they cross over your chest, goosebumps staved off by the steady warmth he radiates and you pretend that’s why you don’t create more distance. “Why do you even care?”

You’re not sure to really even want the answer.

Certain, it won’t be good enough.

After everything Azriel had put you through, this never ending game of tug of war. Giving you an inch only for him to rear back and snatch a mile. Your expectations are unrealistic; a soldier hanging up his sword just for you.

“Because, I do.”

And yet, you still amuse the possibility.

Dusting off your hands and re-familiarizing yourself with the burn of rope in your grasp before taking a sharp, experimental tug.

Bodies gravitate closer like magnets, attempting to resist until the pull becomes too much.

Your heart hammers in your chest, silence filling the air for one, two, three whole seconds before the collision happens. Your lips against his own; a frenzy of a kiss where you can’t really tell if your hands are running through his hair or tracing down the strong line of his neck and shoulders just to feel him or just to remember.

All hard lines and harsh breaths as tongues grow reacquainted. The pathetic little whimper he lets out when nails scratch along the back of his neck, a bite that toes the line of too much. “Shouldn’t matter to you who I date.”

It only makes him hold you tighter, tugging your hips in closer. “I know it shouldn't.” His words muffle against your mouth, too stubborn or too selfish to pull away for even a second—not when he's finally gotten you close. “But, it still does." Shadows stretch forward, cloaking you in darkness; shielding you from the hopeless male you'd left back at the restaurant, as if they feared he'd come stumbling out in search of you.

They make it clear that you're already taken; trapped even, by a male too greedy to allow even a drop of you be spilled. Azriel's tongue trails down the length of your neck, nose nuzzling in the inviting scent of your body oils. Memorizing parts of you he’d thought long forgotten.

A mole here. Scars there. Soft pudge that warms him down to the marrow when pressed against his hardness. “You can’t just keep following me around.”

Following was a light way of putting it—stalking was more right.

His figure looming in your blind spots, lingering around corners and watching like a hawk that’s locked onto its prey. Your routine is committed to memory from the moment your fire tokes in the morning to the bakery you stop by in the middle of the week for a slice of fresh key lime pie. A reward for refraining from replying to his letters or pointedly ignoring the stunning floral display that arrives on your porch every week like clockwork. “Can’t stop even if I wanted to. Not when I know you’re out with someone who can’t even make you laugh.”

“At least they don’t make me cry.” Damn you for leaning in closer, basking in that familiar brood and the masculine musk that sends all five senses into a fritz. A defeated sigh escapes you when you melt to mush under his palms; too vulnerable to lie. “It’s easier with them.”

“Easy’s overrated.” He’s kneading at the swell of your hips until bravery grows or restraint snaps and he’s pawing at handfuls of your ass. Guiding you back until you can feel rough brick catching on strands of your hair. “Boring too—bet he wouldn’t have been able to make you cum. Even if he actually tried.”

Takes everything in you not to bite back. Especially because Azriel’s sort of right but admitting that out loud is more humiliating than your body just giving it away. By now, he has to feel the frantic pulse of your jugular under his tongue. “Maybe I should go back and find out.”

If his warning growl doesn’t send shivers down your spine, the nip of his teeth on such sensitive flesh does. “I dare you to try.”

A challenge that comes with stipulations.

Skillful hands work their way under your dress, teasing at soft thighs until his knuckles are bumping against lace—it locks you in place. Azriel lets out a mean chuckle when you hike one leg up on his hip, spreading yourself wide; presenting yourself instead of running away like you should.

It just feels so good.

Lower lips are spread wide, dripping with slick as two thick fingers glide through with ease. Azriel knows his way around, just barely dipping into a greedy hole before retreating only to tap at an achy bundle of nerves so he can see the desperate jolt of your hips. “No,” He speaks more so for himself than you, too occupied with prying you open and feeling your arousal pool in his palm. “You wouldn’t do that. Probably haven’t had a cock in this cunt since that last time I filled it—feels just as tight as I left it.”

If the nights chill wasn’t nipping at bared skin, you know your blush would’ve burned all the way down your chest. “Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying.”

You shouldn’t have said that. Probably wouldn’t have if Azriel’s thumb wasn’t working perfectly against your clit, calloused fingers rubbing against slick inner walls, abusing nooks and cranny’s that leave your knees buckling. “Don’t you know that you can’t give away a pussy that doesn’t belong to you?” Salacious sounds squelch between your thighs, head thrown back and eyes rolling in your skull as Az takes and takes; unlocking the doors to your sex and greeting it with a warm welcome. “Not if I still own it.”

#acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #acotar azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #blurb bar #azriel fic #azriel spymaster #azriel angst #azriel smut #acotar smut #acotar fics

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 1 year ago

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rosé | f. odair

(final part of red wine)

part one, part two

summary: in the final part of the red wine series, secrets are revealed, and miscommunication threatens to tear you and finnick apart.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, blood, minor injury, mentions of forced prostitution, swearing,

notes: i’m sorry this took so long to come out y’all. thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed this mini fic <3

word count: 4.1k

Finnick believed he had made a lot of smart decisions in his life—like rigging a net made out of vines to ensnare tributes in the arena, accepting secrets as a form of payment from his patrons rather than material goods, and mastering the art of seduction to manipulate his way out of various difficult situations. However, shutting you out was not one of them.

Half an hour had passed since the incident on the staircase landing. He lingered within the mansion’s extravagant walls, where other guests mingled and dined on a range of bizarre delicacies. He couldn’t eat a thing. His stomach churned at the image of your hopeless expression as he walked off. The expression he caused.

It had to be done. That is what he had been telling himself. It had to be done, otherwise, everyone in the Capitol would learn of his feelings for you. Snow would find out and most likely punish you for interfering with the arrangement he had—the sale of his body. And Finnick was very aware of what happened to people who disrupted the president’s plans.

Partygoers would have already begun to spread rumours of the scene in the courtyard. Hopefully, it would just be chalked up to a simple argument between friends. Friends. The label borderline disgusted him. You don’t fall asleep to the thought of someone and think of them the moment you wake up if you’re just friends. Nor do you look for them in every room you walk into.

Even now, Finnick was scanning the lavishly decorated banquet hall for a glimpse of your pure white gown, despite being the one who walked away. It was an instinct at this point. But there was no one in the room wearing white but him; his matching half was still outside, blending in with the winter snow. Or maybe gone home.

One colour did catch his eye though. A vibrant, almost tacky red, worn by a woman who was strutting towards him, her chin held high with pride. Finnick noticed the material of her floor-length gown. Silk. She was wearing your old dress, only the colour was incredibly off, and each hem was lined with red fur, conforming with her implanted whiskers. That was when he realised who the woman was.

Her ensemble was entirely made out of fur that clung to her body, complementing the whiskers that were embedded in her face which made her look feline.

“Where’s your dancing partner tonight?” she asked, her voice low and seductive.

The bright saturation of her dress was almost blinding as she stopped in front of him. He held back a grimace and plastered on a smile even faker than her voice. “She wasn’t up for it this time,” he lied.

“Well, everyone knows she’s out of touch with our way of life,” she said. Finnick ground his jaw, struggling to maintain his façade. Words could not explain how condescending these people were. “This dress is an adaptation of one she wore quite a while ago. Such a plain thing. I only liked the colour and bodice. The only way I could wear it in public was if I spruced it up.”

He thought back to the dress you had worn. Nobody had even come close to how phenomenal you looked. Where others needed extravagance and flounce to stand out, you only needed a simple red dress. Yet here this woman was, thinking she had the audacity to call you plain.

“I noticed. It’s very… striking.”

“Thank you, darling,” she purred. There was a predatory gleam in her eyes, like that of a wild cat about to pounce and devour its meal. “I was waiting for the perfect occasion to wear it.”

His forced smile twitched. “You’re certainly turning heads.”

“Did I turn yours?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

Truth be told, Finnick hadn’t even remembered her existence until she walked right up to him. Obviously, he couldn’t tell her that, so he told her that she did. For a long period of time, they bounced back and forth, complimenting and flirting with each other, never dipping below the surface into a real conversation. Not that he wanted to anyway. Not with her. The only person he longed to conversate with was now out of reach.

The woman started talking about colourless topics such as the latest fashion trends in the Capitol and her opinions on the victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, all of which made Finnick wish she would just gouge his eyes out with her sharp claw-like fingernails. He couldn’t do anything but stand, smile, and agree. Doing anything else would result in Snow staying true to his very detailed threats

As the conversation continued, his attention began to drift. He surveyed the outfits of everyone in the room, amusing himself by deciding whether or not each person was making a fashion statement or tragedy. Only one person claimed the former title—the one in white.

Finnick watched as you entered the room. The giant golden chandelier cast down a bright light which caused your skin to glow with radiance; its glare enhanced the brilliance of your white dress. This brief moment ignited a fear in him that you had died in his absence because there was no way a mere human being could look so angelic.

“Finnick?” the feline asked, but her voice barely registered in his brain.

Captivated. He was utterly and completely captivated. One after the other, sudden realisations conjured in his mind. The first—there wasn’t a life worth living ahead of him if you weren’t by his side the whole way, and not as a friend or a fellow victor, but as his partner. His lover. The second—he would never let any harm come to you. He would keep you safe from Snow’s clutches, from the Capitol, from anyone who would put you in danger, even if it meant the two of you had to disappear into the vast forests of Panem.

And lastly, he was now absolutely certain that the woman in front of him could never compare to you, nor could anyone else in the ever-expanding universe. You were a basic human necessity to him. Without you, his heart might as well stop beating. Your laugh, your smile, your kindness, your unwavering support—every part of you kept him alive.

“Finnick?” the voice that went disregarded hissed again.

With a half-empty wine glass in hand, your anxious eyes searched the room. Finnick wanted nothing more than to sprint over, pull you into his arms, and cast away every trouble plaguing your mind. He couldn’t. Almost all eyes were on you, yet you hadn’t even seemed to notice. Only one person finally seemed to gain your attention, and that was Finnick, standing in the middle of the room, his eyes locked on yours.

The neurons firing in his brain signalled him to move and he did. But just as his legs started to walk, a forceful hand jerked his face to the side and a pair of harsh lips were crushed to his. Glass shattered on the marble flooring. Momentarily paralysed from shock, Finnick stumbled backwards, briefly catching the twisted triumphant smirk on the woman’s face before whirling around.

Your face was frozen with devastation; his heart dropped. Splatters of red wine had stained your gown, pooling in a crimson puddle of glass shards by your feet. Quiet mocking chuckles and whispers echoed around the room. Oh, if only he had his trident; they wouldn’t be laughing then.

An Avox rushed forward, attempting to clean up the mess, but you had crouched down with them.

“No, please,” Finnick heard you say to the Avox as he strode toward you. “Please don’t. I can do it.”

But delicate hands and glass shards never mix well. You gasped in pain. A jagged fragment you collected had sliced into your palm, creating another crimson pool in your hand.

Finnick’s strides quickened, eventually leading him to stop and kneel beside you. He wordlessly took your hand in his, cradling it as he inspected the damage. Blood coated his fingers, but he didn’t care. He might as well have cut your hand himself. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for him.

Pink blush overtook your face. For once, it wasn’t because he made you flustered or bashful, but because you were humiliated. He knew how much you disliked attention; now you were at the centre of it. Beside you was the Avox, tending to the mess of broken glass.

“Could you bring me a first-aid kit, please?” he asked with a polite smile.

They nodded and silently left. Finnick returned his attention to you, applying pressure to your wound. Your gaze was lowered, unwilling to meet his own. There was more to your demeanour than just embarrassment. There was sadness. Disheartenment. Neither of which were present when you walked in, only appearing after the feline woman had kissed him.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you whispered, eyes unmoving.

The Avox returned holding a medical kit; Finnick thanked them, taking the box into his hands. He climbed to his feet, hesitating before offering you a hand up. Much to his relief, you accepted his assistance. And then, without a word, you began walking towards the nearest exit with apparent indifference to the engrossed eyes following you.

Finnick didn’t bother to conceal his icy glare toward the crowd as he trailed behind you and exited the room.

*******

Pain of a thousand unrelenting bees stung the broken flesh of your palm. Even the slightest movement of your fingers sent waves of throbbing agony up your arm. But it was nothing compared to the brutal ache of your heart.

You had entered the mansion in search of Finnick, determined to mend the crack in your friendship before it crumbled completely. What you got instead was humiliation and heartbreak. What you saw was another woman kissing the man you loved, whilst wearing a horrible adaptation of your red gown no less.

The air had been sucked from your lungs. Believing he would kiss you on the dance floor in the courtyard was nothing more than a fantasy, a dream, a pathetic fool’s wish—every term under the sun that defined something not real. At least now you understood why he was acting so differently. Because he had found someone else and that someone wasn’t you.

A lump formed in your throat and you knew tears were approaching. As if your night couldn’t get any more embarrassing.

Your feet carried you down a long corridor, far enough away from the banquet hall that listening ears and prying eyes were unable to reach. Finnick still followed behind you, though you weren’t sure why he bothered. How could he explain what you saw with your own eyes? Plus, the last thing you wanted was for his new romance to think something was going on between you and him. Only in your dreams.

Unsure of your destination, you decided to enter the first room you came across. It turned out to be a lavishly decorated library, walled with large wooden bookshelves which were filled endlessly with novels and historic paraphernalia. Sitting within the bookshelves was a stone fireplace.

The door closed as Finnick entered behind you, the silence so loud that the crackles from the fireplace reverberated through the room. Your hand still throbbed something awful so you looked down, taking in the gruesome sight of your dress. A stranger might have thought you had just murdered someone. If it were televised, it would have been deemed acceptable.

You sniffled, wearing a small bitter smile. “I ruined Snow’s pretty white dress.”

A few moments passed before Finnick replied. “Red always was more your colour,” he said, his tone anything but playful.

Ahead of you was a great wall of windows; in the reflection, you saw him staring back at you with an unfamiliar expression. His brows were pinched upwards, pronouncing the lines in his forehead, and the corners of his mouth drooped in a slight pensive frown. He didn’t look like the Finnick you knew. This Finnick looked pained. Anguished.

You dropped his intense gaze and ambled across the room. By the lit fireplace was a cushioned stool which you sat down on, eyes staring into the flickering flames. If you were lucky, maybe your dress would catch alight and whisk you away from your troubled life. Okay, perhaps the thought was a little morbid, but so was a broken heart. Of all people, why did you have to fall in love with Finnick Odair?

Cautious footsteps followed behind you, coming to a stop beside your feet. Without your acknowledgement, Finnick crouched down, eyeing the bloody mess of your hands with concern. His gaze lifted to yours, which was still on the fire, and he sighed.

“Let me take care of your hand,” he murmured.

Before you could refuse, you realised contracting an infection was worse than giving in to your stubbornness. So, you nodded.

Finnick opened the first-aid kit and began tending to your wound; his touch was so gentle it was like he was piecing together a broken china cup. Using an antiseptic gauze, he attempted to clean the damaged skin, whispering apologies whenever you winced in pain. After carefully applying a dressing, he began wrapping a bandage around your hand.

You stared into the orange flames, wondering how he would explain to that woman why he left her behind. You wondered when their relationship started and why Finnick continued to shamelessly flirt with you in her absence. You wondered if their relationship would be the end of your friendship.

“Are you in love?” you quietly asked.

His hands stilled at your sudden words, then he continued wrapping the bandage. “Not with her.”

He secured the binding with medical tape and climbed to his feet, placing the supplies back into the kit on a small side table.

Brows drawn together in confusion, you turned to look up at him. “But I thought—"

“Things are much more complicated than they seem,” he interrupted. There was a clear vase of white roses on the table. Finnick toyed with the petals, caressing them between his gentle fingertips. “No one understands me better than you do, and there is no one in this world I trust more. But… there are still things I’ve been keeping from you.”

The troubled expression on his face melted into one of vulnerability. This was a new appearance for him. Finnick was known nationwide for his radiant confidence and charm; he never let his guard down. You have had difficult conversations before, such as discussing each other’s hardships and innermost secrets, but none of them seemed to affect him like this.

“Everyone knows about my visits to the Capitol,” he continued. “How I spend nights with different people every time as if it’s all a game for my pleasure. But it’s not true. It’s not my game I’m playing.” He began walking over to the wall of windows, overlooking Snow’s gardens. “There’s a part of it that no one knows about.”

You rose from the stool, beginning to take slow steps towards him. “Which is?”

The fire flickering behind you deepened Finnick’s features. It intensified the shiny bronze of his hair and enhanced the defined contours of his face, making it easy to see the muscles in his jaw clench with apprehension. He stared out the window so intensely that you were sure his usual green eyes were blazing with their own inferno.

Even full of angst, he was painstakingly beautiful.

His chest inflated with a deep breath. “President Snow… sells me to the Capitol.”

Horror washed over you in monstrous waves. Sells? Only one explanation appeared in your head as to what he meant. You remained silent, praying he would prove your assumption wrong.

“After I won my Games, he saw my success as an opportunity to please his citizens. He began offering me to potential buyers—'admirers’ is what he called them—who soon became my regular customers. They would use me however they liked. Some would pounce on me the second I stepped through the door. Others were relatively tamer. Kinder. They would have me take them on dates or watch a movie with them, but one way or another, it all ended the same way at the end of the night.” He sucked in a sharp uneasy breath before continuing. “Then there were the rare few—the ones who treated me like I was nothing more than a ragdoll for their amusement. They did things that were… unspeakable.”

Nausea churned in your stomach as your mind conjured sickening images. It couldn’t be true. You refused to believe that human beings could stoop to such levels of atrocity to make one person endure so much cruelty. Then again, you lived in a world where children were sent into an arena to fight to the death on live television.

Finnick looked like he was holding himself together by a thread. Every word he confessed shattered your heart into a million pieces. How could this have happened to him?

“I’ve tried to refuse but Snow threatened to harm the people I care about—my family, my friends. After I met you, I knew you were added to that list.” He finally turned around to face you, his eyes filled with such anguish, it shook you to your core. “The Capitol owns me, Y/N. Body and soul.”

Despair riddled your entire body. As you stared at him, the image of a teenager appeared in your mind—eyes sea green and hair a fiery bronze. He was just a boy when it started. A child.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” you managed to whisper. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to know.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Less of you? Finnick,” you said softly, stopping in front of him. Your eyes beckoned for his; you needed him to look at you, to really take in your next words. “There isn’t a single person alive I think more highly of than you. No one even comes close. Can’t you see? Just having you in my presence makes me feel whole. You make me whole.”

Tears glistened in his eyes as they flickered between your own, absorbing every reassuring word you said into his mind, his bones, his entire being.

“You have brought so much into my life,” you continued. “So much good. And I would never have made it to where I am now without you. So please, don’t ever distance yourself from me because you think I will judge you. I won’t and I never will.”

As the room stilled with silence, a lone tear rolled down Finnick’s cheek. His Adam’s apple bobbed, revealing the sob he was keeping restrained within his throat. And then a smile started to grow on his face, small at first, but then it stretched wider and wider, deepening those dimples that you adored so much.

You knew that your words had touched the deepest parts of him. That you had managed to convince him ‘less’ could never be a word used to describe him. He was more. More kind, more genuine, more caring than almost all of Panem.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered in awe, looking at you as if he were witnessing the birth of the universe. “Sweetheart, you’re incredible. Do have any idea how rare that is for a person to be? I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve someone like you in my life, but I swear I’ll do whatever I can to keep you. And if—” His gaze drifted, seemingly wrestling with a decision in his mind— “if that means I have to share all my secrets with you, then I will.”

“Have you got any more secrets, Finnick?”

He returned his attention back to your face. The indecision from moments ago had disappeared and was replaced with certainty, which was underscored by a sort of tenderness that settled in his features.

“Just one,” he murmured. He paused, observing the universe before him and wondering how on earth he got so lucky to have the privilege of having it staring right back at him. “I’m in love with you.”

Electricity shocked your heart like someone had placed a defibrillator over your chest and hit charge. Love? You? He was?

“What?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he said, shaking his head. “I should have told you everything. Even if saying this means I’m risking everything between us, I can’t keep it from you any longer. God, sweetheart, I love you so much it fucking hurts. I always will, even if you never feel the same.”

Somehow in the span of twenty minutes, everything you thought you knew came crashing down. First, your heart was broken by the thought of Finnick kissing another, and then it was healed. And then it broke again as he voiced his arrangement with Snow. It could never fully heal again while Snow was alive, not with what he was forcing upon Finnick.

But Finnick pieced together every piece he possibly could with his confession, one heartfelt word of declaration at a time.

The weight of his confession hung in the air. His eyes held a mixture of anxiety and hope for your response. Time seemed to stretch out as you tried to find your voice. How do you declare your love as powerfully as someone who just bared their soul to you?

An emotional laugh bubbled up your throat, your eyes brimming with tears. “You idiot,” was what you said, the words spoken with utmost adoration. “I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Finnick’s eyes widened in amazement and a brilliant smile broke across his face. Before you had a chance to react, he had moved towards you in one swift step, pulling you into his arms and crushing his lips to yours in a powerful, passionate kiss.

Your hands were quick to cling onto him, desperately terrified that if you let go, he would vanish into thin air. Every ounce of yearning and hidden affection from the past year poured into this one single moment, into the movement of your lips against one another, and the feeling of your hands cradling each other’s bodies.

Emotions were running high. You could taste both your own and Finnick’s tears as they streamed down your faces, salty and palpable with affection. The sheer relief of finally being free to express your love was so unimaginable that you felt like you would be crying with happiness your whole life.

Finnick’s hand cupped the side of your jaw and he lowered his head, deepening the kiss as much as he physically could to make up for all the time he wasted. His lips were soft and adoring, savouring the sweet taste of your lips on his. His other arm tightened around your lower back, pulling you even further against him.

You felt like you were melting into his embrace and happily, you would have. It felt so right, so safe to be held by him. The world outside the library no longer existed; there was only Finnick and you. Your hands settled on either side of his jaw, staining his skin red from your blood-soaked bandage. You knew he wouldn’t care—the blood belonged to you.

And that is how you spent most of the night. In the library, in that one spot by the windows, in each other’s arms. At some point, you ended up sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, both covered in red and feeling blissfully content. Your back was leaning against Finnick’s chest, his arms wrapped around your middle as he occasionally pressed his lips into your hair.

You toyed with the fabric of his sleeves, your head leaning against his collarbone as you watched the flames once more.

“If Snow ever finds out…” you murmured.

“He won’t,” he reassured quietly. “I won’t let him. He’s taken too much from me; he won’t take you too.”

You turned your head to peer up at him, wearing a teasing smile. “Can’t live without me, Odair?”

He grinned, leaning in closer. “Never without you, sweetheart.”

Once again, Finnick’s lips were on yours, conveying every ounce of immense love he felt for you through his kiss. The only time either of you broke apart was to whisper sweet declarations of your devotion and reverence before returning to each other again. This was when you felt most complete.

When you felt whole.

tags: @queenofspades6 @powellssaturn @bellamybellamyblake @heroinhchicblog222

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair fluff #sam claflin #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

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surielstea · 8 months ago

Text

Don’t you like me?

Based on this request.

Pairing: Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader has been secretly in love with Eris since she was little, so what happens when she’s to be married off to another in a weeks time and he’s yet to make a move?

A/N: HEAVY smut. Like this is fr the filthiest thing I’ve ever published so hope all you freaks enjoy…

5.9k words

I walked into the dining hall dressed in a stunning gown made from a forest green material that was beyond soft. The bodice was snug and hugged me in all the right places, while the skirt cascaded down in a waterfall of silk, a high slit cutting through the side to show a flash of my leg. I looked like pure perfection.

"Eris," I call to the male who was standing by the window, peering down at the fields, watching over the land like some kind of higher power.

"Hm?" He utters but doesn't cast a glance my way, forming a gaping cavity in my chest.

"Do you like my dress?" I ask, he still doesn't look at me. His arms are crossed over his chest and I can see the tips of his fingers blazing like he's forcing himself to refrain from moving. "The shopkeeper said it looked pretty on me," I smile. "He said it was so perfect that he just had to give me a discount," I add and his ears perk up, head whipping to me. "He?" The protective male asks and a small smile forms on my lips. "At least he had the decency to look at me when I speak to him." I shrug and he bristles, eyes flicking up and down, taking in my dress, my bare leg peering through the slit, the golden earrings he got me for my birthday hanging from my lobes, hair pulled back and out of my face how I knew he liked.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" He takes a step closer and I clasp my hands behind my back, staring up at him innocently. "I'm not sure what you mean, General." I flutter my lashes and a muscle along his jaw feathers.

"Bunny," He grits out and I only continue to stare up at him with curious eyes, the kind I knew made him stumble over his words. "My lord?" I ask with a wondering tone. He swallows thickly and then stones his features. "Are you ready for the ball?" He asks and I hold back from rolling my eyes and instead nod. "Are you?" I ask and he only replies with a sigh, his arm hooking through mine. "Let's get this over with." He muttered, then winnowed us into a crowded ballroom.

I've been trying to get Eris' attention since we were young, but he's always cast me off as a younger sister type, I refused to accept that, so I pushed his buttons. I was the daughter of Beron's most trusted advisor, this ball was put together in order to find me a suitor, every one of these men is here for my hand, I was hoping Eris did something before we got here, hoping he'd say something, anything. But he didn't. So we stood in the center of the ballroom and stared ahead of us at Beron who sat on his throne, my father at his side.

The both of them gave me foxlike grins and I gulped down the anxiety lodged in my throat, hand tightening around Eris' as we approached the dais.

"My lord," I curtsy to the high lord while Eris bows. "Rise girl, today is your day." He hums in a grating voice I've grown to hate. I flick my eyes back up to the eldest Vanserra and do as he says, Eris as well. "I cannot thank you enough for putting on this event for me, I'm beyond grateful," I say to him in a light tone, a polite grin on my face. My father hasn't so much as spared me a glance so I don't look at him either.

"Yes well, you've been of age for some time now haven't you?" He shifts in his throne as if his legs could spread any wider. "I have, my lord." I bow my head. "I have no doubt you'll be able to find an eligible suitor tonight, you look absolutely ravishing." He grins and that expression has never made me more nauseous. Eris' hand tightens on mine and I realize he's still holding it. "I've handpicked all of the males attending tonight, do me a favor, and don't let that work go to waste." He instructs and I nod, his eyes then fall between Eris and I, where our hands are linked. Eris reacts before I can even notice, his hand slipping from mine. My breath hitched for a moment and I turned to look up at him with slightly creased brows. His expression remains stoic as he continues to stare ahead, not daring to meet my gaze.

"Go on," Beron waves us away. I curtsy once more before spinning on my heel, expecting Eris to follow after me but he stayed behind, joining his father's other side on the dais. It was hard to watch so I didn’t look any longer and direction my line of sight to the sea of men waiting for my attention.

I ball my hands into fists before shaking them out as I stare at all the males with beckoning eyes, wanting to be picked for the first dance.

Traditionally I'd dance with the high lord, but the older male didn't seem to have an interest in upholding said tradition, so it was my pick. How generous.

My eyes snag on a head of strawberry-blonde hair in the back. Langdon, a fair-skinned male with piercing green eyes and a gangly figure, I've known him since I was a girl— had a crush on him since his family came into nobility. He was kind, or rather, as kind as they got in the Autumn Court. He wasn't looking my way, this was my ball and he still wasn't looking my way. Why is it that I always wanted men who hold no interest in me?

I look behind me to spot Eris already staring, his fingers anxiously twisting the golden ring around his pinky finger. One of his tells, that one specifically informed me that he was nervous. Over what? I had no idea, but some buried part of me wanted to place my hands over his and tell him there was nothing to worry about.

I shove the feeling down and turn back to the crowd of males who seemed to now stand a whole yard closer.

I was only thankful Beron didn't choose for me, or worse, my father.

Fortunately, Langdon was looking at me now. Our gazes catch and I give the slightest dip of my head. The males who understood they hadn't been picked dispersed, leaving Langdon and I parallel to each other.

The music begins and I remain where I stand, waiting for the male to approach me instead. Once he gets to my side he offers his hand and I take it with little hesitation, the chorus of the song starts and our waltz begins.

I've been trained my entire life for this, my father has made sure I was educated on every custom and tradition of how Autumn Court females must behave, should I step a toe out of line he'd be there to reprimand me, whether that meant physically or mentally.

I knew every dance like the back of my hand, memorized how each dress was hemmed, could do each house chore with my eyes closed, and recite exactly where my place was to anyone who asked— it's been beaten into me so many times it'd be a parody to forget. I belong beside my husband, raising his children. That was it. That's all I've been told I'm any good for.

"I won't ask for your hand," Langdon hums mid-step and I look up to him with curious eyes. I'd be lying if a pang of hurt didn't run through my chest. "And why not?" I ask, my dress swirling around me as he twirls me around. "I won't tie you down, I refuse." He shakes his head and my heart aches. "So you'll let someone else then?" I suggest and he swallows, clearly not thinking of the others. "It's not like that," He sighs. "You wouldn't be happy with me." He explains with guilt simmering in his eyes. "So you'll subject me to being unhappy with another just because of your own selfishness?" I presume and his brows raise a fraction. "No," He shakes his head. "I'll subject you to make your own decision because you're in love with another," He claims and my breathing halts for a moment.

I go quiet, silently taking myself through the steps I've been doing since I was a child. "I'm not sure what you mean." I finally manage to get out. "Oh c’mon, it's obvious to every male here except him." The blonde scoffs and I refrain from rolling my eyes, he is preaching to the choir.

"Even if you're right," The music stops and so do we. I stare up at him with an unwavering amount of elegance. "I can't have him," I whisper and he squares his features. "I won't tie you down." He repeats, believing he's doing me a favor by pulling himself from the equation. "I understand." I nod, even if I don't want to, then I curtsy one last time towards the male and take another's hand.

I went through at least ten more tedious males after that and nearly twenty tiresome waltzes before I was allowed a break. I loved to dance, sure, but not like this. Not in a ballroom full of predators. I miss when it was just Eris and me when he'd meet me here at midnight and we'd sway, following no choreography but rather flowing to the music, improvising to whatever song played. I could still feel the way his warm arms wrapped around me, how he cradled me to his chest while we talked softly about anything and everything. That was the Eris I knew, that was the Eris I loved. Not this mask made for the public, the one his father forced him to be.

I was startled from my daze by a hand coming to my forearm. I jump slightly and turn to the figure at my side. "Apologies for disturbing you, my lady," A brunette male I wish I could recall the name of stood before me. He was the sixth male I danced with, we waltzed three times if I remember correctly.

"No worries," I shake my head with a polite smile. "I've spoken to your father," He swallows nervously and I glance to the dais where Beron and my father were but Eris no longer was.

"He's consented to my asking for your hand," The male explains and my head snaps back to him, brows slightly raised. The brunette wasn't unattractive by any means, in fact, he was quite handsome, but he's not who I want him to be— guilt forms in my stomach at the thought. Langdon had been right.

A hand comes down onto my shoulder before I can think of a reply, but I don't startle this time. Because I could recognize that scent of warm cinnamon and campfire embers from anywhere, along with the feel of his large, calloused hand, the touch was beyond familiarity.

"Sorry to interrupt," A baritone voice purrs and my eyes light up. "But I need to borrow her for a moment," His hand slides down my arm protectively and I have to hold back from scoffing, he had the nerve to ignore me all night but as soon as another male shows interest, he comes over to claim me.

"Of course my lord," The brunette bows his head respectfully. "Go on then," He shoos and I whirl around to face the heir as the other male skitters away. "Are you serious?" I cross my arms over my chest, staring up at the redhead who had a smirk plastered onto his features. "That's the first proposal I've gotten all night!" I say with a hush and his smirk only widens. "Oh I know, you have no idea how hard it is to fend them off." He grumbled like it was a weight on his shoulders. My eyes widen as I stare at him in shock. "Are you kidding— What's the point of this event if you're scaring off every interested suitor?" I crease my brows, hands dropping to my hips.

Eris' head whips to the dais where both of our fathers are intently watching us. "C'mon," The heir grabs me by my wrist. "We need somewhere private." He decides, pulling me through the length of the ballroom, my protests are halfhearted, not minding the idea of getting away from this place. He pulled us into a sectioned-off alcove that was secluded enough for him to winnow us elsewhere.

My feet landed on dark wooden tiles, stood in the master bedroom of Eris' apartment on the outskirts of Autumn that not even Beron knew about.

"Why are you fending them off?" I question, narrowing my eyes at him skeptically. He shrugs with a stoic expression, looking towards the unlit fireplace at our right. "The people my father picked," He starts. "None of them can be good." He explains and I grit my teeth. "He picked Langdon." I excuse and Eris nearly growls at the name. "Langdon is a prick and he doesn't deserve you," Eris states like it's a fact. "He's nice to me," I mutter softly. "The bare minimum isn't something you should settle for." His brows straighten and something evil churns in the pit of my stomach. "Well, it's not like I have many options." I square my features, glaring up at him and maintaining my ground.

He hasn’t done anything up until now and as soon as I show any fraction of interest in someone else he comes to swoop me away? It was unfair. He doesn't reply, his fists clench at his sides but they quickly loosen when he sees the line of tears in my waterline threatening to spill. "You think I want to marry any of these males? It's not my choice, it's never been my choice." My hands come up to his chest, gripping the cleanly pressed shirt. "You've always had a choice," His hands come to my wrists. I nearly laugh. "Are you serious? Who are you to tell me about choices? You have no idea what it's like to be a fucking doll Eris, I'm a broodmare who's only used for my body and when that's not good enough anymore, I'm nothing." My words come out in a rasp, my fingers clenching his shirt and wrinkling it.

"Don't stand there and tell me I have a choice when you've done nothing to stop me from getting sold off to the highest bidder." My tears are now falling but I don't care, I have too little energy to wipe them away— so he does, his warm hands I wish I didn't find comfort in come to my cheeks and his thumbs brush away the salty tears with the most delicacy I've ever seen him display. "If you won't do anything now I strongly doubt you'll do anything when I'm someone else's," I murmur and his eyes fall into something of terror.

"I'm sorry." He confesses and my heart sputters, I've only ever heard Eris Vanserra apologize for two things in his lifetime, and this was one of them. "You’re right. I should've done more." He confesses. "I tried," He mutters. "I offered to sleep with you— they'd mark you as impure and banish you from the forest house, you could've run away." He explains. "But that's not enough, I should've done more." His hands remain on my cheeks. "Don't you get it?" My hands splay flat on his abdomen. "I don't want more, I just wanted you," I confess and his breathing halts. I think I've truly done myself in, but there was no use holding it any longer. I'll be married off by the end of the week and probably won't see Eris again until our separate children are having playdates. None of this mattered.

"What?" He croaks out and I swallow. "I wanted you," I repeated and I swore his eyes flashed with relief. His hands remain on my face, fingertips slightly warming as he dissects his thoughts. "I thought I made it obvious," I say. "But you never did anyth—" My words are cut off as his lips crash into mine with a foreign passion.

His hands pull me closer and my breathing stops as I realize what's happening. He's kissing me. I move to kiss him back, hands snaking up from his chest and to his shoulders where I wrap around the back of his neck and pull him closer, his chest pressing into mine as he backs me up towards the wall until I'm flat against it.

He doesn't back away for a moment like he needs the heat of my lips or he'll freeze without it. His brows crease as he kisses me with intent, not wanting this moment to end in case it gets torn away from him.

"Eris," I pant out as I back away. "I thought you hated me," I admit and his eyes soften. "Hate you?" His hands hold tighter to my jaw. "No bunny, never." His head shakes and he pulls me in again, placing a soft yet lasting kiss on my lips. "Wait," I back away and he immediately halts. "What are you saying?" I try to piece everything together but it's no use.

"I want you." He confesses and my stomach does backflips. "Want me?" I rasp out in pure disbelief. "Need you." He corrects and my heart lurches into my throat, his lips reconnect with mine, and this time his tongue swipes along my bottom lip, hands coming to the bottoms of my thighs as he hoists me up and presses my back to the wall, legs coming back to wrap tightly around his hips as his tongue explores every undiscovered crook and crevice like he needed to memorize me before I disappeared.

"Eris we can't," I whisper into his lips and he shakes his head. "I won't let them have you." He defends and my heart crumbles into two. "This is going to ruin me," I admit, tears still streaming from my eyes. "We'll figure it out." He promises and a lump forms in my throat. He backs away to look at my teary expression, brows creasing as he stares at my disgruntled gaze. "I'll be banished from this court," I murmur. As much as I hated the people here, this is my home. I didn't want to just up and leave. "Noble blood or not I'll be marked a whore, it's out of wedlock." I sighed and a soft smile graced his features as he began to pepper kisses along the side of my face, kissing my salty tears away. "I suppose we'll have to get married then." He hums and I place my hand on his jaw pushing him back. "I'll have Beron off his throne soon, the night court's Spymaster and I have already devised a plan. It'll work." He reassures, running his hand through my hair.

"I'll marry you right now, we can go out and find a priestess and I'll have you as my High Lady." He promised and my brows crease as he describes something too good to be true. "Or we can do all that in the morning," He whispers. "Because it's awfully hard to not need you while you're in this dress." He hums and I smile, my tears gone, all kissed away. "I won't let them have you." He repeats, stressing his words, and I believe him, so I nod.

His lips surge back onto mine and I push away the thoughts of the repercussions and let myself enjoy every moment of this.

His hands grip the underside of my thighs and he pushes me harder against the wall, pressing his chest to mine and kissing me with the purpose I craved. I tighten my hold around the back of his neck and wrap my legs around him, my dress in the way— I need him closer, so much closer.

"Eris, please," I whine and he nods, understanding what I want. He pushes off the wall and carries me to his bed, laying me down on my back, I arch up and his hands pull at the strings of my corset. So many layers, too many between us. I work at the buttons of his shirt, slowly revealing his toned, muscular chest.

The way he kissed me was hungry like he's been constraining himself for far too long. He gets my corset undone and I finally feel like I can breathe. Clothes are thrown into every corner of the room as he rips my skirts off and I move to the ties of his pants. Once we're clad in nothing but skin he mounts over me, his heavy, hard cock pressing against my abdomen. It was hot and quick and had everything I needed.

His hand cups over my heat, calloused fingers diving into my folds, adding friction I didn't know I needed. "Eris," I whine and he grunts at the way my name rolls off his tongue, the desperation in my voice making his cock leak pre-cum. "Fuck, you sound so perfect moaning my name." He sighs out, two of his long fingers finding my entrance, and before I can reply they plunge deep inside of me. I bite down on my bottom lip, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes due to the foreign stretch. His fingers were long, and thick, and felt so fucking good.

I yelped as his calloused thumb came down onto my clit, tracing tight circles around it. I hissed at the pain, how he stretched me out, preparing me for his cock. “I’m sorry bunny, I’ll make love to you next time I promise,” He whispers into the shell of my ear and I whimper, the intense feeling consuming me as he curls his fingers, flicking them against my sensitive walls. “Next time?” I ask my words barely a rasp. “That’s right,” He kisses my cheek, getting rid of a tear there. “But right now I need to fuck you, I’ve wanted this for so fuckin’ long I can’t hold back,” He grunts, his voice laced with pure lust. “You understand don’t you bunny?” He says, kissing down my jaw to my neck where he nipped at the sensitive skin, all I can do is nod, praying he doesn’t stop.

His fingers brush over a sensitive, spongy spot and I gasp, my back involuntarily arching at the feeling. “Right there, Eris, my god—” My breath hitched as he toyed with the area. My legs jolted and I was so close, I had never orgasmed off someone’s hand alone before yet here the heir was, finger fucking me right into my high.

“That’s it, baby, need you nice and wet for me,” He hums, sucking marks onto my neck. I whine and my cunt pulsated with an impending release. My nails dig into his large bicep, brows creasing as I teeter on that euphoric high. I clench tighter around his fingers and he does something wicked with his thumb against my clit, pushing me over into my orgasm. Waves of pleasure slam into me as I finally release and reach that climax, and when I do, it’s Eris’ name on my lips.

“That’s it, you did so well,” He praises, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I finally came down from my high and his fingers slowed, pulling them from my entrance, lathered in my slick. “Think you’re ready for me?” He asks, lathering his cock with my arousal left on his hand. Words fail me. I couldn’t even look at it without feeling overwhelmed, I was sure he’d split me in half.

“We can go slow,” He promised but gods I didn’t want slow, I wanted to make him feel good.

I shook my head and he arched his brow. “No?” He tilts his head. “I don’t w’na go slow, Eris,” I murmur and he leans closer, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Oh yeah? Tell me what you want then bunny,” He prompts, nudging me with his nose to go on— but his cock was pressed against my heat and it was hot, so fucking hot I felt like I was on fire. “Want— wanna make you feel good,” I mumble and a foxlike grin spreads across his face. His forearm comes down beside my head, propping himself above me, his face mere inches from mine. “Do you now?” The male asks. “And how are you g’na make me feel good?” He questions and I swallow thickly. “Uhm,” I utter, suddenly very shy under his gaze. “Don’t be nervous, I’m not gonna judge I promise,” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Well— it’s just, usually on wedding nights in the autumn court the male feels compulsive to, breed, the female,” I swallow thickly and I swear his amber eyes flash golden for a moment.

“Is that what you want bunny? Want me to breed you?” He says and I flush hot. “Never mind, forget it,” I bring my hands up to my face, covering my red cheeks. “Oh baby it’s too late,” He grabs my wrists in one of his hands, lifting them above my head and pinning them there commandingly. I whimper in reply. “Your safe word is firelight okay?” He says as he kisses down my neck and all I can do is nod. “Good, now turn around for me,” He lets go of my wrists and I do as he says, flipping over onto my stomach, hiking my knees up, and arching my back as much as I could, giving him perfect entrance. He grinned at my obedience, patience waning as he admired how good I was being for him.

The unlit hearth from earlier was now roaring with flames, even though I told Eris to do whatever he wanted with me he was still holding back, redirecting his power elsewhere.

“C’mon Eris, don’t be mean,” I whine as he leans over me, pressing a gentle kiss to my shoulder blade. “Poor bunny, so needy,” He whispers beside my ear and I grip the sheets in my fists at the demeaning tone of his voice. “Please,” I murmur. “Please what? Say it, baby,” His hands come to my hips, his thumbs kneading the plushness of my ass. “Breed me,” I utter, barely even a whisper but it was enough to make whatever was restraining his break, and he snapped.

His heavy cock slaps against my folds, dragging himself through them, lathering himself in my arousal for easier entrance though I’m certain I was wet enough already.

He aligns his fat tip with my core and without any further warning, he drives into me, pushing the head of his impressive cock deep inside of me. I nearly screamed at the sensation, biting at my lower lip hard enough to cause blood. “Eris,” I mewl, my nails clawing at the sheets. One of his hands reaches over me and intertwines with the back of my palm, his other hand finding purchase at my breast, gripping it harshly, his calloused, large hands kneading it pleasantly.

“Fuck, you’re so gods’ damned tight,” He curses, his forehead resting against the back of my shoulder as he continues to push himself inside of me, and fuck was he so big, I could feel my walls hugging him, could feel every ridge and vein along him as he molded into me. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes at how good it hurt, he had me filled to the brim and there was still more of him.

I throw my head back in exasperation, a moan escaping from the base of my throat. “All of you, want more,” I confess and I feel him smile against the skin of my shoulder blade, before he angles his hips back, pulling out to his fat tip, laying one last kiss to my back then slamming in, hitting home. He groaned at the feeling, tears streamed down my face, falling onto the pillow beneath me as I grip his hand tighter, he reciprocates it but his thrusts don’t slow, no, he’s pounding into me and I loved every second of it.

“Eris— Ah,” My breath hitched. “I can’t, s’too much,” I hiss but he doesn’t stop, his hips drive deeper and I pulse around him. His base slammed into mine, tight balls smacking into my folds as he hammered me from behind. I gasp as his slit brushes over my cervix. Oxygen leaves me and I fist the sheets, screaming his name once I find my voice. “You feel that bunny? Feel me stretching you on my cock?” He hums beside my ear and I struggle to even think about anything but his cock.

He can’t help but continue to knock the area over and over again, it made him feral, and the way I squirmed beneath him had his cock twitching.

Gods he was so close to my womb, so close he could practically release directly into it. “I’m gonna fill you up so fuckin’ full, baby,” He grits out, his hold on my breast tightening. “Please,” I beg, needing him to release me inside. “I’m so close I can’t, I can’t take it—” I cry, tears free flowing as his thrusts grow faster, harder. “That’s too bad my sweet girl,” He purred. “Cause you’re g’na take me until you’re full of my cum, isn’t that right bunny?” He nips at the lobe of my ear and I nod with a pitiful whimper, feeling myself drip onto his cock, he was fucking me stupid.

The sound of his fat cock injecting into me over and over again mixed with the way his tight balls slapped against my folds left my pussy drooling on him. “You just love to milk my cock hm?” He said. “You take me so well, can’t wait to get you so full,” He grunts out and I grow hot, the knot in my stomach tightening.

“Eris I have to, I need to,” I pant out, sweat lining my forehead at how good he was slamming into me, pressing against my cervix every time and rubbing against that sweet, spongy spot. “Not yet,” He orders, and I whine in protest, brows furrowing as I fight off my orgasm and focus on pleasing him, squeezing around his cock, slowly beginning to lift away from him, then push myself back down onto him.

“Oh gods, yes, fuck yourself on my cock,” He groaned in pure ecstasy. I go faster, feeling his cock twitch as he watches the way my ass shakes, his cock disappearing inside my slit as I bounce on him. “Such a good bunny, just want me to come inside you so bad huh?” He taunts and I nod helplessly, mewls lifting from my lips as he grips my breast, my other bouncing due to my gyrations. “Ah, wait, baby,” His voice gets caught in his throat and I smile wildly at the sound. “You sure? About me cumming inside?” He grits out through closed teeth and I nod.

“Fuck yes, Eris. Give me your kids please,” I whimper and it makes him fucking feral. He somehow goes faster, reaching a primal state with an urge to breed, to make me mine in every way he can. “Your belly’s g’na get so round,” He mutters into the shell of my ear and I pant in reply, unable to form coherent words. “Fuck, can’t wait for your tits to start leaking,” He curses and a moan tears through the base of my throat. “I can’t— I’m gonna—” I can’t even finish my sentence before I’m convulsing around him and I reach my climax. He’s quick to follow, he kisses my cervix once more then shoots his release straight into my womb, panting heavily with a groan to match my whine, he paints my walls white and his seed was so fucking hot, like he just set me aflame from the inside out.

“Fuck,” He grunts out, forehead resting on my shoulder. It was a miracle I was still holding myself up, my arms were on the verge of buckling and if he wasn’t cradling my waist I probably would’ve crumbled the moment I found release.

Slowly, he slips out of me, his seed dripping down my thighs as he does so. A whimper slips past my quivering lips as his cock brushes through my folds one last time, then he slowly guides me down onto the bed, heavy breathing filling the room as the fire in the hearth dwindles.

“You did so fucking good for me baby,” He praises, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips that I return with all the energy I can muster, which wasn’t a whole lot. He smiles at this, brushing a strand of hair away from my tear-stained cheeks. “Awe, m’sorry I went so rough bunny, I promise I’ll make it up to you,” He reassured and I shook my head. “No, s’okay, felt good,” I sigh contentedly. “Yeah?” He tilts his head and I nod with a gentle smile. “My gods you’re perfect for me,” He bends down and presses his lips to mine, more passionate this time, conveying all his love in that action. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” He murmurs against my lips and I nod, not worrying about what awaits in that ballroom, too preoccupied with enjoying the moment with my soon-to-be husband.

After the sheets were changed and I was dressed in a silky nightgown I was finally able to lay my head on a pillow. It was a mystery how I didn’t fall asleep standing up. Eris slid beneath the covers beside me, grabbing my waist and pulling me closer to him with a small grin.

“Tonight turned out a lot better than I thought,” He joked and I giggled, looking up at him with tired eyes. I look down at his chest, tracing random shapes on his bicep as my smile slowly morphs into a frown. “Hey, what’s wrong baby?” His big hand comes to my jaw, rubbing along my cheek and tilting my head up to him. “Nothing,” I shake my head, burrowing into his warmth. “Talk to me,” He urges, waiting for my response. “Why didn’t you ever show interest before tonight?” I ask softly, glancing up at his eyes that were staring down at me with so much adoration it was almost overwhelming.

“This just feels so surreal, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. It feels wrong to have it,” I explain further and his gaze softens. “You deserve my love and so much more my sweet,” He presses a hard kiss to the crown of my head. “And I couldn’t show any interest 'cause I didn’t want my father taking you away from me,” He confesses and I swallow thickly, my hand intertwining with his. “He won’t take me,” I promise, even if I didn’t know for certain. “No, he won’t, I know that now,” He reassures, pecking my cheek lovingly and I blush.

“My pretty fiancée,” He grins boyishly and I mirror it, finally being with the male I’ve been in love with for decades, I had him in my arms and I wasn’t going to let him go no matter what force tried to take him from me. I’m his as he is mine, and that’s all I could ask for.

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luxurion01 · 7 months ago

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 1 year ago

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HONEY, I’M HOME ─── jackson rippner ✧♤

ೃ⁀➷ “You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.” — ‘Letters to Milena’, Franz Kafka

pairing. jackson rippner x assassin!reader

summary. jackson hires a prostitute the night before meeting his target. only thing is, you’re not a prostitute— you’re an assassin hired to kill him. but he catches your eye, and instead, you keep him for yourself.

warnings. swearing, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, slight housewife kink, kidnapping, drugging, pretty toxic relationship lmao, somnophilia, dubcon, hate-sex kinda, guns, choking, stockholm syndrome, cervix fucking, jackson gets a taste of his own medicine basically😭, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

a/n. OKAY i know i said it was going into the direction of dom!reader but i got possessed and now,,, now we have this hate sex filth🫡

When Jackson comes to, the very first thing his mind registers in your perfume. It’s sweet and vanilla-y and entirely intoxicating, sending his mind whirling back to prehistoric days, childhood days, a vague mother figure he’d long forgotten about pressing sugar cookie dough onto a metal pan.

Instead, as Jackson’s eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the bright, warm lamp-light curling around him and the various furniture in the room, he sees you, sitting in front of him on the floor.

Your knees are pulled up and tucked under your chin, and it seems you’ve fallen asleep, your face peaceful and serene as soft inhales and exhales of breath leave you.

You look like a pure angel, dolled up in a silk lace dress and neat bows so pristinely Jackson swore he could see a halo resting above your soft locks, but he knows you’re someone who can kill — has killed.

Jackson had been staying in a motel, readying himself to meet the target he was stalking the next day — some politico's daughter, y’know, perfect blackmail material — when you’d knocked on his door, dressed in a skanky skintight dress and garter belt, promising some fun for a flimsy fifty.

Prostitution was illegal in this state, but Jackson had some money and time to kill — plus, if he didn’t get something now he’d probably fuck his target, which wasn’t really encouraged considering he could get attached, all that bullshit job professionalism. He wouldn’t, obviously, but his higher-ups didn’t think the same.

So he agreed; you looked stupid enough, and with that nice pair on you, those sweet curves, you were bound to be a good fuck. And you were definitely enough for him to handle— handle killing, he meant. It’d be easy: get you a little tipsy ‘cause it was his “kink” or some shit like that, kill you when you’re coming, dispose of your body, and meet the target in the morning.

But then you’d kissed him, hungry and desperate and rough, and totally, completely, slipping the pill tucked under your tongue down his throat.

Jackson realized immediately, his hands darting to the gun he had tucked in his belt, but you punched him in the stomach and the jaw before he could even undo the safety. And then he’d done it: he’d swallowed the drug, and the effects were instantaneous, the connection between his thoughts and his limbs losing focus, body sluggish like he was wading through water.

So suddenly had the situation had gone from him hiring a prostitute to getting fucking drugged by one, and he felt his composure slipping, the outrage burning in his lungs. Jackson thought himself to be a logical, well-thought out man who planned things to the tee, and this was not fucking following his plan.

“What did you - do t’ me?!” He spat, voice growing slurred, bent over and clutching his stomach.

“Mm,” you considered telling him, pursing your lips and watching him sway back and forth, “just a little something to calm you down. But, honey, I think you better sit down… it's not a mild drug.”

“Answer my fucking—“ Jackson started caustically, then felt that familiar pins and needles sensation appear in his arms, then spread to his legs, before finally falling to the floor.

“See?” You cooed, standing above him. You watched him struggle against the drug for a moment, before grinning and pulling him up off the floor onto the bed.

Jackson listlessly fought your touch, slowly thrashing and kicking at you; his limbs may have grown numb, but his inhibitions had not lowered whatsoever, nor his paranoia. Good paranoia, in this situation, just not so good that it kicked in before you shoved a paralytic down his throat.

You rolled your eyes, sitting down beside him and pushing his head onto your lap, digging your elbow into his chest to make him stay in place.

Jackson choked at the pressure, blinking rapidly. “Who th- the -- fuck are you?”

“I’m an assassin, honey. I’m gonna kill you — or, y’know, I’m supposed to kill you.” You beamed at him, “but I can’t do that, now can I? That’d be a waste of such a pretty face.”

Jackson’s brows knitted exasperatedly, mouth contorting to speak, but nothing came out. In fact, his mouth hadn’t been moving at all— his face had grown numb, now blankly staring up at you.

“There we go,” you said happily. “The drug’s all kicked in now, hasn't it? I’ll speak freely, ‘cause y’can’t answer me anymore, not even scream or cry.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping like you were finally able to fucking relax, and began petting his hair before continuing. “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you? Stalking that politician’s daughter… were you gonna fuck her? Threaten her dad, have some fun, then kill them both?”

Jackson’s breathing grew more furious, eyes widening— or, they would’ve, if he could move. This was about his job, about the target, not just some fucking freak accident and a crazy prostitute.

You frowned, shaking your head. “You’ve gotta do more research on the people you blackmail, honey— Mr. Politican’ll do anything to keep his little princess safe. Even murder.”

You then got up, and Jackson watched you pull something out of your tights, unable to respond or protest or even fucking move, frozen still on the cheap motel mattress.

“But like I said, you’re too cute to die like that. I think I’ll keep you for myself.” You winked, before pricking him in the neck with the needle that was hidden in your tights.

His breath hitched, but there was no use: black quickly curled into the edges of his vision, and one second passed, then another, then he was out.

That brought him back to now, waking up with his arms handcuffed behind him and his legs tied roughly to a wooden chair. He rustled, pulling against the cuffs as quietly as possible, gaze still obsessively trained on your every micro-movement.

But it didn't matter: your eyes opened the moment you’d heard his breath catch and stutter, and you got up lightly, dreamily, like you were some figment of Jackson’s imagination rather than a psychopathic kidnapping assassin.

“Morning, honey,” you whispered, getting up off the floor, rubbing your eyes and yawning. But he didn’t respond, still pulling at his restraints, eyes thinned and focussed.

“Are you mad at me?” You whined with a frown, circling around his chair and playfully covering his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry. I’ll buy some cute lingerie, give you a little show… do you like lace? Or maybe leather?”

Jackson’s nostrils flared, growing irate and incredulous at your antics, and he snapped. “Do you really think you can keep me here? Make me play fucking house with you?” He shouted groggily, body still feeling the aftereffects of not one, but two, drugs.

You blinked numbly, hand finding his face, and you pressed his cheeks together, making him look up at you. “I won’t make you play house with me, Jackson. But it's the only thing you can do. You’re dead.”

Your tone had gone cold, using his real name instead of your pet-one, expression going blank and completely unfeeling at his words. Then, you fumbled for something on the wooden vanity beside you two before lifting it up to his face.

It read: TERRORIST GROUP LEADER’S REMAINS FOUND IN RED-EYE FLIGHT WRECK.

Jackson’s lips parted, feelings riddled half in shock and half in utter fury, gaze shaky as it flitted back and forth between you and the newspaper you were holding up. “I’m fucking—“

“Alive, I know. That’s kinda the point,” you finished his sentence with a chuckle, shaking your head like any of this was a joking matter. “When a plane goes down and catches fire, burning everybody, they won’t individually check who's who, honey. If there’s a name on the seat, there’s someone in it, and they’re dead… you’re as good as dead.”

Jackson’s eyebrows were still knit, but he suddenly stared straight ahead, listening to you silently and trying to make sure you were still too focussed on explaining theatrically to realize he was about to dislocate his thumb.

He could deal with the stool later — he just needed to get his arms free and escape. What with your grating voice and the fucking pronunciation of death you’d forced upon him, god, his fury was rising quickly, and he wanted nothing more right now than to fucking kill you.

You finished your explanation, peering deeply into his bright blue eyes, and you were about to wrap your arms around his neck and press him comfortingly to your chest when he successfully freed himself, and his hands shot out from behind him to strangle you.

His fingers curled around your neck extremely easily, tightening and contracting around the thing snugly. Jackson was seeing red, the anger accumulated from every little insane fucking thing you did to him bursting.

You struggled against him, your mouth opening and closing pitifully, leaning down into his grip— until your lips tilted upwards, a devilishly cheshire smile digging into your cheeks like it was an expression God never intended you to make.

Jackson only realized you’d taken his gun away from him when he felt the tip of the barrel kiss his temple, cold and clammy. He was still disoriented, and didn’t exactly comprehend all the facts ‘till they fucking punched him in the face. Or, in this case, threatened to shoot him point blank.

“L’mme - l’mme go, h’ney,” you whispered raspily, your eyes stuttering in their socket as he pressed deeper. Simultaneously, completely on instinct, you pressed the gun further into his skin.

“You’re too fucking weak to fire that gun,” he growled, digging his thumbs into the neat notch in the middle of your neck, his fingernails scratching bloody marks into your sensitive skin.

But you frowned weakly, and then Jackson heard that all familiar click, making him blanch. The strength in his hands didn’t falter, however— it got angrier, more desperate, like you wouldn’t automatically shoot him if he just translated his wrath into his grip.

“I d’nt- w’nna k-kill you,” you shook your head a bit, but both your threats remained the same: his hands making you go lightheaded, go blue, and the gun in yours making him sweat, the image of you splattering his brain against the wall clear as day.

Jackson felt your finger twitch, and he closed his eyes, grip going tense then faltering completely: if you shot him now, there was no point holding on. But you did the same— you thought he’d snap your neck right then and there, so you pulled away.

Just as quickly as you two had attacked one another, your resolves’ had crumbled, murderous intent clearing the room like someone had opened a window and let it all out. Silence filled it back up instead, a steady tension permeating with it, and it was fucking suffocating.

“What do you - want from me, exactly?” Jackson questioned first, several long moments later, words slow and collected. He’d try to calm himself and hide his anger away for later, because he now knew that you meant for him to meet only two ends here: forever with you, or forever dead— and neither were ends he was intending to have.

To escape, crawl under your nose and perhaps kill you along the way, he’d need to know the rules— play your little game. This cat and mouse mess could be done in a flash, and he fucking knew you had a weakness. He could feel it in your touch, how you gripped him, the lonely warble in your insane words.

Sure, you kidnapped him and were calling him honey, treating him like he was your plaything, but Jackson had always been good at reading people, even before he’d become an amalgamated mess of an assassin, terrorist and blackmailer: you needed someone in your life— be it a husband or a hostage.

You got down on one knee, looking up at him through your wet lashes, breathing still ragged. One of your hands took his own dislocated one, while the other fished through your silk dress pockets, pulling out a gold band ring identical to the one gleaming prettily on your left hand.

You didn’t answer his question saying for you to marry me or for you to love me— both things Jackson would expect you to say, especially with your oddly profound obsession with him (despite the fact he was positive you’d only known him for a few weeks at most.) No, you’d smiled, a lovely duchenne one, rosy-cheeked like a fucking schoolgirl confessing to her crush, not an assassin who’d kidnapped him, and said, “For you to be mine.”

Your hand curled around his dislocated thumb and quickly snapped it, cruel and rough but perfectly back in place, before you slipped the ring onto his finger shakily, and brought his hand up to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“You’re mine,” you repeated in a whisper, sounding every bit like a warning rather than a celebration.

ii.

After a few days of living with— or, more accurately, being held captive by you, Jackson thought he had you all figured out. It usually only took a few days for him and a target to become acquainted anyway; mutual acquaintance or not.

He found that the warmer he treated you, the more freedom he’d have. Like, after you slipped the ring on his finger, you undid the ropes tying his legs. A reward, you’d said, for accepting your… unity.

But you still switched out the clinky metal cuffs for zip ties. “I can’t have you doing that nifty little thumb trick anymore, can I?” you explained. “But I still want you to walk around. Take a tour of the rest of your life, honey.”

Then, you told him you had to go to work — to which Jackson rolled his eyes, considering assassination wasn’t exactly what he’d call work, though, he would also have to call himself a hypocrite — and left. Jackson wasn’t shy about roaming about the house, especially to look for a fucking escape, but he was firstly confronted with the sheer size of the place you’d locked him in.

Where he’d first waken up was the master bedroom, long and wide with a king poster bed and canopy, a pair of couples vanities side by side, two walk-in closets and one large ensuite. The rest of the house was the same, being two stories tall and terribly extensive: Jackson ran out of fingers on his hands to count how many rooms were in it.

By the time he’d combed through the entire house — discovering a measly two possible escape routes in the process — it was dark outside, and you entered through a front door Jackson couldn’t find for the fucking life of him.

It was appalling, firstly how spontaneous and carefree you were whilst simultaneously thinking of everything that could go wrong, and secondly, how up to par your skills were to his. He wasn’t one to gloat, but he knew just as well as his coworkers that he was a large step above the rest— and it seemed you were, too, the only equal he’d encountered in his line of work… and the only person who’d bested him.

“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-songed in the hallway, poking your head into each and every room for Jackson’s familiar form.

Jackson had settled back in the master bedroom, sitting on the very chair you’d untied him from that morning, and when you finally found him you cooed. “Aw, baby, you don’t hafta’ stay here all day.” You said, lifting his chin to look up at you.

Jackson grit his teeth, his temper suddenly getting the best of him, and he spat at you. But the effect didn't work nearly as well as intended: you didn’t even wince, merely blinking and bringing two fingers to your cheek and wiping the slick off. You pouted at him for a second, made your eyes real big and pitiful, before kissing him on the cheek… and shoving your spit-slicked fingers into his mouth, making him gag.

It looked like you were enjoying his suffering, before pulling away a moment later. “Well, no matter,” you said, brushing his actions off and regaining your happy mood. “I know you weren’t really here all day, honey.”

Jackson’s lips parted, eyes thinning suspiciously. “What the fuck are you—“

You suddenly pulled out your phone, showing camera angles from all throughout the house… and more startlingly, previous footage of him, scouring the house’s windows and poking through the various furniture and rooms earlier in the day. “You are quite the curious cat.”

“You have a camera?” He asked indignantly. Honestly, he should’ve expected it: it’s like, what do you get when you have a captive itching to escape and an obsessive, head-over-heels captor with plenty of money on her hands?

“Several,” you preened, “so don’t bother escaping.”

Then, you hooked your arm into his and dragged him to one of the (many, many) dining rooms.

“Now, I’ve never exactly had a hostage before,” you offered, pushing him into one of your cushy walnut dining chairs, “so I just realized you haven’t eaten. God, I’m so sorry, honey, you must be starving.”

With that, you ducked into the large kitchen a room away, and then returned holding a steaming plate of something, setting the dish down in front of him. “It’s not exactly, y’know, fine dining,” you said, picking up the spoon hidden in the food and scooping up some peas, “but it’s home-cooked. Not my home cooking, obviously, it is -- was, a target’s. I had a plate earlier, don’t worry, it’s good.”

Jackson stared at you, mind spinning with the information you were nonchalantly throwing at him: you were feeding him, your hand holding the cutlery, his mouth around it like he was fucking six, and the person who had made this food was dead, having had their throat slit or something.

But there was another thing in Jackson’s mind, a tiny, weak voice within him that told him to just shut the hell up and eat the damn food. His survival instinct, probably, but then it went on to think that you weren’t that bad, feeding him and keeping him safe from the police in this nice, grand house— and Jackson squished the voice. No fucking way in hell was he experiencing early stage stockholm syndrome.

At his reluctance, you frowned, and forced the spoonful in his mouth. “Eat,” you scolded, and fed him till the whole plate was finished.

He ate, of course, not because of the little bitch voice in his head, but because of the fact that he actually was really fucking hungry. The gesture seemed to warm your heart, for some fucked up reason, and you later sat in the livingroom with him and loosened his zipties.

There was a brief moment, however, that Jackson felt even an iota of fear: when his hands were slightly free, he immediately reached to grab you— he was taller, stronger, and could certainly defeat you in mere moments.

But your sneaky fingers tightened his restraints at the drop of a hat, your head butting his jaw so he fell back on the couch. “Try anything,” you warned, tone suddenly dark, “and I will break your fucking wrist.”

At his tentative, jaw slightly dropped, shaky nod, a cold sweat beaming down from his temple, you dissolved into a fit of laughter at his expression and undid his ties once more. This time, your hand held his in an intimate death grip, thumb curled sweetly around the wrist, that warning still ringing in his head.

He was learning how to play the game, though. His captor’s behavior. What you liked, what you didn’t. The extent of your mercy.

Jackson cleared his throat, searching for a question that might make you open up. “…What’s your name, anyway?” Yes, he didn’t even know your fucking name, and he doubted that the tacky prostitute name you’d given him initially was your real one.

You looked up at him, surprised he’d speak first, nonetheless to know more about you. So, you indulged, and told him your name, things you liked, didn’t like, your hobbies… all normal people stuff— y’know, first date stuff.

“I keep forgetting you don’t know a thing about me,” you confessed, leaning your head on his stiff figure, “‘cause I’ve known you for a very long time.”

Jackson’s breath hitched. “How so?” he said, trying not to give away his eagerness; he was going through all the steps he did when first meeting a target, like being kind and sweet, respectful and attentive, really buttering them up and coaxing information from them, before going in for the kill. In Jackson’s current case, the “kill” was a kiss.

It’d be something chaste, nervous, like he was unwittingly slipping into your trap and couldn’t help the warmth bubbling within him toward you, so you would fall into his; hook, line, and sinker… and maybe completely undo his zipties. He’d have to lay low for a few days, obviously, and build up that obsessive trust of yours, before going in for the literal kill.

But then again, Jackson, with that delirious little ego of his, kept forgetting your skills were up to par with his, and you were the first and only person to ever fucking best him.

You grinned thinly, knowing exact what he was doing, noticed the pattern his words went in, trying to shepherd the conversation to get the answers he wanted, and you pulled away from him. “I’ll tell you another day, honey. M’gonna go to bed,” you whispered sleepily, redoing his zipties. “Join me. I don’t like it when you tire yourself out.”

And so you left, and Jackson watched your hips sway, legs carrying you down the long hallway into the master bedroom. As soon as you were out of direct view, he sucked in a sharp breath, seething angrily.

Fuck, he thought, the realization of his predicament settling within in him at last. He’d always been told this: if you didn’t believe you could escape your situation within the first day, you would never escape at all. He thought it a silly mantra, because he’d always devised an escape plan after thinking on it for a few long moments.

Never did he think he’d find himself in a situation where that actually fucking applied, never did he think he’d meet his equal, and never in his entire, terrorizing existence, did he think he’d be helpless.

But Jackson had to persevere. Had to. He had not survived every terrible incident thrown at him in his tired lifetime, just to accept this. And so, he went to bed with you, the zipties rubbing his pale skin raw, and he watched the shadows on the roof shift with every hour that passed.

He did not sleep, certainly not with you by his side, and though it looked like it, you did not either. It was the paranoia of two terribly similar people; gaze dancing in the dark and never finding each others, waiting for the moment one of you snapped and you had to attack or defend.

The next day, and the next day after that, he went to bed beside you. Just like that, turned into weeks turned into months turned into seasons changing, and the zipties became cloth became your hand holding his.

It was a culmination of feigned loving, fake vulnerability, and pretending he’d gotten Stockholm syndrome that got him to this point. Every “honey, i’m home,” or kiss or hug or pet-name you stabbed into him, he returned with a “welcome home, honey”, a peck on the cheek, a hand holding yours, his venomous tone switched like a light into something sweet, soft.

One night, with his newly ziptie-free arms wrapping around you, your back nestling sweetly against his torso, he has to remind himself that it is not real. None of it was real: he was not your husband, you were not his wife, you did not love each other, you were not normal fucking people— you were the captive and the captor.

Jackson had to remind himself he didn’t actually love you, because that night he thought: if you used him, he would use you. He would take you whenever he wanted, like how you used him. A man has needs, he thought, and being trapped in this house with you meant those needs could be met.

It reminded him of when you first met— not the kidnapping part, of course, but of the kissing and the touching, your tits pressing softly against his chest, his hands following the swell of your ass.

With a start, he realized he’d had some kind of unintentional celibacy enacted upon him: he couldn’t fuck anyone other than you, obviously, having been trapped in that house, but he never entertained the idea of fucking you because he hated you. You don’t fuck the bitch you’re planning to kill any day now.

But your warm body against his awoke something in him, his forced celibacy unable to survive against the pure lust he felt filling him now. You were beautiful, undeniably, with pliant thighs and delicate curves he could see himself getting between animalistically, roughly, a kind of morbid sexual revenge against your captivity of him. It helped entirely that this was the most vulnerable he’d seen you, completely without any weapons, curled warmly into his side.

After studying your breathing for a few seconds, ensuring you were still asleep, Jackson carefully slipped away from you to kneel in front of you in the middle of the bed. He admired your night getup: those silk dresses you adored to wear at home, and absolutely no underwear.

He then pried your soft thighs open slightly, dipping his head between them and losing himself in the sweet scent of your cunt, before chancing a stripe up to your clit. He flattened his tongue, wanting to collect your taste on it completely, and you merely sighed, turning over slightly and widening your legs in your sleep, like you somehow knew what he was doing and wanted it.

He pressed his mouth up to your cunt fully now, his nose hitting your mound as he devoured you, tongue filling every crevice and fold you had like he was starving. Your small whimpers and breathy sighs grew louder now, more frequent, and then Jackson suddenly pulled away, satisfied with how he readied your hole.

Jackson shimmed himself out of his boxer shorts, a pair with silly little hearts he’d never seriously buy for himself— you bought them, as soon as you’d captured him, clearly having fun with the utter control you could display on him, down to his fucking undergarments.

He shook himself slightly, refocussing on the matter at hand: fucking into your glistening cunt. There was something oddly empowering about doing this to you when you couldn’t protest, regaining some control over his own fucking life by terrorizing yours.

But he wasn’t sure you’d fucking care anyway: he knew you liked to peek around the corner when he was showering, “accidentally” walking in when he was in the middle of changing, not-so subtly bending down and pressing your ass to his crotch.

He sighed slightly, rubbing his hand up and down on his hard length in the dark, before lining it up with your entrance. Jackson muffled the groan that curdled in his throat with his large hand, breathing shakily and finally pushing past your slick folds. You were soaking, and he didn’t know if it was because of his previous foreplay or if you were just naturally like this, all horny because he slept beside you at night. He wouldn’t put it past you if that was the case: your obsession with him was clear in every single way.

You made a noise in your sleep, and Jackson froze, hands instinctively coming up to press lightly against your throat — an unconscious thing on his part, formed when his hands had been zip tied and the only thing he could do was choke you, unable to grip any weapon properly. But you didn’t wake up; your face merely screwed together, before smoothing out and returning to blissful unconsciousness.

Jackson let out a sigh of pleasure and relief, your walls clenching around his pulsing cock. He gripped the sheets beside your head and began thrusting in and out of you: at first gently, afraid to wake you up, but as the minutes dripped past, Jackson grew desperate, fucking into your cunt roughly. He wanted to abuse your tight little pussy, stretch you wide open and take you for everything you had.

“Fuck,” he grunted under his breath, snapping his hips harder against yours, “Fuck!”

His exclamation of sexual satisfaction startled you awake, but he didn’t notice how your eyes moved behind your eyelids, too focussed on pounding his rock-hard cock into you. For all the insanity and behavioral issues God gave you, he certainly made up for it in the way he crafted your cunt: extremely warm and easily wet, a sticky hole that sucked him in but was still cramped, like it was begging him to force your walls open.

“Honey?” you murmured foggily, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were about to speak again, when Jackson suddenly found your g-spot, and rammed continually into it, making a filthy mewl leave your lips.

“Fuck, you woke up?” Jackson cursed, looking at you for the first time. His thrusts were unrelenting, though, now not caring if you’d woken up and just wanting to feel your hole squeeze around him again.

“Jackson, I was - sleeping,” you squeaked out, hands moving to his back and digging your nails into the skin.

“That’s kinda the point,” Jackson mocked, tone sarcastic and peeved like you were interrupting him. “And don’t fucking fight it,” he warned angrily, hand leaving the mattress and roughly squeezing one of your tits through the fabric of your nightdress, “‘cause I’m not stopping ‘till I come.”

You pouted fake-sadly at his words, but your back arching gave you away, keening when he kneaded your tit too meanly and made a shock of pain run up your body. “Feels so good,” you grinned sweatily, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he sighed, throwing his head back, “didn’t fucking ask what you thought.”

He pushed your face to the side so he was looking at your jaw, more content with treating you like just some hole, but you didn’t care: he, your darling, was fucking you. He wanted you so bad he fucked you when you weren’t even awake. God, you could’ve kissed him right then and there, but he probably would’ve hit you. (Not that you would mind… but you wanted your honey to take control, have it his way for a bit.)

Jackson rutted into you fast and selfish, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the violent way he fucked you: your sick pleasure came at the expense of your weeping cunt, which was trembling in the stinging pain he was inflicting, cockhead stretching you wide.

Then, Jackson’s hands slid down to your hips, so he could shove his cock deeper into your cunt, pressing his weight so heavily onto your chest you could barely breathe. He groaned; you were clearly affected by the action, bearing down on his cock suddenly, and he reveled in the ecstacy.

He fucked you slightly and slower, and you only realized what he’d been doing when he leaned down to get a better angle, bullying the head of his cock against your cervix: he was trying to fuck into you further, push his dick so close, so snug against your womb that there was no doubt in hell his load would impregnate you. His actions were dictated not by any sense of reason, but by a crude, carnal desire, wanting nothing more but to make you scream.

And you did scream alright, a breathy, brutal scream; a mix of whimpering pain at the way his head pushed against you, and of shameful, drooling pleasure, his delicious length making you feel fucking bloated, you were so full.

One of Jackson’s hands reached up to your head to pull your hair, making you whine at the pain of the tug, and he growled out a string of curse words, before thrusting his cock so angrily it was like a punishment, surely bruising your cervix, and releasing his thick load deep inside. His come flooded your cunt, pumping you full of his salty cream, fucking you still.

Jackson then panted raggedly, feeling your gummy walls tense at the pain of him pulling out, flopping down beside you. “Does it hurt?” he asked you absently, pulling his boxer shorts back up to his hips.

You bit your lip as you clenched your thighs together, whining slightly at the pain blooming deep within your abused cunt, and at the loss of pleasure— you hadn’t come after all, Jackson being entirely selfish in his fucking. “Uh-huh,” you murmured weakly, feeling the strength in your body leave you completely. “You’re a mean one, honey.”

“Good,” Jackson said, chuckling darkly. It was the first laugh you’d heard rumble out of him the entire time you’d held him captive, and you drank it in: it was pleasant and breezy, like cold water on a hot day. It was certainly out of place, such a gleeful laugh after savagely fucking you, but you welcomed it anyway.

Jackson suddenly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush to his chest. “M’gonna use your hole whenever I want, and you’re gonna take my cock no matter what, ‘till you’re begging me to stop,” he growled in your ear, making goosebumps break out on your clammy skin. “Least you can do for fuckin’ kidnapping me, you psychotic bitch.”

“Oh,” you purred, batting your lashes up at him, “it’d be my pleasure to be your fucktoy.”

Jackson grinned, at you, for you, and you thought to yourself that kidnapping him was the best thing you ever fucking did.

iii.

Somewhere, muddled between you kidnapping him, the two of you almost killing eachother, and him fucking you dumb, Jackson caved, and he started to believe he actually loved you. His mind didn’t have any qualms accepting that you were his new life— living in your house, only knowing you, and only ever talking to you.

Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, or those delicious fantasies you’d whisper in his ear at night (“Y’know, honey, it’s really you who should be saying you’re home. What do you think, huh? You coming home from a long day of work to me, in my panties and an apron, no bra and a sweet, home-cooked meal on the table. Dessert’ll be, of course, me,”) or maybe it was just you.

You, despite your terrible job and seriously obvious insanity, being the epitome of fuckable: horny when he was, a talented, needy mouth, able to take anything he gave you to while always going back to being tight as fuck, and intensely eager to have him.

You, who controlled his life, and he, who controlled you. The way you treated each other was probably illegal somewhere, but in that house not even the fucking law mattered. (You still remember when Jackson got his gun back, and he teased your clit with the cold tip till you creamed down the barrel… a terribly memorable story that always made you groan.)

Jackson was extremely well aware that there was something strange about your relationship, and not just the fact it occurred in the strangest way possible, but that he was essentially giving up to you— losing his inhibitions, at least against you. Something about… putting his well being in your hands. His needs. His wants. His life. Spending the rest of his life with you; in this house, accepting life and no escape.

But still, for a man like Jackson, who had long since accepted that he wasn’t cut out for a life of normalcy, a life of love, this certainly wasn’t a bad way of living. He had a house nicer than anything he’d ever lived in, didn’t have to work, could do whatever he wanted all day, and got to pound his cock into your perfect little pussy every single night.

#wowee this has a lot of words and a lot of warnings #this is filthy i apologize #cillian murphy smut #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner x reader smut #red eye #jackson rippner

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xanaxiii · 2 months ago

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"WE WERE BORN TO DIE"

cw: ENGLISH ISN’T MY FIRST LANGUAGE! slightly smut, no use of y/n, pet names, dom/sub dynamic, mentions of death, bad health etc.

words: 1.6k

an: i fucking love old man logan. and im so fucking horny after rewatching this movie so. enjoy. ♡

Taking care of Logan was a difficult and tiring task. Despite the relationship you two had, he still felt that he couldn't let his guard down and allow himself to get any help. He considered it pointless...after all, his time would come to die too. Looking at how he used his last moments in this world, death was on his tail. It didn't move away even a step.

Unfortunately for Logan, you were stubborn and wouldn't let yourself watch your partner die day by day. Raised in a way that the act of helping those in need was the most important thing you could do, especially helping someone close to you, you helped him, ignoring Logan's protests. You helped him with the smallest things, trifles. Getting out of bed, getting dressed. Sometimes even washing.

When it came to the latter, Logan would have to be in a real state of intoxication at that point, because he would rather be renewing the X-men than letting anyone help him with such intimate matters.

It wasn't that he was ashamed. He just knew he couldn't afford something like that. He was dying, yes, but he had the strength to wash his dick, damn it.

And, despite his age, Logan still had a hell of a high libido. Maybe his movements weren't as fast and agile as they used to be, but now all he needed was a gentle touch. And your hands were gentle. They were downright angelic as they brushed over his rough, barely healed skin covered in scars and wounds.

That's why every time you helped him wash, it ended with sex. But Logan didn't always feel like it or have the time, so he avoided it like the plague. Ignoring the pain and the pure need for someone by his side. He could imagine how pathetic it would be to die in the middle of a bath, which made him think about the act with less and less pleasure every day.

Bright sunlight came through the window, blocked by thick curtains to illuminate the bedroom with its warm, bright rays. Logan turned over, mumbling something incomprehensible into the pillow. He lay exposed, his chest painfully rising and falling as he breathed, snoring softly and sighing. Strands of his gray hair brushed his forehead, his muscles tense even in his sleep. Which was no wonder, since he had been plagued by nightmares since he was a child. He sighed heavily, opening his blurry eyes, looking around the bedroom. He swallowed, feeling the dryness in his burning throat, and slowly sat up in bed. His feet hit the cold floor, his rough hands rubbed his tired face. His gray beard itched, and the heaviness in his heart made him want to leave it all behind long ago if he could.

But he couldn't do it. He wouldn't leave you. He wouldn't forgive himself for that.

The corners of his mouth moved as he heard the door creak open and your slow footsteps approaching him. He raised his head, meeting your gaze full of love and lust. It was amazing to him that despite his age, you still considered him the most attractive man on the planet.

“You woke up.” - your sweet voice, he heard it so often that he memorized what you sounded like. He replays it in his dreams, in his fantasies. With quick steps, you found yourself on the bed next to him, sliding onto his lap. You heard his quiet hiss of pain, for which you immediately apologized.

Your scent surrounded him. The new perfume he bought you turned out to be a success. The aroma of strawberries and vanilla took over his senses, so without holding back, he lowered his head and smelled you. You giggled, lifting your head to place a kiss on his temple.

Logan moved his large hands to your waist, kneading the soft skin, tugging at the silk material of your nightie.

You were so beautiful. The way you looked, the way you presented yourself. You were like an angel sent from heaven, to him, even though he didn't deserve it. Logan had become completely addicted to you. You worked on each other like the most wonderful drug, completely controlling each other.

"I woke up. I see you've become an early bird." - he whispered, his voice rough and deep, sending shivers down your spine. You wrapped your arms around his neck, brushing your fingers along his muscular back, digging your nails into it, scratching and teasing him. He removed his hands from your waist, grazing your wrists, pushing you away. His gaze was narrowed, but not angry.

"What? Don't you like it anymore, James?"

"Don't call me that…" - he mumbled, lowering his head, touching your heated skin with his cold lips. You were so smooth, so perfect. Logan decided that with each next approach, he would treat you like you were made of porcelain. He was afraid that if he squeezed you too hard, you would fall apart in his hands.

"…Why? That's your name, right?"

He shook his head, parting his lips to clamp his teeth on your neck. You sighed, leaning back a little to give him more space.

"No. I'm not who I was anymore, doll." - saying that, he began to place pleasantly painful kisses on your face. - with that, he began to press pleasantly painful kisses against your skin, forcing your wrists to grip his shoulders. He didn't let go of your hands, even though the urge to roam your body was incredibly tempting. But he wasn't in the mood for teasing this morning. No, he was in the mood for morning, bittersweet sex. You could feel his beard, tickling you as he moved his lips along your throat, biting, licking and soaking like an animal preparing to eat its prey.

"Mhm…" - you whispered, opening your plush, soft, pink lips, catching heavy breaths. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became deadly steamy, especially when Logan's lips found yours. He grabbed your lower lip, sucking, making it turn purple. His way of showing his love for you, despite how much he wished it would be different, was rather painful. But it didn't bother you. Why should it? You didn't mind any of the things your old man did.

Despite all his flaws, spite and whining, he was a really sweet man. You knew he cared about you. You knew because he did everything he could to show you as often as possible. Gifts, acts of kindness, how he would stay overtime to earn more for the two of you. It hurt your heart that he was sacrificing himself like that. You swore to yourself to protect him and take care of him so that he would never feel tired again.

But Logan was so damn stubborn. No matter what you told him, he would question it. It's not that he didn't believe you. He just thought that since he was definitely older than you, he knew better. Which, unfortunately, was often true.

When you broke the kiss, you looked at Logan with concern in your eyes. His eyes were closed, eyebrows narrowed. The wrinkles on his face were more visible than usual, his mouth slightly open as he drew air into his lungs. He was so beautiful. You could stare at him for hours.

You smiled softly, slowly grasping the hem of your thin nightgown with your fingers. You made eye contact with him until he moved to your naked body underneath. You couldn't count how many times this man had seen you in this vulnerable state, but every time he reacted as if it was the first time.

Your creamy skin, soft curves, it was everything he had ever wanted. You were like a canvas standing in the corner of the room, waiting for him to vent his emotions on you. He let go of your wrists, wrapping his arms around your waist to throw you under him.

He groaned, feeling a sudden pain in his knees. In moments like these, he simply forgot how sick and old he was. He hated it, hated how hard it was for him to do basic things, let alone catch up with you in all those intimate matters. But you obviously didn't mind.

Once he had you under him, he gently cupped your breasts, beginning to knead your flesh. Your erect, aroused nipples brushed against his open palm. He swallowed hard, looking up to meet your gaze. You slid your hand into his hair, scratching his scalp with your nails. He tilted his face down, feeling a shiver of excitement run through him, giving him the energy to continue.

Kneading your tits, his lips began to cover your body with sharp hickeys. After a moment, your neck, sternum, and stomach were covered in burgundy stains. You tightened your grip on the sheet beneath you with your other hand, wriggling and arching your back in a delicious way. Logan, which was rare, smiled, letting your hand tug on his hair as you tried to stop yourself from being dramatic and overreacting when he had barely done anything yet. He let go of your breasts, grabbing his leather belt on his pants. He wrapped his thick fingers around the large buckle, unfastening it, throwing it somewhere to the side. He couldn't get enough of the sight before him. You looked so good when you were all naked and marked by him. A reminder that you were only his. A reminder that he had something and someone to come back to.

He reached into the loops of his belt, twisting them until he finally stepped out of his black, suit pants, leaving them around his ankles. He was damn pleased that you were completely naked, left at his mercy. Waiting for every next move from him. When you bit your lower lip temptingly, wrapping a strand of his gray hair around your index finger, tugging on it, Logan realized that you were getting impatient.

"If you really love me, you'll wait, baby." - He mumbled, leaning down to meet your lips again, his hands sliding down his boxers. You sighed as you felt his cock against your thigh, bringing your other hand up to rest on his shoulder, knowing you would need physical support soon.

“Can you do it? Of course you can. You’re so beautiful. All mine.”- His words were drawn-out praise as he positioned himself over you. He looked into your eyes again, searching for any sign of worry or embarrassment, but the only thing that he see was devotion and desire.

His smile widened, causing his wrinkles in the areas of his mouth and eyes to deepen. So restless, so impatient. He had no reason to be surprised. He spent his days either at work or sleeping off because of nights full of nightmares. He pushed you away from him at every possible opportunity, without power for movement. But today was different. He woke up horny. And that was all he needed to be able to please his princess.

Because for you he would do anything, right?

"I need… I need you, Logan, please." - you whimpered, your sweet voice breaking as you narrowed your eyes, raising your altitude higher by listening to him. He let out a quiet laugh, deep and growling, straight from his irritated throat.

Ah. who was he to refuse you?

#xanaxiii writes 🦢#old man logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan 2017 #hugh jackman #old man logan #hugh jackman x reader #x men movies #james logan howlett #slightly suggestive #smut #x reader #fem reader #one shot #i need that old man #oh god.

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cy-lindric · 2 months ago

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Dude!!! You costumes r so incredible!!! You make 'em mostly by yourself right??? Do you also make the patterns yourself or do you rely on pre-existing patterns? (Be it historical or reproduction?) do you also use period accurate materials?

Oh!!! As for making the clothes, how closely do you stick to historically accurate sewing methods? Considering how low making a whole garment can take by hand, do you kinda cheat a little by using a sewing machine??? (Which is fair tbh)

Sry if these r too many questions ;w; ur clothes r just soooo cool

Hello ! Thanks a lot ! Yes I do pretty much everything by myself, except for things made with leather. I sometimes start off with printable patterns from historical costuming stores like Reconstructing History, Laughing Moon Mercantile, Blacksnail Patterns and others to use as a base, but recently I've been drafting my own patterns more. I've no formal education in that so it's very trial-and-error, but I use books like The Medieval Tailor's Assistant or Patterns of Fashion as references and it helps a lot.

I sometimes do costumes all in period-accurate materials like for my landsknecht costume (I used only pure wool, linen and linen thread with wax, and I braided the lacing cords with wool yarn), but sometimes I don't ; for the gamurra I used reproduction brocade and duchesse satin that are only part silk. It really comes down to budget and occasion. I'm glad I didn't use super expensive period accurate pure silk for the gamurra because I wore it outside all day for two days and went dancing with it (and I couldn't afford it anyway). Also, that project was less made out of historical curiosity and more so for fun and flamboyance.

When it comes to sewing methods, out of preference I only use the machine for very long seams that won't show on the outside. I enjoy hand sewing a lot and I'm not very straight and precise with the machine so a lot of the time, I only do the most basic and discreet things with it. Then, I'll sometimes go full historical and research proper interlining methods and seam types, and sometimes speedrun a project and skip some of the steps when I feel like I can find another solution. It really depends. The research itself is a lot of the fun so I do tend to try and follow historical construction, but I'm also not a dress historical or a reenactor so I'll usually adapt to the current situation because there's no pressure to go either way.

#my sporadic use of the sewing machine is not do to pedantry but mostly to incompetence #I think my machine might be shitty too #revolution fairies #replies

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14dayswithyou · 4 months ago

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This Angel has another question! \o (and not just about Conan this time, I promise) As a follow-ish to this post (https://14dayswithyou.tumblr.com/post/698898007154917376/what-would-all-the-other-characters-be-like-if) , what would Kiara, Conan, Jae, and Olivia be like as yanderes?

✦゜ANSWERED: Typing this on my phone so da formatting will be terrible (and not proofread)... Sowwie!! >.<

Kiara... Weirdly enough, I can't see her as a yandere? If anything, she'd be obsessed with the thought of making you her muse; dressing you up in the finest materials, showing you off for the world to see, and revelling in making others jealous because they don't have a model as beautiful as you. She wants her pretty little wife to be plastered on all the front pages of magazines, wearing silk, velvet, and lace, and living the life of luxury that they rightfully deserve — even if it means getting rid of the competition by... alternative means. So long as your hands stay clean and pure, Kiara is willing to do everything she can to make you — and only you — shine the brightest.

Jae would be a yandere with a (non-sexual) owner/pet dynamic. Rather than a boyfriend, he'll see you as his helpless, incompetent pet. He'll keep you locked up in a cage for his own personal enjoyment, and only bring you out to play with whenever he's feeling bored or lonely. But don't worry, Jae would make a great owner! He'll feed you, bathe you, and take care of you with the utmost gentility — but if you bite the hand that feeds you, then he'll lock you away from the rest of the world and keep you there until you start to feel the separation anxiety kick in.

Conan would be very much a Glenn Arias (from RE: Vendetta) kind of yandere, wherein he'd try to make Angel resemble as much of his deceased wife as possible. He'd make them wear her perfume, style their hair and clothes the same way, and copy her speech pattern and mannerisms — all before realising that he genuinely liked them better as they were before he went and destroyed them. Now Angel has Conan in the palm of their hands as he begs and pleads them for forgiveness hehe :3c

Olivia would be your typical obsessive lover who'd follow you anywhere, even in death. Her love for you is so strong that she's willing to look for you in every lifetime... and do whatever it takes to be with you if you don't happen to exist in the same timeline as her. She'll rip apart worlds and shatter reality if it means finding a way to get to her beloved.

There's... actually a lot more going on behind the scenes regarding Olivia and her overall importance (like... no one has questioned the fact that she's the only character who can die on the same day you meet them???? /silly), so I can't really elaborate more on this one ^^;

#💌 — answered.#💖 — 14 days with queue.#💖 — about kiara.#💖 — about jae-hyun.#💖 — about conan.#💖 — about olivia.#💜 — au canon.#hownecromantic

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luviwon · 4 months ago

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brat tamer jay spanking reader for misbehaving 😵😵 reader's hands tied above her head with his tie and since he was too pissed off to remove her clothes, he just slipped the straps off her dress off. Going feral rn. Oh and I read 'alluring me' and it was soo good you have a way with words and you do it so well. I hope your blog reaches even more success <3

\\ thank you for your sweet words, love! i hope you enjoy the short drabble, please don’t hesitate to come to me again <3

“will you ever learn from your mistakes?" jay asked, biting his cheek and crossing his arms in annoyance. you found yourself hanging in front of him, your hands tied to the coat rack. "i’m sorry," you whispered, too afraid to meet his eyes. you could feel the weight of how much you had upset him this time, and it was clear he needed to vent his frustration. "let's see for how long you can handle this," he stated.

before you could answer, with a swift, angry motion, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it free from his waist, holding it firmly in his right arm. the leather felt heavy and the metal clinked softly as he moved. his eyes narrowed, and without a second thought, he turned to face you. the sight of him gripping the belt tightly sent a rush of shivers through you, your heart racing in response. it wasn’t much of a fear tense, but an unexpected impatience to be punished by him.

you did him wrong and you needed to be taught a lesson, right? he needed to discipline his bratty girl. your wrists started to get sore in the tight knot formed by his tie, your body feeling heavier as he stepped closer towards you. with a sudden flick of his wrist, he swung the belt up into the air, the leather slicing through it with a sharp crack that echoed off the walls. you knew what to expect.

you wore a dress that felt like liquid silk, the deep sapphire color wrapped around you perfectly, highlighting your curves and drawing in the light. jay stood close, his gaze intense and hungry. he held the cool leather of the belt in one hand, while the other slowly reached for the delicate straps of your dress. his fingers brushed against your skin, sending a thrill through you. as he harshly pulled the straps down, a shiver ran down your spine, igniting every nerve. the straps slid off your shoulders, exposing your collarbone and upper chest.

“be quiet and it will be finished soon” he whispered, unable to hide away a sly smirk.

with a sudden movement, the cold material of the belt hit your round ass with a powerful gesture, making you whimper and move your body forward, while biting on your lower lip to prevent yourself from disturbing his silence. it took jay just another second to spank your butt again, this time harder as satisfaction grew inside him. the view of you crying out and taking your punishment so well awakened something within him.

“does it feel good being reminded to stay a good girl, princess?” he stated, pulling your dress lower to fully expose your perky tits. without second thoughts, he spanked your breasts with the same belt, admiring the red mark formed already on your skin. it looked so good on you, the pure evidence of his punishment. it looked even too good that he had to do it again, harder, another set of marks forming along.

it hurt so much but it felt so freaking good that you couldn’t help but lightly moan out his name. jay noticed how your nipples hardened after the painful impact, only making him chuckle ironically “aren’t you such a nasty girl for enjoying this?” he asked on a sarcastic tone. “jay, that’s no-,” “your nipples say it all” he breathed, lowering his face down to give them a small nipping.

whimpers couldn’t be avoided as you were a whole mess, half naked with red marks on your chest area, much likely under your dress as well. if he wasn’t so pissed off, maybe he would have lifted your dress too to give you a proper punishment and turn your ass into a whole different colour. but wouldn’t that bring you even more pleasure? what kind of punishment is it then?

“jay,” you whispered, crossing your legs as soon as you felt his mouth on your sensitive buds. he stood back up, bringing the belt upon your ass again, seriousness growing on his face. it was all fun and games until he actually needed to make sure you will be obeying from now on. “it will be so sore to even sit down after i finish with you” he ‘assured’ you, spanking your ass again, feeling the pain growing each time, just as your moaning did.

#enhypen hard #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen smut #jay smut #jay hard hours #jay hard thoughts #jay enhypen #park jongseong

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hottpinkpenguin · 8 months ago

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The Best Pupil - Feyd Rautha X Fem!Reader

A/n: this is absolutely nothing but pure, depraved, toe-curling smut. MINORS - keep it moving, this is not the fic for you! 18+ only! this is my first time writing for Feyd, also probably my most explicit oneshot yet - happy to do more if anyone has requests :)

Tags: Dom!Reader/Sub!Feyd, breeding kink, curvy/plus size reader, praise kink, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), anal play, orgasm denial, student/teacher vibes, non-canon stuff, soft!Feyd, angst turn to fluff, smutsmutsmutsmuttysmutsmut, plotless smut Word Count: 4160

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You strode into the na-Baron’s bedchamber, pulling back the hood of your rain-soaked cloak. You couldn’t see him in the lightless room, but you knew he was there.

“Feyd.”

Nothing but silence. No bother. You knew how to draw him out.

You began to pull at the line of clasps that ran down the front of the cloak, locking it like a vice around your silhouette. One by one, the clasps sprang open. The gown you wore underneath was strapless, and you let the cloak fall off your shoulders to reveal your skin to the light of Giedi Prime’s moon. You could practically smell Feyd’s excitement, even if you couldn’t see him. You knew his eyes were drinking you in from the darkness. You tilted your head back, your eyelids fluttering closed as you undid the final clasp, letting the cloak pool at your feet.

This time, you heard an audible inhale as Feyd slunk towards you out of the shadows. You wore nothing but a sheer gauzy black gown underneath, putting your ample curves on full display for your na-Baron. Your nipples were already hard and chafing against the barely-there material of your dress.

“Come out and play, Feyd,” you simmered. He was on you before his name fell quiet off your tongue.

“Priestess.” He exhaled as he said your title, the way he lingered on the s’s sending a shiver up your spine. Your hands found his face easily - smooth, soft skin pulled taut over the hard lines of his jaw. You let your fingers dance small circles across his cheeks, lips, and brow. He was panting but perfectly still in front of you. Just like you’d taught him. You smirked as you found his lips, trembling with anticipation, and plunged two your fingers inside his mouth.

“Suck.” Feyd, ever eager to please you, obeyed. His lips closed in around your digits and you felt his tongue dance over your fingertips. Delicate and restrained.

“Such a good boy for me.” Feyd whimpered in ecstasy at your praise. You saw his eyes close as he doubled his efforts on your fingers. You moved them around his mouth, reaching back to touch his molars and running them along the inside of his cheeks. He was vibrating, his hands desperate to touch you, to rip the layers of your gown off you and lose himself in your body. But years of training had left him completely under your control. Feyd-Rautha, the brutal heir to the blood-soaked Harkonnen legacy, was putty in your deft hands.

“Good job, na-Baron,” you cooed as you pulled your fingers out of his mouth. His greedy mouth tried to follow your fingers, desperate for more of you, all of you, any part of you that you would grant him. You thought about smacking him, making him kneel, maybe punishing him for being so needy by retiring to your private quarters and leaving him hopelessly unfulfilled until the next lunar cycle. But your body was keening for release, desperate for him inside you, pounding into you until you couldn’t breathe, couldn't talk, couldn’t think.

“Patience, my love. Patience.” Feyd bit his lip as his eyes poured into you, waiting for your next move, his next command.

“Watch.”

Only the simmer in his eyes betrayed his frustration at being denied the satisfaction of your skin. He nodded with a lovesick pout as you walked past him, over to his expansive bed. Black silk sheets were strewn like pools of water over the bed. You sank backwards onto the mattress, hiking the delicate fabric of your see-through gown up over your thighs. You leaned back, exposing your pussy to Feyd. His eyes devoured the sight greedily as he bit down hard on his bottom lip, trying to control his desire for you.

“Come here. Kneel.” You pointed at the smooth, marbled floor in front of where your legs were propped up and spread open. You could feel the cool night breeze hitting the moisture already pooled in between your thighs. Feyd obeyed, moving with restrained strength as he came to kneel before you. The muscles in his neck and jaw were locked tight, every fiber of his concentration bent on restraint.

“Closer, na-Baron. Close enough to smell me.”

Feyd’s eyes flicked over your face as he obeyed your torturous commands. He sidled closer to your wet slit, so close that you could feel his heavy exhales on your thighs.

“So obedient,” you purred, letting your fingers - still damp with his spit - begin dancing over your sensitive clit. You gasped at the sensation, your free hand coming to cup one of your breasts. Your cunt shuddered, clamping down on nothing.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve let you have me,” you commented idly, your eyes locking with Feyd’s. He held your gaze, knowing that’s what you expected of him. He nodded once, a nod of pure agony. “I wonder, na-Baron,” you paused as you slid two fingers inside of you, your breath hitching in your throat at the sensation. Feyd fidgeted where he knelt in front of you. Your knuckles brushed the tip of his nose as you began working in and out of yourself. “Are you ready to please me after all this time away? Or will you give in to baser instincts?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him, inviting him to reply. The sight of him, kneeling and stockstill between your spread-eagle legs, sent a shockwave of delight sprinkling over your skin. You threw your head back as you gave him permission to reply: “Speak.”

“Your pleasure is always my sole concern, Priestess.” Gods, he really meant it too. You were hardest on Feyd because he was your most gifted student. Endowed with impressive physicality and astounding stamina, you’d taken great care to shape his will to your needs over the years. And he always satisfied you. Always.

“Then show me, na-Baron. Eat until I can’t tell you not to anymore.”

His eyes glittered with anticipation as he waited for the word that set him free. You pulled your fingers out of your pussy, licking your moisture off of them with a throaty moan, and settled into a propped-up position so you could watch the show.

“Begin.”

Your command sent Feyd into a frenzy. He dove into you like a predator, his mouth clamping down on your already twitching cunt with primal ferocity. He growled against you, arms hooking around your thighs and locking you in place. You cried out instantly, back arching off the bed as his tongue found your sensitive bud and he slipped three fingers inside you with force.

Your first orgasm crashed against you fast and hard. Your thighs shook with pleasure as Feyd lapped and sucked and stroked you with his tongue, moaning at the sight of you coming on his mouth. You collapsed fully back to the mattress, your hands coming to his head and dragging him harder against your mound. He practically roared into you as he curled his fingers upwards inside you, pressing and pounding in and out. Your first orgasm hadn’t fully receded before you felt the coil deep within your core snapping again. Incoherent words and splinters of his name spilled from your lips as you screamed out loudly. The sound drove Feyd-Rautha mad. You knew others could hear you, and it didn’t matter. You were his Priestess, and he was your na-Baron. Let them listen.

Your entire body was shaking from the force of your pleasure when Feyd pulled back from your mound, wrenching your hips sideways to flip you 180 degrees over onto your stomach. You slammed down on the luxuriously soft sheets with a grunt of surprise. Feyd’s mouth was back on you in an instant, greedily digging at your cunt from a new angle. His fingers pulled back from your slick slit, moving upwards to your other entry and pressing inwards.

The initial gasp of surprise turned into a chuckle, and Feyd that further coaxed into a gurgled moan of pleasure as he stretched your ass. His fingers were sopping from your orgasms and his spittle. They slid in and out of you easily. He knew your body better than his lungs knew air, and he showcased his skill with relish. Another wave of pleasure crested inside you, turning your muscles to jelly as you buried your face in the sheets, crying out his name in ecstasy. Liquid gushed from between your legs and onto his face. He groaned at the taste, lapping up every last drop as he shook his face against you, elongating the pulsing of your climax. You tried to scoot away from him, out of his grip, but you’d trained him too thoroughly to let you escape now. Your body felt like it was on fire, your oversensitive clit pounding in time with the flicks of his tongue.

“Stop, Feyd, stop.” He only chuckled and kept going, remembering your command: eat until I can’t tell you not to anymore.

Your fourth orgasm wiped your mind clear of any coherent thought. You were too weak, too undone to even protest. You simply closed your eyes and let Feyd guide you through. He sensed the change, his attention becoming less feral and gentler. He danced his mouth over your clit in a delicately decrescendoing pattern, letting you settle back into your body softly. When you finally reared up, hair mussed and your gown completely twisted around your midsection, he pulled off of you. He’d done well, followed your commands exactly. You clumsily flipped yourself back over, spots dancing in your vision. He was stripping off his black fighting leathers at the foot of the bed, his smooth, muscled skin shining in the dim moonlight of his chamber.

“Priestess. I trust you’re not disappointed with my performance?” A lesser man would have smirked with smugness at that question. Evidence of your satisfaction was literally dripping off his chin. But not Feyd-Rautha. His voice was devastatingly sincere, his eyes drinking you in, waiting, begging, for your praise.

You smiled at him, running your tongue over your lips as his erect cock sprang free of his trousers.

“Your Priestess is never disappointed when you’re so obedient for me,” you replied. You saw Feyd shiver. He moved involuntarily to fist himself, but stilled, remembering that you had yet to allow him.

“What would my Priestess have with me next?” he asked quietly. A dark quality to his voice, a deepening wont. The game was heating up. This was the part Feyd loved: putting aside his imminent pleasure for you. He’d done it a thousand times for you. Fuck you right up until he was shuddering with the first waves of his own finish, and then pull back from the edge at the very last moment. You’d hold him in limbo for hours, sometimes days, before you’d let him release.

But tonight wouldn’t be like that. Tonight was different. Tonight you had news.

“Before that, na-Baron. We have business to discuss.” You motioned for him to join you on the bed next to you. His eyes widened in anticipation, wondering what you had in store for him. He did as you bade and sank onto the silken sheets next to you. His cock bounced beguilingly as he sat, and you smirked, leaning over and taking his length in your mouth in one smooth motion. He moaned, his head throwing back, as a hand twined itself in your hair. No pressure, no guidance or demand in the touch. Just a need to feel you, to hold you. You allowed it.

You slid your mouth up and down his shaft a few times, the salty tang of his precum staining the back of your tongue. With your lips sealed shut around his member, you let your tongue trace patterns up and down the shaft and across the head as you pumped up and down. You knew just how Feyd liked it, and you felt his dick twitch appreciatively at the attention.

“What is this business, Priestess?” His voice was breathy with lust. You pulled back, letting his girth spring out of your lips with a little pop. He gasped softly and let you push his torso backwards onto the mattress.

“I received a message from the Emperor’s Rite, the head of my order.” You guided Feyd’s feet upwards off the cool stone floor until he was lying prone on his back with his knees bent upwards against his chest. You moved yourself below him, kneeling off the edge of the bed, his backside and balls exposed to you.

“The Rite, as you remember, makes decisions about mixing bloodlines.” You were dragging this out, and you could sense Feyd’s confusion. Determined not to let him think too far ahead, you let a dollop of spit drip out of your mouth onto his thick cock, and using one of your hands coated his length with it.

“I remember,” he replied hoarsely.

You licked a stripe from the base of his cock down over his balls and below, to the soft spot above his ass. He gasped - eyes rolling back in his head in ecstasy - as you applied pressure there with a finger, your other hand pumping up and down on his shaft.

“The Rite has bidden me to conceive a child,” you continued. The words fell heavy on Feyd’s ears, and you felt his breath still in his chest. Feyd-Rautha hadn’t taken another woman to his bed in over six years, nor you another man. The na-Baron was dangerously jealous, and even if you were to command it of him, you knew it was beyond his ability to restrain himself from killing any man who had you in the ways he did.

You continued your ministrations to his cock, applying pulsing pressure to the soft skin behind his balls in time with your strokes. Despite his obvious distraction at your words, his body responded with delightful predictability. His breath was growing huskier, his focus drifting.

“Conceive with who, Priestess?” he managed to choke out. Even through the fog of sex, you heard the low tone of threat in his words. You smiled, glad he couldn’t see you spoil the moment in the darkness.

“With the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.”

Feyd’s head snapped up just as you attached your mouth to one of his balls and sucked, drawing forth a moaning cry of pleasure from him. You felt Feyd’s core muscles grind down on themselves as he shook with the force of an orgasm. Years of your careful training had shown him how to crest in pleasure without spilling his seed, something that had always been of paramount importance for the two of you. Preventing a pregnancy was your chief concern as the na-Baron’s Priestess. Until now, that was.

You continued the carefully orchestrated dance between your two hands and your mouth to coax him through his climax, his legs quaking around you as you tested the limits of his release. You loved him like this - totally vulnerable, totally trusting of you. No one else in the galaxy knew this Feyd-Rautha. No one else had this power to break him down and put him back together. And now, with what you’d just told him, no one else ever would.

When he was coherent enough to speak, he sat upright, grabbing your chin between his forefinger and his thumb. His gaze was probing as he captured your eyes with his.

“Don’t jest, Priestess. Please.” His speech was sloppy with a mix of apprehension and longing.

You chuckled, grabbing the hand that captured your chin and pressing a kiss to his trembling knuckles.

“Am I to assume you’re not up to the task of fathering my child, na-Baron?” You gave him a wicked smirk, your eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Much to your surprise, tears of sincerity pooled at your lash line. One slipped out, sliding down your cheek until Feyd - uncharacteristically gentle - swiped it away. His hands came to frame both sides of your face as he stared into you. Feyd had never seen such a vision, never dreamt of this moment. His consorts with you had been sanctioned by the Emperor’s Rite, of course, but it was typical for nobles in the Great Houses to take sexual instruction from the Priestesses. He’d always known that you’d be tasked with conceiving a child for the furtherance of a chosen bloodline. He hadn’t let himself dare to hope that it would be his bloodline.

For the first time since his training with you had begun over six years ago, Feyd-Rautha leaned forward and captured your lips with his. Kissing was strictly forbidden between Priestesses and their consort-pupils. It was considered too intimate, too familiar. He’d seen your lips wrapped around his cock a thousand times, but he’d never tasted them with his own mouth. He was encouraged that you didn’t pull back or toy with him. Instead, your lips met his with a matched neediness. The two of you found your rhythm easily, your tongue darting over his lips coyly. He smiled against you, his hands cupping the back of your head and pulling you deeper into him. He could taste the faintest trace of himself on your tongue, and it drove him wilder. Only until he felt close enough to swallow your heartbeats did he pull back ever so slightly, holding you still a hair’s width away from him. You looked up at him through thick lashes, your breath warm on his skin.

“When have I ever disappointed you, my Priestess.” This time, it was his turn to smirk. He leaned in for another kiss, deep and passionate. You murmured against him the only word he needed - “Begin” - and he felt his restraint tear loose from six years of carefully constructed ritual.

He leaned back, pulling you on top of him until your bodies were melded together in a long line. He loved the way you felt on top of him - soft and full and womanly. Warm and soft and totally fucking his. The gauzy fabric of your gown left too much skin inaccessible to his touch, so he ripped the material with ease, sliding the torn fabric out from between you and casting it aside. You kept your mouth locked on his, his mind fracturing under the weight of so many distracting sensations. He felt you reach down for his cock, steadying it between you as you shifted your hips and placed him at your entrance.

He exhaled throatily to feel how wet you were - how ready. Normally, he would have taken his cue from you, but the news you’d just delivered had changed something. Feyd-Rautha was no longer simply your pupil. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was to be the father of your child, he was to be your breeder.

His hands found your hips, holding you still as he thrust upwards into your folds, sheathing himself inside you with a merciless ferocity. A gasp of shivering pleasure fell off your tongue. Feyd repeated the same motion - withdrawing from your cunt completely before thrusting back up into you with a strong, hard stroke. Your tits bounced eagerly as you held yourself up above him, the entirety of your body on display for him. Feyd’s gaze raked over your curves, imagining how your breasts would get heavy and your belly swell with child. His child. The thought drove him mad.

With a roar of desire, he flipped you over on your back, throwing your legs up to your shoulders until he had you bent completely in half. He pounded into you over and over again, coaxing another fast, brutal orgasm out of your fluttering cunt. He felt your walls convulsing around him, watched your face as you gasped out his name. Your hands grabbed at him, dragging nails down his back and pulling at his ass. As if you wanted to pull him into the very center of you, beneath your skin. If such a thing were possible, I would do it, he thought with blazing possessiveness. He leaned forward, muffling his name on your lips. You were too gone, too blissed out, to kiss him back with any dexterity whatsoever, but he didn’t mind. He wanted you broken in half with the force of him, absolutely shattered in a million little pieces of fucked out pleasure. And then, only when you were completely undone beneath him, would he loose himself inside you. He’d never spilled his cum inside your cunt. He’d painted your tits, your backside, your face, your hair with it. He’d emptied himself inside your ass before, but never inside your perfect, pounded out pussy. Goosebumps pricked across his back at the thought.

“Going to fucking come inside you, Priestess,” he moaned, feeling his release approaching. Seeing you bouncing wildly beneath him, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, was sending him hurtling towards unraveling. “Going to breed you with my child. Breed you until you can’t breath. My beautiful Priestess, my only Priestess. So fucking good to me. Say I can, Priestess. Let me come inside.”

He didn’t know whether he was speaking out loud anymore, but you understood him. “Breed me, Feyd,” you gasped, eyes locking with his. Feyd let his mind splinter into a white fog as his forehead connected with yours. He felt your breath fanning across his face as you whined his name, felt your body slick with sweat bouncing underneath him as his movements became sloppy, felt your pussy squeezing around him as pumped himself into you. He felt like the very core of his body had become unlaced, deliciously undone. He managed to hold his weight off of you until he was utterly spent, and then collapsed on you. You didn’t seem to mind, your hips splayed open underneath him where the two of you were still connected. He could feel wetness seeping out of you - his wetness, he realized - but even that didn’t rouse him. He listened to the sound of your heartbeat matching his, let the feeling of your breath on his ear lull him in and out of the fog like a dream. Moments passed by slowly. Inch by inch, Feyd felt blood flood back into his hands, his legs, his arms.

He pressed himself upwards enough to look down at you. Your eyes were shut, a dreamy smile on your full lips. Your hair was splayed around you like a halo - no, a goddamn crown, he realized.

“Marry me.”

You chuckled at his words, one of your hands coming to the skin of his back, lazily dragging back and forth across his skin.

“Marry me, Priestess.” More insistent this time. His intention was clearer, his future beginning to lock into place in his mind. Nothing made more sense than to bind you to him.

You turned to look at him, your brows furrowed. Your lips were puffy, your skin glistening with the results of your mutual exertions.

“Marriage?” Feyd wasn’t surprised you were skeptical. Priestesses - even when they were bred - were rarely proposed to. Their purpose to the Great Houses began with tutelage and ended with child-bearing. Marrying a Priestess didn’t convey any political advantage or advance the interests of the Harkonnen household. But Feyd-Rautha would burn Giedi Prime and the entire galaxy for you. He’d always known that, but never before allowed himself to acknowledge it.

He slid sideways off of you, propping his head up on one elbow. His eyes traced down the lines of your body as mirrored his position. He couldn’t help but thread a hand between your thighs, feeling the warmth of his cum mixed with your juices there. You were oversensitive and moaned in protest at the intrusion, but he shushed you gently.

“Marry me, Priestess. I’ll give you the galaxy. I’ll pluck every star from the sky for you.”

You considered his words carefully, your expression serious as you held his gaze. He felt one of your hands land on his cheek, your thumb running across his lips.

“I don’t need the galaxy, na-Baron,” you replied after a few quiet moments. “But I will marry you.”

Feyd captured your lips in his, a soft and gentle kiss. He’d never known this type of feeling before. A soft, fluttering lightness in his chest. Joy, he thought. This is joy.

You pulled back from him gently, merriment dancing in your large eyes. “Although, na-Baron, since you’re offering… I will take a warm cloth.”

For one of the first times in his life, Feyd-Rautha - heir to Harkonnen house and all its bloodied riches, one of the most skilled assassins in the galaxy - laughed.

“Anything for you, my Priestess,” he murmured, rising from the sheets. He strode over to the washroom attached to his bedchamber, glancing back at you, draped like a goddess over his bed. This, I can get used to, he thought with joy as he set off to fetch that cloth for you.

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