#some people were even sunbathing

[tururi-tururu]

A Coruña, Spain - 3/13/2024

[wallabywannabe]

Took less than 10 minutes after getting home from the vet visit for Petra to resume her normal routine without fear. So proud!

[tonycries]

One More? Please? - G.S.

Synopsis. A kiss always solves everything! But when a kiss turns into something more…well, it’s only a desperate attempt to unseal yourselves from this damned prison realm, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, coworkers to lovers, being stuck in that damn box, oral (female), mutual másturbation, spitting, fáce-sítting, máting press, Satoru is down bad for you, chóking, overstim, multiple rounds, créampie, pet names (sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 4.4k

A/N. Happy belated two months to this blog! Concept inspired by this post by @kingkonoha.

“Maybe we should kiss and see if the box opens?”

“That’s the dumbest fucking thing to ever come out of your mouth.”

“Hey- it works in the movies! True love’s kiss and all-”

You heave out a heavy sigh that makes even the skeleton at your shoulder shake its head in pity. Goddamn, if these curses weren’t going to kill him then you will. 

“I take it back. That’s the dumbest fucking thing to ever come out of your mouth.”

Satoru hooks a thumb over his blindfold to gaze at you with mock seriousness. Oh, how the mighty have fallen - and how you were teetering dangerously close to a stroke with each dramatic bat of his long lashes.

“C’monnn~” he whines, with the flair of someone that was not sealed in an inescapable prison, “Don’t tell me that in all these years you’ve never once been at least a little tempted to kiss me, sweetheart.” 

“I’d rather kiss that dusty skull.” Shooting him a pointed look that makes even the skulls at your feet recoil. It would almost be hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact that you were trapped. In the prison realm. With Gojo Satoru of all people. Possibly forever.

Shit, is this karma for all those times you ditched Satoru with Nanami instead of dealing with him yourself?

Now, Satoru might be going about it with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, but just a few minutes ago when his life flashed before his very eyes at the mere sight of Suguru - or at least, the monster wearing his body - he’d expected some of his favorite memories to be the ones with you in it. 

You - his lil’ coworker - in all your gorgeous, smart-mouthed glory. And maybe if he was lucky, he even expected a couple glimpses of you in his future. Preferably with a giant rock on your finger.

But that’s a story for another time, what he certainly did not expect was for your stupidly heroic (and quite beautiful) ass to jump right in the middle of the prison realm’s ensnarement. 

Although, honestly, right now he doesn’t think he’d want to be locked up in here with anyone but you - and that withering glare you send him. 

Undeterred, Satoru has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh. Laugh. A sound you’ve come to realize over the years, as innocent as it sounds, does not bode well for you or your sanity. 

A sanity that’s been slowly dwindling since your first day of meeting Satoru. Back then, a brash, cocky new teacher that waltzed into the halls of Jujutsu Tech in those pretentious sunglasses like he owned the place. 

Well, not that he was any different right now. Lounging over some disgruntled skeletons, you half-expected him to pull out a deck chair and start sunbathing amidst the bones. Your begrudging coworker - and occasional bane of your existence - seemed right at home. 

You, however, were decidedly not having the time of your life. 

“I swear, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you grumble, wincing at the bones prodding you from almost every angle. 

“Can you blame me?” he hums, now fully tugging down his blindfold to hang around his neck, “It’s not every day I get to spend quality time with my favorite person in the world.”

You scoff, strangely self-conscious as those striking blue sweep your figure from head to toe. “Lucky me. Well why don’t you spend this quality time helping me figure out how the hell we can get out of here.”

“I already told y-”

“Anything but that.”

With a sulky huff, Satoru peers down at you, “Then we just wait till someone gets us out of here. I’m sure Megumi-chan is just tearing his emo hair out trying to unseal this thing.”

“...”

“You’re absolutely correct, Yuji then. Or…” he tilts his head towards a sad pile of bones, “We end up like our little friend over there. Though I’d make a far better looking skeleton-”

You don’t hear the rest of Satoru’s rant over the small noise of concern that falls from your lips. Something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach at the fact that yes you really were stuck in the prison realm with Gojo Satoru. Possibly forever. And no this wasn’t some strange dream like when you and Shoko accidentally raided the wrong brownie box in the kitchen.

Shit. 

And perhaps it showed on your face, because you’re jolted out of your reverie by warm fingers intertwining with yours. Grounding. Satoru’s eyes now searching yours with an intensity that made you squirm uncomfortably. 

“Hey, we’ll figure this out, okay?” he mutters softly. “Remember that time we accidentally set the training ground on fire?” leaning in closer now, “Or that mission we got chased by that cursed vending machine?”

You roll your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. “Yeah, and then you nearly got us killed trying to order a sweet tea. ”

Satoru chuckles, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “See? It worked out, didn’t it? It always does, sweetheart.” 

And if your heart does a strange little lurch, well, then you just blame it on the femur jabbing into your side. 

All is quiet in your little hell. That is, until.

“Hey, Satoru…does kissing really work in the movies?” 

You barely catch the way Satoru’s breath hitches ever-so-slightly as he leans in closer. eyes sparkling with mischief. And oh you knew that look - one that was usually accompanied by a lecture by Yaga, one that sent shivers down your spine. He grins, “Well, there’s only one way to find out, hm?”

Embarrassment and amusement bubbles inside you, tumbling out in the form of a barely-audible, “A peck. One.”

“Awww. Eight?”’

“No.”

“Five?”

“Satoru.”

Minty breath fanning your face, “Okay okay, one peck and a kiss to your forehead. C’mon, it’s a bargain~”

Pinching your nose, you sigh out a weary, “This is so stupid. Fine, but if it doesn’t work then I’m strangling you.”

And it’s all that is said before his lips are on yours.  

Soft. Satoru’s lips were so soft. And he tasted so unfairly of caramel apples and sweet, sweet mischief. Just like him. Feather-light and fleeting - yet the kiss burns into your brain with an intensity that you strangely didn’t mind.

It’s over before you know it. The cold air hits your lips as Satoru’s words ring in your ears, a disappointed little, “Aw, that didn’t work.”

Barely even risking a glance at the still very sealed realm, your body reacts before your mind - the expensive cotton of his uniform collar soft against your fingers as you pull Satoru towards you with a sense of urgency you can’t quite explain.

And then you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you because shit this is all that Satoru’s been dreaming about since he turned 23 and suddenly realized that oh you were frighteningly everything that he ever wanted. 

“S-Satoru,” you whisper, breathless against his lips. 

“Shhhh, my girl. One more. Didn’t work.” 

His lips are searing on yours. Urgent and greedy, because fuck if it took getting trapped in the prison realm to finally kiss you then God knows when he’ll be able to again. 

Which is why he breathes you in like he doesn’t have enough time, and probably never will - even in this godforsaken box where time never passes. 

“Shit. O-one more.”

Drinking in your sweet gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours, tasting how sinfully delicious you were. Satoru’s hands wander the expanse of your body, cupping your head to kiss you deeper, snaking down to squeeze your ass - and everything in between. 

Pulling away ever-so-slightly with a playful bite to your bottom lip, he leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. The disappointed whine that leaves your pretty mouth makes all the blood in Satoru’s body rush to his cock. 

“Sweetheart.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your racing pulse. “Y’think I kissed the wrong lips?”

Oh? 

Satoru’s words send a jolt of electricity running down your spine - all the way down to your heated cunt. “W-what?” you managed to choke out, cheeks flaring as he raises his eyes to meet yours and-

Oh.

Oh, shit. If the curses weren’t going to kill you then Satoru sure might. 

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Satoru carefully jostling the two of you so that he’s lying on his back, your body manhandled to straddle his pretty face. 

“Satoru, when you mean ‘wrong lips’...here?” you trail off, still reeling from him and the abrupt change in position and him. 

“Exactly what I mean,” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating beneath your dripping cunt. “Now, spread ‘em wider f’me. Let me taste you- Need it s’bad.”

Body moving as if on autopilot, your knees part wider to let him greedily take in the sight of your soaked panties. Beads of slick seeping through the thin fabric each time his hot breath meets your cunt. 

But not for long - the cool air hits you before you realize what’s happening. Because Satoru is ripping your flimsy panties off with one hand. Throwing it behind to God-knows-where with the urgency of a madman. 

“Shit, so wet f’me already.” he groans, mouth watering at the obscene sight of you clenching around nothing. “S’gorgeous. You really are perfect everywhere, huh?” he mutters through lazy, languid kisses along your thighs. Tongue darting out just so to leisurely trace circles along the heated skin. 

Strong arms wrap around your thighs, the stretch nothing with the two long fingers spreading your swollen folds apart. Your face burns from just how adoring Satoru looks below you.

You buck into his touch, “Hngh- Please. Wan’ your mouth on me.”

And perhaps the great Gojo Satoru decided to be merciful for once in his life, because without another word, he’s surging forward. Tongue flicking out to tease your sloppy entrance, pooling your juices before tipping his head back, back, back to let it slide down his throat so sinfully.

Shit, Satoru could just cum in his pants right now, of course you taste heavenly. Better than he could’ve ever imagined on any lonely night. 

You shudder as he flattens his tongue across your folds, sliding teasingly between them, grazing your swollen clit just barely at an unhurried rhythm that almost has Satoru forgetting where he was. But quite frankly, he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it either.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart?” he hums around your clit, the vibrations making you squeal. Sucking gently, tongue rolling harshly against your bundle of nerves, over and over- “Cause it’s what I’ve been wanting for years.”

The words ring in your ears almost as much as the lewd squelches below. Years?

“F-fuck- feels hngh- What do you mean y-years, Satoru?” 

Oh, Satoru thinks he could pass out just at the way you whine out his name so prettily. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, a hand hastily snaking down to unbuckle his pants. “Mhmm~ Couldn’t go a day without sparring with you where I didn’t think of bending you over and tasting you right there y’know.”

Your eyes snap down to meet Satoru’s hazy, half-lidded ones. Something dark and feral shining within them. And right now, thighs wrapped around his head, you don’t think he’s ever looked happier. White locks splayed out, a fucked-out expression on his face as his tongue bullies past your folds, you could feel the slight smile curling his lips against you. 

It’s overwhelming - both his confession and the way Satoru was making out with your cunt like a man starved.

Nose-deep in your pussy, tongue alternating between its abuse on your throbbing clit and dipping in and out of your sloppy hole at a maddening pace. Mouth only speeding up ruthlessly at the way you convulse and grind involuntarily on top of him.

God, Satoru was going insane at the way your walls were sucking him up so good, clamping down with each push of his tongue. 

“Shit- made jus’ f’me. You like that, don’t you?” he growls against your cunt, voice hoarse with desire. “Like fucking my face with your pussy?”

“Oh! Ngh, yes Satoru- L-love it-”

A bruising grip on your hips, encouraging you to rock against his face. Harder. Tongue more desperate. He couldn’t get enough. Meeting your every grind, tongue lapping at your cunt so obscenely. 

Breaths ragged and hot against your cunt, drinking you in with the desperation of a man that wouldn’t mind giving up air for your essence. And it was Satoru - of course he wouldn’t mind.

Especially with the large hand snaking up your thigh, going from drawing reassuring patterns at your hips to rubbing tight, little circles on your pulsing clit. Hasty, and urgent - like he had no time to waste. “Tha’s right, my girl. Give it up for me,”

Every cell in your body is on fire, every nerve ending singing with pleasure at the way Satoru plays your body like an instrument. 

“M’close, Satoru- Hah- s’close.” you moan breathlessly, a hand tangling in his soft strands. Using it as leverage to ride Satoru’s pretty face just the way you like it.

But you didn’t have to - because Satoru seems to already know exactly what to do. Exactly how to quirk his tongue just right to brush against all your most sensitive spots. Exactly how to match the rhythm of his abuse on your clit to the way he was tonguefucking you into delirium. Exactly how to look at you with such a hungry expression that devours you almost as much as his mouth. 

“Cum f’me, sweetheart.”

Satoru didn’t even have to ask. Because you’re cumming with a strangled gasp of his name. White-hot pleasure coursing through you like lightning, body trembling as you cum all over Satoru’s pretty face. 

Hands moving your limp, boneless hips across his face, forcing you to ride out peak after peak on his red lips.

As the blood roaring in your ears bates, and you blink back your vision, the first thing you see are those familiar blue eyes gazing up at you. Holding you steady, lips brushing gentle kisses along your inner thighs. 

Oh, how beautiful he was like this.

“S-S’toru?” you mewl, still sensitive from your orgasm as Satoru shifts underneath you to sit you prettily in his lap.

“Mhm?” he nuzzles your neck.

“One more. It didn’t work.”

Oh, if you knew the only way to shut up Gojo Satoru was to say something like this then you would’ve done it a lot sooner. 

But Satoru’s stunned silence doesn’t last for long, because he grins, low and sultry, “You’re right. It didn’t work.”

The metallic clinking of a belt echoes in the stuffy chamber as Satoru hastily pushes down his pants. Cock springing free to hit his lower abs, “What a shame.”

You blink at the sheer size of him - he was going to split you in two. It was unfair, really. Water is wet. Gojo Satoru has a big dick. 

But oh was he pretty - so pretty.  Prominent veins glistening in the dim lighting, fat tip flushed your favorite shade of delicate pink, leaking furiously in between your thighs.

Gulping, you reach out to wrap your hand around his achingly hard cock. So warm and heavy in your hands. “Y-yeah, what a shame.”

Both of you watch - entranced - at the way he twitches in your grasp at the mere sound of your voice. A maddening little bump! bump! bump! against your palm as you begin pumping him slowly - so agonizingly slow. 

“Oh- Feel s’good, sweetheart.” Satoru hisses lowly as you swipe at the precum beading at this head. Thumbing teasingly under his sensitive slit, tracing delicately along his veins. 

And by God does it do something to you to see the great Gojo Satoru falling apart for you, hair tousled, lips kiss-bitten, and eyes looking at you like he wanted to positively eat you alive. It made your cunt throb so desperately, slick forming a dark wet patch on his trousers. 

Not one to be left behind, his long fingers deftly snake down to your dripping cunt. Not wasting any time before bullying his fingertips past your swollen folds, curling expertly to press down against that one spot that has your fist faltering on his cock. Hard. 

Pretty little moans left your lips at the way Satoru so easily matches your pace. Thrusting knuckle-deep into your pussy in and out - hitting that spot over and over.

“Shit, Toru- s’deep inside me. I’m- hngh-”

Satoru was in heaven, really. You were so warm and wet around both his fingers and his throbbing cock. 

Only two thoughts running through his mind right now - 1. He was right, your hands were softer and more sinfully delicious around his swollen cock. And 2. The hardest battle he’s ever fought was probably right now - at your mercy, trying not to spill all over your hands because he’d be damned if he finally scored the girl and came in two seconds.

Shit, he thinks fingers almost erratic now, he needs you to cum. Right now. 

As if sensing his urgency, your moves become more frantic, Satoru’s brows furrowing at the way you increase your pace. His hips twitch, as if trying to thrust into your fist. matching your pace as you start stroking him harder, faster. 

Ah, but alas, the great Gojo Satoru’s reputation precedes him. 

“Oh, fuck- M’gonna-” And soon enough, you’re seeing stars behind your eyes - or maybe those were tears - as you cum. Hard. 

Body moving before your mind, you’re clenching around Satoru’s fingers, grinding down so ferally as you edge him closer and closer. “C’mon, Toru. One more, right?” you whisper brokenly, lips ghosting his ear.

Breath coming in short, strained gasps of what sounded like your name now, “Oh- fuck ngh- so close.” he warns, voice hoarse. “If you keep doing that, I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

You smirk, raising a brow, “Is that a threat, Satoru?”

Willing his fucked-out eyes open, they bore into yours as he utters, “No, ah- it’s a p-promise.”

Without warning, Satoru clasps your wrists, forcing you to stop pumping him. The disappointed mewl threatening to spill from your lips is cut off just as your back hits the ground.

Slam!

You think you could almost get whiplash from how swiftly Satoru had you caged and splayed out so shamefully beneath him. 

You whine, “But you didn’t even get to-”

“Fuck, not now. Gotta feel you or else m’gonna cum so embarrassingly all over your fist.” He rests his throbbing erection laid out so enticingly across your stomach, leaking hot precum onto your skin. And that makes you shut up, eyes mapping where it ended and realizing that yeah, you might’ve faced more mercy with the curses outside of this box. “Besides. One more, right?”

And before you can respond, Satoru’s spitting on you once. Twice. Thrice.

You flinch as the wads of saliva hit your dripping cunt, mixing with your slick so obscenely as Satoru smears it across your swollen folds. Your mouth drops into a soft oh! of disbelief as he promptly pops his thumb into his mouth, groaning at the taste. 

“Shit.” Satoru hisses lowly, “One more might just not be enough.”

Not wasting a moment longer, he’s bullying his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. Head thrown back as your plush walls desperately try to accommodate his size.

“Oh. Oh shit hah- should’ve been locked up here ngh- sooner.” he groans, words straight from his cock. “Feel s’heavenly around m-me.” Because God Satoru thinks he wouldn’t even mind staying here for the rest of his life if it meant he got to have you like this.

You moan at the positively delicious stretch of your pussy, plush walls unable to decide between pushing him out and milking the soul out of him. “Hah- Toru s’too big. I can’t-” 

“You will.” he grits out, teeth clenched and brows furrowed as he focuses on letting you adjust. Pressing inch by fucking inch. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he fights that feral part of himself that just wants to plunge into your pretty pussy till his tip kisses your cervix, and you’re drunk on nothing but his cock.

But he didn’t have to - because you’re immediately wrapping your legs around his toned waist, pulling Satoru to you recklessly until his heavy balls smack your ass. Tufts of snowy white hair - already so wet with your slick and his precum - finally meeting your cunt.

“Ah! Shit, s’full Toru.” you keen, body bowing into his.

There’s not even a hair's breadth between your bodies now as Satoru chuckles darkly. “You little minx. Thought you couldn’t handle me, but you really wanted to be split apart on my cock, huh?”

You feel almost shy under his gaze as you mumble out a quiet little, “Well you did say one more.”

Ah, Satoru thinks deliriously, if you aren’t Mrs. Gojo by the time you two get out of this then there’s seriously something wrong with him. 

But he doesn’t tell you that. Instead with a satisfied smirk, he claims your lips in a searing kiss, sucking your tongue so lewdly as he did with your cunt. Parting for only a second before pressing his lips to yours again. And again. And again, as if it hurt to part.

“Mhm. Always wanted to do this, sweetheart.” he hums against your pretty lips. “Fuck ever since you hah- walked in on that first day.” 

Kissing you sweetly with a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his hips as pulls back, back, back. All the way till his angry, hard tip was just grazing your sloppy entrance. “One more.”

Body moving before his mind, his hips start fucking into your dripping cunt recklessly. Satoru doesn’t fuck you with the finesse he imagined he would all these years, rough, harsh thrusts fueled by pure need and all the desperation from these last few years.

In one, fluid movement, the burn of the stretch hits you before the realization that Satoru has thrown your legs over his sculpted shoulders. 

“Ah- So good, Toru. Oh my god- hah-” you mewl at the change in angle. His pulsing dick expertly hitting that one spot inside you which has your words slurring together, body arching off the floor to press so impossibly close against him. 

And, well, Satoru isn’t any better - because he’s slamming his cock into you mindlessly. Hitting that spot over and over. 

With one hand, he caresses your stomach. Whispering out a ragged, “Feel me inside? Feel me right…” Pressing his palm down hard, “Here.”

The other forces you to look up at him, drinking in your whines of “Yes yes yes, can feel you s-so deep hngh- inside me, Toru.” 

You’re so cockdrunk and full of Satoru that you barely notice the hands groping their way down your body. Catching harshly on your swollen clit, starting to draw, quick, frenzied circles that match the cadence of his hips smacking into yours. 

“Look at me.” he murmurs raspily, “Open your mouth.”

And you can do nothing but take it, tongue lolling out so lewdly for the warm stream of spit that hits it. Once. Twice. 

You look up at him with teary eyes, as you take it all -  anything and everything he was giving. And it makes Satoru bow his head with a fucked-out groan, cock twitching so animalistically as it keeps plunging inside you roughly. Deft fingers on your clit becoming more desperate.

Harder. Faster. Balls squeezing so painfully. Like a lamb to slaughter, he was going to eat you up - and you were going to let thim.

You squeal at the overstimulation, hips bucking up for more more more-

“God, sweetheart, you don’t know what you do to me.” he moans, voice strained with desire and the euphoria of getting everything he’s wanted for so long. It was driving him insane. “Now c’mon. One more. Give me one more like my good girl.”

“Hngh- yes- Toru!”

You don’t even know what “one more” means anymore - all you do know is that you’re cumming and cumming all around Satoru’s unforgiving cock. Walls fluttering so snugly, your body convulses as you cream around his cock. Nails dragging down the expanse of his sculpted back, Satoru’s name leaving your bruised lips and into the heady air like a prayer every time his tip kisses your cervix. His new favorite melody.

And that seems to be what makes him snap as well - because with a final, sloppy thrust, he’s painting your walls such a sinful white. Pumping thick, hot ropes of his cum into your quivering cunt. 

“Shit- yeah, my girl. Take it. Take it all f’me.” Satoru shudders above you, head thrown back, chest heaving as he fucks you through your high. Movements nothing more than shallow, mindless little thrusts to get you both off so animalistically. 

It was so fucking filthy - and exactly what you needed so badly. He was exactly what you needed so badly. 

Now, Satoru only had to take one look as you use him so obscenely for your pleasure - eyes dazed, drool trickling down the corner of your mouth - before he thinks he might just cum again. And again. And again until he physically couldn’t anymore.

But first…

Pulling out of your heavenly pussy with a lewd pop! His long fingers delicately collects the mixture of slick and cum now gushing out of you obscenely. 

Aw, what a waste, Satoru muses as it pools below you sinfully. If it was up to him he wouldn’t waste a single drop from your pretty cunt. 

But no matter. 

Abruptly, Satoru bullies two fingers into your mouth - forcing you to taste yourself, to taste him. Pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way that has you choking and gagging around him, teary eyes just begging up at him. Perfect - you were so perfect for him. 

Kissing your forehead with a tenderness that doesn’t match his actions, he hums, faux innocence lacing his words, “What a shame, the box didn’t open yet.”

And oh does he love the excitement lighting up your exhausted eyes. Pretty thighs twitching underneath him as a slow, fucked-out little smile curls your lips. 

“One more? Please?”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[sunnysidevans]

Someone Like You - J.Seresin

Summary: Being best friends with a naval aviator was hard, being best friends and in love with the Jake "Hangman" Seresin was even harder.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Medic!Reader

Warnings: 18+, fluff, there is a small bit of angst, jake kind of bein douche, best friends to lovers troupe because top tier, oblivous by both parties.(if i missed any lemme know)

The request: If you're open to requests, I have one for you! It could be about Tyler, Jake, or Glen—whichever you prefer. The story would revolve around them being very close friends, but he’s always surrounded by girls. The reader begins to pull away, feeling inadequate or thinking she's not pretty enough, believing he could never see her as more than just a friend. I’d love for it to have a sweet, fluffy ending!

authors note: to the anon who requested this, thank you! I hope i have done justice to what you envisioned! - I really love getting requests because ya'll got some great ideas! If you have requested something, I promise i will get to it!! love, em. <333

The sun was sat snugly high in the blue sky. Sitting under the rays, you watched the group of aviators run through the sand covered in sweat. Sitting perched on the towel and sunglasses on your nose.

You never expected this to be your life after moving from your hometown to be a field medic with a group of aviators.

“You done sunbathing?” you look up behind the aviators to the man above you, blocking the sun from your eyes.

Jake Seresin in all his glory, hands on his hips.

“Can I help you?” pulling the sunglasses down your nose, you look at him over the rims with a raised brow. He chuckles, pushing the hair that was sticking to his forehead back.

He has been on leave for the last two weeks, letting his hair grow out of regs. "Are you done crisping like a chicken and gonna come play a game?” He holds his hand to you, which you take happily and he pulls you from the sand with a grunt.

“I don’t know if I should” you push the bridge of the sunglasses back up your nose. “What?! You are playing c’mon” he encourages you over, jogging ahead of you in the sand.

You watch as the rest of the the dagger squad who has been nothing but kind to you, encourage you. Then there's the group of aviators who were glued to the squad, more so Jake than others.

They giggle between themselves. You never knew joining the Navy was gonna have the same effects of highschool.

“(y/n)!” Jake’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, a grin on his face. “C’mon! One game!?” he pouts, hands on his hips. You sigh and make your way down the sand, pulling the shorts on your body to cover your bikini bottoms.

The dagger squad was your adopted family. You met them all in your time on the ships as a field medic but as well as at base when Jake made his way into your office quite often to get ‘looked at’.

“Dude! I had no idea you were this good at this” Phoenix wraps her arm around your shoulders as you walk back to your things with a giggle. “I blame Hangman for hiding you from us” you smile, grabbing your towel and bag of items and standing back to your full height.

Turning to say something, your thoughts run short as the girls again circle around Jake, hands on his arms as they all giggle.

He did have the million dollar smile.

“You coming to the hard deck with us?” Bradley asks, standing beside phoenix. You turn to the taller man, smiling up at him as you shake your head. “I return back to work tomorrow unlike some people” you chuckle, nudging him gently.

He nods, hands held up in defense as you smile. “See you soon though?” he asks as you are walking up the sand, you grin. “Of course! Someones bound to get hurt” you wink, making your way back to your own vehicle.

“Sweetheart!” you sigh, the southern drawl was almost like a vice around your brain. Setting your items in the back of your Jeep, you turn to face him. “You aren’t coming?” he asks, stopping in front of you,panting to catch his breath. You shake your head, “I have to work tomorrow captain”. He smirks, pushing a hair out of your face gently.

“Not even for one drink?” he asks as you shake your head. “No but I will be up to pick you up if you need me” he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your cheek as he jogs over to his truck.

Ally, another pilot in Top gun standing at the passenger side was waiting for him. “See you later sweetheart!” he waves.

Sighing heavily you climb into your jeep, immediately turning the radio up loudly and driving away.

You knew you were not the only woman in Jake’s life. He was charming with his green eyes and winning smile but everytime you would do anything with him, the woman gravitated to him like he was the opposite end of their magnets.

Driving through the city, your heart hurt a bit. You knew how childish it seemed.

How childish it was to be upset that he had the female gaze, he was tall, tan and kind under his hundred layers of ego. As you made your way into your home, the phone in your hand vibrated.

Jake: Let’s get together this week for dinner? Drinks?

you smile sadly at the text. You knew he enjoyed your company. You replied.

you: Sure Jake, sounds good

The text bubble appeared but you chose for your own mental state it was best to mute the conversation for the time being.

3am on the dot your phone rang.

You knew who was on the other line. Reaching over, you grab the phone off the nightstand. “Hello?” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. “(y/n)” you sigh at the sound of Bradleys voice.

“Hey roo” you mumble, eyes closed as you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I think you should come get Jake… maybe me too?” he questions as you chuckle softly. “Be there shortly” you hang up and climb out of bed.

Grabbing the closest sweatshirt to you and make your way outside and down to the hard deck. Dressed in your pajamas, you make your way inside the bar, still roaring with life even on a Sunday night.

Jake and Bradley sat at the bar with Penny who grins at your arrival. “Cute” she mumbles as you shake your head, making your way to them.

“Let’s go boys” you pat both of their shoulders, encouraging them out the door. “Is that my sweatshirt?” Jake questions as you look down at the hoodie on your body.

“Yes it is, let's go” you motion to the door. “Jakey!” Ally gasps, running to Jake at the door. You can’t help the way you cringe, pulling some cash out of your pocket. “How much do the two of them owe?” you ask Penny who shakes her head.

“They’ll both come and pay tomorrow, I trust it” you sigh, smiling at her. “I gotta go” you can hear the faint slur in Jake’s voice. “But i thought we were gonna have some fun” she bites her lip, looking up at him through her lashes, in her drunken state attempting to look as sexy and sultry as possible.

Jake shakes his head and makes his way out the door. You follow both men out to your parked Jeep as Lindsey stares daggers into your back.

The car ride is silent except for the wind. You pulled into Bradleys apartment first, parking right by the steps, he climbs out.

“Thanks love, you’re the best” he reaches in to kiss your cheek as he makes his way up the steps. “Hey!” Jake scolds him as Bradley smirks and makes his way to his apartment. “Can I move to the front now?” Jake asks childishly. “Yes Jakob” you sigh with a smile.

He climbs out and makes his way into the front seat beside you as you pull out of the parking lot and make your way down the road to Jake’s apartment. “Thanks for coming to get me honey” he whispers, his slur is almost gone at this point. “You’re welcome” you mumble, rubbing your eyes with a yawn.

“I’m sorry I did this to you” he mumbles as you shake your head. “I’d rather you be safe” you mumble.

“Why don’t you like to come get drinks with me anymore?” his drunk words flow out of him like vomit.

“I just don’t enjoy it much anymore, J” he nods slowly.

He knew you were lying but chose not to pry anymore while you were tired. “Can I come home with you?” he asks. Jake was quite needy in his semi-drunken state.

He did live down the road from you and did frequent your guest room often, hence his hoodie laying around your home. “I guess” you smirk, making the turn to your own home over Jakes.

He stumbles inside once the vehicle is parked. He was mostly sobered up as he made his way to the guest room. “See you in a few hours” he mumbles as you shake your head and make your way to your own bedroom.

The guest bedroom door opens, Jake makes his way out in a pair of black sweatpants he had left in the dresser drawer. "Sweetheart?" he questions as he yawns, making his way down the steps. He stops at the end of the stairs, looking around.

He notices the fresh smell of coffee and the few dishes in the sink. He jogs back up the stairs to see your bedroom door open, looking around its then he notices the pink note stuck to his door. Pulling it off the door, he sighs.

off to work, lock up on your way out.

+

The hard deck jukebox could be heard from streets away, it left you grinning. You pull into the parking lot, The Eagles “Life in the fastlane” playing through the speakers.

You don’t know how Rooster and Phoenix talked you into this but you climbed out and made your way inside. Dressed in a tank top and pair of denim shorts you look through the crowd for your favorite aviators.

“Sweetheart!” Jake’s voice yells for you, you look up at the sound of his voice. He pushes through the crowd of people to get to you.

He's singing to you as he approaches, "and she was terminally pretty" he grins, looking you up and down, “I didn’t know you were coming,” he smiles.

You looked so beautiful.

“Uh-yeah rooster and nat invited me” you smile up at him and move past him to your friends. Phoenix was aware of your feelings for Jake.

How hard it was to be out with him as he was always surround by woman, not once looking your way with them around. “Roo” you smile, patting his shoulder as he pulls you into his side for a hug.

“There's my favorite medic!” he grins as you chuckle. Jake makes his way back over to the group, sitting down as Ally makes her way to him, climbing in his lap.

He doesn’t hesitate to let her, adjusting in the seat to accommodate her. You sigh, turning to face Phoenix and Rooster.

“I don’t get it” you raise a brow, looking up from the table at the sound of Phoenix's voice. “What’s that?” you ask, crossing your leg over the other and arms over your chest.

“He acts like he wants to be around you so badly and then acts like that” she motions over to Jake, sitting back in his chair arm around Ally's waist, her group of friends around the two of them. You shrug, “not my problem anymore” you mumble, fishing out a few bills from your back pocket.

“I'm sorry to be a buzzkill but, thanks for inviting me guys but I think I’m gonna head home” you hand them the money to cover your drink and stand from the booth. Rooster stands, hands on your shoulders. “You don’t deserve him” he mumbles, giving your shoulder a squeeze and pulling you into a hug.

You hug him back and sigh heavily. “I guess I just have to get under a guy, they say that's the best way to get over one” you mumble against his chest as he laughs.

“See, that's the spirit” he grins, smiling at you. “Let us know if you need anything” he encourages as you smile.

It had been a week since your night at the hard deck with rooster and phoenix

a week before you decided it was best to put your distance between you and Jake.

The phone beside you began ringing. You knew exactly who it was. Reaching over you ignore the call for the second time and

Within seconds the phone rings again. You reach over and turn the phone off completely.

You did not have the energy to go and pick him up once again.

Maybe you would get over the man that is Jake Seresin.

rolling over and burying yourself deeper in the sheets of your bed, tears in your lash line as you sniffle to avoid them from falling.

You felt silly being this upset about a man who was not yours to be upset about.

You knew that he was a charming man when the two of you became friends, you also knew he looked at you as just that, a friend.

You shake your head and close your eyes.

The next morning as you turned your phone back on, the text messages piled in.

24 missed calls and 45 text messages.

You sigh and choose to delete the text messages and mute the conversation you have with him once again.

The drive to base was peaceful as you pulled into your designated parking lot. You were not gonna let this affect your work. “(y/n)!” you look over at Coyote waving to you,smiling, you wave back and mock salute to him.

He smiles, saluting back to you as he makes his way inside. Making your way to your office, you ignore the urge to turn and go down the hall to where you knew the dagger squad was meeting.

Jake sits down beside Rooster and Phoenix.

If looks could kill the two of them would be long gone.

“Can I help you?” Phoenix speaks first, arms crossed. “Spill” he adjusts in the seat, elbows resting on his knees as he looks between the two of them. “Spill what Hangman?” Rooster asks,looking over at him from his phone.

“Why won’t (y/n) talk to me” he mumbles, looking between them again. “Isn’t that a question for her?” Phoenix asks with a raised brow.

“I tried, I called her over a hundred times last night with no response” he defends as Phoenix shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you Hangman” Rooster nods in agreement with his girlfriend and Jake sighs heavily and stands from the chair. 

“(y/l/n)” turning at the sound of your name,clipboard in hand you raise your brow. “Yes ma’am” you set the clipboard down and approach your commanding officer. “We are going to need you to go out and assist in the atlantic” you nod quickly, “of course ma’am” she grins, reaching out to give your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“I know you don’t love being tied down to one place too long” she smirks, heading to the door, “you will be heading out in the morning” you nod eagerly, ”and a car will be picking you up” she smiles with a nod and walks out the door.

You take a deep breath and wipe your once sweaty palms on your pants. You knew you needed to tell the dagger squad.

With a deep breath you head down the hall to the common room.

“Hangman, where are you?!” you can hear Fanboys voice over the comms. You knock gently on the door, Coyote,Phoenix,Rooster and Bob all turn to you.

“Hi” you wave as you make your way into them, sitting down beside Phoenix. Her face is full of concern, “what is it?” she asks as you turn to your closest friends.

“I’m being sent out tomorrow morning, they need additional medics out in the atlantic, of course I don’t know the full extent” you look at them, not seeing Jake standing in the doorway, panting.

“You’re leaving?” your eyes snap to Jake.

He’s still in his flight suit, the top half around his waist with his black tank top sticking to his skin. You turn from his eye back to Phoenix and Bob.

The two of them smile, nodding slowly. “We should go to the hard deck and have a send off party!” Coyote tries to lighten the mood, immediately noticing the tension in the room.

“I agree” Rooster chimes in, looking over at you. You smile sadly, “if you guys want I suppose” they cheer as you stand.

Jake hasn’t moved from the doorway, watching you. He watched the way you avoided his eye.

Walking out of the room, you brush Jake’s shoulder as you begin to walk down the hall to your office. You bit your lip as you heard his boots follow, you knew you couldn’t escape him anymore.

“(y/n)!” he reaches out, grabbing your shoulder to stop your movements. “What Jake?” you ask, turning to face him tilting your head. “What do you mean what?!” he defends, looking at you.

“You haven’t talked to me in days!” He throws his hands up, “not even days, weeks! You won’t answer my calls, you won't answer my text messages, you ignore me when you see me at work or even out in public!” he defends as his hands fall at his sides.

“Explain it to me!” he adds, hands on his hips as he looks over your face. “I’ve not been ignoring you” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes, “bullshit” he sits.

You sigh, hands on your own hips as you see conference room doors open and close. You knew his voice was traveling through the base.

“Not here Jake” you sigh softly, walking down the hall towards your office. “Explain it to me here (y/n)!” he yells.

You close your eyes, feeling the tears begin to fall down your cheeks. 

You knew you shouldn’t have this conversation in the hallway of your place of employment. You can hear his boots approaching, you snap.

“Because I love you!” you yell back to face him, face red with tears. “I love you and I know you wouldn’t love someone like me!” you point to your chest looking at him as the tears begin to roll down your cheeks.

“I am not them!” you point out the window to Ally and the rest of the new top gun recruits on the tarmac. “I am not tall and sexy and-” Jake stands there, shocked at your reaction.

“You wouldn’t love someone like me! You-You- I am not Jake Seresin material and I can’t take you staying in my house anymore and I can’t take you being around me anymore because I knew” you sob, looking away from him.

“Distancing myself was going to help my heart get over you” you whisper turning around from him.

“This time away may be best for me” Jake's boots squeak along the concrete floors. “(y/n)” he whispers, he’s directly behind you now. Your shoulders shake, months of tension falling off your shoulders.

He reaches out, grabbing your shoulder to gently turn you back to face him, cupping your cheek to gently bring your eyes back to him. He’s also got tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Someone like you?” he whispers, looking over your face. “Someone who I have seen devote her life to others? Someone who I absolutely adore, who would spring to help anyone even at 3am after a drunk night at the bar. Someone like you” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m not them Jake” you whisper as he shakes head, “and that’s what makes you so special” he reaches over and wipes your cheeks with his thumb.

“I love you (y/n)” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you couldn’t see it” he chuckles as you look at him.

“Me!?” you defend as he grins. “I adore you, I fell in love with you years ago sweetheart” he watches the look in your eye, watching as you look at him, looking into the green eyes that brought you so much comfort.

“Y-You love me?” you look over his face for any signs of a joke, he chuckles. “I love you, not them other girls, not anyone but you” he smiles, leaning down to connect your lips. 

It takes you a moment to register what is happening by the time you are reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer to you.

He pulls away slowly after a few minutes, nose nudging yours as his eyes close. “I can’t believe you” he whispers, “thinking I couldn’t love someone like you”  your eyes close, a small smile on your lips.

“I am not someone you’d go for J” you whisper with a smile as he shakes his head, pulling you into his chest. Wrapping your arms around his waist you sniffle against his black tank top.

“This is horrible timing” you mumble.

“I’ll be here when you get back sweetheart” he whispers against your hairline. 

+

The helicopter ride was quiet. The voices in your mind were louder.

You smile as the base comes into view, “we’re almost home” the pilot, Maria grins at you through her aviators.

You were off base for three months, sharing letters and as many zoom phone calls as possible with Jake and the rest of the dagger squad.

The tarmac is laid out as the helicopter begins its descent. You pull the headset off and stand, leaning out the side of the helicopter, hands holding the handles. The smell of the ocean brought you a sense of comfort.

You knew the minute you laid eyes on Jake and your family, you would be home. You can hear cheering from the ground as the chopper finally lands. Climbing down, you stand on the pavement and take a deep breath.

You were home.

The doors opened and the dagger squad all rushed out. “She’s home!” Rooster yells with a smile on his face. You grin, standing on the big x. This was your family.

Ally and her group of friends follow Jake out of the doors.

Your eyes fall to each other as she continues to attempt to grab onto his arm. “Scuse me” he moves from her and begins his jog to you.

You meet him halfway and he grabs you by the waist and spins your around, holding you close to his body. You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck, hiding your face in his shoulder. “My girl is home!” he grins, setting you to your feet.

“Welcome home sweet girl he grins, leaning down to connect your lips.

Maybe someone like you deserves someone like him.

--

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ps. i knew I would get something out! thanks for always being patient with me I swear theres alot going on in this brain of mine!!

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

Nanami and his camera...

Note: not smut but suggestive... very domestic nanami

Masterlist Discord

Nanami never saw the point in the whole “sending nudes” thing. He found it cliché and stupid, a meaningless exchange that seemed to reduce romantic relationships to superficial transactions. He believed that there was so much more to a relationship than just sending naked photos to each other, Nanami valued the tangible, authentic moments that built a real bond between two people. And that was one of the reasons you were so drawn to him. 

He was respectful, kind, and hardworking–everything you could hope for in a man. Nanami embodied all the qualities of a perfect gentleman. And of course being in a committed relationship, it's natural to want to give your lover gifts. And so you did. One year into your relationship, you gift Nanami a camera. 

Saying he liked it was an understatement, he adored it. He started off with simple things, like taking pictures of the meals he cooked, photographs of the scenery in the backyard, especially when the stray cats came to sunbathe on his porch. However, out of all the various things he photographed, his favorite was undeniably you.

He had a way of capturing you in your most candid moments, revealing sides of you even you hadn’t seen before. Doesn’t matter if you were lost in thought reading a book by the window, laughing uncontrollably at a joke he made with his dry humor, or gazing at the sunset after he took you out to dinner, Nanami found beauty in your every expression, every gesture. His eyes, through the lens, saw you as some kind of goddess. 

Even at night, when you were all ready for bed and fast asleep, Nanami liked capturing you in those tranquil moments. Something about how peaceful you looked as you slept brought him a sense of serenity. The way your chest rises and falls softly as you breathe, the way your hair generously fanned out across the pillow, and the way the thin sheets dipped into the natural curves of your body. All these small details captivated him.

It took him a while for him to build his confidence to take those pictures while you were awake. He just couldn’t help it the day you wore that sheer nightdress to bed that one night. His jaw drops in awe as you slide into the sheets with him, his eyes not once flattering off your body. 

“What’s wrong Kento…” you ask, making yourself comfortable in bed as you notice the way he seems lost in thought. 

Kento clears his throat, snapping back to reality, picking his jaw back up as if he just realized he’d been staring for too long. "You look lovely," he says, his voice a little unsteady. "Is that a new dress?"

You smile at him and nod. You did in fact just purchase the dress, feeling the soft fabric against your warm skin. You had hoped it would catch his attention. And it definitely was working, noticing the soft red blush creeping up on his cheeks. 

You watch his eyes take in every detail of the dress. The intricate lace pattern running up the dress, the way the fabric hugs your figure just right, and the softness of it that he could only dream of touching. The way that man looked at you always made you feel special, as if you’re the only person in the world at that moment.

“May I take a picture of you?” He croaks out, his voice carrying a mix of admiration and shyness. 

“Of course,” you reply, a playful twinkle in your eyes that he catches. “But get my good side,” you tease him. 

He laughs, a soft genuine smile spreading across his face. He slowly picked up the camera from his nightstand. Lifting it to his face as you patiently waited for him to snap the shot. He looks through the viewfinder, admiring your beautiful face, taking in every small detail of your face that makes you, you.  His eyes continue trail down, lingering on the lacy neckline of the dress, adoring the way it gracefully hugs your shoulders and falls effortlessly along your frame. 

He finally presses the button to snap the picture. The sound of the shutter clicking sends a rush through his body. He looks down at the picture he had taken. It was breathtaking. You were stunning beyond belief in his eyes. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, almost to himself, as he lowers the camera back down. His eyes come back to meet yours and you could almost swear your heart skipped a beat. Slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. His hands finally resting on your body, feeling the soft fabric against it.

[lustspren]

P.S.T EP. 11 | Stay the Night ft Karina.

length: 14k words✦

Karina & Male Reader

genres: anal, oral sex, hard sex, creampie, exhibitionism, dirty talk, titjob, handjob, footjob, facefuck, body worship, shower sex, outdoor sex, ass eating, facial, backshot, sunbathing (?

✦✧✦✧✦✧

✦✧✦✧✦✧

You always hated getting up early before everyone else, you felt like an idiot and it was like being in a limbo of unknown people around you. If that wasn't enough, the place was full of unbearable rich men talking about their possessions or businesses as if they were trying to compete with each other. You sank into your seat, waiting for the food you had ordered for breakfast while looking at your phone.

Last night you couldn't fall asleep when you got to your room, you tossed and turned for an hour and a half until you were finally able to relax, so you had about 5 hours of sleep at most. Definitely not enough, but when you woke up there was no turning back.

Part of this insomnia was due to the fact that you couldn't stop turning over in your head what had happened with Noze. It still felt like a very wild lucid dream to you, you and her had fucked Minjeong together, turned her into a sex slave only useful to satisfy both of you, and thinking about it still turned you on a lot. You remembered how she looked into your eyes while she was riding Minjeong's face and how she went crazy with pleasure watching you destroy her. You wanted to fuck her like an animal and have her to yourself, but you knew that would be impossible. Not only did she not have that kind of interest in you, but she couldn't even have it. You were a man.

You also never stopped wondering what she thought about all that, or how she would react from now on. You didn't know if she was going to talk about it openly, if she was going to participate more actively in your services, or if nothing like that was going to happen again. The answer didn't take long to arrive in front of your eyes.

Noze entered the hotel restaurant in a hurry, and from the look on her face as she walked towards you, you figured it was best not to mention anything about past events at all unless you wanted a fork stuck in your eye. You wanted to compliment her on how pretty she looked that morning, but you also didn't think it was appropriate considering she was visibly fresh out of bed.

"Why did you let me sleep so late?" She asked, taking a piece of green apple from your plate to put it in her mouth. She had four more seats available, but she chose to sit next to you at the circular table.

"I didn't even know I was allowed to wake you up," you said, she didn't even answer you before she was already immersed in her phone, you assumed waking everyone up.

"Hey, grab some things for the girls to have breakfast and pack them up, we've got to go," she told you, then got up to make a call.

While you went to the restaurant reception to ask for some plastic containers, the girls were already entering the restaurant with the worst aspects you remembered about them in a long time. They walked like the stupid zombies from The Walking Dead, visibly exhausted from last night's concert. You noticed that Minjeong was holding on to Giselle's arm as her legs were shaky. You couldn't do anything but hold back your laughter.

Once you packed the girls' breakfasts and put them in a bag, you left the restaurant with them and Noze. The vans were already outside, and from Noze's hurry you could tell that all the staff members were ready to leave, the only ones missing were you. You had to jog to catch up with them and leave the hotel.

"You were too busy last night to say goodnight like you always do huh?" Ning joked once you were settled inside the van, she had sat next to you and hugged your arm, snuggling against it.

"Something like that," you chuckled, watching as the girls began to fall asleep when the van hadn't even started.

"Try not to forget it again, those messages make me happy," she laid her head on your shoulder, yawned and closed her eyes. All the girls were now asleep, only you, the driver, and Noze were awake. She was focused on doing all the tasks that she couldn't do because she woke up late, she used a laptop, her phone and a notebook for it.

Noze worked with the efficiency and speed of a machine, you couldn't help but stare in amazement at how she could do so many things so well at the same time. She wrote emails on her laptop, wrote down things on the notebook that you couldn't see from your seat, and made calls, often some of those things at the same time. On the way to the airport you discovered that the reason for all the hustle and bustle was that she wanted the arrival to be as unnoticed as possible, which you were sure would happen since she was always two steps ahead of everyone.

When you arrived at the airport, you were not surprised by the fact that there was not a single flash that bothered the girls while they walked to do all the corresponding checks. Yes, there were a few people who stopped to look when they recognized the girls, but they simply took a discreet photo with their phones or just left with a smile on their face.

When you boarded the jet —which was the same one that had brought you to Dallas—the girls ran to choose their seats and made themselves comfortable to fall asleep again. That left you alone with Noze once again. You had a long time with her ahead, so once it was safe to get up inside the cabin, you went to sit next to her while she worked on her laptop.

"So..." you started, leaving your phone connected to your power bank on the table, next to her laptop, "did you have a good time last night?" You asked, crossing your arms on the table and resting the side of your face on your hand to look at her. Noze gave a disbelieving smirk and she stayed silent for a few seconds while she minimized Excel.

"Yeah, but it wasn't anything special," she replied, playing it cool, you raised both eyebrows in shock as you stared at her, "What? Stop imagining me and Joohyun," she put a hand on your face and made you look away. You laughed.

"When you and her did your things in the dorm... did any of the other members join in?" you asked, emboldened, perhaps a little driven by curiosity. You looked at her again.

"And why are you asking these questions so suddenly?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Because you're always busy and right now it's just you and me," she stared into your eyes for a few seconds.

"Mostly Seulgi," she said finally, "you know, she and Joohyunie are inseparable. But in short, all of them, in every possible combination, multiple times."

“Fuck, that sounds like a lot of fun,” you joked with an incredulous giggle.

"I know right? You would love Wendy, that girl is built differently."

"You should recommend me to her then, don't you think?" Noze's face darkened.

"I would if only I spoke to any of them today," she let out a deep breath of disappointment. You remained silent for a few seconds, thinking about whether it was right to continue asking her about that topic, but you also knew that you would have few opportunities like that.

"How did you and her... you know, how did that come about?" you asked. Noze sighed and swallowed, then she looked out the window and stared blankly.

"Well... at first it was nothing more than a very strong sexual attraction. The first practice we all had watching her was like watching Aphrodite dancing, and I guess she felt the same way about me, because as soon as we had a break, we locked ourselves in a bathroom to... you know."

“Aha,” you nodded, prompting her to continue.

"All our first meetings were the same, we would chat from time to time but the only thing we would meet up for was to have sex, until one day she had a pretty serious mental breakdown during the post-practice night. That was the first time I saw Bae Joohyun and not Red Velvet's Irene. Seeing her like that was... lethal for me, so vulnerable, so... her," Noze sighed and paused briefly, "Meeting the person behind the idol for the first time It's always something special... and she certainly is special."

"Did you start dating since then?"

"Not since that moment, but our relationship did change. She now opened up to me to tell me her problems, and I did the same. Over time we realized that we had a lot of things in common, and that we had a lot of chemistry. We started dating, and well, I was weak, stupid, and I fell in love," Noze couldn't help but let out a small smile, perhaps remembering everything she had gone through with Irene, "We became girlfriends and we thought everything was perfect, no one suspected anything and we were happy. But what I already told you happened, and everything collapsed," her smile faded and she looked down, her eyes began to fill with tears, "Look... entertainment companies are already strict with heterosexual relationships, now imagine a possible scandal between a Red Velvet member and her backup dancer. That was unacceptable to them, and it was a shame for us."

"And... you were still together after that?" Seeing her with tears running down her cheeks made you do something you normally wouldn't have done, you put your hand on her thigh and started trying to comfort her with caresses. She didn't seem to care.

"For a while, yeah," she nodded, "even when I was the girls' manager already, but we knew that wasn't going to work out in any way and we broke up," tears continued to roll down her cheeks, but she was controlling herself in order not to burst into sobs, "I think Seulgi had a lot to do with all of that, but I honestly don't care anymore," you didn't consider it appropriate to mention that Seulgi was one of your regular clients when you were still at the spa.

"When you locked yourself away to cry last night it was because of her, right?" You also asked with a lump in your throat. That was affecting you more than it should. You were sensitive about failed love stories.

"Aha... the day we flew to Dallas she woke me up with a call, she sounded drunk and well... she rubbed salt into a wound that… d-didn't need to be reopened," she put her hands on her face and unable to bear it any longer she burst into sobs. You couldn't do anything but surrender to your protective instinct and wrap her in your arms. She hugged you and buried her face in your chest as she stifled cries.

"It's okay... it's okay," you tried to comfort her by caressing her hair and her back, "let it out," you didn't expect such a reaction from her, and partly you felt guilty for bringing that up in the first place, but you noticed that she had never talked about it with anyone, and that she had not received a hug of that kind in a long time, "I'm not the one to tell you this but... I think you should cut off all contact with her, what she did is not healthy, and it affects you more than it does to her."

"I-It's not that easy," she sobbed, still clinging to your torso with both arms.

"Well, you'll have to, because what happened can't be repeated, for the sake of both of you. You don't need her to be happy. Life teaches us lessons in very cruel ways, and maybe what happened was life telling you that there was a better place for you than there," she pulled away from your chest with red eyes and tear-filled cheeks to look at you.

"You think?" she asked.

"Of course I do, and even if I didn't, you still have to work hard to get over her. Your life can never revolve around one person, it's self-destructive and it has become a burden for you."

"I… fuck," she looked down and stayed quiet as she wiped away her tears, "you're right, it's become a damn burden and I should be stronger than this," she finally pulled away from you, "God, I'm so sorry, I don't like crying like that in front of anyone."

"And don't you think you needed to vent to someone else?"

"Yeah...," she nodded, looking away.

"It's no use keeping things to yourself, the only thing you achieve with that is constantly drowning in what hurts you."

"Fuck, since when did you become a psychologist?" she asked with a laugh that was meant to lighten the mood, "I hired you because of your cock, not for this."

"I'm just trying to help, I'm sorry," you smiled sadly.

"No, it's okay," she put a hand on your forearm and squeezed it gently, "you're right in what you're saying, and I appreciate it, it's just… it's not easy for me."

"I know it's not, but you have to start somewhere, right?" you placed your hand on top of hers, "Chicks don't learn to fly as soon as they're born."

"Are you calling me a bird?" she raised an eyebrow.

"You understood what I meant."

"Aha," she laughed.

"What I'm getting at is that I want you to know that you shouldn't fight those battles alone, I can be there for you, and I promise to do everything in my power to make you forget about Irene for the rest of the tour, I don't know, maybe by finding you a pretty girl or something," Noze laughed again.

"I really appreciate it, dork," she smiled, finally pushing her hand away, "You should go to sleep, there's still a long flight ahead and I know you haven't slept well."

"I'm not sleepy, if I'm honest," you sighed, "I'll wait until I get to the hotel."

"Do you want to watch a movie then? I think I have Forrest Gump saved," she started searching for it on her laptop.

"Aight, good for me," you nodded, sinking into your seat and crossing your arms to watch her movie with her.

------------------------------------

The landing in Miami was almost as calm as the departure from Dallas, this time there were some flashes, but nothing that was not tolerable for you and the girls, who were already replenished thanks to the four hours of sleep extras they had between the flight and all the road trips. You and Noze were the only ones who still had dark circles under your eyes, but luckily you were going to have a day off before the concert, that left you with tonight and the entire next day to be able to sleep at some point.

"Hey, would you do the check in?" Noze asked you as you all entered the lobby, "I have to go put some things in order with the staff."

"Sure thing," you nodded, heading towards the reception. Doing the check you realized that there were not enough rooms reserved for the 6 of you. There were only 4 Deluxe Bay View Rooms, "Sorry sir, I just don't understand, it must be a mistake. We didn't reserve a damn presidential suite."

"I'm sorry sir, but that's how everything was registered this morning," the good-natured-looking guy told you, "I'm afraid it's not a mistake," you took a deep breath, trying not to get hysterical.

"Listen to me carefully sir, this is unacceptable. I will need to change the reservations immediately," just as you said that Noze stood next to you and pinched the flesh of your waist without the receptionist noticing. You winced.

"The reservations are correct, sir, there is no problem," she assured with a smile as she continued to pinch you, you tried to get away but when you pulled it became more painful.

"Understood, miss," the receptionist looked at you with some annoyance as you continued to grimace in pain and proceeded to hand out the corresponding cards, "Have a pleasant stay."

"Very kind, thank you," Noze bowed slightly, taking the cards and then pulled you away from the reception desk, "Sometimes it surprises me how brainless you can be sometimes, damn it," she reproached you, finally letting you go.

"Why the fuck did you book a presidential suite?!" you squeaked in confusion, rubbing where she had pinched you.

"Do you remember the favor Jimin said I owed her?" she asked you, "Well, it was about getting you that suite and covering you for tonight and the entire next day."

"Oh," you remained silent with a lost look, everything was finally clicking in your momentarily slow head, "Of course," you looked towards where the girls were gathered, finding Jimin's gaze on you all this time. She shot you a wink, and you were stunned thinking about what she had in store for you.

The six of you went to the elevator and got inside, in a normal elevator it might have been somewhat uncomfortable, but that one was the size of your bathroom. When it arrived at the Deluxe Rooms floor the door opened wide and all the girls except Jimin got out.

"Huh? Why don't you go out?" Minjeong asked with a frown. All the girls were equally confused.

"I'll explain it to you later," Noze sighed, looking at you. Jimin pulled out a mischievous smile, waved her hand to them and pulled out the suite's card, swiping it from side to side. She then pressed the button for the top floor and the doors began to close, the last thing you saw was the sad look on Ning’s eyes. You'd make it up to her later.

"Excited for the time alone?" Jimin asked from beside you as the elevator went up.

"I'm scared," you said without thinking.

"Perfect then," you noticed out of the corner of your eye how she smiled.

When you went up to the presidential suite floor and Jimin swiped the key card, your jaw almost dropped to the floor at the magnitude of the space you were going to have to yourself. The first thing you saw when you entered was the living room, with a palette of brown and khaki colors, which worked in perfect harmony with the warm light and furniture. To the left was a large wooden bookshelf, with multiple square spaces and a huge television embedded in the middle. In front of the bookshelf, a single armchair, a wide stool, a long curved armchair in the corner and a round coffee table in the middle.

"This is a whole fucking apartment, Yoo Jimin," you said dumbfounded, leaving your bags and hers on the couch, "And look at the view, oh my god," you walked towards the sliding glass door that led to the huge balcony, which spanned the entire width of the suite. The views of Miami Bay were worth framing, with the open sea to your left and the buildings in front on the other side of the water.

"Is there anything you want to do while we're here in Miami?" Jimin asked you, walking out onto the balcony with you. The evening sea breeze began to move your hair. She leaned on the railing with both hands as she looked out over the city.

"I'm here to do whatever you want to do, you know how this works," you responded, standing next to her as you looked to the left, towards the sea.

"Good answer," she said with a giggle, "then how about you unpack your things and go buy some Soju and beer?"

"Soju and beer?" You asked, somewhat surprised, you weren't expecting such a simple and down to earth plan from her.

"Yeah, I don't have a preference for any brand so just bring whatever," she nodded and gave you a peck on the cheek, "come on."

"Fair enough," you said, and walked back into the suite with her, still surprised by the fact that you were expecting more elaborate plans, or perhaps more refined tastes on her part.

Once you two unpacked only the necessary things other than clothes and took the suitcases to the master bedroom, you quickly went down to the lobby and approached the receptionist again. You asked where you could get Soju, and after clarifying what you were talking about he gave you an address that you knew was not around the corner, so you were forced to take a little trip. 

You found it necessary to let her know that it would take longer than expected.

As soon as you read Jimin's answers you ordered an Uber as you went out into the street. It arrived in a matter of minutes. The nearest liquor store was about eight minutes away by car, when you got there you searched through the shelves until you found the aforementioned Soju, which apparently was not so popular there in Miami since there was only a small dedicated section. For the beer you didn't have to think too much, there was an entire aisle dedicated solely to Bud Light and all the presentations of it. You opted for a 20 unit box that you took out of the refrigerator. You also grabbed a few various snacks and a tub of pistachio ice cream. You paid and left with the same driver.

Upon arriving at the hotel again you thanked the driver for his patience and rushed back to the suite. Inside, Jimin kept pleasantly surprising you. She was sitting on the couch with a loose t-shirt and short shorts on, a Switch in her hands, and in front of her on the small round table were two pizza boxes, one closed and the other open. Two slices were already missing.

"Oh, hello," she greeted, staring at the screen, "are they cold?"

"Uh, the beers?" You closed the door behind you.

"Aha," she nodded.

"I think so," you put the bag on the floor and took out the beer box.

"Toss me one," she ordered.

"No way, they're bottles," you refused, taking all the things out of the bag before opening the beer box and taking out two, "Oh, they're aluminum..." she looked at you and you looked at her, "think fast," you threw it to her, and she caught it.

"Come on, you must be hungry," she patted the couch next to her, and you went to sit. She opened her beer and took a swig.

"What did you order the pizzas with?" you asked, opening yours. You took a sip which cooled your throat.

"They both have beef, pork, peppers, black olives, mushrooms, onion and pepperoni," she got as close to you as possible, her warmth comforting you.

"Fuck, that's delicious," you took a slice and took a big bite. The pizza was still hot and tasted amazing.

"Shall we have some Super Smash?" She took another slice as well, took a bite, and put it back in the box. You continued eating the one you had in your hand because in fact, you were hungry as fuck.

"Fuck yeah, let's connect the Switch to the TV. Do you have the HDMI cable?" you brought the last piece of slice to your mouth. You immediately grabbed another one.

"In my backpack, probably. Please don't judge me if you find a vibrator or some shit like that."

"I could judge you for many things, a vibrator in your backpack won't be one of them."

The night went drastically different than you first imagined. You and Jimin played video games for hours, eating pizza and drinking beer like two homies coming home from college after a stressful day of exams. You didn't feel any sexual desire from her on you at any time, nor any sexual innuendo, she was simply behaving as she would with some old friend with whom she had a close relationship. You noticed her close, and not only physically—that too, because she maintained physical contact with you in a friendly and affectionate way—, but also as a person in whom you could blindly trust.

"Have you ever heard of Beerio Kart?" she asked with her legs raised on top of yours. The blue JoyCon in her hand. You had the other one.

"Nope, never," you were in the top-down view of the Cuphead map. You had been playing it for an hour now.

"Well, it's playing Mario Kart, but every time you're about to finish a race, you have to drink a beer. Otherwise, you're not allowed to finish the race."

"Damn, that sounds like fun. I have a friend who is really fucking good at playing video games, I'll save the idea to tell him later. Although I don't know how much free time he has, last time he was doing private coaching to a guy who apparently didn't let him go."

"Coaching of what?"

"League Of Legends, bastard is GrandMaster."

"Pretty impressive."

"You have no idea what that is, do you?"

"Nope. Are you up to play or not?"

"Of course I do, Rina," you had been calling her that all night. She seemed to like it, so you didn't stop doing it.

"Aight, I hope you have enough tolerance then," you noticed a glow of pure excitement in her eyes as she navigated the Switch's menu looking for Mario Kart.

"We'll see about that," you sighed.

The two of you started playing, and Yoo Jimin's competitive spirit came out as the races went on. You won the first ones without much problem, but the alcohol was treacherous, and it began to take its toll on you. Jimin was no fool, she took advantage of your somewhat dizzy state to take advantage of you in the curves in which you crashed and win you multiple races. The intoxication levels grew, as did your friendship. She wasn't exactly a good loser, and neither were you, but you were sure that neither of you had laughed as much in a long time as you did that night.

"We still have the Soju bottles right? How many did you buy?" Jimin's voice was already leaning towards babbling, you didn't expect her to want to keep drinking.

"Only two," your speech was still perfect, but you already felt a little sleepy.

"We'll open them and play until they're empty," you didn't like the determination with which she said that, but you had no choice.

An open bottle of Soju, a new round of racing. It wasn't Berio Kart anymore, it was now Soju Kart, and you didn't like the speed at which those drinks took effect on your nervous system. By the time you finished the first bottle Jimin was already laughing like an idiot at absolutely everything, and you felt like you could fall asleep on the floor if possible. Another bottle of Soju opened, and now you moved on to playing Super Mario Party. You didn't know half of the things you were saying or doing, and you were sure that you never really accomplished the objective of the game. The bottle was half full when you had to stop.

"You know, sometimes I hate all this..." Jimin said in a clumsy voice. You and her were now lying on the couch, you on one side and her on the other. Your legs were intertwined so you could fit.

"What are you talking about?" You looked at the ceiling without blinking. You swore you could see little colored stars.

"To be the leader. It's exhausting..." there was heaviness in her voice, as if she were speaking of a burden, "everyone expects something from you... they expect you to be perfect, to be the standard."

"Well... I don't see that you've done wrong so far."

"I know not. But in this industry everyone is focused on the next big thing... I'm afraid that soon I will fade into the background."

"You do realize how pretty and famous you are, right?"

"That's not the problem. The problem is that every day a girl comes out prettier than me, and Koreans forget very quickly when a better product appears."

"Why do you care so much? You're fulfilling a dream, right? I mean, look around for a second."

"You're right, maybe complaining while lying in a presidential suite isn't the most logical thing to do."

"In Miami, you forgot in Miami."

"In Miami, yeah," she was silent for a few seconds, "But still... I'm exhausted."

"You don't think it's because you drank 10 beers and a bottle and a half of Soju?"

"It could also be," you and she laughed as if you had made the best joke in the world. The reality was that you just seemed like two old drunks, "But no, I'm exhausted from living in the public eye, it sucks."

"If it's any consolation, all successful artists live that way, but of course, Korean fans are completely different from Western fans."

"They think they own your life, yeah... I hate that," another small silence, "but I guess that's the price to pay for fulfilling my dream."

"It doesn't seem like a fair price to me."

"Not really, but seeing every venue we go filled with people singing our songs and showing us love... dude, that makes up for a lot of things."

"Honey, I would love to keep listening to you but I swear I feel like I have two bearskin blinds for eyes," you were falling asleep. She laughed.

"Don't worry, rather thank you. It's nice to feel like I have someone like you for me. A bro," her clumsy voice as she said that made you laugh.

"That's a nice way to friendzone me," you joked. She tapped her foot on your thigh.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" She laughed, "Hey, I'd like you to come to bed with me so we can cuddle... I mean, if you don't want to, it's fine."

"Are you kidding? Me sleeping with you while I'm drunk sounds like the best feeling in the world."

"Come on then, silly."

The walk to the master bedroom was clumsy and bumpy. The suite was gigantic and the bedroom was illogically far from the living room where you were. Arriving felt like the end of a painful odyssey. The huge king size bed was waiting for you, well arranged and comfortable. The lights were off, but the night lights that filtered through the sliding door that led to the balcony did the job perfectly. Jimin took off her shorts and jumped onto the bed face down while you turned on the air conditioning. Her t-shirt had ridden up to the middle of her back and her ass adorned by gray Calvin Klein panties was completely exposed, under other circumstances that would have turned you on, but at that moment you were more in Narnia than in the real world.

"Give me some space, Rina," you took off your sweatpants and the hoodie you were wearing, now you were on equal terms with her.

Jimin settled on the side of the bed and got under the covers. You joined her, and feeling your head supported by that soft pillow made you feel in the clouds. The mattress felt amazing too, but none of those things equaled the feeling of Jimin's body snuggling against yours. She had turned her back on you, inviting you to sleep on a spoon. You put your right arm under her head so she was lying on it, and then wrapped your left arm around her. Her entire body pressed against yours, feeling soft and warm.

"Rest well...thank you for being so real with me, I needed it," those were Jimin's last sleepy, sweet words before she fell asleep. Soon you followed her.

---------------------------------

You woke up the next morning alone and panicked. Jimin wasn't by your side. As the morning Miami sun illuminated the side of your face you took out your phone to check your chat with Noze. There was nothing there. You stood up and were surprised again by the views you had from there, at that time the ships were already prowling the sea under the blue sky. You could have stayed there for a while just admiring the scenery, but you had to look for Jimin.

Turns out you were just being hysterical. While you were looking for her you saw her outside on the balcony, so calm and composed eating the breakfast that room service must have brought to the suite. You were still in a t-shirt and boxers, but you were so high up and so far from the other buildings that you didn't mind going out to the balcony with her like that. Besides, you noticed that she was still only wearing her panties underneath her as well.

"Good morning, handsome," she greeted you with a warm smirk, "Did you sleep well? Come, have breakfast with me."

"It's one of the best sleeps I've ever had in my life, yeah," you nodded, rubbing your eyes and approaching the table where she was sitting. When you looked at the plates of food you were stunned. Not only were there at least three fried eggs in different presentations for you, but also a plate of banana toast with peanut butter, a small bowl with pineapple, blueberries, kiwi and apple, and a small glass of Greek yogurt.

"You're going to need a lot of protein to get through the day," she must have seen your shocked face to say that.

"I mean, yeah, I imagine," you scratched your temple and had no choice but to sit down to eat. Jimin was already finishing her breakfast by the time you had just finished one of your fried eggs.

"You should hurry up, I told Noze and the girls not to bother us today," she stood up, "I have a lot of fun plans," just as she said that she took off her shirt and threw it into the suite. Her beautiful pair of tits were exposed to the Miami skyline, and you almost choked on a piece of toast. Making sure you had your eyes on her, she also took off her Calvin Klein panties and left them over your shoulder, "I'll wait for you in the shower, bon appetit."

She re-entered the suite, swaying her sexy hips from side to side. Your eyes stayed on her ass and lower back as long as they could until she disappeared from your sight. Never in your life had you devoured breakfast so quickly as you did that time.

After finishing your breakfast you rushed into the suite, brushed your teeth in one of the bathrooms where Jimin was not and went to where she was. The water was already on. You undressed in a matter of seconds and got into the shower with her. The floor was made of wooden planks with slight separations from each other, and the walls, which formed a wide circle around you with two small windows on each side, were made of black mosaic. The most notable thing was the giant rain shower head that hung from the ceiling like a lamp. Under it, Yoo Jimin letting the water run over her statuesque body.

"So? What's the agenda for today?" you approached her from behind her and put your hands on her waist. She didn't seem startled at all, she'd probably heard you come in. You noticed a mischievous smile while she had her eyes closed.

"Prove that I'm the best," she took a step back and pressed her ass against your cock. You pulled her with you out of the waterfall.

"Oh yeah?" You wrapped your arms around her fleshy frame and buried your face in her neck, giving her a few pecks, "and how exactly do you plan to do that?"

"I already told you I had a lot of plans," she murmured with her hands on your arms, "for now, help me take a shower, will you?"

"Fuck, you don't have to ask me twice."

Jimin extended an arm towards one of the windows and grabbed a soap. You subtly took it from her hand and got to work. You started by soaping her back, moving across her shoulder blades, her shoulders, and patiently moving down to her lower back, which was probably one of your favorite parts of her body. While down there you paid special attention to her hips and her waist, then you climbed back up to her arms, and then you squatted down to reach her ass.

"Treat it well, it's going to be your amusement park today," she said looking down over her shoulder.

"Well, in that case..." before placing your soapy hands on her ass you grabbed hold of her thighs and brought your face closer to her buttocks. You gave subtle kisses to both. Her flesh felt spongy against your lips, which traced a long trail of kisses up and down her ass. You soon found yourself immersed in worshiping that wonderful piece of food, but you had to continue.

“Fuck, you have really good lips,” she gasped as you began to soap her ass. While soaping you also massaged and squeezed each buttock gently.

"Wait until you feel them in that pussy."

You moved down from her buttocks to her thighs, to which you also devoted some special attention before moving down to the back of her knees and down to her calves. Soon the entire backside of her body was soapy. Now it was time for the fun part. When you stood up again and turned her around you couldn't help but feel turned on by her lascivious gaze, so you crashed your lips against hers. The steamy kiss lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make your cock rock hard.

You began to rub soap over her collarbone and her shoulders, her gaze fixed on you as you made to reach for her tits, but as you did previously with her ass, first you wanted to worship that beautiful pair of mounds. You slightly bent her knees and held onto Jimin's ribs, that was enough to immerse yourself in her tits. She didn't bother letting out an audible moan, as you took one of her nipples into your mouth and sucked on it. You didn't stop paying attention to any of her mounds at any time. You sucked, licked and kissed one, and the other you squeezed and massaged with her nipple being stimulated by your fingers.

"Fuck, you're going to drive me crazy..." she gasped.

"Good."

A few more seconds of kissing her tits were enough to leave you satiated for the moment. You resumed your original work, soaping up her soft tits to work your way down to her sexy midriff. You squatted down again. Her belly also called you to kiss it, and you did exactly that for a few seconds, distributing saliva-filled kisses around her navel and on her lower abdomen, also including her pubis. More soap, more foam-covered inches of flesh. You omitted her crotch for a moment, instead you gave way to what you had left to soap on her legs.

For the main attraction you stood up and kissed her again. She greeted your lips with a moan, and you brought your hand to her crotch to run your soapy fingers along her slit. You moved your hand away from her pussy and now ran it along her inner thighs, applying full pressure as a small massage to which she responded with another moan.

"Stop," she gasped, pulling away from your lips, "you already soaped me up, it's my turn."

Jimin separated from you and got under her shower again. She removed all the soap on her body in a matter of seconds, and as she stepped out she took the bar of soap from your hand. Now the entire center of attention was you. Jimin soaped both of her hands well and began to run them over your body while she looked into your eyes. Just like you, she had saved the best part for last once your entire body was soaped up.

She gave her hands a final coat of soap before leaving the bar in its place, pressing her body against yours and bringing her hand to your cock. You gasped, and she began to fill every inch of your shaft with foam. She massaged your balls gently too, and rubbed the palm of her hand against the back of your cock, up and down multiple times. You bit your lip and stifled a small moan, and against all odds, she put a firm grip with her fingers around your flesh and began to slowly jerk you off.

“Oh fuck…” you gasped. She had her tits pressed against your chest, and one of her thighs wedged between your legs. You felt her pussy rubbing against your thigh.

"You were looking forward to it huh?" Her sexy, teasing voice prompted you to kiss her. She began to move her hand faster, it sliding smoothly along your shaft. Her other hand didn't stay still, it went from rubbing your abdomen to caressing your balls.

"Since last night," you admitted, giving her complete control over you as you let your head fall back and let out a moan.

"I would have gladly sucked your cock if you had asked me," she took advantage of the exposure of your neck to fill it with kisses and bites. Her hand moved even faster on your cock and the other squeezed your balls gently.

"It would have been anti-climactic..."

"But it would have been nice to choke on your cock with several beers in my system..." she murmured against your neck.

"You can do it right now," you lowered your head and met her lips. Your previously quiet hands now moved into action. With one arm you surrounded Jimin's body, that hand went to her ass, while the other was dedicated to massaging her tits crushed against your chest.

"Don't be too hasty, cowboy," she smiled into the kiss, and now she moved on to using both of her hands to give you a slippery, deadly double handjob.

You moaned against her lips, and squeezed her ass and one of her tits harder. She was using all the strength of her wrists to drive you crazy with pleasure, and you certainly didn't last long before melting in her hands.

"I'm cu- oh fuck!" She didn't even give you time to warn her before you exploded. She pressed the tip of your cock against her sexy belly, while multiple thick jets of hot, thick cum began to paint her milky skin.

"Shit, a heavy load to start with huh?" She smiled, not stopping moving her hands for a single second while you still shot cum against her abdomen. It was a painful overstimulation that made you squirm between moans, but it didn't bother you at all.

"F-f-fuck! Stop!" you screeched just as the overstimulation became unbearable. She stopped immediately with a giggle.

"Look how you left my abdomen, you liked that didn't you?" She took a small step back to let you see her belly full of cum, which slid down her skin to her thighs and her crotch.

"Let's go outside right now," you said with heavy breathing.

"I don't think that's possible if you keep looking like a snowman," she laughed, pointing to your still soapy body.

"Right."

You went under the waterfall and quickly removed all the soap from your body. Once finished you turned off the faucet and took Jimin by the hand to guide her out of the bathroom. You didn't even bother to dry off, which was quite irresponsible considering that the wooden floor was somewhat slippery and you could fall. Finally you came out onto the balcony, your bodies and hair dripping with water.

"Natural drying?" she giggled when the hot sun was over your heads.

"You could say that, yeah," you wrapped your arms around her still wet body, pressed it against yours and kissed her again.

Kissing her in that passionate and carefree way with the sea breeze hitting your bodies lit a small spark that you needed for the rest of the day. Of course neither of you moved from your spot while you were kissing for fear of slipping up and falling into the sea, but the groping didn't stop for a second. Your hands went from her back to her ass to massage her ass, and then to her front to grab her tits.

After almost a minute of just making out you separated from her lips and grabbed her waist to slowly take her towards the railing, you turned her around, and made her lean against it.

"Are you going to fuck me for all of Miami to see?" She asked, looking over her shoulder at you as she leaned on the banister.

"I'm going to eat your pussy and then I'm going to fuck you for all of Miami to see," you corrected, kneeling behind her.

You had already kissed her ass minutes ago, but when you had it in front of you, illuminated by the sunlight and shining thanks to the layer of water, you couldn't help but worship it again. More kisses on each buttock, this time combined with licks and subtle bites. Firm grabs and massages, and a small spank that she thanked with a squeal.

You spread her buttocks with your hands, seeing her pretty shaved pussy and her butthole, which was your first target when you dipped your face in there. Jimin had a little shock when she felt your tongue against her butthole.

"Hey, that's not my pussy," she gasped, arching her back and pushing her ass toward your face.

"Yeah, I know," you smiled, giving her ass a few long seconds of attention in which you sucked, licked, and used the tip of your tongue to tickle her entire body.

"I hope you're doing that knowing you have to fuck it later," she moaned. Her body was starting to dry out, faster than you imagined. Yours the same.

"Don't worry, I plan to do the grand slam with you."

After giving her butthole enough attention you moved on to what you were longing for. Without a second thought you planted your tongue flat against her wet slit, slowly licking up and down. You noticed Jimin's arms tense against the railing, she let out small moans that became louder as you used your mouth to eat her pussy from behind.

Her delicious pussy felt silky and perfect against your lips. You could have stayed all day with your face buried between her buttocks, which felt like two soft clouds pressed against your cheeks. You placed wet, passionate kisses between her folds, also using your tongue to slowly stimulate her clitoris. Your hands resting on her thighs served as support to sink further, almost suffocating you against her slit.

You squeezed her thighs and then moved back up to her buttocks to give the right one a subtle spank. Jimin moaned louder, and you doubled your efforts on her pussy. You were having a most satisfying feast on that exquisite piece of flesh, but you planned to take advantage of every second of that day to give her pleasure in every way possible. You stopped and stood up.

"Huh? Why are you stopping?"

"Shhh," you shushed her, bringing your hand to her pussy to rub your fingers between her folds and then take two of them inside her.

"Oh fuck!" She turned her face to look at you, and you crashed your lips against hers as you began to stretch her pussy with your fingers.

You took it patiently at first, and after a few seconds you put your wrist into full jog. Her moans were muffled against your lips, loud and constant. The palm of your hand slammed against her ass harder with each passing second, which led to her tits starting to sway slightly. You grabbed one of them with your free hand, pinching her nipple and massaging the spongy mound.

Jimin's pussy was soon stretched and slippery enough, so you added a third finger inside her pussy. That made her separate from your lips, to now moan at the top of her lungs towards the Miami sky. She took one of her hands off the railing and brought it to your cock, stroking it as much as her trembling body would let her. You gave her a path of kisses from shoulder to shoulder, then kissed the back of her neck, and then dove down to her neck to fill it with hickeys.

"Cum, Jiminie, come on," you whispered in her ear as you fucked her with your three fingers.

Obediently, Jimin reached her orgasm within seconds of giving her the command. She removed her hand from your cock and brought it to the railing again, holding onto it tightly as her body began to shudder between spasms. The moans reached a higher peak. At that moment you looked down and looked at the ships passing through the canal. Anyone looking up could see you, straining their eyes, yes, but they could. You didn't give a shit about that.

"Move away, I need to suck that cock," she said between labored breaths once her orgasm passed. You stepped back and gave her space to kneel in front of you.

She took your cock with one hand and started licking it all over, from behind, from the sides, the tip and finally your balls. A kiss and a light suck on your tip made you shiver. Jimin now peppered kisses along your entire throbbing shaft, focusing for a few seconds on your balls before moving back up and swirling her tongue around your tip.

Her lips wrapped around your first few inches. She applied gentle suction on your tip and used her tongue to lick part of the back of your cock. She then pushed her head further, until she took half of your meat inside her warm mouth. You moaned and made eye contact with her as she slowly pumped her head, her fingers gripping the base of your cock and her free hand gripping your thigh.

You loved slow and sensual blowjobs, and you certainly noticed how she was an expert at doing them. Her tongue felt incredible, she never left it still on a single head pump, and her lips had a firm grip around your cock. When she took more inches of your cock her mouth opened slightly, making completely intentional gagging sounds as she reached the bottom. The slow and passionate pumps continued, and in one of those Jimin held onto both of your thighs to bring every millimeter of your cock to disappear inside her mouth.

"That's what I'm talking about, Rina," you groaned in pleasure, throwing your head back for a few seconds as Jimin kept you deep in her throat.

She finally pulled out after a few seconds with a deep gasp of air and a thick trail of saliva connecting your tip to her lips.

"Fuck my face, and show no mercy," she ordered as she looked you in the eyes.

Without thinking twice you brought your left hand on top of her head and with the other you grabbed your cock. She opened her mouth with her tongue stuck out, and you guided your shaft into it to start pumping your hips right away. She had clearly told you to show no mercy, and you had no intention of breaking a direct order.

You grabbed a handful of her hair and started fucking her face at full speed. Your cock moved completely in and out of her mouth with each thrust, and it didn't take long for saliva to start spilling everywhere. Her face scrunched up at the force you exert with each movement. Your balls were slapping against her chin, and she started moaning around your cock to make it more pleasurable.

No more than twenty seconds passed when you brought Jimin's nose back to your pubes, making her choke and cough against your cock, which was deep in her throat. You waited a few seconds until you took out your cock and let her breathe, but you felt feral at that moment, and without giving her a chance to rest you made her stand up so that she leaned against the banister again.

“Say hello to the boats again, honey,” that was the last thing you said in Jimin's ear before taking your cock and bringing it between her ass cheeks. You found her pussy and rubbed yourself against it a few times, and without further foreplay you impaled yourself deep inside it.

"Fuck!!" she squealed, clinging to the cold metal of the banister, feeling you completely inside her warm pussy.

You rested her hands on her waist, and after getting a good hold of your fingers on her flesh you began to pump your hips slowly, letting her pussy stretch around your cock and get used to it. Your shaft was filled with Jimin's saliva, so in a matter of seconds it no longer felt any friction. You had completely free rein to hammer her pussy.

You began to increase her speed second by second, until you reached a point of no return where you rammed into her milky ass hard. Jimin's body began to shake front to back, and her tits began to bounce wildly for any sailor or tourist to see if they paid a little attention.

You removed your hands from her waist and brought both of them to her tits, you stopped their bouncing, you squeezed them tightly and held on to them while you panted in Jimin's ear. Your cock moving completely in and out of her silky pussy.

"You love that I'm fucking you up here, don't you?" You growled against her ear, "You love the chance of someone seeing your delicious tits bouncing while I fuck you hard."

"I-I didn't know you read minds," she managed to say between moans. You took one hand from her tits to her neck to wrap your fingers around it, you applied some pressure, but not too much.

"That leaves you like a... slut," you smiled as you said the word, and her pussy clenched around your cock, "an exhibitionist slut."

"Shut the fuck up and cum inside me, fuck!!" Her screams filled your ears and gave you the urge to fuck her harder.

You stood up straight and gave her ass a dry, spicy spank. Her butt bounced like jelly, and you repeated the same with the other one. With both buttocks now red from your spanks you reached a hand to her hair, grabbed a handful and pulled it hard back. Jimin grunted in pleasure, her back arched and her head now completely thrown back.

Your grip point now was only her long black hair, which you held onto with both hands as if it were the reins of a horse. You were sure it made her scalp burn, but she seemed to enjoy it, especially since you were pounding her pussy so hard that each thrust took a breath out of her. It didn't take you long to find a sensitive spot to hit on her, but to do so you had to raise her knee over her railing. Quite dangerously, but also quite hot.

In that position Jimin soon gave in to the pleasure and came. She pushed her ass back and fucked herself against your cock, erratically but hard. You let go of her hair and grabbed her now by her neck, with both hands and with your fingers tightly held while she herself brought you to your point of ecstasy. When you felt the first drop of your cum come out of your cock, you grabbed her waist and made her stop so she could feel how you drained into her.

"Take that damn load, you little slut," you growled, and moved your hips slowly back and forth as you shot hot cum into her pussy.

"Oh fuuuuuuuck," she groaned too, "it feels so hot and thick inside me," she moaned and looked at you over her shoulder. You leaned forward and kissed her between gasps for a few long seconds.

"As much as I love fucking you with the open sea in the background, we can't stay here," you said against her lips, "we're being too reckless already."

"There's a jacuzzi inside..." she smiled and looked you in the eyes. You didn't even have to respond to her to let her know you were totally in for it.

You pulled out of her pussy and your cum spilled out in thick drops onto the wooden boards, you and her looked at the small pool of cum you had left, and you didn't care in the least about cleaning it up when you got into the suite.

"Where is that thing supposed to be? I haven't gone into all the rooms," you said as you walked behind her.

"I didn't find it at first either, but this morning I did a little detailed tour while you were sleeping," you passed the master bedroom, two bathrooms and a second bedroom before reaching the door where she stopped. She opened the door wide open, letting you see a magnificent relaxation room where the jacuzzi was, "Vualá"

It was a beautiful room filled with natural light from the large window behind the rectangular bathtub, covered by blinds that were open to let in the sun's rays. The jacuzzi in question was on top of a slope, where there were also four artificial bamboo plants decorating each corner.

"Damn, at some point I'm going to ask Noze how much that suite cost," you let out a stunned whistle, taking a few steps forward. Under your feet were four tatami tiles.

"I don't think you want to know, it would give you a heart attack," she walked past you, caressing your shoulder, and walked up the small slope to sit on the thick edge of the hot tub.

"Is it one of those smart bathtubs?" You said, going up with her to the slope.

"Oh yeah, the remote control must be over here," she turned and grabbed the small remote behind her, "hot water?"

"Enough to not roast us, yeah," you nodded, walking around the tub and running your hand along the marble edge as Jimin pressed buttons and you heard subtle beeps.

"Aight, 34 celsius and minimal vibration," she finally stood up, left the remote control on the edge and climbed into the bathtub. You get in with her, sitting at the other end. Your legs intertwined.

"Well? Are we here to chat or what?" you asked, clearly knowing the answer.

"Of course not," she gave you a sly smile and bit her lip, "just close your eyes and relax," she said as she closed her eyes and leaned her head on the edge of the tub.

You did so, imitating her posture and leaving your arms loose. The water temperature was starting to rise and get hot, and the massage panels on the walls of the tub were starting to do wonders for your back and buttocks. For a few minutes the only thing between the two of you was silence and the vibrations of the bathtub. But you soon felt something on your cock underwater, it was Jimin's toes.

"Hmm… I didn't know this bathtub had that function," you murmured with your eyes still closed.

You didn't receive any response from Jimin. She brought her foot further, caressing your balls with her fingers and then using her entire sole to rub you slowly. Your cock grew hard under the water, and she now brought her foot to your tip to rub it in circles with her toes. A moan escaped you as she rubbed the back of your shaft up and down, her sole feeling silky.

"That feature has a plus," you heard her say also quietly, and with that you felt another foot on your cock. She wrapped her feet around your shaft, specifically her toes, and started moving them up and down.

"Rina... oh god," you gasped, refusing to open your eyes and ruin that moment of esoteric relaxation.

Fueled by your moans of pleasure, she continued moving her feet up and down with your cock in the middle, giving you perhaps the best footjob you had ever received in your entire life. You didn't want to leave your hands still at a moment like this, so you took them to the part of her body that was closest to you, her legs. You caressed them as much as you could without stretching too much, running your fingertips over her calves and her knees.

After a few seconds, Jimin increased the speed, putting pressure on your shaft with her toe and occasionally rubbing your balls with one of her feet. Your moans started to get louder. She was doing wonders underwater, you didn't expect such skillful control of her feet, but maybe after that experience on the plane with her you should have expected it.

"Tell me... do you want to be between my tits and cum all over my face?" Despite having her in front of you, her voice sounded distant and magical, like a mermaid about to pull a sailor to the bottom of the ocean. Only this mermaid had feet, and they were stroking your cock up and down.

"God, yeah," you nodded between gasps. If she had been a real mermaid you were more than dead, you fool.

"Then open your eyes and sit up," her tone of voice remained low, not wanting to break the aura of false tranquility.

You opened your eyes, finding a deep, beautiful, lust-filled gaze fixed on you. You didn't want to keep the damn mermaid waiting, so you stood up in the bathtub and sat on the edge of it. The feeling of the cold marble against your ass was somewhat unpleasant, but it was made up for by watching Jimin crawl towards you and emerge from the water to kneel between your legs.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Yoo Jimin," was the only thing you could think to say as she placed both hands on your knees and stared at you.

"So much that you want to fill one of the most beautiful faces in Korea with your cum?" She asked in a husky, sultry voice, her hands running up and down your thighs. You could only see her eyes and her tits.

"Yes, that beautiful," you nodded with heavy breathing.

Jimin moved further between your legs and lifted her chest, taking your cock in one hand and placing it between her heavy tits, which she wrapped around your shaft making an incredible meat sandwich. With her tits now firmly held on either side of her she began to move up and down, making your cock disappear between her tits with each movement.

"Do you like it this slow?" she asked, and you closed your eyes again. Your hands resting on the outside edge behind you, "or do you want me to go faster..."

"Do as you please with me at this point," you gasped.

"Another good answer," you heard a subtle mischievous giggle as she moved slower now. At that speed you felt the softness and fluffiness of her tits in the best way. Two clouds of cotton around your cock, moving up and down.

Jimin gave your cock a thick spit, which served as lubrication now that she was gradually increasing the pace. She was also incredibly good at it, which didn't surprise you at all considering the blatant competitive spirit that girl had. She was completely determined to show you that she was the best at everything, and she certainly wasn't far from that goal.

Within a few seconds those soft and beautiful tits were moving at full speed around your cock, well lubricated by Jimin's saliva and at the same time warm from the hot bath you just had. One reason you had your eyes closed was so you wouldn't admire the lewd scene and cum too quickly, but at that point you didn't care anymore.

She was still looking completely fixed on you, as if she was delighting in your grimaces or the way you moaned. Watching your cock appear and disappear between her tits was an added bonus of pleasure, and it drove your brain completely crazy. Taking advantage of the fact that you were looking at her, she bit her lip in a sexy way, spitting between your tits again so that they would not stop being slippery for you.

"Fuck Rina... I'm so close," you announced with your mouth slightly open, your breathing becoming more labored.

"Paint my perfect face, baby..." she asked with a moan, "fill it with that hot load."

Her words and her constant pumping up and down were enough to push you over the edge again. With a loud moan to the ceiling of the room you began to shoot jets of cum that hit Jimin's face directly, while the remnant fell to her tits and slid down her body.

"Fuck fuck fuck!!" you growled, still letting out weaker streams. She slowed down, and when she raised her face, it was all painted white, from her forehead, her cheeks and nose to her mouth and chin.

"So delicious..." she gasped and moved her cum filled tits away from your cock, "I knew the protein for breakfast was going to help," your cum served as an appetizer for her as she wiped it off her face. with her fingers and brought it all to her mouth.

"I need to fuck you really fucking hard, Yoo Jimin," you said between pants, as you looked into her eyes.

"Let's go outside then, pretty boy," she cupped her hands together in the water and used it to wipe the goo off her face. Once her face was clean she stood up and got out of the bathtub to turn it off. You followed her.

On the floor next to the bathtub were some towels stacked on top of each other. This time you did dry yourself as best you could, and did not leave the room until your entire body was free of moisture. Jimin led you through the hallways and stopped at the suite space that served as the general dining room. There was a wide table, with three chairs on the sides and two at each end. There was a table decoration that you had no idea what it was, but it looked like a literal feather mini circular  bed for who knows what. Above it, a large cylinder-shaped fabric hanging lamp.

"Here?" you asked, not opposing the idea either as you looked at the exit to the balcony to your left.

"Does it matter?"

"Not at all," you shook your head, and wrapped an arm around Jimin's body to pull two chairs away from the nearest corner of the table. You also moved the table decoration aside, and with the empty space you lifted her onto it so she could sit up.

She spread her legs wide, and you stood between them so she could wrap them around your body. Jimin's arms caught your neck as well, pulling you in for a steamy kiss. 

During the kiss you no longer cared about skipping the teasing completely, so you brought one hand to one of her tits and the other between her legs, to rub your fingers between her folds continuously from top to bottom. Jimin returned the favor, latching onto your neck now with only one arm to grab your still slightly sensitive cock and rub it carefully knowing this.

Her pussy began to get wet again, you felt her folds become slippery around your fingers as you rubbed non-stop. Your cock returned to full hardness again, and she wasted no time in pulling away from your lips, spitting onto her hand, and bringing it to your shaft to lubricate it well. You played along, and in a matter of seconds you were inside her. You had already felt her soft pussy engulf you minutes ago, but she felt just as incredible as the first time.

"Give me everything you've got… don't you dare hold back," she moaned, leaning back to rest her hands behind her.

"Believe me, I wasn't planning on doing it, Rina," you buried your face in her long, attractive neck, and with your hands attached to her waist you began pumping quickly from the start.

Luckily the table was of excellent quality, otherwise it would have broken from how hard you and Jimin were shaking it. You filled her neck with kisses and slightly excessive bites, but neither she nor you cared about the damage you did to each other, you were so immersed in pleasure that you transformed the pain into something hot. You would soon confirm that.

Your hands went to her thighs to pull her legs back, pressing them closer to her body and keeping them wide open while you hammered her pussy without any control or care. Her tits bounced hypnotically in front of your eyes, and as a weak man that you were, you couldn't help but take them to your mouth to suck them and fill them with kisses. Jimin tangled the fingers of each of her hands in your hair, pressing your face closer to her breasts as she moaned loudly.

"Oh shit, fuck fuck fuck fuck!! Yes!!" she squealed as you slammed into her pussy at full speed. You separated yourself from her breasts to straighten your back and look at her.

"You like this way huh?" You growled, your jaw tensing as you watched her face distort with pleasure.

"Fuck yeah!! Yes!!" She opened her eyes, crystallized and weak, to look at you too, "slap me, choke me, treat me like a whore!!"

As soon as she said those words you gave her a hard slap on her right cheek. She squealed with pleasure and her pussy clenched around your cock. Another slap, this time with the back of your hand on her other cheek. Same reaction, only this time she stuck her tongue out, and you, upon catching her clear message, spit directly on it. Another slap on her cheek, and now you brought your hand to her neck to press it hard.

The agitation of the moment did not allow you to fully control the force with which you squeezed her neck, but judging by her face when you pressed, you were doing enough to stop her breathing. She grabbed onto your wrist with both hands, and she wrapped her legs around your body to fall back onto the table. You lost your grip on her neck, but she now wrapped her arms over yours, burying your face in her breasts as you fucked her with all your might.

"I'm gonna fucking cum Rina," you moaned against her bouncing tits, a bead of sweat sliding down your forehead and landing right on top of one of her nipples.

"Yes! Give my pussy another hot load, yes!!" she begged between desperate whimpers, and she didn't have to wait long before you exploded inside her.

Just as if your cum was the spark that the fuse inside her needed, as soon as she felt the first drop inside her she came with you. She shuddered like crazy, desperately searching for something to hold on to as she screamed with pleasure. You wrapped your arms around her body and pressed it against yours, breathing heavily against her tits, which crushed your nose and brushed against your mouth with every shudder of her body.

It took you both a few long seconds to recover from that intense discharge of energy, you were both lying on the table, one on top of the other with heavy breathing and without any words to say. When you felt somewhat composed you straightened your back and very slowly came out of her pretty pussy. The cum began to flow through her slit, and fell directly onto the table where another pool of white liquid began to form, which you wouldn't bother to clean up right now either.

"I still have energy left for one more round..." you said breathlessly, "and that ass hasn't been fucked yet."

"Let's do it," she said without thinking, "let's go to the bedroom."

You were gentlemanly with her, and knowing that her legs were probably weak you carried her in your arms to walk to the bedroom. Once inside her you released her onto the still unmade sheets.

"You brought...?"

"Lube? Yeah, it's in my handbag," she told you while lying on the bed.

"Why there?"

"Because no one ever checks it. Come on, look for it."

You found Jimin's handbag next to her suitcase, when you opened it you searched a little until you found the small tube.

"Astroglide Ultra Gentle Gel Lube," you read aloud, her cheeks flushing, "how specific."

"I told you not to judge me."

"I don't, I just find the name funny," you smiled, climbing into bed with her and giving her a peck on the forehead and a peck on her lips. She smiled, looked at your semi-flaccid cock and stretched out one leg to touch it with her foot.

"A few minutes ago this made you rock hard... will it work again?" She asked, using her foot to rub your cock and slowly make it hard again, "You love my feet huh?" She teased, and with a giggle she turned around to position herself on her hands and knees, spread wide and her ass perfectly arched for you.

"The truth is that you have a special way of making me hard with anything you do, Yoo Jimin," you said, kneeling behind her, "do you want me to go slow this time?"

"Are you kidding?" She looked over her shoulder at you with a challenging look, "Destroy my ass like your life depends on it."

"I just wanted to make sure."

You opened the small tube of lube and began to pour it onto her buttocks, you didn't skimp on the quantity, you made sure that her ass was as slippery and shiny as possible. Then you moved on to her butthole, where you took two fingers full of lubricant inside her to stretch as many centimeters as possible before the main attraction. It was evident that her butthole was not virgin, but you were still always careful.

"Mmmgh, fuck," she moaned softly, feeling your two slippery fingers go in and out of her already prepared butthole.

You took out your fingers, and now poured a significant amount of lubricant on your cock, which like her ass, was perfectly slippery and shiny to reflect the sunlight coming from the balcony. Without anything else to do you took your cock in one hand and guided it to her butthole. Jimin looked at you over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed and biting her lip. You pressed your tip against her rim, and began to slowly push forward. Surprisingly, her butthole engulfed too easily every inch of your cock halfway.

"What the fuck Rina," you gasped, "how often do you take things up your ass?"

"Aeri and I are playmates sometimes, we love playing with our asses," she admitted with an evil smile and then moaned at the imminent arrival of your cock deep in her butthole.

"I wish you could see this... fuck," you moaned, "my cock completely disappeared inside that beautiful ass," you gave her a hard spank, which slipped thanks to the lube.

"Take a picture," she said, reaching under the pillow she had slept on for her phone to hand it to you. You quickly took a few photos from different angles. Then you locked the phone and tossed it aside.

"I'm not Aeri, but I hope I can do it half as well," you said with a sly smile, and the show started again.

You didn't feel it necessary to go too slow at first, and you certainly didn't feel it necessary to go slow at all. Jimin took every inch of your cock into her butthole as if it were her pussy, giving you free rein to go as crazy as you wanted. You also wanted to have some fun, and just like she had done in the jacuzzi, you fucked her slowly on purpose.

"Fffffffuckkk," she moaned, loving how your cock was moving completely in and out of her tight butthole, "you're a bastard for going so slow on purpose, but it feels so fucking good anyway," she admitted, clutching the blanket under her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, and soon made a drastic change of pace.

Her ass was now bouncing against your pelvis hard, producing a loud clapping sound with each powerful thrust you made. As the seconds passed these sounds became louder and faster, as did the squeals of pleasure coming from Jimin.

"Oh god!!" She moaned, "Yes baby... just like that, fuck that ass, it belongs only to you, fuck!!"

More spankings to her milky, soft ass, which served no purpose other than watching it bounce in hypnotic waves. You brought your hands to her hips, holding on tightly to them as you thrust as hard as you could. At that point your lower body was completely destroyed and short of energy, but you could allow yourself that last inhuman effort.

Remembering her words while you were in the dining room, you grabbed a handful of her hair again with your right hand and pulled it back. Jimin screeched, her head now thrown back and her chest slightly separated from the bed. You used that fistful of hair, which you tangled around your hand and the top of your wrist, as a leverage point to ravage her butthole between frantic thrusts.

With your free hand you grabbed her slippery ass and also her bouncy tits, but finally you left it on her waist. You felt like you were pulling her hair too hard, but again she didn't seem to mind in the slightest. She was being so destroyed and fucked so well in her ass that even the words were forgotten.

Hard incessant thrusts, back and forth, every inch of throbbing flesh going in and out of one of the best asses you had ever had the joy of fucking. Her ass bounced so hard against your pelvis that even that bed sounded like a cheap, flimsy bed. Jimin's moans, so loud and constant that you feared Noze would receive a complaint from the residents downstairs—if there were any.

Another long seconds filled with moans, grunts and loud sounds of flesh hitting flesh were enough for Jimin to have one last intense orgasm. This time you didn't let her take control at all. You let go of her hair, and placed a hand on the back of her neck to push her face into the mattress to assert your dominance. Even though she was screaming like crazy into the blanket you didn't stop fucking her ass until you felt close to orgasm as well.

By the time you felt the tickling in your lower abdomen, Jimin's orgasm had already dissipated. You quickly pulled your cock out of her ass and began to stroke it quickly, aiming for her back, which soon began to fill with cum. You felt your whole soul escape from your body in that load, which fell along her entire back and left her skin stained white.

"Mother of fucking god," you gasped already exhausted once you shot all that was left in your balls at the moment.

"Why didn't you cum inside?" she asked, almost as exhausted as you. Her eyes were closed and the side of her face was crushed against the mattress.

"I'm sorry, I had and needed to see that back full of cum," you swallowed thickly and sat on the bed.

"Take another photo then... and send them all to your chat," you didn't hesitate for a second to pick up her phone to take new photos and send them to yourself.

"Can we sleep for a couple of hours? I feel beat up right now," you sighed.

"Yeah, but find something to clean me up, dork," she said with a tone you couldn't help but associate with Noze. Then you also realized that you hadn't stopped thinking about Noze all day. God knows why.

----------------------------------

Once you helped Jimin clean up, you slept for two hours and woke up with your stomach growling. You ordered lunch, and after proper digestion and a good rest you resumed the lascivious activities. You fucked in every corner of that damned suite—you didn't go back to the balcony—, in every way, position and mood possible. The whole day went by like this until when you least knew it, it was 11 at night.

"You know? Uh... I wanted to apologize to you," she said as you lay on the bed, which was a mess. She was cuddled against the side of your body while you smoked a more than necessary cigarette. You had opened the balcony door to let the smoke out.

"Why?" You took a drag on the cigarette, held the smoke for a few seconds, and then released it into the air.

"For what I said on the plane, I didn't really need to bring in Itzy's girls," she took the cigarette from your hand and took a drag, then leaned over you and tapped it to loosen the ash in the ashtray. She blew smoke upwards as well, "As a leader I sometimes feel like I have to play a role in front of the other members. You know, not showing weakness and shit."

"You have nothing to apologize for," you took the cigarette back from her, "You have friends to feel vulnerable in front of, and I'm one of them," she smiled.

"Damn, thank you for all the time you spent with me, seriously," she gave you a peck on the cheek, "I'd love to hang out with you more often, you know, without the porn movie part," you laughed.

"Well, anytime you want to drink a beer and play games I'm a text message away," you smiled and took another drag on the cigarette.

"I'd like that, yeah," she agreed with an adorable smile.

"Besides, you're better than any bro I've ever had. I can fuck you any way I want, whenever I want," you laughed and took one last drag on the cigarette before putting it out and leaving it in the ashtray.

"God, you're so stupid," she laughed and leaned her face against your chest, "Hey, we better sleep now... tomorrow we have to go back to harsh reality."

"Unfortunately," you sighed.

You stood up, went to close the balcony door, turned on the air conditioning and got under the blankets with Jimin. Below them, your two naked bodies were in a warm embrace that you maintained until the moment you fell asleep.

[desi2go]

First times

pairing: Channie x reader

warning: fluff

summary: How were your first times with him?

author's note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHANNIE!!!!! I love you so much and I hope you have a great day <3<3<3<3<3

𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤

You never thought that you would meet the love of your life on the beach. You and your friends were on vacation in Australia, enjoying the beautiful beach in the warmth of the sun. There were so many people, laying next to each other due to the limited space but it still was relaxing.

You were just reading a book while sunbathing and trying to get a good tan, your friends swam in the warm water, leaving you alone on your towel. Suddenly, a ball hit you, bouncing over you onto your friend's towel. You looked around for the culprit, expecting it to be a child but instead, three men stood a few metres away. They pushed each other forward and when they caught your staring, they pointed at each other, claiming that it was the other ones fault.

You rolled amused with your eyes, not believing that grown up men could act like children. Two of them, one with long blonde and the one with short black hair, pushed their friend forward with force, letting him stumble.

The message was clear, he should get the ball back from you. You fished it from your friend's towel and waited for him to step up to you.

He was beautiful, his black hair hidden by a black base cap but his face was gorgeous. Those brown eyes looked like delicious chocolate and the smile that formed on his face made you blush.

You held the ball out while he stood in front of you, rubbing his back.

"Thank you" he exclaimed, taking the ball and already turning.

"You're welcome" you responded. But the good looking man stopped in his tracks when he saw his friends making signals with their hands. You figured out that the blonde was signing phone and the other acted like he wrote something, pointing to you.

The man with the base cap sighned. "I hate you guys sometimes" he mumbled, heading towards you again while blushing and hiding his face under the cap.

"Already back?" you asked amused, watching him with a smirk. "Yes. Can I have your number perhaps?" he questioned, becoming a blushing mess.

You chuckled. "Did your friends tell you that?"

He laughed. "No, they just encouraged me. I'm Chan by the way"

𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖉𝖆𝖙𝖊

You texted on a daily basis, getting to know him very well and you found out that he was an idol. Since you were from south korea too, you didn't think that this would be an obstacle for your relationship. Before he would go back to korea, he wanted to show you Sydney on a personal trip.

The whole day, he showed you around, poiting to the hidden spots and attractions that a normal tourist wouldn't see. It was fun to spend time with him, easy and without uncomfortable silences.

He was a true gentlemen, opening doors for you and even paying your ice cream. You laughed a lot and you must admit that you already adored his. His gentle gaze would always be on you, letting you feel safe and secure in his proximity.

When the sun was replaced by the moon and stars, he lead you to a small restaurant. You sat down in front of it, the soft light of fairylights luminated his face, emphazising all his beautiful features.

Chan told you that this was his favourite restaurant and he couldn't even deny it anymore when the waiter greeted him with his name, making you laugh. He recommended you some things and after getting your order, he even let you try his meal. You couldn't even remember if a man before him had fed you once, but he did, blowing on his fork to cool it down and then placing it in your mouth carefully.

His ears were red but the smile on his face was hypnoticing. You could watch this man for your entire life.

𝖇𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉

As soon as you were back in south korea, he took you out on more dates and you were sure that he was the person you wanted to spend your life with.

It was just that you feared for asking him if he wanted to be your boyfriend. You were just insecure how to approach this, afraid that it might be too soon for his liking but all your doubt were destroyed when he asked you instead.

It was on one of your dates. He had picked you up at your apartment and brought you to the park a little outside from Seoul where you could be alone. You both had planned to do a picknick to enjoy one of the last summer days before the cold winter would come.

You spread the blanket and placed the food down, talking about everything. While you laid down, he fed you some strawberries that were dipped into chocolate, reminding you of his eye colour.

You had noticed from the beginning that he acted different than usual, he seemed nervous. But you trusted him to tell you what was on his mind.

His hand caressed your cheek and you closed your eyes, eating the strawberries from time to time. He cleared his throat, not responding to a question you had asked.

"Okay Channie, tell me what is up with you today. You seem nervous" you expressed, opening your eyes to take his form in.

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?" He spoke fastly, leaving you speachless. You definitely didn't expected that.

You chuckled. "That bothered you so much?" He nodded hesitantly, clearly panicking that you would say no.

"Of course Channie, I love you" you pushed yourself up from his lap, pressing your lips on his own.

𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖙𝖔𝖌𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗

Saying that you weren't nervous at all was wrong, completely wrong. You knew that it was just Channie, your Channie, and you didn't need to be so tense but this felt like a big step in your relationship.

You were officially together now and even if it sounded unbelievable, you hadn't spend a night together yet. You didn't mind since both of you wanted to take things slow.

Now, you stood in front of his apartment with a bag in hand, pressing his doorbell. He opened immeadiatly as if he had waited impatiently for you on the other side. He pressed a loving kiss on your lips and taking the bag from you in the same moment.

"Hello love" he greeted, pulling you out of the cold hallway. It wasn't the first time being in his apartment and you liked his way of decorating from the first moment.

"Hey Channie" you responded, getting rid of your shoes and jacket while he placed the bag into his bedroom. "I just started cooking" he told you, leading you into the kitchen where the food was already cooking.

You laughed a lot while you observed your boyfriend since he forced you to sit down instead of letting you help.

After dinner, you two layed down on his couch to watch a movie, your head an his shoulder while he played with a strand of your hair. You felt him pressing his nose into your hair and you laughed when you heard him inhale deeply. "What? I love your smell" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around you.

Afterwards, you headed to bed after getting ready together. He didn't even give you the chance to bring some sort of distance between you or letting you even lay down for a second before he was already pulling you into his arms again, leaving you squealing and giggling.

"Come here! I need my cuddles!" he demanded, giving you a light bite on your shoulder. "As if you weren't cuddling me all the time" you stated, brushing a few hair strands out of his face.

"They are never enough, never"

𝖜𝖊𝖉𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌

Chan's proposal was something you hadn't expected. Well, yes at some point in the future yes but you were surprised when the love of your life suddenly kneeled in front of you, a beautiful and well-chosen ring in his hand. Of course you said yes! I mean how could you not?

The preparation of the wedding let the time pass so fast. You chose the perfect venue in Australia on the beach you had met years ago and your wedding dress was breathtaking and you couldn't wait to see Chan's reaction.

When you walked down the aisle, you were so nervous but yet so excited. With a beautiful bouquet in hand, you headed to your future, to your beloved husband. He looked absolutely gorgeous in his black suit and as soon as his eyes found yours, a stunning smile decorated his face.

Your farther gave you into Chan's arms and got back to his seat. During the whole ceremony, your lover's eyes never left yours and his fingers caressed your hands. Soon, you both said yes and exchanged your rings that you had chosen. Your wedding band was silver with a white stone and on the inside, hidden from the outside, were your initials engraved.

Chan gently pressed his lips on yours, your hands finding its way in his hair.

𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖉

You and Chan were married for over a year now and you knew that he wanted kids and you must admit that you imagined being a mother too. And after settling into marriage you felt that it was the right time to try for a baby.

Chan was excited and couldn't wait until you were pregnant. Just some months later, you found out that you were indeed with child and on the first doctor's appointment, Chan cried as soon as he saw the cell that is your baby.

During the whole pregnancy, he was so nervous and affectionate. Whenever he found time, he would caress your bump or lay on your stomach to tell you and your baby about his day.

As your bump grew, he was cautious about everything. You couldn't even do laundry without him jumping up and taking over, claiming that you needed to rest.

When you went into labour, he stayed by your side during the whole process. His hand never left yours and he drove to the hospital, even when you tightened your hold with each contraction.

After hours of labour, you heard your baby's first cries and it felt like all the pain faded away. The only thing you could concentrate on, was to hold your baby. Chan kissed your forehead in joy, complimenting you how great you did this. In his own eyes were tears as they laid the beautiful baby girl in your arms.

Tenderly, he caressed his finger over the smooth skin and oh lord - he was smitten. He felt nervous when you suggested to hold his girl but he agreed and listened to the instructions the nurse gave him. He undressed his chest because newborns liked the skin to skin contact to hold their temperature and to control their breathing.

He laughed in joy as he held his little one finally after months of waiting, the smile never left his lips again.

[hotgirlssupportlando]

hard launch

”… and shoutout to Lando Norris because he's gonna be taking it off for me tonight”

pairing: lando norris x reader!photographer (she/her) summary: y/n hard launching her relationship with lando during an awards show wc: 1.4k warnings: none note: all creds to nicki minaj iconic quote hehe and also this is my first text ever so feel free to give feedback :) not a native english speaker!

y/n was a somewhat known photographer in the f1 community. if you asked a member in the paddock what motorsport photographers they knew they’d probably say Kym Illman or y/n y/l/n because they were the most noticeable around the f1 paddock. she was an outgoing beautiful girl and a true spreader of joy, you could almost say that she was the photographers daniel ricciardo. through the years of being in motorsports she had gained lots of friends but in the past months she had found a deeper connection to one of the drivers, lando norris. 

they’d always been good friends, she and lando, but somewhere along the line their interactions had started to become more and more flirtatious. one thing led to another during the afterparty of the last gp of the season and they had now spent all of the winter break together. y/n and lando had travelled around the world during the break and somehow lando had an unusual amount of pics to upload to instagram during his world trip? maybe bc he had a professional photographer with him. the fans however didn’t notice this, they were just delighted over the frequent uploads from all of the corners of the world. 

during their trips it was easy to keep a low profile because they were always a part of a big group people traveling together. but when they were back at lando’s flat in monaco it became harder to hang out in public together without rumors spreading. they both were quite secure in their relationship to one another but they didn’t know how their managers and fans would take the news. they’d either hate it or love it. and if fans were to love it, y/n knew that they couldn’t escape at least some hate, that was just part of being public and especially with a beloved driver like lando. it didn’t help either that y/n remembered the hate that lando’s ex luisa got when they were together and though it could appear that y/n had a though shell she was afraid that it would be tough on her. at the end of the day she was ’just’ a photographer and didn’t receive a lot of hate, and if she received any it was mostly about her work and not about her personally. that’s why this whole public relationship would mean a huge readjustment for her and that’s why they kept it a secret for a little bit longer. 

—

at the end of winter break y/n was sunbathing in the garden of lando’s flat when she received an email with an invitation to a british motorsport award. she was nominated in the category photographer of the year and wow she couldn’t be more excited!! finally a confirmation of all the hard work and many years photographing motorsport. she was quick to run inside the house to tell lando the exciting news, where she was met with huge support and also the news that lando too was nominated in a category! y/n felt a relief that she would have her emotional support with her during a nerve-racking event like this.

—

lando was used to getting dressed up in designer clothes and going to awards but for y/n this was a whole new territory. since lando knew about this and that y/n was quite insecure about these things he wanted to help her as best as he could. before heading to britain for the awards they together went out shopping for a dress in monaco and even got it custom made to fit perfectly for y/n. this was absolutely not in y/n’s price range but lando insisted because he wanted her to feel really special on this rare occasion. y/n had always seen how caring and loving he was but these last months together had really shown her that he’d do anything for her, which was something she’d never experienced. y/n’s heart was so full of all the love she received. 

—

it was the day of the awards and y/n and lando were at a hotel nearby getting ready when y/n was starting to feel anxious and wanting to call the whole thing off. ”this dress is too much, i can’t wear this! people will think i’m full of myself, who am i to wear versace?? i’m a farm girl not a superstar. AND what if i don’t win? it’s going to look terrible if i show up in this only to go home without an award” y/n panicked. lando sat beside her soothing her whilst stroking her back. ”y/n/n you don’t have anything to worry about, you will look absolutely stunning in the dress and who cares what anybody else thinks? this is your first time to really shine so let’s go and make the most of it otherwise you will regret it” lando comforted her. y/n tried her best to keep the tears in to not ruin her makeup, the nervousness really got to her but lando knew exactly how to make her feel safe and a bit more relaxed about the situation. 

y/n was stood in front of the hotel room mirror whilst lando was closing the zipper to her tailored black dress. when he looked in front of the mirror ahead y/n could see his jaw drop. lando was mesmerized over the girl in front of him, her eyes sparkled like never before and her height seemed to have increased from the confident posture. and she felt it too, the confidence, she felt truly beautiful which rarely happened. lando could only smile and gently kissed her bare shoulder ”we look like a badass couple” he chuckled. y/n felt a tingle through her body and smiled at the thought of them being a couple.

to keep a low profile they decided to take different taxis to the awards. y/n felt butterflies in her stomach walking the red carpet whilst seeing lando only meters away looking like the most handsome man she’d ever laid her eyes on. it was even more exciting knowing that no-one of the other people on the red carpet knew about their relationship, it was their little secret. 

the show went on with lando winning driver of the year and the loudest cheers could be heard from y/n’s direction. he held a short speech thanking the team and so on, making a few jokes a long the way because of course he hadn’t prepared anything which was typical him but she liked that about him. that in situations like these he could relax and just be himself. y/n on the other hand had her speech well prepared, if she were to win. 

—

”and the award for photographer of the year goes to…”

y/n’s eyes locked with lando’s and he mouthed ”you got it” followed by a smile.

”… to y/n y/l/n!” the presenter almost shouted. 

y/n was overwhelmed with the feeling of winning that for a moment she was left staring in disbelief. however after the woman sitting next to her gently nudged her arm she woke up again. the woman smiled to her and made way for y/n to walk up the stage. she straightened her postured and confidently walked with the biggest smile on her lips. once she was on the stage and was handed the award she held her well prepared speech about how tough it can be as a photographer in a male dominated sport and thanking her family and that kind of stuff. when the formal part of the speech was said she looked at lando that was admiring her from his seat. she continued whilst looking at him with a smirk ”i also have to give a shout-out to donatella versace for custom-making this dress for me…” people were cheering, ”… and shout-out to lando norris because he’s gonna be taking it off for me tonight”. lando dropped his jaw once again and his smile was the biggest in the room whilst the crowd cheered at the shocking statement. the cameras and crowd excitedly turned to him to whom he gave a cheeky wink and blew y/n a kiss.

a hard launch to say the least.

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ɢᴏᴅ

Summary: Despite a night of heat and blood spent with the na-Baron, reality emerges to remind you of the nature of your union with the Harkonnen heir.

It inspires hesitance and jealousy in you, but he's proving to be difficult to resist.

Warnings: 18+ content, MDI. AFAB, Jealous reader. Death threats as foreplay? (Sounds wilder than it is). Oral (m!receiving), throatf*cking, some mild degradation, pain kink (m and f), rough sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, blood, canon typical violence, death.

Notes: 23.6k words. Not proofread. Feyd has black cum, fully inspired of course by @valeskafics

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎

An airy, bubbly sounds breaks through the dark, distorted fuzz. A soft heat prickles at your fingertips and rests down on your limbs with a soothing weight and fills your skull with a placid stuffing. It's peaceful. Guarded underneath a silky pressure that drapes over your body, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth that distantly reminds your sluggish mind of sunbathing underneath the golden cast of the Caladan sun. The tranquility of it all has sleep luring you close again, urging that you welcome it, but infuriatingly, you can sense consciousness beginning to nudge at the edges of your slumber. You're unable to repress the flare of irritation that courses through you, and in a scramble to figure out what's disturbed you, your mind sharpens to try and focus on your surroundings. 

You're still too tired to bother opening your eyes, but one of your hands absentmindedly reaches out, slipping across something smooth and lightly chilled. A bed, a faraway thought quietly supplies. It's enough to have last night rushing and fliting across your eyes. Playing glimpses of writhing limbs and low sighs. The scent of him had transferred onto your skin during your time down in the bathhouse and you could smell it heavy on the sheets, crisp, raw and warm with cleansing oils; heady from the salt of sweat and sex. 

The memories of last night threaten to pull you back under, tingling over your skin and rising over you like the glide of hands, mingling with the tempting swadle of sleep. That light, breathy chortle sounds out again, dancing across the air in a way that's horrendously human. It's then that your brain becomes alert to the divots weighed down into the plush support of the bed, encircling your body and shifting with moving, living weight. You jerk back from underneath the cover of your blankets, scrambling up to create distance between you and the strangers in your room and the sound of chiming, delighted laughter trails after you. It isn't until your spine nudges against the harsh chill of the headboard that you get a look at them. The intense flash of pure black eyes, the glint of grinning, obsidian teeth. The women perch along the edges of your bed, stretched and seated like lithe statues dressed in contoured, dark garb. 

Even with your heart fluttering frantic and surprised within the cage of your chest, you feel no ill intent from them, just plain, genuine curiosity. Their heads are tilted as they watch you, calmly roving their blank gazes over you like you're some sort of strange creature splayed open on an operating table for study. But you're beginning to feel that initial sense of shock thaw, giving way to your own curiosity and even a shred of annoyance. Mostly for yourself for allowing several people to creep within your quarters while you were at your most vulnerable. 

"Who are you?" You ask, allowing yourself to relax from against your tense position along the headboard. None of the three say a word yet, but the one to the left of you lets her grin stretch wider, and something feral passes through the expression. It's a violent gleam. Though it's difficult to tell if that violence is in regard to you, or if it just happens to be a part of her nature. But it's the one in the center, more demure in her features and her eyes much sharper, nearly sleepy in their hold, that speaks first. 

"We just came to see you. " She all but coos, her voice close to a low, breathy whisper. 

"We heard you were a pretty thing," says the other, marked with a solid, vertical stripe along her forehead. She dares to slink a little bit closer, stalking forward on her palms with the silky, calculated movements of a hunter. 

Your body urges you to move out from her scope, to slip from the bed so that you would be able to create distance between you and the women. But this suddenly feels like some sort of test. A competition of wills. You rise without second thought, straightening your posture and pinning your gaze onto hers; unflinching, even when she comes close enough for you to feel the heat of her radiating across your skin. You don't allow yourself to so much as glance away from her, even as the dark slate of her eyes twinkle with a wild type of mirth. The other women creep closer as well like a pack of wild dogs sniffing out if a cornered animal might be wounded enough to become prey. It unnerves you, even though you can sense no weapons on their bodies, but agitation still bubbles and sears within your chest. Compulsively, you can feel the influence of the Voice thrumming on the tip of your tongue, itching at the back of your throat with the desire to be released. It would be easy to assert yourself, to command them to back away with an order that could not be resisted. But using the Voice would come with its own possible consequences this early on, and so with a great amount of self-restraint, you swallow it down. 

Seemingly satisfied with what she has seen, she backs away from you and the others follow to perch along the far edges of the bed without removing their eyes from your form. 

"We wanted to see our Master's newest pet, " the one on your left discloses softly, reaching forward to take a piece of your hair within the gentle grasp of her fingertips. She inspects it with a curious tilt of her chin, admiring the low glint of the dim light reflecting in the color. 

The urge to bat her hand away from you is snuffed out as quickly as it had risen, catching onto her words with a startling quickness, zeroing in on the usage of "master." The term "pet" doesn't slip your mind either. Neither does the implication that you all apparently belong to the same entity. It's pathetic, but the revelation makes your heart stall for a moment too long, skipping a lengthy beat right within the cradle of your chest. The sense of fondness in you dies out like a smoldering ember draining of its warmth and heat until it's left cold and ashen, and only the sting of betrayal remains. 

"The na-Baron," you supply. Though the remark is mostly just a thought spoken aloud. His title is suddenly like glass slipping from your mouth, sharp and unforgiving. They don't respond with words, but the unanimous sighs that leave them at the utterance of his designation are breathy and nearly euphoric, like merely the mention of him brought them close to pleasure. The sight of it made your skin crawl, out of disgust or jealously, you can't tell with the emotions so similar. But even without a verbal reply, their reactions are more than enough to provide a proper answer. These women are the na-Baron's concubines. You don't know why the realization floods your body with a charge of venom and scathing resentment. Their position as his pleasure slaves does nothing to your status as his fiancé - as his wife. It's completely normal for men in high positions of power to indulge in the services of permanent paramours. It doesn't pose a threat to you or your intended marriage with the na-Baron in the slightest. So it makes no sense that something acidic and biting coats your tongue, joined with the rise of an urge that threatens to be almost violent. 

You trample down that inclination with a swiftness, burying it deep to pretend that it had never existed, even while the presence of the three of them sitting so near burns at you like an acid. It isn't fair to have this reaction towards these women. Women, who like you, are only obeying their duties (even if they happen to take satisfaction in it). It makes less sense because Lady Jessica, a concubine herself, had warned you of the possibility of the na-Baron taking on inferior wives. Hedonism is something that bleeds heavily, not just in Harkonnen society, but in men. This disclosure should bear no shock. It should not prompt jealousy or hurt in you, but it does. And in your internal conflict, your mind latches onto the possibility that he had taken to their comfort after your time in the bathhouse. That after his use of you, he used their bodies to bring him pleasure like you had meant nothing. 

"Master is so harsh sometimes; he often breaks his pets," the one to your left divulges softy. She tilts her head like a curious feline, and he lips peel back in a jovial grin. "I do hope that he doesn't break you." 

Once again, the urge to use the Voice weighs heavy in your mouth, searing like poison and fire, clawing against your chest and the hollow of your throat with a fervor. Your eyes sweep over the three of them, heavy with your intent while heat burns in your veins.

"Get out." The sharp cut of your voice carries through the dark void of the room with a sense of finality. But your tone isn't carried by the Voice. It's completely human and bare in your resolve. You'll give them the dignity of leaving on their own accord, if only this once. 

They give you unruffled smiles in response, undisturbed by your command, but one by one they begin to slink themselves from the expanse of your bed to cross over to the door. They giggle amongst themselves as they go, crowded close to each other like a procession of gossips, murmuring lowly in their delight as they slip through the threshold. The door slips close with a pronounced, airy hiss before the space falls into a heavy silence that hangs over you like a threat. The urge to slip your eyes closed and fall into a deep slumber does not greet you again. It's hard to do something so vulnerable when it feels as though you're in a tomb. You aren't sure how long you remain like that for, tucked away on your bed with anger brewing in your gut. And the hours that tick by are torturously long, extended by the slow rotation of the planet, dragging the remainder of the night by in a slow glide. It makes you feel as though you might be going insane, losing touch with reality with every second longer in the shadows. But you aren't so sure if you want the dawn to come either, with it bearing the promise of a wedding. 

The promises that he had made earlier, the saccharine pledges of his devotion have turned sour. Tainted. Gone bitter like the flavor of his polluted blood that had stained your lips earlier.  But it's the self-disgust that hurts the most. You had let yourself be seduced so easily by pretty words and a handsome face. You had let yourself believe that you were the only one. That a man as indulgent as him would only have eyes for you. 

You aren't truly sure what hour it is when a swarm of servants enter your chambers, sweeping through the dim dark of the room like gliding spirits from an ancient folktale. Gathering you from your bed like delicate phantoms - harbingers of ill will. But you allow them to do what they need with you. Like a prisoner trapped within your own body, you let them clean and pamper you, dousing your body with enticing oils and perfumes, anointing the soft skin over your womb with a dark paste in an old superstitious right meant to induce fertility, smearing the black across you with the glide of their fingers to leave four lines behind.  It made your skin prickle and crawl at the prospect of it. 

Each of them moved diligently, quietly. Not so much as whispering a word to you once. Their blank, pallid faces were all unknown to you, and their presence had made you wonder of where your own handmaidens had gone. What the Harkonnen may have done to them in your absence. Fear pinched your gut and sunk in it heavily like led. Deep down you know what happened to them. What terrible fate had befallen them the moment that you had allowed them to be escorted away from you. It nudged at the back of your mind like a cold, deathly hand. Unforgiving and harsh. It left you to be as still as a doll has the Harkonnen servants had guided you into the delicate, embroidered material of your wedding garment. A glorified death shroud. It disgusts you to look at it. The union of the Caladan saltwater pearls and the softly beaded volcanic rock that had been sewed into the pale, sweeping fabric made you sick. The symbolism is not lost on you. As heavy-handed as it is, meant to imply the bonding of your respective houses. But the sight of the blackened beads feels more like a stain on your dress than an enhancement. And when they had secured the embellished lace veil upon your head, draping it over your face, you had been thankful for the scarce bit of security it provided.  

But you know now that the sheer cast it offers is not enough to save you. Suddenly, you feel as though you're the one standing in the midst of an arena. Whether you're the victor or the victim, you aren't sure. But hundreds of eyes stare at you like you're a spectacle. Socialites, distant relatives to the Harkonnen family, and members of Minor Houses alike are all gathered to gawk and witness. You aren't sure how many guests are here in total, but the number is overwhelming as they observe you; probing, searching, evaluating, the amount of them so great that the crowd nearly presses up against the distant, colossal walls of the ceremonial chamber. And you're certain that a Bene Gesserit Sister must be hidden here somewhere amongst the masses, intent to monitor your union to the na-Baron. It makes you feel judged; like you've been sliced open, and your organs have been laid bare. The sheer vastness of the hall, the sleek divots designed into the walls make you feel as though you've been sucked into the textured, inky gut of a titanic beast.  

But even worse is the sight of a familiar person posted at the top of the vast platform, dressed in dark, traditional garb, silently waiting for you to begin your descent down the aisle like a sinister idol awaiting its sacrifice. It's nerve-wracking, and the urge to turn and flee rises up, strong and acidic. The low, gentle baritone of the ceremonial music projecting from the strange alien instruments does little to soothe you. You can practically feel the pulse of it reverberating across your sinew and bones, and it's as though the power of the music alone compels you forward. Dragging you towards your fate like you're being forced along by a leash around your throat. You have to squeeze your fingers together in an effort to anchor yourself, hoping that the gesture will not be too obvious. 

You can feel the gentle tug of your servants' hands on the flowing skirt of your gown and veil, keeping them from becoming soiled along the obsidian tiles, following you like compliant dolls. Their presence burns into the back of your mind, searing you with guilt and self-loathing. They serve as a harsh reminder, a cold possible reality for you. Your handmaidens should be in their place, but they aren't. It burns at your gut, cruel and condemning, and doubled with the heavy weight of the na-Baron's fixed gaze, the pressure of it all threatens to make your knees buckle. His sharp eyes on you has nausea pooling in your gut, oily and thick, and it shocks you to think that just last night you had delighted underneath that stare. He had made you feel like you were something to be coveted; salvation incarnated in human form. But now you feel tricked. Soiled. And you're left to wonder if it had not been reverence at all, but possession. An over bloated sense of ownership and entitlement that you had foolishly mistook for desire and genuine affection. 

It makes you want to lash out. At him. At yourself. The way that he looks at you now is so confusing. His expression is neutral, placid, nearly guarded. But you swear that you can see the hint of something flicker underneath the surface. Something that nearly bears resemblance to impatience. Like he was eagerly awaiting your arrival on equal ground. It has a glimmer of hope simmering in your chest and you're careful to snuff it out without even bothering to entertain it. It's a useless feeling here. 

You try your best not to meet Feyd-Rautha's gaze as you near in your approach, training your vision straight ahead to study the lurking figure of the Minister in an effort to distract yourself; towering and bathed in dark robes with their face concealed by the smooth shroud of a sort of reflective face covering. But it backfires completely and the look of them only serves to put you even closer on edge. They seem like a haunting pillar of death. A foreboding psychopomp meant to usher the weak into the afterlife and bind them to the underworld. It seems you'll be one of those souls today.

The pedestal that the Minister stands before bears a matching set of rings, both dark and simple in their design, and you catch the subtle impressions of geometric patterns etched into the steel. But what truly garners your attention are the twin daggers that accompany them, and they only seem to solidify your intangible death.  The wink of their smoky blades underneath the subdued lights glares out like a warning, beckoning you closer and commanding that you shy away all at once. 

But you move forward, treading up the steps with a forced resolve. The servants depart from you once you have ascended, leaving you to face Feyd-Rautha alone as they disappear to the far points of the stage and vanish into the heavy shadows. The small hint of confidence that you've managed to gather wavers for a moment when you catch the baleful observation of the Baron in your peripheral vision. Unable to ignore him from his place along the far end of the platform. His cold eyes following your every motion like he's waiting for you to waver or slip; gaze intent like a starved creature hoping for its prey to make a mistake and rush directly into the path of its snapping jaws. Given no other options you have to stare forward and meet the attention of the na-Baron. You hate the way that your body flushes with a simmering heat when he looks at you, instinctively longing for the feel of him even though it's only felt his touch for one night. 

It's pathetic the way that you pine for him like some sort of frail, naive girl, but it's difficult to hide away from your own emotions when something as simple as his stare pulls you and pins you down with dark weight and smoke. The gravity that he watches you with should concern you, cause you to recoil underneath it. It's all hunger and want glittering inside of them, projecting the hint of danger. But like a glutton for punishment, you feel a piece of yourself thrilled by the attention, even though you try to trample it down. 

You nearly flinch when the sharp, booming voice of the Minister reverberates across the room, cutting and baritone with a clipped roll of the Harkonnen tongue. You swear you can see a damp flicker of amusement flit across Feyd-Rautha's expression in response, but it's gone as quickly as you had seen it. You're unable to focus on the subtle irritation that courses through you at his mirth, too overstimulated in your struggle to understand the Minister. But you draw a complete blank when you realize that it's the general language and not the battle dialect that you had been able to obtain back on Caladan with the slim amount filmbooks and old texts that were provided. It leaves you horrifyingly lost, and you can't figure out a single word that's been uttered thus far. It's like you've been caught inside a nightmare, surrounded by the attention of thousands that you don't recognize, left astray as words uttered in a language that you do not know is enunciated with a clipped finality that will seal your fate for a lifetime. Your heart flutters restlessly in your chest, striking heavily like it wishes to break free and beckon you into the sweet embrace of death. 

It surprises you when the na-Baron moves closer, a subtle shift that most might not be able to notice but you can practically feel him draw nearer with the brush of his body heat dipping past your respective garments and gliding over your skin. It urges you to give him your concentration, fastening your focus onto him until the conformed chaos around you dims into a low thrum. 

"I will guide you." He reassures you, voice firm and certain in its graveled edge. And you're glad for the verbal communication or else you might have grown nervous as he runs his fingertips across the slim hilt of a dagger before taking it in his grip. Your tongue is thick and heavy against the roof of your mouth when he lifts the blade, and your heartbeat pulses throughout the veins of your throat as you silently observe, transfixed when he deftly flips the weapon over on the edges of his fingertips to offer you the hilt. Something passes between you two as you gaze at each other; a request, the offer of permission, the desire for acceptance. 

Hesitance quivers inside of you for just a moment, nearly strengthened by the panicked instinct to pick up your skirts and run. But instead, you find yourself reaching forward with hardly any more thought and taking the chilled grip of the blade into the clutch of your hand. The heft of it strikes you, the subtle ridges crafted into the handle threaten to dig into your palm but your grasp on it remains deceptively strong, almost as if your nerves aren't frayed and split from your anxieties. The craftsmanship of the weapon is unquestionably Harkonnen, designed with the elegant, streamline edges and a recurve style - a favorite amongst the house it seems. Despite being a ceremonial dagger, its weight is well balanced. Even between the grip and the blade, and the feel of it in your palm is familiar despite the differences in technique in comparison with Atreides weapons.  

With the security of having it in your grasp, you nearly feel as though you might manage to survive the ritual, even if just barely. But the confidence in you wavers just slightly as you watch the na-Baron pick up the opposing dagger. It has the memory of his violence in the arena flashing in your mind. His skill with a blade, the precision with how he wields them. It would be so easy for him to drive the dagger forward and to sink it into your stomach, to gut you open with the flick of his wrist and bear your reddened belly for the masses. And as senseless as that train of thought is, it does have you tensing underneath the probing scrutiny of the gathered crowd. But you don't catch so much as a glimmer of that feral brutality in his eyes, the controlled edge of savagery that had dipped over his posture when he had sauntered and slaughtered within the confines of the colosseum. His expression is still controlled, dare you say, peaceful even. 

"There will be pain." He says, and as terrifying as those words are, the tone with which they are spoken with is done without a hint of ire or sadism. It's not said to instill fear or frighten you; it's said to prepare you. To give you time to brace for what's to come. 

The Minister's voice thunders throughout the room once more as their hands spread wide in a sweeping flourish, gesturing to you and the na-Baron in a welcoming, encouraging manner. It's then that Feyd-Rautha extends his empty left hand to you, upturned and splayed open for you to accept, and his gaze unwavering. "You have to cut; just deep enough for it to bleed. But only the palm is necessary." His explanation dips over you with the sting of chilled slivers, threatening to make you shudder. When you had seen the blades earlier, you entertained the idea of something of this nature, as violent as the Harkonnen seem to be with nearly every inch of their culture soaked in blood. You were just hoping that it wouldn't have made its way here as well. But it should have been expected that a ritual as serious as marriage - the joining of two souls - would require such a powerful, symbolic offering. There is truly no way around this. You have no other option but to honor the exchange, even though the thought of it has your stomach prickling and turning with dread. 

It's shocking. Now that you're well and able to raise a knife to the na-Baron, you should find yourself pleased with the very notion to inflict pain on him, but you find yourself wavering instead. As though you're disturbed by the very idea of it, even though you had sunk your teeth into him just hours earlier and drew blood. But the air had been thick with excitement then, heady and sultry with the scent of salt and arousal, and the way that he had commanded you to had been too tempting to ignore. If you draw blood now, there will be no turning back for you. The pact will be sealed. Irreversible. Binding you both together by name. By house and flesh. 

But now you're just being hopeful. Idiotic, even. You've always been promised to become Harkonnen by title. You've been promised to the na-Baron long before either of you have even been born; a meticulous web weaved by the Bene Gesserit. - forces far out of your control. Even if you turned heel now and ran, at best you would be captured and humiliated before being forced into a union with the na-Baron. At worst, you would permanently mar the potential of a reconciliation with both houses and tip them into another war. But wickedly, if you're being completely honest with yourself, you don't want to flee. The sting of betrayal and hurt is piercing in your chest, tight, restricting and threatening to claw at your lungs as you breathe, but you still have no desire to hide from your duties. From him. 

And the need to claim him hangs over you like something violent and starving. The urge to stake your mark on him - a warning to others who may dare to look at him. Almost blindly you reach forward, slipping the hold of your hand underneath his, securing it in place as you lift the sharp edge of the dagger towards the delicate, exposed skin of his palm. Your eyes meet as you raise the blade, and it almost surprises you when you see nothing but eager resolve staring back at you, like he can't wait for you to cut into him. It has last night playing across your mind; the sensation of skin breaking underneath your teeth, the taste of him in your mouth, the thrum of his covetous groans trembling underneath your tongue. It's enough to drive the blade forward and you press the lethal point of it against his flesh until the weight of it presses it down and a dark liquid wells up to the surface, almost pitch black and glinting with a barely there burgundy hue. 

You're unable to take your eyes away from him as you drag the blade along his skin, splitting it open underneath the glide of the sharpened steel. You swear you can see something near rapturous pass through his controlled expression as you slice his palm, and you hate the low simmer of heat the rolls throughout your body in response. It has you retracting the blade before you those smoldering feelings could light into something deeper, but that narrow wound must have been satisfactory enough because the na-Baron appears pleased with the look of it. You follow the subtle instruction he had implied with the nod of his head to return the dagger to its place on the pedestal. The scrap of the steel against the smooth stone rings out clearly across the ceremonial chambers, even with the strange music still thrumming in the background. But it's difficult to focus on all of that when Feyd lifts his arm over one of the wedding bands and balls his hand into a fist to force the flow of blood, sanctifying the jewelry with the drops of his blackened blood.

It's over sooner than you expect, and he lowers his arm once after only a few moments and shifts his attention on you expectantly for you to lift your own hand, and in some mindless sort of compulsion you find yourself presenting your open palm to him without hardly a trace of hesitance in your body. 

His gaze is evaluating again. Heavy like he's waiting to see if you'll flinch as he secures your wrist in a light grip and raises the blade up towards your hand and it glints in a muted silver. But the urge to cower or escape doesn't greet you like you expect it to. You're calm. Content even. And there's some perverse little part of you that eagerly waits for the sharp edge to meet your flesh. He must notice the yearning glimmer in your eyes through the cover of your veil, because you see recognition flicker across his features, just as heavy and wanting. Like the prospect of you welcoming the bite of the blade pleases him, and in turn it has the hint of desire you had felt earlier back with a vengeance; greedy and starved. 

He finally presses the edge of the dagger against the tender flesh of your palm, but you don't so much as flinch. Something prickling flutters inside of your stomach, but it's hard to tell if its nerves or a damning hint of excitement. Once again, your eyes have found each other, your focus securely fixed as he pins the sharpened end of the blade along your hand and drags it to slice. White-hot heat licks across your flesh, stinging as your skin gives and parts around the lethal steel with a rich red trailing in its wake. Your lips part in a short gasp - a weak attempt to center yourself around the flare of pain and surprise, but the steady, warm weight of his grip around your wrist serves to keep you concentrated. And with the dark hold of his stare on you it pulls every ounce of your attention onto him until the burning throb shooting across your palm fades into a weak sting.  Relief rushes back over you like a breath of air when he lifts the weapon from your flesh, and you're entirely transfixed as he lifts the blade to his mouth and smears the bead of blood across the plush curve of his lips; the red a contrast between the stark shade of his skin. Only then does he place the dagger beside its twin. It strikes you that he hadn't asked you to take this step earlier while your own blade was still stained with drops of black, and it leaves you feeling lost, stuck in uncertainty and surprise until the realization quickly dawns on you that this may not even be an official part of the ritual. That he might have taken it upon himself to anoint his mouth with the red from your veins. It reminds you again of the way that his own had tasted on your tongue, thick and faintly acerbic. It's like he's trying to return the favor. To anoint himself in your blood as you had done with his. 

The sight of him smeared with red has you transfixed, and it if it wasn't for the damp heat slipping down your palm you would have forgotten the next step entirely. You tear yourself from your daze with a ragged breath and turn your head to watch as you raise your arm above the pedestal to line your maimed flesh above the larger ring. It's a surprise to yourself when you don't hesitate to curl your fingers into a tight fist, clenching your palm to christen the band with a few generous drops of your blood. The distinction between the blackened steel and the rich crimson is nearly beautiful in a crude sort of way. Fitting for a Harkonnen wedding. 

 The na-Baron raises his wounded hand in the air, instantly drawing your attention to where he keeps it suspended before you; palm upturned once more as he passes you an expectant look, and his voice rumbles out in a gentle command. "Give me your hand. " 

Hesitation nearly raises its head again, weighing down your limbs and begging that they remain still. But that other part of you acts without little contemplation, pulling your arm up in an offering. You watch silently with your breath trapped and stagnant in your lungs as he plucks up the ring smeared with his own blood up from its place on the pedestal; slick with black and glittering with the damp. The steel is chilled when he slips it around the width of your ring finger, but the fresh coat of the darkened liquid is still hot with the warmth of his body. It smears over your skin as he guides the wedding band until its snug along your knuckle, staining you with the vigorous liquid that had just flowed through his body. The pressure of it around you is so foreign. Strange. And your muddled mind can hardly comprehend that you're even wearing it at all. 

It makes you feel as though you're acting on instinct alone when you shift to grab the remaining piece of jewelry from its place beside you. Taking it between unsteady fingertips. Your mouth is dry and hollow, making you hyperaware of the frantic pulse of your heartbeat fluttering within your chest. The intensity of the na-Baron's stare is stifling, like he could suffocate you with the weight of it alone. But you don't allow yourself to concentrate on the strength of his gaze. You look to his hand instead, lifted and patiently waiting. It's enough to give you the incentive to move forward, reaching out the slip the ring around the bare finger to mar it with a fresh coat of red.  

It could be your imagination, but the music reverberating across the thick atmosphere seems to spike, pulsing and beating like the breath and heart of a living being. You can sense it underneath your feet, nearly becoming overwhelming with the pressure of the crowds' eyes boring into you eagerly. And when the Minister leans over towards you both, your soul feels as though it might evict itself from your body and leave its vessel behind. You force yourself remain firm and motionless, focusing on the comforting weight of the na-Baron's hand underneath your own, the soothing warmth radiating from it and seeping into your flesh. It's like a dream as you watch Feyd-Rutha - your husband, lace his fingers through yours, sealing you in a pact made from blood. 

The Minister's voice rises high, hurtling close to some sort of finality in its climb and they sweep their arms into the air with another flourish. It's then that Feyd-Rautha steps even closer to you with a gaze that strips you bare and leaves you a little breathless; thrumming like a live wire as his presence pours over you like a simmering liquid. You have no desire to move away from him when he lifts his free hand to direct the cast of your veil from your face, gliding it across the crown of your head with the tug of his fingertips, exposing you to him and leaving you vulnerable. You can see the way that his vision roves over your face, marking each of your features like he's studying you, hunting for a shred of reluctance or fear. Everything else becomes muted, dull in comparison to the pale blue of his eyes and the pull of them draws you in. Causing the buzz of the music to dampen; the weight of the betrayal you've felt fading into an afterthought underneath the brush of his lips over yours. 

Anticipation pulses in your veins as he angles his head when he draws near, nudging the edge of your jaw to keep you secure as his mouth presses against yours in a bruising kiss that tastes of blood; metallic and sharp. All of your attention seems to siphon down in this exact moment, settling into your skin to hone in on the press of his body against yours. It's embarrassing how easily you give into him once the taste of him is on your mouth, melting with the flavor of your blood. It should horrify you. Make you stumble away from him on weakened legs with terror in your gut, but the hint of his tongue brushing along your bottom lip only serves to pour something molten directly into your bloodstream, and you have to pointedly remind yourself that you're in public during your wedding no less. But Feyd seems to have no shame, or the desire to conform to public decency because the way that he licks into your mouth is anything but chaste. 

It threatens to make your mind fall completely blank and you distantly register the climbing timbre of the Minister's voice as it strikes across the atmosphere with a firm sense of finality in a declaration. You're nearly certain that the masses have erupted into a thunderous, celebratory cry of your name and the na-Baron's, but it might as well as fall on deaf ears with how the light tug of teeth on your lips melts your brain into mush. So it's nearly jarring when he pulls away from you, breaking the kiss just as quickly as it had begun to turn and face the crowd with pride in his stance. In a sort of daze, you follow his lead with the impression of his lips still tingling on your mouth and the tumultuous chanting of the guests roaring in your ears. He raises your joined hands high in the air, brandishing them in a sign of triumph much like he had flaunted his gore-soaked blade in the arena, in a confident proclamation of your successful union. 

But the rhythmic chorus of your name has mutated and shifted into a title that's jarring to hear: 

na-Baroness. 

The festive cries of your new title ring in your ears well after they have died out. It rattles within the recesses of your skull, burying deep as you presented yourself before the guests, accepting tokens of good will and gifts bestowed on you from Harkonnen aristocrats and nobles as blessings upon your marriage. Everything from lavish, exotic jewels to a pair of hunting dogs, all of which you had accepted with a smile on your face despite being horridly overwhelmed, crowded by strangers who had flocked near as though they were long time acquaintances. The masses attentions follow you well into dinner where you're held under both intrigue and scrutiny alike as you all satiated yourself with a banquet's worth of imported meats and fruits. You could feel the prickle of their eyes on you, roving over your flesh with the heat of indignation and outrage. You could see it clearly reflecting in many of their gazes even though they left their words unsaid. Atreides scum. That's what they desired to say. 

Realistically, you had always suspected that you wouldn't be received by open arms with the entirety of the masses. Not with the centuries of bad blood and horror built between your respective houses, it was to be anticipated that the majority wouldn't be very receptive to your introduction to the Harkonnen name. Marriage will not be enough to unwrite all of the upheaval and carnage; all of the souls lost between both sides. Enemies, regardless of your new status and husband, are to be expected. But the raw, flaying weight behind their fleeting glances still manages to dig at you, burying underneath your skin like an irritating sliver of wood. It all serves as a deadly reminder as to how truly isolated you are here. Left adrift with no familiar faces to console you. 

You try to distract yourself with the feast spread out in front of you, analyzing the abundance of off-world produce and rich meats like it's all the most fascinating thing that you've encountered. But you're hyperaware of the gentle chiming of glasses and the delicate scrape of silverware cutting across dark porcelain. Every sound and sensation seems to be amplified by the man stationed on the lower section of the dining hall, crowded alongside other wealthy guests as they enjoy the banquet. The distance between you is so vast that his pallid features aren't fully discernable, but you're still able to get a decent view of him from your place at the high table, and the intensity of his frigid stare is almost like a physical thing, slipping over your skin in a way that's grating.

You're just barely able to recognize him as a general among one of the Baron's military units. He had taken your hand earlier, kissed your knuckles in a show of respect. But you're unable to see even a hint of that acclaim now. He watches you in between the lulls of his conversations like he means to skin you alive, not even bothering to hide his bold contempt. It has caution unfurling inside of you, turning bitter and restless from the weight of his suspicious glances, and the sight of the steak knife that he utilizes in his hand does not ease your discomfort.

Truly your only sense of repose is the warmth projecting from the na-Baron as he sits at your side, but even then, the sensation of it is woefully dull. Dampened by the considerable amount of distance placed between your chairs. And even with that sense of betrayal still simmering lowly under the surface, you can't ignore the fact that you wish he was closer. But you're not afforded the luxury of openly showing your need for comfort. If you're going to survive these cold, brutal walls then you're going to have to keep your emotions and suspicions close to your chest. 

But that doesn't mean that you can't allow yourself a distraction. Without little thought you reach for the goblet plentiful with a muted red spirit, careful not to use your injured hand as you take it by its delicate stem to lift the chalice to your lips, swallowing down a large gulp. A part of you had been bracing for a harsh burn, or the flavoring of something odd or exotic, but the taste that washes over your mouth is almost jarringly familiar. Saturating your tongue with the notes of something fruity, earthy and subtly sweet. The profile of it is unmistakable, and as soon as the flavor flows down your mouth it transports you back home. Placing you on rich, damp soil with rolling hills sweeping as far as they eye can see. Each one lined with rows of vineyards, fruitful with sweeping vines and plump, grapes that glitter in glints of silver and gold from the morning dew. For a moment you think that you could sob. Whether those be tears of joy or from the bittersweet sorrow of nostalgia, you aren't sure. 

"I take it you like it." 

The sound of Feyd-Rautha's throaty accented lilt breaks through your swarming thoughts, causing your head to swivel around to look at him. The expression that crosses your face is lost, if not a little incredulous as you observe him. He glances down at the chalice in your hand, sparing a slight nod with the implication. "I wasn't sure which one would please you more. You Atreides have an excessive variety of wine." 

"You did this?" You ask, lips parting somewhat dumbly in your disbelief. 

He doesn't answer you immediately. Instead, he looks off the table of guests at the bottom of the platform, eyes sweeping across them as though he's searching for something. "Our beverages can be potent for off-worlder's. I thought it'd be best to find something more agreeable for your soft palate." And there it is again. A subtle inflection in his voice that indicates that he might be trying to joke, but the neutral state of his face doesn't help discern if that theory is accurate or not. But it's difficult to stick and ponder about it for long with that dreadful hint of fondness creeping back in again. A smile threatens to lift at your mouth, and you find yourself struggling to ward off its influence as affection blooms inside of your chest like a sun's gentle warmth. 

"Thank you," you say; nearly murmur in your soft awe. He does not respond verbally, with his lips already occupied by swallowing a gulp of his own drink, but he does spare you a nod. You eye his cup curiously, something playful rising up. The feeling is unexpected but not entirely unwelcome, and you find yourself leaning into it. "Is that one of your notorious beverages?" You don't wait for him to answer before you hold your unbandaged hand out in a silent request. "May I?" 

He observes you like he's a little fascinated, and now you're certain that there's an amused glimmer burning in the dark of them. "Be my guest," he replies easily, and passes you the chalice. The liquid inside is dark, but the reflection of the dim lights above reveals faint undertones of amber in its hue. When you lift it up closer to your nose, no fragrance rises up to greet you. It's completely scentless, and it gives you no bases to prepare for what it may taste like. But 'potent' had been the word that the na-Baron had used, and it leaves you a little intimidated, but also entirely intrigued. Without much more thought, you nudge the chilled goblet against your lips and tilt it back to sample a generous sip. The first thing that strikes you is the heavy bitterness of it. It's nearly overwhelming on your tongue, full-bodied and acrid. And you're given hardly any time to adjust to it when the sharp bite of alcohol burns down your throat and settles in the pit of your stomach like something smoldering. You have to make the conscious effort to fight of the urge to wince, struggling to save face as Feyd watches you, but you're sure that he can see the influence of grimace tugging at your features. 

" Is it too much for you, wife?" He asks, and his lips pull back just enough to show you the dark glint of his teeth. 

The sound of the title leaving his mouth nearly makes your mind go blank. Of course, you realize that you're married now. The throbbing sting of the wound on your palm will not let you forget. But to hear it so freely acknowledged by his own accord is something else entirely. Truthfully, you aren't sure how to feel about it, if the delicate fluttering inside of your chest is out of nervousness or excitement. Once again, you're left confused by your own emotions. Torn between your internal conflicts as you struggle to come to terms with what you may desire, but the gravity of it all is too much to deal with, and almost desperately you cling onto the light taunt. Allowing it to rouse an impish competitive drive in you, and you're entirely unable to repress the smile on your face despite the dark, bitter taste still coating your tongue. "Not at all," you lie, leaning back in your seat. "In fact, I think I'll keep it for myself." 

Something flickers in Feyd's gaze, and he suddenly leans into your space, stopping short just as you feel the heat of him waft over the swell of your cheeks. You expect to hear some sort of light goading or a sardonic jest, but when the low rasp of his voice sounds out, it's nothing of the sort. "You have eyes on you." 

His words douse over you like a chill, even though the admittance isn't a revelation in the slightest. You can still feel the prickle of their judgement on your skin, searing with their hatred. From your peripheral vision you can still catch the way that the General still openly glares, clearly unrestrained in his loathing towards the Atreides' - and by proxy, you. But it strikes you more how the na-Baron candidly brings it to your attention, instead of ignoring it all together. That he would even bother or care enough. The way that he stares at you now is evaluating, like he's trying to figure out what thoughts may be surging through your head. How the admission might affect you. "I know," you answer, completely assured in your response. "It's fine. It's to be expected." 

You see something pass through his eyes. It's dark and heavy, nearly cold but undiscernible and now you're the one struggling to perceive what kind of musings and notions he may be entertaining. It doesn't help that despite the concerning layer of resolve glittering in his stare, his overall expression remains decidedly placid. Something about it is terrifying. It makes him a blank slate. An impenetrable wall, and you can only try to guess what might be going on behind it. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that there's something vaguely chastising about his admiration of you, and you aren't sure how to feel about it. It has your hackles rising. The compulsion to defend yourself. But he's rising from his seat before you can utter so much as word. The sound of the legs skirting across the stone tiles cuts across the atmosphere in a hoarse groan, causing the active chatter to fall silent and everyone to swivel their attention onto the na-Baron like a pack of dogs focusing on a whistle. 

The way that he moves is calm and practiced, and he hardly spares anyone so much as a glance as he picks up the steak knife situated alongside his plate. He takes it in his wounded hand without a single flinch before he moves around the around the high table, passing by the Baron without any acknowledgement and steadily saunters down the short row of steps to approach the banquet down below. You're lost to heed him from your place, practically glued to your seat with uncertainty and dread in your gut. You're unable to see his face from your position, but it's clear just who he has his concentration fixed on, and the blade of the knife glints like a warning. 

But there's no possible way that Feyd-Ruatha truly means to kill anyone at this table. They all must be of importance to be seated here in the presence of the Baron, during his favorite nephews wedding no less. These people are part of alliances, important figures in Harkonnen society, indispensable in terms of noble and military connections. It leaves you as a collective to watch with a sense of awe and trepidation as Feyd approaches the table, forcing you to observe with batted breath in anticipation of what's to come. You dare to spare a cursory glance to the Baron in an attempt to gauge his reaction, but his own expression is just as steely and blank as his nephews. If he feels even an ounce of outrage or fury at the implication of the blade wielded in Feyd's hand, then he doesn't speak on it. If anything, he might possibly be intrigued. 

The hush that's fallen over the guests is suffocating. Nearly everything that the na-Baron does can be likened to observing a great cataclysm - seeing fire and ash bleeding over the earth and searing the soil black. He's lethal and magnetizing all at once, splitting your consciousness into two separate directions. While morality screams at you to look away, fascination forces you to bear witness. 

The General has to lean his body back to properly look upon Feyd as he nears him, and the ragged wrinkles in his face only deepen as he watches with a confused furrow fixed between his naked brows. You can see the older man's lips part in the beginnings of a question but not so much as a low breath gets to pass through them before Feyd's arm shoots out, barely a traceable blur as he grabs ahold of the General's skull to expose the vulnerable stretch of his throat. In that exact, fleeting moment you feel your heart skip a beat and ice turns your veins frigid and solid. You hardly track the movement of the blade. You see the glint of it, quick and silver, and then it's almost as if the wound simply materializes across the stretch of the General's neck, blossoming like a dark line before blackened blood flows from it in heavy streams. 

Wet, harsh gurgles tear from his mouth as his chest rises and falls in heaving, choppy gasps in a failing effort to pull in oxygen. You could see the light die out from his eyes. Snuffed and dimmed like a weak flame on an old wick. All of the guests are left to stare in a state of shock as the General's body shudders in a final, seizing death rattle and his spine gives out. His head lolls and the rest of his body relents to the weight, rolling forward from its place on his chair and the front of his skull meets the harsh stone tabletop with a sickening, pronounced crack, rattling the silverware and glasses within the vicinity. 

You fear that you might float away from your body, and the only thing that keeps you even remotely centered is the chilled sensation of the chalice in still held in your grip, the support of your seat underneath you. The death had been delivered so causally that it was difficult to register it. It plays behind your eyelids like a twisted dream, and the sound of the General's feeble, strained gasps echoing across the chamber drives your horror in deeper. It's gruesome how swiftly and carelessly he had been dispatched. Not even his rank amongst the Harkonnen military was enough to save his neck from the na-Baron's ire. You've seen Feyd kill before. His prowess in the arena, and the blood that he had skillfully shed. But this is entirely different. This had been someone important, with a voice and power within the Harkonnen military and still he was practically given a public execution because he had managed to gain the irritation of the na-Baron. 

"Would anyone else like to pass glances at my wife?" Feyd inquires, much too stoic for someone who has just taken a life. And the analyzing stare that he sweeps over the guests table is just as cutting as the blade that he grips. "You should only feel so fortunate to look at her." 

They all keep their heads lowered, eyes wide and fixed on the table in an effort not to meet his gaze; like he's an animal that might lunge if they do. A guard dog at the ready to tear flesh and break bone. But perhaps that's what truly concerns you. Even loyal dogs can have a tendency to bite. Static and cold flushes through you at his words, and you're absolutely flooded with a barrage of emotions; most of which you struggle to grapple with and recognize. They all pass too quickly. Rushing in a frantic pass before you can understand the textures and sway of them, but you're able to catch onto weak glimmers of them, conflicting responses of both a burning appreciation and an acerbic type of caution. It leaves you confused on which side to take. Which emotion you should give in to. You've heard of passion like this before. The consuming nature of it. The way that it can eviscerate the objects of its desire, ravage them until there is nothing but useless scraps left. 

"Look at your na-Baroness," Feyd-Rutha commands suddenly. His voice is soft, but the stillness behind it offers no leeway for rebellion. "Ask for her forgiveness." 

The order leaves you breathless and frozen even while it's not intended for you. The gravity offhandedly enforced behind it, the subtle edge of his voice giving no other option but to comply. You feel like a ghost as the socialites and nobles situated around the long table tear their eyes from the banquet. They're all reluctant in their movements, some rigid out of fear and others from outrage. Regardless, the weight of their eyes all move to you, fixing onto your form, shinning with the hint of unshed tears - tears of rage and terror alike. And like a collection of puppets their mouths open simultaneously, heads tilted in a show of contrition as multiple pleas spill from their many mouths, distorted and layered with their voices. You are only able to catch snippets of each one. But every plea is shaky and desperate in their humble whispers of mercy. Fearful like they expect for you to dismiss them and usher them to their deaths. The way that they look at you is too much. It sears at your skin and threatens to make your lungs burst within the safety of your chest, but you force yourself to hold their attention. Not allowing yourself the reprieve of looking away. 

"You're all forgiven," you answer. The words are like sandpaper as they exit your mouth, scratching along your throat to tear out a gasp. The relief that comes over them is visible. Their shoulders relaxing from their tension, and they allow themselves to remove their focus from you. But even while you weren't the soul with your life on the line, the reprieve that they feel does not pass onto you; you're still wound up tight and breathless. 

"It seems my nephew is already quite taken with you," the Baron muses aloud. It bade you turn your head to look at him from over the space that divides you, leaving you vulnerable to his gaze now that your husband has vacated his seat. His leer is cold and saturated with a sadistic mirth, making your muscles tense underneath his scrutiny in a brace for what might come from his mouth. "Tread lightly with Feyd. His attentions are a fickle thing, and I would hate to see you fall once the fire burns out." 

But the pitiless smile on the Baron's lips is anything but worried or compassionate, and the pale, cold flash of his teeth glitters dully like a snarl. One of a ruthless sort of hope; counting the days in the anticipation of your supposed undoing. The image of it bleaches itself along the back of your mind, burning and heavy throughout the remainder of the feast, which had turned tense and awkward in the wake of the General's death. You hardly recall leaving the dining hall. Your brain had been spun tightly in a sort of haze, induced by the metallic scent of blood that had firmly wedged a place for itself into your nose. You do your best to combat the recent memories of it, still fresh and raw like the wound that's been sliced into your palm but the impression of it is too recent to ignore. 

You hardly realize ever leaving the dining hall. It's as though you've blinked and materialized within the confines of a dim, unfamiliar chamber. The suddenness of it all is jarring and unforgiving. And the weight of your duty tonight hangs down on you like relentless weight. The responsibility to consummate, and to hopefully conceive an heir. It's all so heavy and bitter, searing at your tongue. And the muffled, strong blasts of the celebratory fireworks outside can practically be felt along your fingertips, reverberating alongside your racing heart. But it's the weight of the na-Baron's warmth pressing along your back that keeps you from floating away, grounding and soothing even while you stare at the lethal menagerie of blades that are mounted on the western wall. Trophies, a closer inspection reveals. Mementos taken to mark felled enemies no doubt. And there are so many. Daggers and swords. Knives taken from Sardaukar soldiers and Fremen warriors. Even a Crysknife, crafted from the fang of a great sandworm. That one in particular, you had marveled at from its place mounted high on the obsidian wall. It must be longer than your forearm, and nearly just as thick, shinning in ombre shades of tan and cinnamon. The colors of sweeping dunes. You could hardly imagine how massive a beast must be to hold a tooth of such a size within its maw, what great calamities it could invoke with the simple opening of its jaw. 

But what truly catches your eyes is the glint of a familiar weapon. The dark ridges designed into the grip, the sleek, sharp edges of the blade. An Atreides dagger. The sight of it alone is enough to halt the rush of breath into your lungs, and one cursory glance along the wall has you counting at least seven more like it. The sight of them alone threaten to make you sick, stomach rolling with nausea as you traced your eyes over every single one, and your palms begin to sweat with the realization that these were only the ones that he had chosen to keep. The ones that he deems worthy enough to display. It has more of that pungent sense of betrayal welling up inside of you, rooting in deep and longing to still your heart. They serve as more deadly reminders of the perilous nature of your relationship with the na-Baron. That it's founded on death and rivalry. 

But the gentle glide of his hands along your waist doesn't feel like rivalry. It's venerating; worshipful. It makes you long to lean into the supporting expanse of his chest while your principles tell you to rip yourself away from him. 

"They died with honor."  His voice breaks you from your transfixed survey with the pronounced sharpness of lightning striking across the earth. A chill douses over your skin when he chooses to step away from you, making you feel hauntingly bare and exposed in his absence. You have to turn your head to track him as he silently steps around you, nearly blinding into the shadows, lurking within the darkened corner of the room, and your body falls motionless when you find him staring at you with the locked practice of a predator. Already your body is confused, split between shying away from him and longing to step closer. It has you fixed firmly in place, wedged between a dreadful limbo with reason and instinct telling you two very different things, and you aren't sure which one to obey. But the silver glimmer of your soldiers' blades presented in your peripheral vision shriek at you to be disgusted. To remain resolute in your reservations and to keep away from him. 

"Is that why you keep them?" You queried, even though a part of you insists that you to be silent. It's dangerous - stupid asking questions if you aren't fully prepared for the answer. You swallow the saliva that has pooled in the back of your throat from your nervousness, trying to center yourself around the outrage that burns within your chest like a white, righteous fire. His dark eyes search over you curiously, glittering like an animals would from the pale, nebulous lights casted from the distant corners of the ceiling. 

"A warriors death deserves to be remembered. In the blood. The blade." His response is unexpected. You were bracing for something callous and detached. And perhaps, to an extent it is a bit disconnected. But not out of ignorance. It comes from a place of respect, as twisted, and perhaps sadistic as it is. Like he believes he's doing them a service by displaying their weapons, keeping the memory of their deaths alive and immortalized. You aren't sure what to do with his reasoning. You know that he can see you wavering, but instead of backing away from you he draws closer, shifting forward with a calculated saunter in his shoulders. "Does it make you fear me again?" 

It makes you freeze still. Such a simple question but it has your mind falling flat and silent. The world around the both of you is quiet until all you could hear is the steady thrum of your blood rushing in your ears. Truthfully, you don't know how to respond. If you even want to. You're conflicted within the safety of your own mind, the only place that you should be free to flee to in your distress. But now you find no safety, find no reprieve or salvation in your thoughts. They're fractured down the middle, frayed between the pull of your emotions. Precariously dangling between what you want and what you stand for, and which ever one you choose may break you apart and ravage you from the inside out. 

"I'm not sure," you answer. And as soon as it spills from your lips it leaves you hopeless and adrift. 

He doesn't seem to be angered or affected by the revelation. His face is placid, undisturbed by even the insinuation of a single thought or reaction. It would be less unsettling if he simply lashed out or yelled. That at least, would give you some kind of footing to know what might be going on inside his head, but he remains uncomfortably silent, depriving you of a single glimpse. He nods his head, such a minute gesture that's hardly more than a tilt of his chin, and his vision flits down to the corner of the room for a moment, less than a second but it still offers you a small instance of respite before the dark of his eyes pins themselves back onto you. He seems to be considering something. What you aren't sure, but it sets you on edge as he begins to walk towards you, eating up the space that divides you with decided footsteps. 

When he stops, there's only a few scant inches between you and him, and the weight of his presence nearly suffocates you, but you're unable to look away. Captivated by his gravity like a helpless, damned planet caught within the relentless, devouring field of a black hole. And in that precise moment, you entertain the thought that maybe this is where he expresses his anger or annoyance. But he remains unstirred, relaxed, controlled. It makes you nervous when he shifts even closer into your space and leans near enough that you could feel his warmth roll over you. And like a traitor your body thrums underneath the subtle heat, eager to bask in his presence and soak in the feel of him. But you hold yourself back. 

The way that he regards you is intense. Heavy and stripping in its curiosity. But the desire held in it is still smoldering and thick, undisturbed by your unsure admittance. And that's truly what disturbs you. The unshaken fervor of his loyalty. The passion for you that he seems to feel despite having known you for such little time. It's concerning. Deeply troubling. You've seen lust and zealousness like this in others, and intensity always proves to turn volatile and die out in its vigor until cold indifference takes the place of fire and want. And maybe that is the root of all your anxiety and reluctance. The fear that this might just be the influence of a passing fancy. The high of something new. That once it passes and the wounds on your palms heal and mend into thin scars that the na-Baron might toss you away in the favor of his concubines. That you'll be another forgotten trophy pinned upon his wall. A brood mare dressed in ivory and pearls with the purpose of extending his bloodline and nothing more; the golden womb meant to birth his heir. It would be such a humiliating, gutting thing to discover that his loyalty was only ever fleeting. Purely driven by his desire and urges, and in the absence of his lust, his apparent reverence for you might give way and shift into a knife pointed at the tender stretch of your throat. 

You know that the na-Baron has a sense of honor. But the laws for his personal brand of morality are uncertain. You aren't sure where his infatuation with you stems from. If it's truly pure (or as pure as it can be in terms of how he experiences emotions) in its adoration or if it only grows from a place of ownership; the promise that you've belonged to him since long before your - or even his conception. So it's difficult to know where his loyalty truly lies with you. The breadth of it and how deeply it may truly run. If it really is as unshakable and certain as it seems. Long before even being sent to Giedi Prime you had been warned that he had taken his own mother's life. The reasoning behind the matricide was undisclosed to you, but it hangs over you like a venomous cloud. It makes you reluctant to give into that depraved sort of temptation. If he was willing to strike his own mother down, what would keep him from snuffing out your last breath once your purpose is fulfilled? 

You pivot to fully face him as a small rush of resolve flickers through you. It's dull and hesitant, but it's enough to inspire a challenge in you. You can tell that he notices the shift, whether it openly shows on your face or if he's just become well adept at reading you in your short time together, you aren't certain, but you see the intrigue light up in his appraising stare. It's still an effort to nudge the words from your throat, and you're thankful that you voice doesn't shake when you speak. "You told me last night that you would bring me the heads of a thousand men if it pleases me. What about three women?" 

It shocks you to hear it and the question nearly burns on its way out, but you don't have time to dwell on it. You need answers, and the way that surprise and what might be a horrific reflection of delight flickers across his expression is a good enough hint as to what type of twisted thoughts are cavorting around in his head.

"You've met my darlings," he observes openly. You loathe the nasty streak of jealousy that cuts through you, but the muted sense of wonder in his voice is telling. He had no idea that his concubines had even visited you at all. He doesn't seem to be angered by the revelation. Neither by fact that they had taken it upon themselves to sneak into your quarters in the middle of the night, or that you had asked if he would be willing to take their lives. You aren't sure how to feel about it. Perplexed, perhaps. You'd figure that someone who refers to his concubines as his darlings would be at least a little protective over them. The smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips is frustrating. The urge to slap someone has never been so strong before. "Do they make you jealous, wife?" 

"Of course not," you scoff. It sounds like a lie, even to you. And it feels like one as well. Heavy and loose on your tongue; rolling off of it like foreign words.

He looks unconvinced but makes no move to deny you. Instead, he tilts his head in a curious gesture, roving the dark glimmer of his eyes over you like he's searching for something. A weakness in your armor. 

"Is that truly what you desire?" He asks, and his bare brows raise to further perpetuate his inquiry. You don't answer verbally. You keep your mouth fixed shut, letting your silence do the talking while you remain unwavering in your stare. The lazy amusement that permeates from him prods at your growing annoyance and restlessness. "Shall I bring you their heads or their hearts?" 

His response makes every part of you lock still. Your mind falls blank and the blood pumping through your vein's halts in its flow before a torrent of emotions bursts through you like a chaotic deluge. In your mad, jumbled bewilderment you rove your vision over him, searching for the faintest suggestion that it may have been a joke or a lie. But the amusement that he had displayed earlier is gone. Replaced by a confidence and tranquility that should be unsettling. It's sickening, the satisfaction that surges across your chest at his easy compliance. A disgusting contentment, all because he would be willing to slay the women that he's probably garnered for years with just a simple command from you. 

"You would truly kill them for me?" Confusion is bare on your face as you regard him. "How can I trust you if you'll slaughter those who have been loyal to you for so long? Would you do the same to me? " You nod your head in the direction of the blades mounted on the wall, glinting and lethal like deadly omens. " Will you cut me down like my fellow Atreides once I've fulfilled my use?" 

Now he's the one who looks mystified. If not a little irritated, and the suggestion of a snarl on his lips reveals as much. "Are you toying with me?" 

The raw confusion in his voice makes you freeze. When he draws closer to you the oxygen in your lungs seems to vanish; the mere weight of his presence wafting over you siphons the air from your body. It's striking how offended he seems. Like the very notion of your doubt is a transgression against him. It nearly makes you feel guilty for your mistrust, but you grab ahold of your resolve before it can flutter from your grasp. "I just need to make sure that we have a proper understanding of each other," you explain honestly, voice soft and open. Your chest heaves from the effort of breathing, drawing in the scent of the perfumed fragrances on his skin; subtle notes of leather and the traces of something crisp and musky. You want nothing more than to tilt into him. To sprawl in him and transfer his scent onto your own body. 

You're nearly enthralled as he moves even closer, like he's been caught within the same trance that's begun to sink over you. It makes you feel like you've been pulled into a private, hushed pocket of time, and for a moment you think that he might kiss you. His lips brush over you faintly. Just enough for the soft pout of them to whisper of your own, teasing and light.

"Pick a blade." 

The low glide of his breath over your mouth distracts you, and for a second you don't even register what he's said. It isn't until he steps back from you that the daze lifts from your mind, allowing lucidity to seep back into your stupor. Your confusion must be clearly etched on your face, and the expectant way that he watches you nearly makes you feel stupid. But by some small fortune, you just barely manage to latch onto enough context to collect what he's implying. It's with great reluctance that you pull your eyes from his to cast your sight along the wall, tracing along the various weapons that embellish it with a growing sense of foreboding and intrigue alike. You assume that you might have misheard him, and it has you passing hasty glance back in his direction. But the direct look that you receive in response affirms that the instruction had been true. Dread rises up with the thought that he may mean to fight you. To challenge you to combat as some odd means to rectify whatever uncertainty has fallen between you. That presumption loses its footing when he doesn't even so much as lean in the direction of the wall to retrieve a weapon. 

He's completely still as he observes you. Unmoving like a predator waiting for its prey to flinch. Staring at you with the same intensity that he had in the arena; honing in on his opponents with a casual but precise ferocity. It makes you wonder if he means to lunge at you as soon as you step forward. And that warped half of you craves to find out. It has you moving in the direction of the wall, observing him closely as you do. He's doesn't move, though his focus on you doesn't waver or pause; it trails after you dutifully. But there's an almost starved quality to the way he beholds you. Like he's anticipating the moment that your fingertips brush over your chosen blade.

You aren't sure what causes the shift. Perhaps it's heavy, eager way that he's watching you, or maybe it's the demented mixture of alarm and hunger twisting in your gut, but the cold tension in the atmosphere melts into something simmering and dark. The air is still thick and heavy around you. Only it's for an entirely different reason now, and the dull chill of fear in your vein's dips low in your gut where it distorts into a questionable, smoldering heat. You do your best to steer yourself from the temptation thrumming inside of you, desperate to exact some kind of clarity back onto yourself but it's frustratingly difficult to ignore the haze that threatens to intoxicate you. And the dark, sinister quality of his gaze doesn't help you in your endeavor to maintain control of the situation, and more embarrassingly, yourself. 

You use your peripheral vision entirely to choose your weapon; far too enraptured by the na-Baron's unwavering gaze as you reach up to smooth your fingertips over the handle. So many different emotions flicker in his eyes, each one just as consuming as the last. It makes you feel so defenseless and unguarded, but paradoxically, the restrained hunger in his gaze also sets you alight with a confidence that you've rarely felt before. Without second thought you pluck the dagger from its place along the wall, relishing in the familiar weight of the grip in your hand; the union of lightly textured steel and smoothed wood. It's the same kind of weapon that you've wielded a thousand times. Only in practice, but the familiarity of it offers you a sense of security. Lethal almost, even though you're sure that if Feyd truly dares you to a fight you might not make it out of the exchange alive. 

Though you still can't feel so much as an inkling of a threat coming from him. He's entirely devoid of malicious intent, even while he stares you down with all the controlled ferocity of a wolf. You can still see a challenge glimmering in his eyes, goading you to do something. What you aren't sure, but the implication of it nudges at you like a buried instinct rising to the surface for the first time. You let it guide you towards him, even while your pulse hums in your throat, wild with the near frantic rhythm of your heart. It's unnerving how fixed his gaze is on you, locked onto your form as you approach him like you might be the only other being left alive and he can't wait to have you pinned between his teeth. 

But you're the one with the blade. 

And as false and dangerous as that sense of security is, you allow it to press your feet forward until you're standing directly in front of him. Close enough that if you reached your hand out you could touch him; feel the warmth of him underneath your palm. But even with the protection of holding a blade, you still don't have the strength to slip your fingertips over him. The resolve that you've just hardly managed to build might crumble and wash away if you do, leaving you vulnerable and susceptible to whatever roguish, sinister alure he might use against you. But then he makes the move for you, firmly grasping your wrist in a tight grip. 

That challenging glimmer is strongly burning in his eyes like he's waiting to see you flinch back or to try and tear your arm from his clutch. And when you make no effort to, a smirk lifts at the corners of his lips like he's pleased or amused. Or both. It's smug and arrogant, and it has annoyance flaring inside of you, but you don't have much time to dwell on it as he guides the knife to his chest and hitches the point of the blade there like he means for you to drive it into him; past the protection of bone and muscle to pierce his heart. 

It has your body falling stock-still as every ounce of your concentration narrows down to a fine point to train on him, the deadly glint of the weapon and lethal ardor in his eyes. You watch his mouth parting open, listening intently to the low rasp that nearly purrs from his chest. "What will you do, Atreides? Will you seek retribution for your fallen brethren? Strike me down before I can bleed the life from your body?" 

But the last remark doesn't sound like a direct threat. It's said with a tone that's entirely too sardonic. Like he means to mock you for your concerns and anxieties. Like you're foolish for having reservations about your union. About him. The sound of his taunting is enough to have scorn prickling at your fingertips and face, burning in the pit of your stomach like boiling water. Almost blindly you press the blade forward, digging the sharpness of it into the barrier of the thick leather of his vest. You expect him to stop the drive of your arm. To seize it tight to halt the force of it, but he makes absolutely no moves to. Not even when the fatal tip of the knife breaks past the material of his garb, no doubt splitting skin underneath its edge. But his hold on you doesn't flinch or wince out in pain. You see a hint of euphoria pass through his eyes again. The same elation that you had spotted when you had cut his palm open at the alter; the pleasure that had burned in him when he commanded you to sink your teeth into his flesh last night. 

Like just the faintest traces of pain and the very thought of you piercing his body with a blade is nudging him towards the emergence of some sort of high. It's disgusting how something so simple can mutate the heat in your body from righteous anger to a treacherous kind of ardor. The sane half of you loathes how easily he can shift the indignation and reluctance inside if you and direct it into lust with so little effort. It's shameful. Revolting even. But the way that he looks at you when he bears his flesh to you is nearly debilitating. There's always a kind of wonder in his gaze. It's starved, greedy and formidable, but there's also a kind of open vulnerability to it. It makes you just as gluttonous and wanting, and it's difficult to see past that as much as you should. 

All you want now is to see that hungry glint smoldering in his eyes again. It's dangerous, the push and pull of power that you feel when he's underneath your fingertips, searching for the sting of your teeth with bated breath. Almost mindlessly, you seek out more of his want and it has you dragging the point of the blade upward. He watches you with an open curiosity, but the grip he still has on your wrist doesn't strengthen to impede the path you've set with the knife. He allows it. The anticipation emanating from the both of you is electric and smoky, like the aftermath of a lightning strike that leaves the earth hot and glowing with embers and warm smoke. 

It's suffocating; devouring the stubborn scraps of your reluctance until it's little more than an afterthought. Weak, shadowy phantoms in the deep, recesses of your mind that bend and fade underneath the weight of your desire for him. It guides you to drag the point of the knife up until it slips past the edge of his clothing and meets skin, dragging along the slope of his throat. His eyes visibly cloud over when he feels the scrape of it along his flesh; half lidded and longing when you firmly fix the point of it along the edge of his chin. Applying enough pressure for a divot to form around the press of the blade. 

You still can't fully comprehend that he would allow you to place him such an unguarded position. It should annoy you that he doesn't fully view you as a threat. But then it strikes you that he might. He might see you as a danger, a risk to his life and still he bears his throat to you. Even with his features schooled and betraying nothing, you can see the eagerness in his eyes clearly; gluttonous and fervid. You've toed close enough to him to see the gorgeous blue shade of them. Pale and delicate despite the cunning and control always present in them, but now they're tinged with lust. It has you angling you face towards his, fueled and nearly drunk on a rise of confidence to teasingly glide your lips along the cut of his jaw. It's difficult to make out his expression from being so close, but you can practically feel the tension wafting from him. 

"I could," you finally answer. You voice is hardly more than a whisper, murmuring lowly across his skin to tease. "But that would be mercy. I should keep you alive. Choke the life from you slowly." The threat should be spat out with venom, and hatred, but it's spoken too lightly for that. Delivered with the same care as a sweet confession or a proclamation of affection. Your chest brushes along his with your inhale, pulling in the scent of him to pool heavy in your lungs. Dangerously, it makes your head nearly cloud over, but you manage to keep ahold of your sense of control just enough to drag your lips over his. Hinting at what could be a kiss. But instead of pressing them against his, you press the edge of the blade deeper into the tender skin beneath his jaw and you're rewarded with an eager, almost wanton spark in his eyes. "Would you let me?" 

"If it pleases you," he answers calmly. But something passes through his expression. It's evaluating, curious, but something amused blends with it once he finds what he's searching for. "But would that truly please you, Atreides?" 

It all seems to strike you at once. Each word knocking through you like a nail being beaten in by a hammer. It's not the admittance alone that surprises you. It's the resolution behind it. The lack of hesitation. The submission a complete opposite of how he had been last night; the attention he had commanded when he ordered that you beg for him. But this was said so easily. As though it were a simple fact. A truth that he was revealing. It has the walls that you've meticulously built up throughout the years, cultivated by rivalry and shared hate, fracturing down the center and threatening to crumble from the fissures and cracks. As an Atreides it should shame you. How compliant you have become under the influence of your enemy. Not only a Harkonnen, but the heir to the Baron title and Giedi Prime. That should be more than enough to strengthen your reservations, but it seems to be slipping from you by the second. 

But it's his question that truly rings through you, rattling throughout your brain and searing at your subconscious; would it truly please you, Atreides? 

It should please you. The prospect of driving a blade into his chest and carving out his life should fill you with retribution. It should be a balm on the wounds left behind from your shared ancestors' strife. The rivalry, the slaughter, the assassinations plotted throughout the years. The open confidence - the arrogance he holds that you won't strike him down has something molten and venomous burning in your veins. You can see it in his face, flickering in his eyes like a healthy fire. He doesn't think that you have nerve to kill him. Even more damning is that he's right. The blade in your hands feels burning and acidic against your palm, itching like a rash from the mere thought of raising it against him with the intent to kill. It's completely ridiculous how you can't even stand the possibility of harming him. A man you've only just met. A man that's committed countless atrocities - taken lives all in the name of his House's hellish thirst for power. He's slaughtered in your name as well. Four souls have already been taken under the banner of your union and it's only been two days. 

But the realization rattles through you violently and sets your teeth on edge. You don't want to kill him. You can't. The betrayal of it tastes like vinegar and ash. The urge in you to lift the blade against him settles into little more than an afterthought. The ghost of it is only a soft impression against your muscles, even while the hatred that's been instilled in you since a child lurks within the recesses of your mind, trying desperately to win out against the twisted sense of affection that lives and breathes within the cradle of your chest. All the while his gaze scans over you, flickering over the conflicting emotions that must show on your face; openly revealing your internal struggles.

You hate how much you admire them. The pale shade of his eyes. A soft, light blue. Much too delicate for someone so violent and callous. Sometimes it hurts to look at them. Each time you do it tears a part of you away and dumps you on the grounds of a familiar planet, where the sea meets the rocky shores in frothing, bubbling waves. The ocean stretches forever there, shifting and fluctuating underneath the influence of the air and the moon. A large expanse of rolling, changing blue; perfuming the air with salt and brine; stretching deep across the planet's face until the cerulean water's expand beyond the suns reach and bleed into a dark void. But that sense of familiarity runs so much further than that. Physically, you've only just met the na-Baron. But there's a piece of you, something buried and cardinal that's known him forever. Your psyche - a fragment of your soul or mind has always been aware of him. It's visited him at night while your conscious slept, catching glimpses of a shocking brutality and cunning. It's bridged lightyears together to admire the smoky caress of his voice, to feel the pale ripple of his muscles underneath your hands. You've seen flashes of his violence in your mind before. The silver wink of his blade slicing through the flesh of his enemies and the trace of obsidian snarl stretched across his face. You had never shied away from him in your dreams, and that treacherous half of you begs that you don't shy away from him now and it has you parting your lips to form a question: 

"Will you kneel for me?" 

It's almost like time halts in this moment, punctuated by the constant thunderous blasts of the otherworldly fireworks outside; thrumming along your bones and sinking deep with from the consuming way the Feyd evaluates you. He makes you feel as though you've been laid bare and found wanting. Reduced down to your most basic components: nerves, flesh, and soul.  It has your body singing like you've been lit on fire and strung up for examination. But even that isn't right. It's too intimate, the way that he looks at you. Like you're both an ancient deity incarnated and an enemy that he must overcome and strike down in a splatter of violence. It's familiar and vulnerable. Covetous and scathing. You can taste it on your tongue. Metallic like the blood that you had spilled earlier in your union, musky like the flavor of his sweat. You want more of it. 

Still it shocks you when he bends his knees and lowers himself to the floor without daring to tear his eyes away from yours; gazing upon you with an intensity that seems to settle bone deep and melt in with the marrow. He's entirely calm and collected, but he watches you like he's awaiting an instruction. Like you could order him to wage a war in your name and he'd enact it out with the dedication of solider, of an acolyte. It makes you feel empowered, bold and yet entirely too weak; naked. You struggle to stomach the equal rushes of strength and vulnerability that it inspires in you. You aren't sure if you want to quail away from it or if you want to fully bask in it. 

So the next move you make is completely mindless, done out of some sort of instinct rather than deliberately made. You let the grip around the dagger grow weak as you begin to lower yourself, descending until your knees press against the harsh chill of the floor from the underneath the cover of your delicate skirt. You think you catch the suggestion of uncertainty pass through his stare as you settle in front of him, but it's gone before you can fully notice it, vanishing entirely when you lean close enough to him to feel the tip of his nose ghost along yours. It's like treason to yourself when you sit the blade down alongside the both of you, allowing it settle on the floor on neutral ground. The steel chimes softly when it meets the stone, and you can practically hear the sharpness of it. 

It's close enough to him that he could easily reach out and take it into his own dexterous hand. He could drive it into your body before you could even manage to blink. But his attention hasn't so much as flinched from its place on you. The captivated, fervent way he regards you gives you the incentive to move shift even closer, filling out the narrow gap that separates your bodies. You fully release the blade then, dragging your fingertips across the hilt one last time as you lean into him. Just enough that your lips caress his while your eyes meet his, staring into that consuming, starved shade of blue. But you don't find the urge to hide from it. The urge to bare yourself to it rises up high; needy and certain. 

"Let us be equals then," you propose, and your voice is soft yet stable in your hope. 

The hint of a smile might perk at the corners of his mouth, and you can see amusement flicker in his scrutiny of you. But you're unable to catch even a shred of scorn or repulsion. The mirth he expresses is genuine and blends into a curiosity that makes him look deceptively sweet, even with the vulpine darkness that always lurks within the corners of his eyes. 

"Equals." It sounds like both a strong agreement and a dawning realization coming from him. Like he's sounding out a word that's never been said before. Now the hint of delight that you had earlier truly shows across his face, baring his blackened teeth from his sharp smile. "Does this mean that I'll go without the pleasure of having your knife to my throat?" 

That sentimental burst of devotion and joy blooms throughout your chest, candid and clement in its warmth, nearly nudging out a small puff of laughter from your lungs. It sizzles underneath your skin like a low electrical current, fueling you with equal parts excitement and longing and the urge to kiss him tingles across your lips, urging you to press forward to taste him. But you don't give into the desire yet. Instead you remain fixed in place, but you allow yourself to slip your hands along his shoulders, savoring the stability of his warmth and strength under your palms. 

"I'll consider it. If you ask me nicely." The lighthearted tease comes out easily enough, like you're both old lovers, breathing in each other's air like it's where it belongs. Untainted from the brutality of the universe and the separate world's that raised you; unaffected by the hatred that you should feel for each other. 

Now he's the one that leans in closer and the impression of his presence hums over your skin, stuffing your head full of cotton and fuzz that's saturated with the scent of him, all fresh musk and resin. It nearly makes you miss the light, metallic drag of a blade scraping across the floor. You catch the shine of it in your peripheral vison, and the subtle thrum of concern that it invokes in you is punctuated by the heavy, relentless ring of the strange fireworks outside. But he doesn't make any moves to stab you or turn the weapon against your skin in an effort to mar you. He holds it like he means for you to take it, flipping it in his fingers in a way that's reminiscent of when he had offered you the ceremonial blade at the altar. You can see the request in his eyes, unwavering and wanting. 

"This is me asking," he answers. 

His request is hardly "nice." It isn't embellished with a plea, or soft in its desire. Like everything he does, it's spoken with an air of certainty and security. It makes you want to taunt him. To refuse him all together and demand that he asks you properly, but the command doesn't rise to the tip of your tongue. It stays stuck inside your chest, losing its vigor until it dissipates into nothing, replaced by the need to just feel him. It has you reaching out for the blade, and your fingertips brush against the rigid shape of his wedding ring when you do. It's heated from the warmth of him, and as farfetched as it is, some part of you entertains the idea of it burning into your skin and leaving a visible mark behind. Something more noticeable than the stinging cut along your palm; the cut that would heal and fade into a faint sliver across your skin. You want it to be obvious. A clear declaration of your union, like the gnarly laceration you had cut into his shoulder with just the weight of your teeth.

The reminder of his wound nudges at you, and the need to see it claws at the back of your mind with hungry, desperate talons. You're like a woman possessed when you lift the Atreides dagger to his stomach, and instead of driving into his gut like you would an enemy, you only nudge the tip of it between the lapels of his leather vest and into the material of the dark garb underneath. It nearly shocks you how easily it slices through the layers of his attire, parting the fabric around its lethal edge like heated butter to reveal the defined contours of his body underneath. 

You don't miss the lust the burns in his eyes when the sharp rip of tearing cloth sounds across the heavy atmosphere, when he no doubt feels the sharp sting of the blade dragging over his skin. The weapon leaves a delicate trail of red, raised flesh in its wake, a gorgeous contrast to the near white shade of his complexion. The sight of it douses hot liquid over your body, settling between your thighs and murmuring against your fingertips. But the sensation of it is only amplified when the blade rises up and over his chest and he tips his head back to allow it to cut through the collar of his garb that's secure against his throat. The remaining strip of fabric gives underneath the dagger with a pronounced pop. The subtle snap of the last pieces of thread giving from the weight of your hand has you drawing in a deep breath, but it does little to ground you with the downright ravenous way that he's staring at you. Like he wants to take you apart piece by piece and eat you down to the bone. 

It's nearly horrendous how badly you want him to do just that. To take you into his mouth and lap at you with tongue and teeth until your body is writhing in a twist of agony and ecstasy. But the need to see the mark - your mark gives you enough strength to repress that urge. It guides your free hand upward to grip ahold of his shredded attire to lift it back. And there it is again, the sickening sense of desire and satisfaction when you see the torn cut of your teeth in his skin, tender and rosy around the edges, clearly marking the junction of his shoulder. You feel the need to chastise him for the lack of a bandage, but something tells you that it'll fall on deaf ears. The unbothered look you get in response to your berating glare is confirmation enough. 

You glide your thumb near it, not close enough to irritate the damage, but enough to inspect the wound. It doesn't seem to be infected, just a little red from the recent injury and that's enough to give you some kind of comfort. Satisfaction builds inside of you, and it's quickly joined by the burn of something possessive and starved; entranced by the deep mark left by your teeth; a permanent signature in his flesh. When you brush your fingertips along the blunt, angry impression again, it's completely unintentional. An apology is already bubbling up to your throat but the way that Feyd nearly shudders beneath your hand causes the words to disappear - snuffed out and dead. It was so light that you wouldn't have caught the full body thrum that wracked across his muscle and skin if you hadn't been so transfixed on him. 

You can see it in his eyes, somehow bright and dark all at once, smoldering and zealous in his lust, and it reminds you of how he basks in the sting and ache of pain. Like a glutton you seek out his pleasure, and even with reasoning and reluctance looming in the back of your mind, you find yourself bearing pressure down on the wound with the pad of your thumb.  The look of it, red and raw against his skin, the way that he leans into your touch even though the weight of it is setting his nerves on fire makes you feel as though you've been dipped into a flammable liquid and coming alight by sparks and embers. It's a reminder that he's yours. Wholly, completely. It doesn't matter who may look upon his body, sleek and flawless without a single cut or scar - all except for the ones that have been made by you. If anyone was to gaze at him, they'd know that you had been the one to touch him and leave your mark.

In that moment you decide that he needs more, and the violent, craving look that he gives you tells you that he wants the same. It has you dropping the dagger, leaving it to clatter noisily against the floor as you clamor onto his lap, gathering up your skirt to aid in your ascent. You just barely feel the weight of his hands raising to grip onto your waist in a hold that's going to leave your flesh tender and sensitive, but you welcome the possibility of it. Like an animal you sweep downward to press your lips against his throat, showing your teeth to the graze and nip them along the sensitive skin there, fueled by the desperation to leave bursts of purple and red behind. 

He tilts his jaw back and tears his clothing free from his shoulders to offer more of himself to you, and like something starved and uninhibited you sweep your hands over the bare expanse of his chest and ribs, even when the cut underneath your bandaged palm throbs with traces of a white heat. But it's of little concern to you now. A faded afterthought underneath the lust and wild ardor that clouds over the room like a plume of smoke. You can taste him against your tongue, the subtle salt of his skin and the herbal, earthy notes of the oils that must have placed in his bath before the wedding ceremony. He's already hard underneath you, confined by the material of his pants but it does nothing to hide or impede the length of him. Heavy and firm against the space between your legs, smearing the wetness that's dampened the inside of your thighs and nudging against your clit in a way that nearly has you moaning against his skin. 

But a ragged gasp is ripped from your lungs regardless, pulled from you when a chill rushed over your back and the harsh rip of fabric tearing echoes across the cavernous walls of the room. Your fogged over brain just barely manages to register that he's taken ahold of the blade again and has slit the back of your dress open from the tailbone and up to the collar, exposing your body to the tepid air. You hardly get time to adjust to it before he's shoving you from his lap, tugging the scraps of fabric free from your body as you fall like it's presence on your body offends him.

The frigid press of the floor underneath you is jarring, and it leaves you a little muddled and lost while you stare up at the tenebrous expanse of the ceiling. Left disoriented and exposed with the cover of your dress gone to show off the rise and fall of your heaving breasts. And then wandering, determined hands sweep down your hips to guide the tattered pools of fabric down your legs. You just barely have the articulation to help him in pulling the ruined dress from your body, but he manages just fine on his own. It tears your shoes off in his near wild scramble to get you naked, ripping them from their places as he guides the fabric around the heels of your feet before tossing it somewhere in the distance. 

And then he's rushing over you like a creature from an old fable, like a monster that comes in the night to seek out foolish maidens, securing a place for himself between the welcoming cradle of your thighs. Looming over you with his hands posted on either side of your head, keeping you secured and trapped within the confines of his body. His eyes are glittering again, flickering underneath the erratic glimpses of light that slip in through the narrow widows, projected by the fireworks that shriek and rupture across the dark sky. It makes him look feral and otherworldly, like the beings depicted in old religions, a dark spirit or a demon sent to torment and tempt you specifically. To tip you into the throes of your basest wants and desires. 

"So eager to claim me, little Atreides," he murmurs, leaning close enough for you to feel the hint of his mouth against yours. One of his hands lifts from its place on the floor to coast along the length of your leg. Sweeping fire and ice across your skin with the heat of his bandaged palm and the subtle warmth of his wedding ring when it grips into the crook of your knee.  He guides it upward to cinch it over the back of his waist, locking you against him. The pressure of his body pins you, keeping you secured in your spot on the floor as his eyes flicker along your face. Once you're held in place, unable to move, having no desire to, does the hand on your leg leave. But it isn't free from you for long. Before you can even realize it, the press of it is firm and wrapped around your throat, nearly suffocating in its warmth and weight, but you delight in the sensation of it regardless. It threatens to make your head go fuzzy and light, but his grip doesn't tighten enough to fully nudge you to that point. It keeps you stuck between the edge, dangling and wanting while that molten desire settles at the base of your spine. "So have you made your decision?" 

The question leaves you confused, and slow-moving nature of your thoughts - saturated and bogged down like they've been dipped in melted sugar and wax, does absolutely nothing to aid you. That dark type of amusement flickers across his expression, but whatever intent you have to scold him evaporates from you like scalding water and vapors when he places a kiss to your lips, snapping the tender flesh between the rows of his teeth harshly enough for iron to blossom across your tongue, drinking down the breathy moan that leaves you. 

"Head," he intones softly, dipping his voice into a low rasp. He licks at the shape of your mouth, no doubt scooping the taste of your blood onto his palate before he slinks downward to drag his nose along your chest in a teasing glide. You feel the whisper of his voice over your skin before you hear it, sweeping dangerously close to the swell of your left breast, hauntingly close to where you wish he would take into his mouth. "Heart." 

He hovers there like he's listening to the wild pulse of the organ thrumming underneath your flesh and bone, relishing in the near frantic sound of it. His tone leaves his query open-ended, but even in your daze you're finally able to catch onto his line of questioning and it sweeps you entirely off guard. It left him so casually that the surprise of it could have made you freeze still if not for the restless drag of his lips across your skin, humming and pleasant against you. They settle along your stomach, nipping and mouthing at the delicate flesh there like he might bite through you and smear his face with red, but the damp glide of his tongue is too soft. Like he's praising you with his mouth. And then that raw, accented lilt rumbles out again. "Perhaps a kidney." 

And with that he slips lower, giving you hardly any time to come to terms with the promise of his words; the bloody, gore-soaked request he desires you to make, the three lives that he wants you to strike down with the will of his hand. But the worry and concern in you falls into the foreground, blurring at the edges while your desire and lust continues to rage on and cloud your head with a perfumed fog. When the brush of his nose traces downward, settling just underneath the plush of your abdomen every thought nearly falls flat and quiet, almost knocking your mind into an empty void. 

"Or maybe . . . You still need help deciding." He drags the sharp edges of his teeth against the tender expanse of your inner thigh, dangerously close to the sore mark he had left there with his teeth last night, making your nerves spark and the heat between your legs throb. Your hips try to roll in an involuntary search for pleasure but the heavy grip he has on your body keeps you secure and stuck in place, helplessly pinned to the cool tiles. It nearly has a whine bubbling up from the depths of your throat, but when you glance downward to glare at him the expression on his face has you swallowing it down. He looks far too smug from his place between your thighs, with the plush of his lips stretched into smile and a mischievous sort of glint in his eyes. It has a prickle of irritation growing in your chest. The urge to have him underneath you again rises up strong, to have him stare up at you with that frayed sense of self-restraint and hunger. You want to feel him tremble and take him apart with your tongue like he had done to you. 

You hardly think before you move. In a blink you're rolling yourself upward, and with the momentum your positions are flipped in a quick blur. The only thing to ground you is the steady weight and warmth of Feyd pinned underneath your hips and the shape of his throat held underneath the grip of your good hand. You can feel the steady pulse and rush of his blood against your skin, rich with the flow passing through his jugular vein. But even with his life centered within the palm of your hand he's as calm as can be, practically lounging along the floor with his arms sprawled on either side of him and an expression of steady contentment on his face.  

"I can make that decision perfectly fine on my own," you assure softly. When you dare to flex your fingers along the sides of his throat his eyelids droop low again, nearly giving him a dazed, intoxicated look. It's the same one he had given you when you had pinned the dagger against his throat, threatening to slice but never truly willing. It's enough to send a thrill through you. The fact that you have someone, notorious for their violence and cunning, complacent and amenable from something as simple as your touch. You think that you could get drunk off of power like this. Fueled by the heat of his skin seeping into your thighs and the pale weight of his stare, equally devoted and gauging. Like he's trying to assess if you're a deity worth his worship, if you're willing to accept the tokens he offers in the form of bloodied heads and stolen organs. But you have your own evaluating to do. 

It has you leaning downward, squeezing the length of his throat as you do, and you're certain that you catch the mild thrum of a pleased groan scattering across your palm and fingertips. It has a smile nudging at your lips as you look at him. "Will you let me have you?" 

"I'm yours to take," he answers promptly, voice soft within its gravely cradle. It's spoken like a vow, a desire, a need. And you need him just as badly. 

Without anymore prompting you slink downward to shift between his legs. A part of you mourns the loss of his throat underneath your hand, but those thoughts easily drift to the distant corners of your mind once you're settled in front of his hips. Your attention shamelessly locks on the bulge straining against the confines of his trousers, and you can feel saliva pool in your mouth at the sight of it. As eager as you had been last night, even with all of your desire and want, your inexperience had left you astray in certain aspects. Led you to uncharted territory by your lust, but this was something that you could do and do well. And the longing to see him unwind and quiver underneath your tongue is more than enough incentive to have you unfastening the fixtures of his pants. You work to get the lacings undone as deftly as possible, but even with your determination the leather strips threaten to slip from your shaky fingertips. You're certain that the low, amused huff that he lets out is in response to your uncoordinated eagerness, but he makes no verbal remarks. The only assistance he offers you is when he lifts his hips up just enough to aid you in your effort to tug his pants down from the slope of his hips and ass.  

When he springs free from his pants, you can't help but to stare. You had seen him last night, but that had been well after the tryst in the bath, and you had only felt the full length of him when his lower half had been submerged in the inky water. His size had been apparent, even then. But seeing him now, uninhibited by the steaming black liquid of the bathhouse, reveals how daunting his size is. Admittedly, he isn't the largest you've seen or even handled, but that doesn't make it any less intimidating. Though it's still difficult to focus on the uncertainty prickling at you when the urge to take him in your mouth hangs over you and sinks in deep. 

The amused glimmer in his eyes is back with a vengeance, burning and dark as he admires you from your place between his thighs. And as much as you'd like to berate him for it, you're completely entranced when his hand slips down the rippled planes of his body. The black band around his wedding finger glints lowly, attracting your attention to it while his fingers enclose around the thick girth of his cock. His chest rises in a deep, controlled breath when he drags his fist over himself, probably relishing in the rough texture of the dark bandages dressed around his hand as it glides along the sensitive skin. He's probably enjoying the sting that the weight of it brings to the slice across his palm too. 

He props himself on a single elbow so that he's able to easily watch himself. To watch you as well. You can practically feel his eyes on you while he idly works his fist over his cock in slow, teasing strokes. But it seems like he's taunting you rather than himself. Delighting in the way that you're transfixed on him, like a dog salivating over a bone.  When he strokes his hand up his length, twisting his hand in the motion, you watch with frozen lungs as a small rivulet of precum pours from the head of his cock, just as dark as his blood. 

Like a heathen, your mouth waters at the sight of it and temptation begs for you to move forward. You can see the open invitation in his eyes, silently encouraging you to take him. And like a slave to your desires, you do. Without any thought, you tilt yourself forward and part your lips to sweep your tongue over the length of him. A contented hum rises from your throat when you catch the veins of his cock, when the taste of him spreads along your mouth; subtle salt and the musk of something earthy. A part of you had feared that he might taste odd or even bad considering the strange coloration, but it's hardly different than any other man you had been with. It might even be considered good in a way that's decidedly organic. It has you stretching your jaw open to slip the crown into your mouth, desperate to feel the weight of him and you hardly give yourself time to adjust before you fill yourself with even more of him. The weight of him nudges along the back of your throat, threatening to suffocate you around his girth, but it doesn't make you panic. It only serves to stuff your skull with a delicious fuzz until all you can feel, and taste is him. 

Your saliva is already coated along his cock. It's messy and debauched but it only has a thrum of excitement rushing down your spine in an electrical current and settling over your clit like a smoldering heat. You moan around him, and you blindly reach up to slip your good hand around the girth of him, impatiently nudging his own out of the way in favor of doing it yourself. You're quick to pick up the rhythm he had set for himself, matching it to the motion of your mouth and the glide of your tongue while he rolls his hips to welcome the wet heat. 

It's almost absentminded when you glide your other hand along his hip, briefly delighting in the feel of it underneath your palm before you curl your fingers inward to harshly dig your nails into the smooth flesh. You're sure that it's rough enough to leave marks behind. Maybe even enough to break skin and make him bleed, but the way that he throbs in your mouth tells you that he likes it plenty. His hips jerk harshly at the sensation of your nails cutting into him like talons, and the sudden presence of his hand pressing down on the crown of your head nearly makes you gag. Tears threaten to pour past your waterline at the rough thrust, but you force yourself to open your eyes, desperate to witness him even while you blink back the blurred hindrance of tears. And you aren't disappointed. 

He looks like a painting. A work of art. The pale shade of his skin is nearly bright against the darkness of the room, and the dim lighting casts faint shadows across the planes of his body, pronouncing the edges of his physique. Magnifying the twitches that seize across his abdomen, making the defined muscles their flex and contract; the curve of his Adam's apple, amplified by the way that his head is tipped back from pleasure; the plush shape of his lips which are parted to release low intakes of air. But your favorite might be the blotches of violet and crimson marked along the column of his neck, branded there by your lips; the angry, permanent impression of your teeth, rosy and red along the junction of his shoulder that claims him as yours. 

He had been unblemished before you had touched him. The pale slate of his skin had been unmarred and smooth despite being such a violent fighter - proof of how untouchable he is within the ring or battlefield. Free from a single scar or bruise. But now everywhere you look there's evidence of your presence on his skin; skin that he's eagerly offered to you. To have him so willing and wanting makes you feel as though you've tamed some sort of demigod and imprinted your name on his soul. The thought alone has you moaning around him, twisting your wrist around the length of him as you encircle your lips around the flared head of his cock, drinking down the precum that flows from it in a steady pour. It's almost whorish, the way that it has you clenching around nothing, and your body thrums in a burning, unsatisfied heat from being left dreadfully empty. 

But all of that fades into the background, the ache of the cold tiles against your knees, the sting of the irritated cut along your palm, the uncomfortable stretch of your jaw around his girth. It's all so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The pain is more than worth it when those low, graveled groans huff from his chest, getting forced out of him by the tight restriction of his ribs each time he drives his cock into the back of your throat, threatening to choke you on your own tears and trapped gasps. You have to concentrate to breath out of your nose, reminding yourself to draw in tight breaths in between his mean strokes. His fingers squeeze at the back of your skull, gripping onto your hair while he drives himself into you deeply enough for your nose to press into the smooth skin of his groin with each thrust. 

It should make you angry or hurt to be used this way, like a doll whose only purpose is his pleasure. But there isn't an ounce of scorn or disgust in your body, only want and bliss. Lust smolders within the cradle of your hips, searing deep at the base of your spine while arousal smears down your thighs in a debauched display of ardor. It's a fight to find a sense of coherence through the haze that's ravaged your mind, but you manage to find a shred of it just long enough to will your eyes to open, blinking through the tears. Something molten and smoky douses over you when you lock you gaze with his, meeting the fervent, wild glint in his stare from your place between his legs. It rips a frayed moan from the depths of your burning lungs, pulling even more oxygen from your body and it has you going lightheaded, your skull airy and empty apart from the intoxicated stuffing that's been packed into it. 

Something passes through his gaze then, and his lips twist up in a way that's animalistic. If it's a nasty smile or a snarl, you aren't sure, but the sadistic amusement in his eyes is telling enough of his mood. "You're quite talented with your tongue. I never would have expected my wife to be such a whore," he remarks cruelly and now you're certain that it's a rueful grin on his face. You do your best to glare up at him from your place on the floor, though you refuse to remove your mouth from him long enough to offer a scathing remark of your own, far too drunk on the weight of him pressing against your throat to let up. But then he's the one shifting, sitting himself up on his haunches to tug you of off him by the grasp on your hair. 

Your lips slip from him with a depraved pop, smearing saliva and cum across your mouth as the delicious weight of his girth slips free from your tongue. Even while your body relishes in the blissful pulls of oxygen filling up your deprived lungs, you can't help but to mourn the loss of cock pressing down into your throat, and the downright pathetic whine that leaves you expresses as much. The light brush of embarrassment prickles at you when a mocking, patronizing coo hums from his chest as he guides you to shift between his legs, ushering you up on your knees so that he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. Your lashes flutter when the wet drag of his tongue runs along the tender skin there, nipping and sucking with his teeth. "It doesn't matter. You're mine now." 

That's the only warning you get before he's shoving you back onto the rigid chill of the floor and filling you up with a single stroke, forcing the sore walls of your cunt to stretch and give around his girth. It punches out the little bit of air that you had managed to gulp down out of you completely, and your jaw drops open in a strangled cry. It splits your brain down the middle, melting you into a puddle while your body seems to rupture between the equal divide of pain and pleasure. You had taken him just last night, but the experience had left you aching and sore. Your only saving grace that keeps the heavy drag of his cock from absolutely tearing you apart is how completely soaked you are, allowing the rough glide of his cock to work into you easily. It has you sobbing, from the flaring heat of your frayed nerves or the decadent liquid rapture that blossoms in the center of your abdomen, you aren't entirely sure, but the relentless pace that he sets doesn't give you time to discern it.  

You have no choice but to latch onto him and hang on, sweeping your arms around the width of his body to claw mindlessly at his back, leaving angry scratches along his flesh. The pleased groan you get in response to the sensation of your nails driving across his skin is heavenly; low and rumbling against your throat from hold he still has on you with his teeth. He's only just started, and you already feel as though you're being pulled from your body, being set on fire and turned inside out. 

You can hear him moving in and out of you. The sound of his hips smacking against yours and the wet plunge of his cock working into you echoing off of the walls of the chamber. He feels deep, settling so far inside of you that you swear he's in your stomach, punching against your lungs and shoving the breath from your chest with the steady force of his rhythm. His pelvis grinds over your clit with every thrust, liquifying your brain and making your eyes roll back in your skull. You think distantly that you might be drooling; lips smeared and wet with your spit and the salt of his cum, but the ability to think is next to impossible now. The ability to produce a single, coherent thought alludes you completely until you're little more than a weak pile of flesh and bone. Even when your legs lift to wrap themselves around his waist, it isn't a conscious decision. Your body acts on its own, hooking your heels near the base of his spine to keep him close to you, like any amount of unnecessary distance between you might send you to your early death bed. 

You're certain that you're moaning his name now, spewing it like a zealot's chant; an endless string of, feyd, feyd, feyd. What you're asking for you don't even know at this point. Stuck between craving your release and wanting to be suspended in ecstasy forever. But it seems your body is set is making the decision for you. It seizes up tight, making your thighs and back pull taut while heat licks at your fingertips and toes. The warning rests heavy on your tongue, waiting to be voiced but your ability to speak as vanished as your impending pleasure ravages your body. 

Feyd finally releases his teeth from your throat, soothing the irritated skin with his tongue before he lifts his head up just enough to lap at your mouth, swallowing your wanton, keening gasps. "Go ahead. Take your pleasure, let me feel you." 

It's like you needed his permission because as soon as his words leave him in that graveled rasp, your draw up tight, the muscles of your cunt clamping down around him in an unrelenting grip like your body is trying to evict your soul from it. Light bursts behind your eyes much like the fireworks still raging on outside, and for a moment you're suspended in time. Floating freely with nothing but the pressure of your ragged cries and the relentless debilitating heat of your orgasm eating you from the inside out. It has you sobbing again, nearly writhing along the floor while electricity cuts across your limbs and sears at your gut, wringing you of fire and melted euphoria. The bliss ebbs away in steady, sapping pulses that leaves your limbs twitching and weak. But the walls of your cunt are still sensitive and tender, setting your nerves alight and fizzling and it's in your drunken stupor that realize that Feyd hasn't stopped. 

He's still driving into you wildly, working his cock into you like a man starved. It has you shaking and nearly thrashing, like your body can't decide if it wants to pull him closer or shift away from him. 

"Feyd, I-" 

"You can handle it," he assures confidently, like it's a promise. He leans down to press soft kisses along your face, tracing the plush of them over your cheekbones, the rise of your nose, the edge of your jaw; so sweet compared to the way that he plunges his cock into you in deep, almost brutal strokes, like he's trying to carve a place for himself inside of you. His nose nudges along yours, urging you to look at him, and it's the dark, searching glimmer in his eyes that truly grounds you. It forces you to hold his stare, even with the tears pouring down your face and the sting of your overstimulated nerves begging that you close them. But you can handle it. You will. Your body cries for relief but also pleads that he keeps going. That he works you into another bout of fire and rapture, except this time you hope that you both burn together. 

It has you rocking your hips against his, settling yourself to meet his pace while your lungs and body longs for a reprieve and ecstasy. You can feel the impression of his smile against your cheek when he nuzzles along your face, the blunt edges of his teeth threatening to scrape along the skin. He has you fully caged underneath him, trapped with the stretch of his body looming over yours, nearly suffocating you with the heat that emanates from his sweat slicked flesh. But you couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else in the universe. Despite the searing heat that he invokes, the simmering bliss that threatens to tear you apart and splice you open at the atoms, you've never felt safer. There's a comfort in the weight of him. In the dangerous way that he carries himself and the brutal edge that's always projected in the dark of his eyes. You should find no solace in someone like him. Someone who's been crafted to be unforgiving and ruthless, but there's a tranquility in him that you've never found in anyone else. His body is a shrine, a temple for you to find reprieve and love in a world so harsh and indifferent. A creature of death that offers you devotion in form of blood and sanctuary. 

You've ravaged each other with teeth and blades; bared your throats and blood and neither of you have wavered. You've been reluctant of him, his loyalty, but the urge to truly run has never rose. And he's accepted you just as greedily. Always fervent and sometimes rabid in his want for you. The passion that he holds for you might have concerned some - people with proper sense, maybe - but you feel nothing but the urge to bask in his attentions. To return it tenfold until it suffocates you both and devours you entirely. 

You can feel yourself seizing up tight again, bliss sizzles at the tip of your tongue and forces ragged gasps and whines from your chest. Your cunt is gripping him tightly again, squeezing ahold of his cock like it doesn't want him to leave. His pace has faltered just the slightest, not enough to damped or ruin the fire in your gut, but enough to hint that he's nearing his end. The rise and fall of his chest against yours is sharp and almost labored, telling of the low, guttural groans that spill past his lips making him pant along the curve of your jaw. He can't be much farther off than you. 

"Feyd, please," you moan, tilting your head enough to nip at shape of his ear. "I wan' you to fill me up. I - fuck - I need it. Please." 

That apparently does something for him, because he bears down on you, gripping you by the thighs to hook your legs over his shoulders. The change in the position is hell on your muscles, the strain of it searing along your hips and the slight notches in your spine dig into the flat of the floor painfully. It nearly makes you wish that you had decided to take this to the bed that's only a few paces away from you both, but the way that he drives his cock into you with even more vigor effectively wipes your mind clean. You're truly forced to lay and take it; fingertips slipping across the floor to latch onto the groves in the tiles like it might save you. Somehow he's even deeper now, ravaging your insides with each stroke, and he nudges against the devastating spot inside of you with every plunge, twisting your mind into mush and static. 

"Then take it." 

His snarl is the last thing you hear before you're abruptly ripped under and pulled down deep like an entire ocean had collapsed over you. The silence is deafening, with each of your senses seeming to black out in favor of honing in on the bliss and euphoria dousing you and sweeping along your entire being. It devours you soul and all, until you're nothing but a writhing, sobbing vessel. Even when the waves slip over you, waning in their effect, it's difficult to see or feel past anything other than the press of his body along yours. But you still have enough concentration in you to notice the choppy, sluggish pace that his hips have shifted into as he tips close to his end. The groan that rumbles from his chest is the only warning you get before a searing warmth floods you from the inside, filling you up and stuffing you full of his release. It has your cunt fluttering around him weakly, desperate to draw him in, even while your body is completely sapped of its strength. 

He slips your legs free from their place on his shoulders, taking care to do so slowly as you hiss out from the dull sting. But he still manages to tear a ragged swear from your chest when he all but collapses on top of you. The only thing that keeps you from being completely crushed is that he manages to catch himself on his elbows before he plops his head on your chest with a contented sigh, listening to the wild pulse of your heart. 

Your body still thrums from the aftershocks and aches from the marks he had left with his teeth and cock, but the afterglow that dips over you is gentle and balmy. A complete juxtaposition to the feral glide of tongue and the flow of blood that had just taken place. But even under the soft atmosphere, cradling and inviting like a familiar embrace, darker thoughts stir. But to you they don't seem so violent anymore. It's a promise. Entirely giving and pure in its intention, despite the horror that comes with it. It should concern you, how it doesn't seem so daunting anymore. It's less troubling, not as sickening as it was before. But maybe this is what it means to accept his love. To offer yourselves to each other completely. You think that you'll give him a son, but first you need something from him in turn. 

You glide your fingertips along his back, lightly tracing the soft impression of his spine in their trail upward. When you whisper his name, your voice is raw and light from the sting of your used throat, but it manages to grab his attention regardless. He lifts his head up from your chest, allowing you to cup the side of his face to sweep your thumb along the subtle ridge of his cheek. His eyes are lidded and soft, but the curiosity and intensity in them still isn't lost as he evaluates you, and his brows raise in a silent question, prompting you to speak. 

You expect the words to feel like venom on your tongue when they leave your lips, to burn and sear at your flesh. For betrayal to slice at your chest and tear open a wound, but nothing but a tranquil sense of peace hangs over you as you speak. It feels right. 

"I want their heads." 

You wait to see surprise flicker across his face. Maybe even a kind of uncertainty, or a clue that his earlier promise had only been a joke or a test. A test that you've now just failed. But you see nothing of the sort. Instead a feral smile breaks across his face. Possibly arrogant, but mostly affectionate in his mirth. His gratification. Like he's reveling in your choice. But it's a good enough answer for you as well. You can see it reflecting in the dark of his eyes. The answer, the promise there that runs deeper than any wedding vows ever could. It reflects an adoration that only violence can. The promise of devotion and protection that he had pledged to you the moment that you'd seen each other in your dreams; the very second that he had slit that general's throat for you; the instant that he had proposed to deliver his lovers' hearts to you on a silver platter. It's a truth that he bares to you willingly - eagerly; and you accept it completely with your soul, and body, and mind. 

He would burn the universe down for you. 

@moonsoulk, @eloquentdreamer

[sanguine-prince]

i’m sure i’m not the first to say something like this, but let me tell you about my poc-passing-as-white jay gatsby headcanon!!

for some background, in the 1920s there was an interesting shift regarding (white) skin tones. previously, tans were viewed as a sign that a person worked out in the fields, and therefore a trademark of the lower class. however, slowly after the industrial revolution, it increasingly became a representation of luxury, since the rich upper class would have the time to lounge about and sunbathe at their leisure.

i say all this to show that a poc gatsby would have the ostensible class and wealth for a tan, which would ‘excuse’ a slightly browner skin tone in the public eye.

(the 20s was also the setting of passing by nella larsen, so that’s neat.)

in my vision, he’s biracial (maybe his mother was black & his father was a german immigrant) with skin light enough to pass for white.

the fact that nick states that gatsby keeps his hair neatly groomed and cut might be to prevent it from curling up.

additionally, i think it could contrast tom’s white supremacy & his fear of poc social progress.

it would also create a deeper divide between gatsby and daisy, and once again the contrast between him and tom. in my mind, daisy wouldn’t know about it until the point where tom reveals everything about gatsby’s bootlegging etc. with jay revealing it to her in the car ride back (oops then she hits myrtle).

then, when she chooses tom and the life of comfort, wealth, status, etc that their marriage offers, she also rejects not only gatsby’s new money but also his race.

it’s a lot more thematically significant for the american dream as well—it’s still unattainable and essentially tainted by capitalism, and it also emphasizes that it’s restricted to the white upper class. social mobility only becomes available to gatsby when he disguises his racial identity.

similarly, it fits with gatsby’s identity reconstruction—the quintessential american is white, rich, and educated.

daisy and tom have that ticket into society because they have that inherent thing that he will never have—pedigree, in both class and race. that’s something that even nick has.

(in my mind, he tells nick all about it the night before he dies & nick understands as best he can and doesn’t think less of him, because it further highlights the differences between his & gatsby’s relationship v. gatsby’s relationship with daisy; namely, the transparency -> acceptance give-and-take that he and daisy never had. because of having to hide himself from daisy in order to maintain her affection, he builds an expectation that he must be someone that he is not as well as developing a transactional definition of love (he gives, and people love him as long as he can continue to give) in order to be loved. therefore, nick’s immediate curiosity and fascination with who he truly is is foreign to him. not to get too into their dynamic lmao i just think it’s really interesting.)

finally, the very last part where nick is sitting and looking at the bay and thinking about the first immigrants and their dreams and how gatsby embodied the purity and naivety of those dreams is further exemplified by his racial ‘otherness.’

and there’s,,, technically nothing in the book to explicitly refute this from what i remember!

(n.b.: it has been a hot second since i’ve read tgg, so lmk if i’ve got anything wrong!)

[catscidr]

okay so. hybrids am i right? (people clap). but wait. crow hybrid dottore (people clap and cheer). yeah. so anyways ( ͡º ꒳ ͡º) time to ramble teehee cw: dottore x afab reader, im rambling, established relationship, light descriptions of gore and mentions of amputation. nsfw!! minors dni!!! (what did u expect from a post about an animal hybrid), possessiveness, mentions of breeding and eggs, aftercare

crow hybrid dottore who has black forearms along with sharp black nails at the end of his slender fingertips, nails that make it almost impossible for him to wear gloves because they’ll just stab through the material (everytime he files them down they come right back somehow).

some small, duvet-like feathers line the black skin of his arm, usually hidden by his coat— though they peek out from underneath the end of his sleeves sometimes. every once in a while you'll find tiny black feathers scattered around his lab when you come visit. he also has some plumage protruding from his face- more specifically the skin of his cheekbones.

crow hybrid dottore who only has one wing (replacing the fluffy mantle he normally has on his left shoulder when wearing his uniform). one wing because, when he got banished from his hometown with torches and pitchforks, his right wing got badly injured.

the trauma on the bones and his back made it so that it could never be restored to its normal shape, the wing looking like a mangled mess at all times. he'd pick out scabs and dried blood constantly, the dull pain driving him crazy- so he eventually just amputated it off himself. moving on

crow hybrid dottore who, whenever you're sitting next to him, tilts his head to the opposite side of you. you'll be keeping him company at his desk while he files reports for the mora he used for his experiments and he'll just... absentmindedly tilt his head away.

the first time it happened you didn't even notice. the second time, you thought it was just a quirky habit of his. the third time you stared at his bare neck as your fingers felt as if they were drawn to the pale skin. a thin, stray lock of hair cascaded down his neck, and you used it as an excuse to touch him. as you brushed away his hair behind his ear, a throaty noise (almost like a purr) reached your ears.

you pulled your hand back with the same speed you would have if you'd just touched a hot stove. dottore, unbothered by your panic, simply tilts his head to expose more of his skin as he absentmindedly scoots closer to you, his thigh brushing along yours. the moment he realized what he was doing he kicked you out of his office out of pure embarrassment

crow hybrid dottore who sings hums to you occasionally; usually happens when you convince him to take a walk outside to get some fresh air. its more likely to happen when its warm and sunny, and even more likely when you're eating together. it'll be just the two of you sharing lunch on your patio, sunbathing, and your ears will pick up on a soft, quiet tune he's humming. just don't tell him when he's doing it- his feathers will ruffle and he'll storm off in a huff and finish eating his food inside.

crow hybrid dottore who seems to be magnetized to the crook of your neck whenever you wake up next to him. always peppering your skin in soft kisses (and sometimes bites), he'll nuzzle into you until you wriggle your way out of his grasp. it's unlikely that you successfully get rid of him though- he rarely shows you affection during the day (unless tolerating your presence counts), so more often than not you'll let him indulge in you.

your neck and shoulders always ends up smothered in hickeys and, though they fade quite quickly since he didn't put much force in his bites, he'll gladly give you more if you want him to.

crow hybrid dottore who sometimes tosses his clothes in the corner of his bed (that he barely even uses) after he's spent time with you. he'd also throw in random things like a spare mask and some of your belongings that he snagged from you without you noticing. he says its because he doesn't want to bother himself with cleaning up, but in reality he's just... building a nest. he hates that he does this in the first place

crow hybrid dottore who loves when you reciprocate his affection. he adores it when you let him brush away the hair on your nape, when you hum just like he does, when you place gentle kisses on the junction where his neck meets his shoulder.

crow hybrid dottore who doesn't waste a single second when you're alone together after that. he'll give you more hickeys on top of your old ones, but this time he'll make sure they last. sharp teeth drawing blood at times when he gets too excited, cock straining against his pants as he ruts against your thigh.

you'll hear him coo sweet nothings in your ear while he manhandles you at his will. usually you end up on your back, legs thrown over his shoulders as he keeps a tight grip on the back of your thighs to keep you from crawling away from his cock.

"fuck, you taste so sweet. i'm going to stuff you full of seed, my clutch- nonono, don't you run away now. i know you want this."

crow hybrid dottore who almost loses his composure the first time he buries himself to the hilt inside of your snug pussy. it feels so tight, so warm around him that he almost doesn't want to pull out. almost.

he'll roll his hips against you, grinding his heavy cock in your gummy walls to get you used to his size. he knows he's a lot to handle- but this is the only semblance of mercy you'll be granted before he sees your body relaxing under him. as soon as he notices your brows lose the tension they held when he first slid inside, he'll jackhammer his cock into you and his full, heavy balls will slap against your ass relentlessly while he rambles about how he'll fill you up. again, again and again.

"take it, take my fucking cock. gods i'll never tire of your moans and whimpers. that's it, let it all out, let me hear how good i'm fucking you."

crow hybrid dottore who drinks in the noises that leave your body because they stroke his ego. he bites your shoulder when he finally cums inside to muffle his own noises, the embarrassing whimpers that threaten to leave his lips. he can't help it, you just feel so good. his hands will leave your thighs and he’ll bring his forearms to cage the sides of your head and his wing will ruffle and twitch behind him, covering your bodies in a display of possessiveness as he empties himself inside your cunt.

he'll keep his cock inside, plugging you full of his warm, sticky cum- refusing to let a single drop go to waste. if you somehow have any energy left and try to get him off of you, he'll glare and thrust into you sharply to briefly knock the wind out of you so you'll stay. he's petty like that

crow hybrid dottore who eventually relents to your whines because you're his number one weakness, and picks you up to go freshen up. he'll put your underwear back on and wipe away the sweat clinging to your skin with a damp rag. he'll soothe the bite marks and small puncture wounds his nails left in your skin with uncharacteristic gentleness, keeping his wing curled around your body to keep you as close as possible.

crow hybrid dottore who brings you back to his messy bed, to his nest, and clings onto you as you fall asleep. he'll brush your hair away from your face and nuzzle into your neck, holding your body close to his as he keeps your body warm while you keep his cum warm inside of you. it's only during the afterglow of a rough session that you get to see the stern harbinger soften up, because deep down all he wants is to keep you safe in his nest to take care of you even if he vehemently denies it

[lilacgaby]

title: i'd fight the sun for you, my love

pairing: barbarian!kirishima x borrower!reader

summary: when kirishima finds you, a tiny human(?), stealing from his things, he finds that you've stolen his heart as well.

notes: ask, secret life of arriety inspired bc that movie is so cute, yandere kinda

kirishima was sunbathing out in an open field. he had just finished a long treck through the caverns of a dragon. he was finally shutting his eyes.. when he heard a scuffling noise behind him.

he turned around to see.. a small human grabbing all his jewels? a needle keeping your hair held up, a fitted red leotard and leggings encapsulated you as you stuffed thing after thing into your small bag.

at the realization you'd been caught, you'd dropped all your splendors and ran to go back to your home, a hole in the ground.

it was too late though, the barbarian was faster and caught you easily.

he looked you over, sitting you in his palm as he examined.

"do you.. understand me?"

you nodded, feeling odd under his gaze. you were taught to fear people like him, to never let a human see you, to run as fast as you could away.

this guy was making all your red flags go off. sharp teeth? jewelry? tall? he had abs?

"what are you? some kind of elf?"

"i'm a borrower! not some elf!"

"huh? okay.. ms borrower.. why were you stealing my stuff? that's really expensive you know."

"it's what we do! and you can always get more random guy."

"that's not the point-- it's the principle."

"whatever! let me go to my home!"

"what's wrong..?"

he let you down, bending down to the grass to let you scurry to your home.

he turned around, getting ready to lay back down when he heard rushed running back. you tapped on his legs, tears in your eyes.

"[name]. and there's a- a spider. can you kill it for me? it's in my house!" you wailed, clinging to his leg.

"oh. i got you [name], im eijiro, just.. hold on."

he put you on his shoulder, looking at the small hole you called home.

he set off a bit of fire into the hole, killing the spider,

but burning all your things along with it.

".. did you just incinerate all my stuff."

he rubbed the back of his neck. "oops?"

you yelled directly into his ear, making him promise to travel with you until he got back all your stuff.. plus interest.

he agreed, and so it began.

he grew infatuated you to a strange degree, you'd catch him staring at you often, always wanting you in his arms.

you'd be safe that way, he assured you.

if anything so much as made you flinch it'd get incinerated.

it progressed as your travels did, the satchel with your stuff getting bigger and bigger.

he'd make note of all the things you'd like to eat, to do, to read, he'd fill your days with stories and happy memories.

he'd make sure you slept comfortably, foraging cotton and leaves so you'd sleep on a plush bed.

he'd never make you go hungry, adding days worth of travels onto his journey just to get you your favorites.

he'd dress you now too, grabbing flowers and snipping pieces of his fabric to decorate you.

like a little doll.

but his possessive nature grew too, it started only with bugs, but it ended with creatures. other humans too, he'd even hurt one of your own kind.

but it was all for you wasn't it? don't make him feel guilty, you're just so helpless, so small.

you couldn't leave, you needed your stuff back right? you needed him.

you realized, even though you weren't in a cage, you'd been caught.

and you could never escape the barbarian, who was now planning on taking you to his home. forever.

tag: @eyeofthetiger501

[mbsneur]

Summer trip

Patri Guijarro x Reader

Summary: you and patri's friends are on holiday

Warnings: Smut 18+,public sex

My Masterlist

please read this text before going to the story

ease don't be so strict with me but rather write to me what I can do better or what you wished were different. also tell me if you find the story too long or too short.. Also write to me if you liked it. My requests are always open (and English is not my first language so don't be mad at me) and if you have any ideas for the future about who I should write please tell me… the topics I will choose by myself unless you have a request for one or two people I will Read everything.. in the next survey I will take a few ideas from the old survey and new ones…. now read and I hope you like it <33

(this is a very short one)

it was a hot summer day in spain your girlfriend patri had got a few off days so you decided to fly to ibiza with some friends from her to just relax and party for a few days

you rented a small beach house with a big pool in the garden alexia was reading a book and claudia and cata were just lying there sunbathing

patri and you were lying on the other side of the pool you pushed your loungers together and close to each other you lay face to face and patri's breath brushed your lips

you closed your eyes and just enjoyed her closeness she kissed you gently on the lips you murmured lightly and pressed your face closer to her lips

you put your hand around her cheek and pulled her deeper into the kiss her tongue clicked against your lower lip and asked for an entrance which you granted her her tongue gently circled yours and sucked lightly on it

patri's breathing became heavy the kiss began to more aggressive kissing and her fingernails dug into your flesh at your hips with a soft moan you rocked your hips against hers

she let go of you and began to kiss along your jawline her hard breathing triggered feelings of happiness in you

"patri what are you up to" you say with a groan and lower your face against her

"i miss your taste baby" she says and bites along the path to your ear your body starts to tingle and sway you search for release and your face turns deep red from her words

"we can go inside" you say and try to push her away but she presses closer to you and comes to your neck she sucks lightly on it causing you to throw your head backwards

"no i want you right here" she says and takes one of your breasts firmly in her hand

"patricia guijarro all your friends are here you can't fuck me in front of everyone what if someone sees it"

patri looks around and sees how nobody is interested in the two of you cata has probably already fallen asleep and claudia is lying with her back to you "see nobody will notice anything if you are quiet mh"

she says and one of her fingers slips into your bikini top and gently pinches your nipple you squeal with pleasure

patri's other hand quickly slips to your mouth and squeezes tightly "i said you have to be quiet can you do that for me?" she asks looking at you with the sweetest puppy dog eyes

you sigh deeply and bring her hand that was just on your mouth to your thigh "i knew you could be a good girl you can prove it to me now" she laughs softly and places small kisses over your chest

her hand lifts your leg over hers and pulls you closer to her your whole lower body is now under her legs it would be impossible for anyone to see what patri's hand is doing there

she sucks on your exposed skin and her hand gently massages your inner thigh "patri please do something" she laughs in return.

patri's hand slowly slips into your pants and begins to massage your bundle of nerves you whimper quietly to yourself and try to suppress even the smallest sound

her circles get harder and your thigh closes tighter around her leg "tell me what you need bonita" she whispers to you and you fight with yourself to be quiet

"i need you inside me please" your wish was her command and without difficulty her middle finger slips into you

"fuck you are so wet is that all for me" she asks and has to suppress a little moan herself her finger presses gently and slowly into you so as not to strain you too much

you nod eagerly and catch a hard grip from her hand which makes you groan "use your words" she says and pokes her eyes into yours

"i'm so wet for you patri please fill me up completely" she smiles at your honesty and her grip loosens you slowly build yourself up and patri adds another finger which speeds up your breathing.

you start to moan and press your hand harder against your mouth patri's mouth is now further down and she pulls your bikini part to the side with her teeth and lays on the now free skin

your feelings take over and you start to fidget it's so hard for you to stay calm patri's fingers speed up and her thumb finds its way to your clitoris

your legs cramp up and patri holds you tight in her arms "shhh baby you are so good you take my fingers so well"

she says and looks you in the face she wants to see your full splendour when you come she feels how tight your walls get around her fingers it means you are close and patri knows that she knows your body better than you do

she says and looks you in the face she wants to see your full splendour when you cum she feels how tight your walls get around her fingers it means you are close and patri knows that she knows your body better than you do

your hips began to tremble and your hand around her shoulders bores into it your vision becomes blurred and all you can think about is your orgasm

"patri I'm getting closer"

you say moaning and patri gets faster your head falls into her neck and she tries to calm you down with all her strength "your pussy is so perfect for my fingers you are made for me“

your thoughts are going crazy everything patri says makes you crazy you feel like you are the only two peoples in the world

your legs start to tremble "just like that please don't stop i'm so close" you say moaning and rocking faster against her hand your orgasm builds hard and fast you haven't been this close in a long time

"cum for me bonita" patri says against your skin and with a few more pushes you cum over her whole hand your body becomes heavy against her and your legs are a trembling mess you lightly kick her hand away with your leg and slip a stick

your eyes are closed and patri lightly caresses your body you start to laugh and your chest rises and falls quickly

"patri you are so good i hope no one has noticed" you say laughing and give her a playful slap on the shoulder she gives you a little kiss on the forehead

"hey patri come into the pool your girlfriend can do without you" calls claudia from the other side and you laughingly push patri off the lounger

[princesskenny1998]

One Piece | Monkey D. Luffy x strawhat!reader ~ Attraction, PT.2

In the days following your confession, you noticed a shift in the atmosphere on the Sunny—particularly whenever Luffy was around. It was subtle at first, a lingering gaze here and there, a more self-assured presence in his step, but soon it became undeniable. Luffy was different, or at least, he had deliberately started showing a side of himself that left you both flustered and intrigued.

For as long as you’d known him, Luffy had always been the carefree, goofy captain, all smiles and boundless energy. He was innocent and blunt, with a heart as open as the sea. You had figured that there was something under that—a layer that seemed to shimmer just beneath the surface, like a secret he had decided to let you in on.

It started one afternoon when the ship was anchored in a calm stretch of ocean. Everyone was lounging about, and you were sitting on the deck with Nami, doing some casual sunbathing and chatting about the recent island adventures. Luffy, usually distracted by whatever caught his eye, suddenly made his way over to where you sat.

He stopped in front of you, the sun catching the shadow of his straw hat as he looked down, his expression—oddly enough—confident. "Hey," he said, his voice light but with a certain edge that made your stomach flutter. "Can you help me with something below deck?"

Nami raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing the change as well, but she said nothing, letting a curious smirk tug at her lips. You glanced up at him, surprised, but nodded. “Sure, Luffy,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant even as your pulse quickened.

He waited for you to get up, his eyes lingering just a second longer than usual on your bikini clad form, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. This wasn’t the Luffy you were used to—the boyish captain who would have demanded your help with a cheeky grin or playful pout. No, this was different. It was almost as if he was enjoying your attention, and your nervousness, and maybe even your curiosity.

You followed him down the stairs, the air growing quieter and more intimate as the two of you left the noise of the crew behind. He led you to a storeroom in the lower deck, where supplies were kept, and then stopped, turning to face you. The space was tight, just enough room for the two of you, and suddenly you were acutely aware of just how close you were standing.

“So… what did you need help with?” you asked, your voice a little breathless, and you cursed yourself for sounding so desperate.

Luffy’s lips quirked up into a mischievous smile, and he stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours with a focus that made your heart skip a beat. "Oh, nothing," he said, his tone light and teasing, but the way he looked at you made it clear—he knew exactly what he was doing. "I just wanted to see if you’d come with me."

You blinked, feeling your face heat up as the meaning behind his words sank in. He was toying with you, teasing you, and enjoying every second of it. It was like he had read you like a book, picking up on your fascination with that more confident side of him and decided to reveal just how much he had been holding back.

"You’re messing with me," you said, trying to keep your voice steady even as he took another step closer, his grin widening.

"Maybe," he said, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "Or maybe I just like seeing you get all hot and bothered."

Your breath hitched, and you felt a rush of warmth flood your face. Was this really happening? Was Luffy, of all people, actually flirting with you?

"Luffy," you started, searching for something to say, anything to break the tension, but he only moved closer, until he was barely a foot away from you.

"You said you thought I was hot," he said, his voice soft but teasing, and you could see that self-assured spark in his eyes—the one you had always suspected was there, but never quite seen so clearly. "Was that really true?"

His sudden intensity left you speechless. It was like he had turned your own words back on you, knowing exactly how to make your heart race. You wanted to respond, to say something clever or coy, but all you could do was nod, your voice failing you completely.

He grinned, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Good," he said simply, his tone lighter again as he backed off, leaving you standing there, breathless and dazed. “I like it when you look at me like that.”

And then, as if he hadn’t just completely turned your world upside down, he reached for a jar of pickles on the shelf behind you—the actual reason he had brought you down there, apparently—before winking and walking back upstairs, leaving you standing there, completely stunned.

Over the next few days, the teasing only got worse, and it became increasingly clear that Luffy wasn’t as clueless as he had always pretended to be. In fact, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

At dinner one night, he made a point of sitting next to you, his thigh brushing against yours under the table as he leaned in close to talk to you, his voice low and conspiratorial. You tried to focus on your food, on the conversation around you, but it was impossible with Luffy so near, his presence a warm, magnetic force that made you hyper-aware of every little movement.

"Pass the salt, will you?" he asked casually, but his fingers brushed yours as you handed it over, the brief contact sending a jolt of electricity through you.

It was a small thing, almost insignificant, but the way he looked at you when your eyes met—so calm and confident, as if he knew the effect he was having—left you blushing for the rest of the meal. Nami caught you staring more than once, a knowing smile tugging at her lips, but you ignored her, trying to act like everything was normal when your heart was racing a mile a minute.

Robin, meanwhile, seemed entirely amused by the situation. She would watch the interactions between you and Luffy with a faint smile, her gaze almost too perceptive, as if she was enjoying some kind of private joke. She never said a word, but you could tell she knew exactly what was going on—and that she approved.

The teasing escalated during training one morning. The crew had gathered on the deck to spar, a weekly routine to keep everyone sharp. Luffy, always competitive, challenged you to a one-on-one match, something he had never done before. It was usually Zoro or Sanji who ended up in his sparring games, but this time, he insisted it had to be you.

You had no choice but to agree, even though you knew he was stronger, faster, and way more experienced. It wasn’t about winning—it was about proving you weren’t intimidated by his recent antics, even if your heart was pounding at the thought of going up against him.

The match started with the usual banter, Luffy teasing you about how slow you were as you tried to land a hit. You swung and missed more times than you wanted to admit, but then something changed. Luffy’s playful grin turned into something sharper, more focused, and suddenly, he was in front of you, his hand catching your wrist mid-punch.

He pulled you closer, the momentum of your swing bringing you almost chest-to-chest with him, and you froze. His fingers were warm against your skin, his grip firm but not painful, and the way he looked at you in that moment—his eyes dark and intent—left you breathless.

"You’re not putting your weight into it," he said, his voice low and teasing, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist in a way that felt way too intimate for a sparring match.

"I—I’m trying!" you protested, struggling to keep your composure, but he just smiled, that maddeningly confident smile that made your knees feel weak.

He let go of your wrist slowly, almost reluctantly, his fingers grazing your palm before he stepped back, giving you space. "Then try harder," he said, his tone light again, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he moved away.

It was like he had flipped a switch, going back to the carefree Luffy everyone knew, but you knew better now. He was fully aware of the effect he had on you, and he was using it to his advantage—flirting with you in a way that was both infuriating and undeniably thrilling.

As the days passed, you found yourself looking forward to those moments—the teasing, the playful banter, the way Luffy’s gaze would linger on you just a second too long. It was like a game, one that only the two of you were playing, and though it made you feel like you were constantly walking a tightrope, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed it.

Luffy, for his part, seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. He would find excuses to be near you, to touch you—little gestures that would seem innocent to the rest of the crew, but meant so much more because of the unspoken understanding between you.

One evening, as the sun set over the ocean, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, you found yourself alone with Luffy on the deck. The others were inside, finishing dinner or relaxing in the galley, leaving the two of you in a rare moment of peace.

Luffy was leaning against the railing, his hat tipped back and a smile playing on his lips. He looked so relaxed, so effortlessly attractive in the fading light, and you couldn’t help but stare.

"Hey," he said suddenly, catching you off guard. He looked over at you, his eyes softening in a way that made your heart do a little flip. "You really do think I’m hot, don’t you?"

You froze, your breath hitching, but you couldn’t lie. Not now, not after everything that had happened. So you took a deep breath, feeling the truth settle in your chest, and nodded. "Yeah, I do," you said, your voice steady. "And I think you know exactly what you’re doing."

Luffy’s smile widened, slow and warm, and he pushed off the railing, closing the distance between you in a few easy steps. "Maybe I do," he said, his voice soft and full of something that made your heart race. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a gentleness that left you breathless.

"Good," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek as he held your gaze, and you could see it then—all of it. The warmth, the confidence, the playful mischief, and something deeper, something real.

"Because I think I like it when you look at me like that."

[httpiastri]

dating paul would include... ᰔᩚ

traveling during the breaks

obviously, if you date paul, you have to go on vacations with him. we've all seen his vacation pics from the summer (and winter) breaks, the pink swimming trunks and the linen shirts showing off his chest and shoulder muscles so beautifully. but not only are vacations with him great because you have the world's best piece of eye candy with you; you'd also have a blast with him.

going on vacation with paul means traveling around italy on a vespa, him driving you around as your arms are wrapped around his torso. the way your grip tightens and the sound of your squeals when he speeds up makes him bubbly, and if he feels stable enough, he places one of his hands on top of yours as he drives, fingers intertwining with yours.

it means you both deciding that your personal mission on the trip is to find the best pizza and pasta in the country, traveling around to different cities to experience and rank the restaurants with the highest ratings on the internet. it means midnight pizza runs to that place in the city that's open 24/7, forcing paul to taste the hawaiian slice you ordered despite how much he whines about pineapple not belonging on pizza. and it means visits to romantic little restaurants, not being able to say no to him when he suggests doing the 'lady and the tramp'-move with the spaghetti, both of you giggling until you're almost thrown out after accidentally bumping noses.

it means spending a lot of time at the beach, going swimming and sunbathing and just relaxing together. you cheer him on when he does his flips from cliffs and bridges, mostly watching from afar, but he always finds some way to trick you into coming up to the cliff with him – and then he always pulls you in with him. but you also go to the beach at night, walking barefoot along the shoreline and feeling the warm sand between your toes. you look at the stars together, his hand on your waist squeezing you close to him and his fingers drawing random figures into your skin as you point out the constellations to him. his lips pressing against your forehead as he hums, nodding along to whatever you're saying, is a confirmation that he's listening – even when he's more focused on your pretty lips and soft skin.

taking care of you

paul is very caring. he often comes off as cool and casual to other people, but the soft spot in his heart for you makes paul act a bit differently with you. whenever he's around you, he wants to make sure you know that you're the most important thing to him. he listens well, gives you advice when you come to him with issues, and he takes care of you in every way he can think of.

he's attentive, and after having known you for many years now, he knows what every subtle little sign of yours means. he can tell when you're only pretending to be happy, when you're uncomfortable, when you need something; he can read you like an open book. therefore, it doesn't come as a big surprise when he notices how quickly you're getting drunk on one night out.

it starts off lightly, with you sipping slowly on some kind of fruity drink while chatting off with dino's girlfriend, growing more relaxed for every passing minute. paul notices instantly, but he lets it slide – you're in a club, after all, and you're all there to drink. the drinks turn into shots, and the chats turn into showing off your moves on the dance floor, while paul merely sits at your table and watches you with a big grin on his face. through the night, he keeps ordering glasses of water that he helps you down in-between your drinks. but despite his services, it doesn't take too long before you get a little too 'tipsy', walking up to him with wobbly legs and such a soft expression on your face.

"paulie!" you exclaim as you come up to stand next to where he's sitting. he notices instantly – you only call him that when you're drunk. "did you see my moves?"

paul nods, a little smile taking over his lips. "you were great." one of his hands reach up to your waist, pulling you a little closer. "how are you feeling?"

"lovely!" you turn your head to the side, looking out on the dance floor again. "i think i'm going to go back, it's so much fun, you should come with me, we can dance and-"

the sound of a chuckle leaving his mouth makes you stop in your ramble, eyes darting back at him instantly. "i think we should go now, actually."

"go where?"

"to your apartment. or mine, or-"

"why?"

paul shakes his head, grinning from ear to ear. "because you're drunk, sweetheart."

you frown – you're having so much fun, why leave now? "that makes no sense."

"maybe it does, maybe it doesn't." paul places his other hand on your waist too, and his hands squeeze your sides. "let me take you home and take care of you. please?"

you cross your arms over your chest, huffing. "what's in it for me?"

"well," he snickers. "i'll give you as many kisses as you want. and i'll help you with your skincare." the way his fingers dance up and down your ribs tickles, and the tingling sensation is so immense you can't hold back a smile. "i'll even massage your feet, since they must be dead after dancing so much in those shoes."

you can't hold up the sulky act anymore, so you take his hands in yours and nod. "only if you give me a kiss now, too. just so i know what i can expect."

a laugh bubbles from his chest as he stares at you in complete adoration. he lets you pull him up so he's standing, before he engulfs your face in his hands and gives you a sweet smooch.

paul is a good man, so he keeps his promises. when you fall asleep in the cab, all worn out from dancing, he carries you carefully up to his apartment and makes sure not to wake you up, before tucking you in between the sheets. he gets a makeup wipe from the bathroom – it's better than nothing, he thinks – trying his best to be as detailed in his cleaning yet not rough enough to wake you up. he massages your feet for a few minutes, hoping that it'll make some difference in the morning. and even if you're not conscious enough to remember it, he does give you tons of kisses. on your forehead, your cheeks, your temple, the corner of your lips.

paul is a caring, lovestruck fool, and his soft heart beats only for you.

race rituals

surprisingly enough, paul likes to be structured and have the same schedule & rituals before a race. he may seem like someone who doesn't care, someone who's extremely easy-going, but it's the rituals before he even gets to the track that let him be carefree.

on media days and the fridays of the weekends, a lot of people assume he's got a devil-may-care kind of attitude. he's often spotted joking around with dino, throwing american footballs with karl, or just chilling on the floor of the prema truck. on the earlier parts of the week, he eases up – but the moment he sits down in the car before quali on friday, he switches his focus. he's completely and fully zoned in for the racing.

when he's done with qualifying, the first thing he needs is to have his debrief with his trainers. depending on the result of the session, the debrief can be lighthearted or serious, but the driving always needs to be discussed. then he needs to confirm tomorrow's schedule, to make sure it's all set and ready to go. and lastly, he needs to talk to you.

you always find some secluded corner of the paddock, sitting together on the floor with one of his arms draped around your shoulders. you don't need to talk about the qualifying itself; if it's gone badly, he'll ask you what you've done all day, what you had for lunch, and which drivers you've seen around the paddock. but if it's gone well, he won't shut up about it. he'll tell you about all of the corners he got the most out of, what parts of the track he could've improved in, and how he felt when his trainers praised him on the radio. all this while you're holding his free hand, playing with his fingers and resting your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeats all the way in to your own heart.

he has a routine for the mornings before races, too. they all start in the hotel room after he wakes up. first, he brushes his teeth. then, he needs to make sure all of his necessities are packed; race suit, shoes, gloves, anything else he might need. then, he always has the same breakfast.

all steps of his routine are important, but his most important ritual is the one that includes you.

the one thing he needs the most right before he leaves through the hotel room door is a hug from you. he needs you to hold him tight, press your lips to his cheek, and whisper to him that he'll do well. he needs you to assure him that no matter what, you're there for him and you believe in him. with your trust, he can do anything.

post-season comfort

paul desperately needed encouragement.

after spa, and especially after the season finale in monza, things felt extra rough for him. it was hard for him to recover from the fact that everything had slipped through his fingers. sure, he put on a big smile when congratulating gabriel and zak for p1 and p2 in the championship, and he was genuinely happy that prema won the teams championship. but he couldn't help but to feel... sour. he believed that he deserved that win, or at least the second place. if only he hadn't been so unlucky...

you see right through him, of course. no matter how hard he pretends that he's fine, that it doesn't matter and that he's fine with third place in the championship, you don't believe it. you know him, and you'd do anything to help take his mind off things, to get him to stop overthinking it.

post-season means a lot of sessions in the gym and even more time spent on the sim, preparing for everything that's to come and trying to work on the weaknesses that showed this past season. it's very physically demanding, and in combination with the disappointment from his championship standings, it leaves him exhausted most of the time.

but whenever he's free, you see it as your duty to take him away from it all. the stress, the racing, the pressure. you know that deep down, he does love it; racing is his life for a reason. but you also see how worn out he is, how his smile doesn't really meet his eyes anymore, how persistent the bags under his eyes are. sometimes, the emotions can be too much, and you love to help him out even just a little.

so, every day off, you plan something for him. you go rock climbing, swimming, stargazing. you go on road trips to nearby cities, sightseeing and pretending to be tourists even in areas you've been to hundreds of times. you drag him along to the spa to get massages and to just relax, and he ends up being the one who refuses to leave, despite how he groaned about not wanting to go beforehand. you even take him to race in go-karts, to show him that racing still can be fun and that it doesn't always need to be super competitive (because you threaten him and say that if he speeds away from you in the first straight, there's no way he's getting any kisses, so he has to pretend like he's slow).

it's not like paul doesn't understand what you're doing; he's fully aware of your plans, and he finds them completely adorable. one night, as you're about to part after a romantic dinner date, he stops you on your porch just as you're about to go into your home.

he wraps you in his arms, hugging you close as a deep sigh leaves his chest. he relaxes, his whole body just melting into you as he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck. "thank you," he whispers, his words tickling your skin and his lips brushing the space behind the back of your ear. "i really needed this."

maybe you're reading too much into it, but you know there's so much hiding behind those words. it's not often that he opens up about racing, so you're grateful for every little moment of it, even if it's minimal. "you deserve the world", you tell him, because it’s true. to you, he’s the most precious thing in the world. and by the way he smiles at you, eyes filled with so much gratitude and so much love, you can tell he feels the same way about you.

oscar piastri version ll ollie bearman version ll f2/f3 masterlist

author's note: very long overdue lol. just like the oscar smut rotting away in my drafts. anyway, i miss paul so much it hurts. looking at old gifs of him and just crying. hope u have a good day too <3

[lazycats-stuff]

Since Christmas is coming up, I wanted to request that Aussie reader that gets rly annoyed because he has to celebrate Christmas in the winter and not the summer with prawns and pavlova.

Just batbro getting so pouty because it’s cold and snowy (idk I haven’t rly been in snow) and hates it.

Also wanted to ask you, what season are you celebrating in? Summer or Winter? You don’t have to answer but I’m just curious.

Well my anon... Christmas is long gone, but that doesn't mean we can't have Christmas! Although I am the Grinch, but hey. Also, I celebrate Christmas during the winter, but it's been years since it snowed on Christmas... Also, this gif is adorable. And cool. And thank you all for 1.7k followers... The fact you like my writing is still a mind blowing thing to me.

Summary: (Y/N) is Australian who celebrates Christmas during the winter. He hates it.

Warnings: minor swearing, (Y/N) is grumpy, the fam is amused.

Being from Australia made someone a bit more tougher when it came to certain things. Such as snakes and spiders. (Y/N) was used to them and considered them roommates sometimes. Of course, moving from Australia to the good ol' US of A, wasn't an easy change. First one being the ruckus and sensitivity about alcohol.

While being 18, you can enlist in the army and die for your country, but can't drink? (Y/N) thought it was ridiculous. Despite still being underage, but legally an adult, he loved to sip some wine and beer... But Alfred and Bruce always made a ruckus about it. (Y/N) thought that Alfred would be on his side since Alfred is from the UK and they also drink underage...

(Y/N) has never felt so betrayed before.

Secondly, the summers were bad in Australia, especially on the coastal areas of Australia. (Y/N) grew up in Sydney and summers were pretty hellish back there. Here? For Australian standards, these Gotham summers are bearable. Sure, the summers may be from December to February. Yes, Australia has it all flipped around.

(Y/N)'s brothers thought that he was insane with how well he was handling the heat well. (Y/N) never told them that the heat in Sydney was that bad, but the outback and the central parts of Australia are hell on Earth. As if (Y/N) would reveal his secret. The temperatures were perfect...

But there was only slight issue with living in the USA as an Australian. Only one. It's a pretty big one as well.

Everyone knows that Australians celebrate their Christmas during their summer. A summer that begins in the month of December and where people are actually on the beach, enjoying the warm weather with their favorite classic desserts, one of the best examples being a cake called Pavlova.

That is also (Y/N)'s favorite dessert and often makes it when he wants to feel like Christmas is coming. Especially during the summer when he knew that he couldn't celebrate Christmas during the warm weather. That was his substitute Christmas. Winters in Gotham... Well...

He didn't like it. At all. He absolutely hated it. December should be warm, sunny, warm enough so you can go out and enjoy the warmth, maybe even swim! Make snowmen out of sand... Well, then they would be called sandmen. (Y/N) was depressed and sad, to say the least. You know the term seasonal depression?

(Y/N) felt it every single time when December rolled around. Instead of a beautiful sunny day, day filled with warmth, spent on a beach, not bundled in milion layers of clothes...

Not this Gotham winter... Not this snow either. (Y/N) absolutely hated it. Absolutely. While the entire America was looking forward to Christmas, (Y/N) was grumbling in his room, looking out the window, the way that the snow fell. (Y/N) frowned.

At this time, in Australia, he would be eating his Pavlova and his beloved prawns. That's what he would be doing... Just sunbathing. Making sandmen. Eating his beloved Pavlova... And his prawns...

He prefers warmth over this stupid snow. He would give anything to go back to Australia, to Sydney and enjoy Christmas on a sunny beach... Maybe he can take one of Bruce's private jets... Pull something off as well... But only Bruce is allowed to even use them and has numbers of the pilots...

And where is (Y/N) going to find a pilot? Craigslist?

Hell no.

So he quietly puts up with it. December, with January and February, are the hottest months in Australia... And here, on the other side of the world, they are the coldest.

And that's why (Y/N) was moping the kitchen while the rest of the family decorated the tree. He hated this festive feeling in this cold weather.

His Australian mind couldn't comprehend this. Just... Happy in the cold? What is that type of bullshit?

" (Y/N)? Why are you moping? And why do you look so sad, as if someone killed something you enjoy? " Bruce asked as he came into the kitchen, getting a cup of coffee.

" Someone did kill something I enjoy. " (Y/N) muttered.

" Oh? " Bruce asked, smile appearing behind his mug, knowing exactly what (Y/N) was talking about, but choose to stay quiet about it. " And what that might be? " Bruce asked, making (Y/N) scoff.

" You know exactly what I mean B and what makes me so pissed during this winter. " (Y/N) grumbled, crossing his arms.

" Well, it's not my problem that Australia is so messed up. " Bruce said and (Y/N) raised his eyebrows.

" The hell is that supposed to mean? " (Y/N) asked, not sure to be offended or amused, since Australia is pretty weird, that much was true.

" The seasons are all twisted. Australian summer is in the winter months, the winter is in summer months... You get my gist. " Bruce said and (Y/N) scoffed. " And besides, what is so bad about snow? " Bruce added, making (Y/N) scoff even louder.

" What is so bad about snow? It's cold, it melts, it's not fun, it's gross... Do you want me to keep going? It's better when I was back in Australia, celebrating it on the beach, in the sand... " (Y/N) stated and Bruce laughed, ruffling (Y/N)'s hair.

" I know, I know. But it's not that bad here. Snow is not that bad. Sure it is the pure opposite of sand and it's warmth during the summer. You can make snow angels, snowmen, throw snowballs at your brothers... " Bruce said, trying to appease to (Y/N).

" Well, I can't go swim can I? Everything is cold and frozen. I can't do anything in the snow. I can only freeze to death and stay inside. " (Y/N) grumbled, still not happy with this type of Christmas. " It's bullshit. That's what it is. "

" You are lucky that Alfred isn't here, otherwise you would have gotten an Alfred glare for that swearing. " Bruce said, sipping more of his coffee. " Also, is some sort of coldness really that bad? Is snow that bad? " Bruce asked, making (Y/N) laugh.

" For an Australian, snow on Christmas is sacrilegious. Like, a cardinal sin. We celebrate the Christmas on our beaches, during hot weather. Not during this snow and winter... Complete and utter bullshit this is."

" You just need to adjust. " Bruce said and (Y/N) rolled his eyes, just as everyone else walked in.

" Oh (Y/N), snow is not that bad on Christmas. " Jason stated.

" It is! " (Y/N) retorted.

Tim and Dick chuckled and Damian shook his head in amusement.

" I can't believe that you can't understand me! " (Y/N) whined and Damian chuckled quietly.

And that's how the evening was spent, teasing (Y/N) about his hatred for snow. And they even let (Y/N) put the star on the top of the tree.

" Come on, lets watch Home alone. " Bruce said, patting a spot on the couch next to him. (Y/N) laughed sarcastically, but he complied, making sure to wrap himself in a warm blanket, making sure to have his beloved Pavlova nearby. "

" I want my prawns tomorrow. " (Y/N) stated out of nowhere, making everyone laugh.

" Of course, I'll get some for you. " Bruce said, putting his arm over (Y/N)'s shoulders, making sure to bring him closer, to try and give him some comfort.

" Wait, where is Alfred? " (Y/N) asked, confused.

" Went home to see his family. " Bruce explained briefly.

" Ah. "