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slightlypossessed · 5 days

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holy hell!!! it keeps getting better and better!!!

Right hand III

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: After Feyd learns the truth about your dark past, you do everything in your power to prove your loyalty to him. He has many ideas for this... but will your life be able to go back to normal after that? You will either die at his hands, be exiled, return to the Bene Gesseit, or live by his side. And you yourself don't even know which of these options is worse... Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

His dagger digs lightly into your neck, blood slowly trickling down it. You don't try to fight him, you don't push the blade away or try to rip it out of his hand. You know that if you did, you would have been killed by him long ago.

You had to play it smart… and fast—before he slit your throat, which was becoming a more likely scenario with every second.

"Feyd…" You choke out once more, trying to make him look you in the eyes and get him to listen to you. The blood is seeping out of you faster and faster as he presses the blade harder against your throat.

"Silience, witch! You little plague, bane of my existence, poisonous viper, how long have you been playing with me? How long have you been faking all this? Did you think you could outsmart me? That you can deceive me? Make fun of me? Humiliate me? I should fuck you raw, use you like a whore, and leave you in your ridiculous sisterhood to rot with those old hags!" He shouts, pressing his blade harder against your throat. The cool steel of the metal on your skin is becoming a more serious threat to your life. You shiver as you feel him taking more blood from you.

"Feyd, listen…" You try to speak again, placing your hand on his wrist. He pushes your hand away as if it posed a radioactive threat greater than anything floating in Giedi Prime's atmosphere and glares at you furiously.

"NO! You lied to me. You betrayed me. You know how I punish people for disloyalty. You're lucky that I won't throw you to my soldiers so they can play with you before I give you to my harpies. But don't worry, I will take very good care of you. You'll die like those cowardly rats you helped me kill a few hours ago…"

"You... you would... kill me... if I told you... at the beginning..." You gasp as he grabs your neck tightly and drags his blade down your body, creating a trail of blood leading to your collarbone.

"I will kill you now." He growls hoarsely, completely cutting off the air from your respiratory tract.

Your eyes widen as he lifts you off the ground so that only your toes touch the floor. Tears well up in your eyes as you desperately try to draw in air, but his hand is wrapped too tightly around your neck for the oxygen to reach your lungs.

When you realised that it was over and that he had decided on your death, the moment that Lady Jessica told him the whole truth about you, you relaxed. You let a blissful emptiness wash over you as you slowly waited for him to take your life away. You close your eyes, rest your head against the wall behind you, and let your body slowly go limp as the seconds pass without air.

You gasp, surprised, as the grip on your neck loosens so that you can take small, ragged breaths. You quickly take advantage of the opportunity and take a few shaky breaths. You open your eyes, staring into Feyd's icy blue and furious gaze in utter shock.

Was he going to play with you before he killed you? Torture, like many before you, until he finds in himself some mercy and takes your life? Because if you know one thing, it's that you won't beg him to let you go. About nothing. Never. You were too proud to do so.

"Fight." He growls, pressing you harder against the wall. He leans forward, bringing his face very close to yours. You shiver, feeling his breath on your cheek as he carefully observes your reaction to his intimidation. Like a snake waiting for the right moment to attack.

"What?" You ask stupidly, not understanding what he is doing. You've often watched him play with his victims, prolonging their suffering and giving them no hope of escaping his grip... so why does he want you to fight? Why does he want you to resist him? Was this another sick game of his?

"Fight! Scream! Struggle! Why are you not doing anything?! Why don't you beg for your miserable life, Bene Gesserit's spy?! Fight with me! Fight back! FIGHT BACK!!" He screams and throws you against the wall.

Completely unprepared for him to completely release you from his grip, you fall to the floor, too weak to keep your balance on your own. You place your hands on the black metal sheet beneath you and breathe quickly, trying to get as much air as possible before he wraps his hand around your throat again.

"I… I was always… loyal… to you…" You gasp, still trying to recover from what just happened. He walks slowly towards you. He presses the tip of his sword under your chin and forces you to lift your head and look him in the eyes.

“You have five minutes before I treat you like I treat your mentor. Use this time well. I can always get bored and kill you faster.” He takes a step back and slowly slides the blade across your skin. He steps away from you to pour himself a drink, but he keeps watching you out of the corner of his eye. You take one brief glance at Lady Jessica's body before you can compose yourself enough to formulate any logical response.

"I... I have no idea what she told you. Where she lied and where it was convenient for her to tell the truth... but whatever she told you I did... she surely doesn't know the one, most important thing. She doesn't know the reason for my actions."

"Oh, but I do. You wanted to run away from them so you wouldn't have to breed with such a monster as me. You thought that as my right hand, you would be safe, that I wouldn't notice you in the shadows, that I wouldn't want you, and that I wouldn't touch you. But I did. And by doing so, I destroyed your plans. Tell me, how many times have you escaped from Giedi Prime in your fantasies? How many times have you wanted to leave for good?"

With each question he asks, he takes a step towards you, which makes him stand in front of you again. But you didn't get up from the floor. You didn't feel like it. Besides, you doubted he would let you stand up and be on an equal level with him. He needed to feel in control, to feel that he is still dominating over you—that he didn't lose control over you despite your... betrayal. Although you didn't think it was any kind of betrayal at all. A slight omission of a few facts. Nothing more.

"I... you can't blame me for that. Anyone with survival instincts would not willingly live on Giedi Prime. But I stayed." You decide to tell him some of the truth this time. For too long, you managed to play your cards well. You had to bend a little to his will without losing your claw and not behaving like an obedient concubine, wanting to fulfil all his orders and wishes, because that would make him more suspicious, and he would definitely kill you for trying to deceive him and lie to him again.

"You stayed out of fear." He questions your words, keeping his watchful, piercing gaze on you as he tries to find in you any trace of lying.

You almost shiver under the furious gaze of his icy blue eyes. Fortunately, you manage to refrain from showing him any reaction. The metallic scent of Lady Jessica's blood motivated you to survive like nothing had before. You somehow manage to recall some of your lessons and training sessions with her as you think about how to respond to Feyd's words. Maybe her methods and rules didn't keep her alive, but unlike her, you knew Feyda-Rautha too damn well. You could get out of this. You just had to play it smart and sacrifice a few things…

"Out of loyalty to you. Sense of duty and honor. Something I thought we both shared." You say confidently, meeting his gaze bravely.

However, your attitude does not impress him at all. He lazily turns the dagger in his hands, playing with the sharp blade. He doesn't take his eyes off you, even for a moment. He just stands there, maintaining a completely calm and unruffled demeanor. It's hard to imagine now that just a moment ago, this man was overcome with the greatest anger of his entire life. You've seen him in many states, but you have never seen him that mad. Rabban may have been called a beast by others, but the real threat was his younger brother. Especially when his first anger was over and it was time for the cold calculation of revenge.

“Was that loyalty and sense of duty also present in you when you chose to ignore the fact that you were supposed to be mine? That you are destined to give me an heir so strong that the whole world will kneel before him?” This time, you can't help but shudder. He notices this and chuckles darkly, shaking his head. In a split second, the tip of his blade is once again pressed on the thin and delicate skin of your throat. You swallow, and when you meet his gaze, you realise that you have to tell the truth if you don't want to die on your knees in front of him.

"If your uncle told you to marry me and have your offspring with me, would you do it?" A frown appears on his forehead at the mere mention of the baron. His hand trembles slightly as a new wave of rage washes over him.

"What does he have to do with this?" He asks hoarsely, as he suspects you of working with his uncle. After all, you were smart enough to play both sides.

Feyd wouldn't be surprised if you reported everything he was doing to his uncle behind his back. That's why he preferred having you—a cunning, beautiful witch who was now kneeling before him—by his side. Because you were drop-dead perfect. He never expected you to make such a stupid mistake. To ever let him gain even the slightest doubt about your loyalty.

"Nothing. But the Bene Gesserit were to me what your uncle is to you. And after running away from them, the last thing I wanted to do was follow the last sick order they gave me." The years you spent with him gave you enough information about the family relationship at House Harkonnen.

They are like predators waiting for the right moment to attack, always prepared to hurt the other one when he shows even a tiny glimmer of weakness. You also know Feyd's past... or rather, the history of scars on his back. Unfortunately, these were not the only marks the baron left on him.

You hold your breath as he grabs your hair and pulls you up. You get up on your feet, and, being on an equal level with him, you no longer hesitate to look him in the eye. He releases your hair with the other, only to move it to your cheek and neck. He rubs tiny droplets of blood across yours, shifting his attention to your skin. He caresses your jawline with his finger and suddenly tilts your head back, giving himself a better view of your reddened throat, which has begun to form bruises in the shape of his fingers from how he choked you just moments ago. You swallow, watching him closely.

"And yet you served me for many years. You stayed with me after they wanted to link your future with mine. Why?"

“I was hoping the last place they would look for me would be Giedi Prime by your side. And that… after all, you won't be interested in me.”

"But I was. This must have spoiled your plans, right?"

"A little." You confess, hoping to gain something from your honesty.

After your words, there is a long silence in the room. He removes his hand from you, staring intently at you as he considers your words. You wait in suspense and anticipation for his next decision.

One quick move was enough to take your life.

And from the look in his eyes, you know it must have been tempting for him to add your blood to Lady Jessica's, which was already staining the floor of the ship.

"On your knees." His command is so sudden that it takes you a moment for your brain to process what he said.

All you can do is stare at him blankly, your heart beating with excitement and terror at the thought of his words. He didn't want to… he couldn't now… You look down at his pants and swallow, seeing the slight bulge. You hold your breath as he takes a step towards you and presses his hard length against your thigh, which undoubtedly confirms your suspicions. He lifts your chin with two fingers, forcing you to look into his eyes as you blush and realise what he is asking you to do.

"I love your doe eyes, my pet, but there's a time and a place for everything. On your knees or your heart will become another decoration of my chambers." He says it huskily, caressing your chin before letting go. He stares at you expectantly, waiting for your next move.

You swallow again, feeling a huge lump in your throat. Your mind is racing, but you know, as he does, that you have no escape. Your position is hopeless; you can either give him a blowjob or die, and you don't want to do any of it. Or touch him in any way after he disembowelled Lady Jessica in front of you. But the prospect of being his next victim reluctantly brings you to your knees before him.

"Good girl." He hums, tilting your chin slightly so you're looking at him and not the floor between you. He takes a step towards you and attaches the dagger to his arm. "Show me that your beautiful, deceptive, tempting lips, throat, and larynx can do more than feed me with sweet lies, and maybe I won't cut them out of you."

You hold your breath, your eyes trailing down to his pants. You hear him chuckle darkly before he takes your hands in his and places them on the fastenings of his pants, guiding your hands as you gradually free his length from his armour.

You swallow again at the sight of his full, hard length and curse him, as the rumours about him do not lie at all. He was enormous. Long and not too thick, but not thin either. You don't know if you'd rather he tried to cut your throat with a knife than pierce it with what stood proud between you.

"Rumours say you know how to do it. I don't remember how many soldiers I killed for the privilege of having your body before me. But each of them shared one opinion. Your fire burns as bright in battle as it does in the bedroom. Show me, my little witch, how much you care about continuing to be my right hand and having all the privileges you had." He encourages you mockingly when you stare at his slightly pre-cum-dripping cock for too long for his liking. But damn, his cum was black. You were sure as hell that the bastard was going to paint you with it.

You give him an angry, cold glare as you wrap your hand around his length. He lets out a soft moan, grabbing your jaw to make sure you keep your eyes on his. You swallow, stroking his length with slow movements of your hand as he gets even harder. Part of you is glad that he wants you to look at him. You doubt you could keep your composure if you had to look at what you had to fit in your mouth… and hopefully only in your mouth.

He growls when you drag out the inevitable too long, using only your hands on him. You can see that he likes what you're doing, but the impatience radiating from him makes you realise that it won't end with just a few caresses of your hands around his length.

Reluctantly, you lean down and wrap your lips around his tip, sucking him gently—like candy. You taste his pre-cum on your tongue, surprisingly taking in its… not-so-horrible taste. It's bittersweet on your tongue and thick. You shudder at the thought of what he would feel like inside you.

He groans, burring his hands in your hair as he gently pushes you on him to make you take more of his cock into your mouth. You choke as his length suddenly hits the back of your throat. Surprisingly, he stops pushing you and just keeps his hands in your hair, letting you adjust to his full length.

"I've always liked your hair..." He starts tugging on them to correct your rhythm. "A natural leash for my beautiful, dangerous pet..."

You growl around him in anger at his words. He groans throatily, feeling his cock twitch in your mouth at the extra stimulation he got from you. You feel tears slowly begin to well up in your eyes as he allows himself to move his hips more and more, lazily thrusting into your throat. Your saliva mixes with his pre-cum, staining the corners of your mouth.

It amazes you how gentle he is with you. How he doesn't push you too far so as not to cause you the pain you know he loves to enjoy. More than once, you had to call the medic to his concubines. Even his harpies occasionally got injured when he used them for his pleasure after a particularly exciting fight. You knew how… he could get lost in his pleasure. Yet he was extremely careful with you.

He starts thrusting into your throat faster and faster, guiding your head by your hair in time with his thrusts. You let your tears fall as he picked up a pace you couldn't keep up with. You close your eyes and feel a tear roll down your cheek. You open them, meeting his gaze, when you feel his thumb brush away your falling tear. He licked it off his finger, purring at its salty flavour.

You wrap your hands around his balls, massaging them in a circular motion, trying to make him come as quickly as possible. He laughs throatily, pounding stupidly into your mouth. Your jaw starts to hurt. You prop yourself up on his thigh with one hand, unable to stay on your knees for long on your own.

Seeing that you're having difficulty, he slows down a little, lazily digging into your throat. He luxuriated in the warmth of your mouth, and your tongue caressed his length. His gaze never falters, as he maintains eye contact with you the entire time. He strokes your cheek with his hand, then moves to your throat as he gently uses his fingertips to feel the bulge in your throat caused by his cock.

"I'll take you. Fast and hard. You'll cry as beautifully as you do now and writhe beneath me desperately, trying to escape like always, but you'll be so impaled on my cock and wrapped in the tight embrace of my arms that you won't move a fucking millimetre without my permission. I will fuck into you our Kwisatz Haderach, so no one will ever doubt that it should have been otherwise, that you don't belong with me. And the best of all is that you will not know the damn day or hour when it will happen. You will learn how to be my whore and baroness, just like you learned how to be my right hand. You'll do great, my little witch. You prove very well with your mouth and hands what a wonderful right hand you are. Much better than my own fucking hand. Much better than any of the fantasies I had. My little witch, always attending to my every need. Only fucking mine."

He moans, speeding up drastically, chasing his peak. You feel him getting closer to his orgasm as he becomes impossibly harder in your mouth and his balls tighten, ready to release his black cum. He keeps making you look at him until he growls loudly, coming into your mouth.

Earlier, you were gagging with just his length in your mouth. Now you really choke as his seed spills down your throat. He presses you against him, your nose brushing against his pubic bone, making you swallow all of his cum until it's completely inside you. Its taste is pungent, reminding you of a spicy, bitter spice.

He stays in your mouth for a while after he finishes pouring into you. He massages your scalp with his hands, clearly not wanting to release you. His cock twitches slightly, and you fear he's about to give you a second round.

He sighs, reluctantly pulling out of your mouth. He grabs your hands and guides them to his pants. You cleaned him and put him back in his pants without saying a word. You are not even looking into his eyes, knowing full well that a satisfied smile will spread across his lips the moment you do.

He grabs your arms and lifts you off your knees. You shiver, unable to stay on your two feet after being on your knees for so long, and you fall into his arms, leaning completely against him. He laughs huskily, pulling you closer to his chest. He uses his fingertip to collect the last of your saliva and his cum from the corners of your mouth and pushes his fingers into your mouth. You suck on them, meeting his eyes with your defiant, angry gaze.

He hums, smiling darkly as he watches with satisfaction as you lick his fingers. He leans forward, his nose brushing your cheek as he licks from your face and then from your neck the droplets of his black cum that leaked from your mouth as you tried to swallow everything he poured into you. You shiver as his tongue caresses the skin of your neck, tracing the small, sealed wound he inflicted on you with his dagger. He hums against your neck, disappointed at how quickly your blood clots.

Suddenly, he lets you completely go. You can barely keep your balance as he walks away from you.

"If that Atreides' bitch survived, so did her pathetic puppy. Send a message to our people in the desert. Paul Atredis is alive. We have to kill him before he and the rebels start a revolt and destroy our plans. Clean up here too. Tomorrow we have half a tribe of these rats to interrogate."

You nod dumbly, trying to understand what the hell just happened. Just a few hours ago, you were afraid for your life, and now that you... have pleased him, he acts like nothing has happened. You come to the conclusion that it bothered you more than when he pressed his blade against your throat.

"Ah, and Y/N." He says, stopping at the door and turning to look at you one last time before leaving the room. You can tell by the mischievous smile on his lips that he has nothing good planned for you. "I want to see you in my chambers tonight."

He doesn't wait for your reaction or response. He just walks out with a springy, energetic step, closing the door behind him with a bang.

You shiver as you find yourself alone in the room with Lady Jessica's corpse. You look around, and, in a desperate attempt to find some positives, you decide that at least your blood isn't staining the floor of the ship... or at least not yet.

His chambers in the main base on Arrakis are not as... ornately terrifying as those he had in Giedi Prime. You wouldn't guess that someone important lived there. It was an ordinary room with a bed, a chest of drawers, and a bathroom. No amenities, just a commander's room; definitely too poor for a na-baron.

You shiver as you feel his hand on your hip. He pulls you to his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose in your hair. He sighs, inhaling your scent. The warm air on your neck is tickling you gently. You think about how it's been too easy for him to sneak up on you lately. You've gone out of shape.

"Are you planning how to escape, little witch?" He whispers hoarsely, playing with the fabric of your nightgown.

"I didn't. And believe me, I had better opportunities in the past. So why would I escape now?" You answer his question with your own one, irritated by his suspicions.

"Because unlike me, you are very reluctant to welcome our Kwisatz Haderach into this world." You roll your eyes at his words and turn your head to give him an annoyed look. He shrugs with a smirk. He presses a kiss on the bare skin of your shoulder before resting his chin on it. "You're obviously trying to distance yourself from me, too." He adds, seeing the irritated frown on your forehead.

“Weren't you the one who thought the Bene Gesserit prophecies were just bullshit from stoned old women?” You ask, raising your eyebrows in challenge.

"I did… but this particular one seems very convincing..." He purrs into your neck. He moves one hand from your hip so his finger can trace the red line of the wound he gave you with the dagger. He tilted your head back, forcing you to rest your head on his shoulder as he placed a trail of kisses on the small scar.

"Where are your harpies?" You ask when he starts showing too much interest in your neck, peppering it with kisses.

"Should I call them? Would you like them to join us?" You wrinkle your nose, at which he laughs, amused, tightening his hold on you.

"Of course not. You know that I have... no sympathy for them." You grumble, trying to break free from his grip, which, of course, he won't let you.

"The feeling is mutual. You know, they think you're stealing me from them. And that I will quickly get bored with you, like with other... oriental pets I had, and I will come back to them."

"What are you waiting for, then?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. He chuckles darkly, shaking his head. His hand plays with the strap of your black sleep gown, gently stroking your bare skin. He leans down, nuzzling your temple, and whispers in your ear:

“The problem is, my dear little witch, that you have taken over every ounce of my thoughts. My dreams, my nights, my days… it seems only right that I get back the time I wasted dreaming about you, right?”

You shiver, both from his words and from the way his hand slides over your body like a snake. He strokes your breasts, taking a moment to focus on them before his hand rests on your hips again. He presses you against him, clinging to you like a second skin.

"Let's go to bed. It was a very long day. For both of us..." He says, directing you towards his bed. You resist him slightly by digging your heels into the floor, but he quickly counters this by lifting you up gently, leaving your feet dangling in the air.

"Wouldn't you rather sleep alone? It's pretty warm here." You try to get out of it one last time, feeling the soft silk of his black sheets beneath you as he gently places you on his bed. He laughs mockingly, amused by your poor attempt at escape.

"Not at night. You know that well. I'd rather keep an eye on you, little witch. We don't know what monsters may be lurking in the darkness of Arrakis after we killed the Reverend Mother of those rats." He purrs, laying down next to you. You sigh as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him, knowing full well that your safety is the last thing he's worried about right now.

"If Paul Atreides survived, it is very likely that he could be Muad'Dib. He will come here. To avenge his mother and unborn sister." You warned him. You're trying to make this situation more… normal. Lying in his bed and in his arms wasn't the least bit normal for you, but making plans with him was. You needed to keep your mind occupied until you could fall asleep… if he let you fall asleep.

"You didn't stop me from killing her. You didn't say a word. Why? Were you afraid you'd be next?"

You shake your head. You're not going to tell him the whole truth about what you felt back then, but you know you can't lie to him. You have to tell him at least half the truth if you want to regain some of his trust... at least until you escape.

"Lady Jessica believed that Paul was the real Kwisatz Haderach, since she gave Duke Leto a son instead of a daughter. The Bene Gesserit resented her for this. She was supposed to give him a daughter. A daughter who was to marry you and give you a real Kwisatz Haderach. By disobeying their orders, she fell into their disfavour... until she gave them the idea that they might as well... fuse me with you to secure your bloodline. But the Bene Gesserit came up with the idea that I was going to be the mother of the Kwisatz Haderach. If I hadn't gone with you that night... I might as well have died at her hands. I… I guess I was glad that I survived her."

Not looking at his face helps you partially open up to him. You didn't like remembering your past. This was the one thing you had in common. You try your best to reveal as little to him as you have to, unconsciously tracing patterns in his hand as he keeps hugging you from behind. If you turned around, you would have seen his small smile at your gesture quickly disappear as he sensed the growing tension within you at the thought of Lady Jessica.

"If I had known, I would have made it more painful for her." He states, taking your hand in his and squeezing it. You look down at your joined hands and frown as he slowly strokes the skin of your hand with his thumb.

"Why?" You ask in a whisper, not moving an inch when he buries his nose in your hair.

"Because no one hurts what's mine."You snort, knowing full well the true meaning of his words. If you were just a naive young girl, you would believe in the good intentions behind these words. However, you know Feyd Rautha too well to naively believe that he won't break his favourite toys. He grabs your chin in a tight grip and turns you to face him. You swallow thickly as his intense gaze meets yours. You've never had the chance to look so closely at his icy blue eyes... "I want you by my side all the time. I need to make sure you're not planning anything behind my back, little witch."

"Haven't I proven my loyalty enough?" You ask, placing your hands on his bare chest and pushing yourself away from him gently. He chuckles darkly, letting go of your chin in a split second to grab your wrists in a tight grip. He lifts your hands, pushing them away from him and twisting them so you can't move them.

"I believe you are capable of doing much more." He murmurs against your throat, pressing kisses there and lazily sucking at your skin, which was already irritated by his dagger.

You squirm in his arms, trying to somehow protect your neck from his wandering lips. Your attempts fail, as you only give him more fun by grinding against him in a desperate attempt to escape.

Eventually, he gets bored and decides to let you go. He lets you turn your back on him again, but you don't get far. His arms wrap around you, holding you in a cage as he takes on the role of the big spoon.

"I will bring you the head of Atreides on a golden plate. There is only one Kwisatz Haderach—our future son. I won't let some dog from Caladan tell people otherwise." He whispers in your ear. You shiver, half-wishing you were stupid enough to believe in his devotion. The fact that someone can do anything you want for you. But it wasn't love. It was just an obsession. You had to remember that.

"Maybe he really is the one… or maybe it's all just nonsense made up by those old hags? Maybe there will be no Kwisatz Haderach at all? What's then?" He doesn't answer your questions. However, you manage to get some reaction out of him.

He pulls away from you, the bed creaking beneath him as you hear him turn over to his other side. The sudden chill of not having his body close to yours makes you shiver.

You find yourself regretting for a moment that whatever you said made him distance himself from you. You shake your head and sigh, sinking deeper into the pillows. You try to find the most comfortable position possible when settling down to sleep. But for some reason, you don't feel tired at all. Your eyes are wide open as you listen to his soft breathing, the only other sound in the empty room.

"How did you find out about… uncle?" His sudden question makes you turn towards him. He remains turned away from you, ignoring any movement from you. You think for a moment, staring at the scars scattered across his pale, muscular back, before answering him.

"I have eyes and ears. And enough brain cells to… deduce a few things." You whisper, tracing a particularly nasty-looking scar on his back with the pad of your thumb. "I also... I went through something similar. I've told you that before. Bene Gesserit was to me what your uncle is to you." He turns slowly to face you at your words. His eyes examine you so thoroughly that you feel another shiver run through your body.

This time, when he reaches out to cup your cheek, you don't fight him. You let him, trying to decipher the unreadable look in his eyes as he continues to consider your words.

"Tell me... how could I resist when you're like this? How could I ignore you and leave you in your shadows when everything you do fascinates me to a madness that only you can heal?" He asks, tracing the line of your lips with the pad of his thumb.

"You wanted to kill me today." You remind him in an accusatory tone. You bite the tip of his finger, which only brings a smirk to his face as he moves his hand away from your face. He places it on your hip, squeezing it in a silient warning.

"I wanted to scare you. You lied to me, so you needed some punishment. Besides, you know perfectly well that if I really wanted to kill you, you would already be dead."

"Not telling the whole truth is not a lie. Besides… your intentions don't make this situation any different to me." You huff, rolling your eyes. He laughs huskily, caressing your hip through the fabric of your nightgown as he moves closer to you on the bed. Your chest is pressed against his. Both of you are breathing steadily and slowly, staring intently into each other's eyes.

"Are you afraid of the little old me, my little witch?" He asks teasingly. You catch yourself watching the sparkle of amusement in his eyes shine surprisingly brightly under the light of the Arrakis moon. You can't make yourself turn your gaze off of him. And that's what terrifies you.

"Should I?" You ask in a whisper, trembling, not giving him an ounce of trust. Seeing your extremely distrustful and hostile attitude, he stops smiling. He looks at you more seriously, as he is deep into his thinking.

He doesn't respond to you. He places a kiss on your forehead and turns your back to him. He holds you tightly, buries his nose in your hair, and slowly falls asleep, wrapping himself in your warmth and scent. On your back, you feel his heart beating calmly in his strong, well-built chest. You allow yourself to sigh shakily, being finally 'alone' for the first time since this fateful day began.

And you realise that you're not afraid of him at all. The only person you are afraid of is yourself. That you would give in to your strange attraction to him one day and seal your fate. You didn't want to die. But you'd rather find yourself buried under the sands of Arrakis than let those Bene Gesserit witches control your life ever again.

"If you tear this, you'll be walking around with my hand around your throat." He warns you, seeing you struggling with the black leather choker around your neck he gave you. It looked like a fucking collar. And it was a bit too tight for you to feel comfortable in it.

"You give me so many options…" You snort sarcastically, leaving the damn choker around your neck. "I look like a fucking whore." You say and turn towards him to look at him carefully.

He wore his more formal black armour with a cape that was as dark as the rest of his outfit. He smiles sarcastically and walks over to you. He smoothes the fabric of your dress on your waist and places his hands on your hips.

"Whore? Not at all. More like my pet." He hums, trying to take in your form in a form-fitting black dress. The silver chains on your hips and chest connect into a spider's web that flows down with the fabric of the skirt of the dress, which surprisingly doesn't cling as tightly to your body as the bodice of the dress does.

It's... definitely a bolder outfit than you're used to wearing. And this time, your hair was loose. The maids put silver accessories and small diamond jewels into your hair. You were a nicely wrapped gift, especially prepared for the Na-Baron's birthday.

"What's the difference?" You ask, raising an eyebrow defiantly.

"Calm down, little witch. Rumours about your past spread quickly. We can't let people see me as a weak man who fell under the spell of a Bene Gesserit, can we?" He teases you. He leans towards you and nuzzles your cheek before his lips start to trace a path along your jaw to your neck. You sigh slightly and place your hands on his chest, trying to keep him at a distance.

"Please. Don't pretend you're not doing it for your own fucking satisfaction." You snap at him, still trying to push him away. He puts the dagger on your neck rather quickly and too suddenly, making you refrain from any form of protest for a moment as he decorates your neck with hickeys.

"I'm not even trying to deny it at all… you look stunning, by the way." He growls hoarsely. His blade moves from your neck to the top of your corset, pressing the tip against the valley between your breasts. You sigh, feeling the coolness of the blade against your chest.

"They are waiting for you." You whisper as he nuzzles his nose against yours.

"We have a moment... besides, it's my birthday. Don't you want to celebrate my adulthood?" His low tone of voice sends shivers down your spine. Even after he tosses his blade aside, you make no move to try to walk away from him.

"You're still acting like the horny teenager I met. I doubt you will ever grow up."

"Watch what you say… I can always show you how hornier I became." His warning is not just lip service. He shows it to you... very clearly as his hard length rubs against your thigh.

You grab his jaw tightly and take a step away from him. He laughs, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back into his arms in one quick movement. You gasp in shock, falling into his chest. You struggle in his embrace until he slaps your ass. You glare at him furiously, at which he only tightens his grip on you.

"I want you to paint my body before the fight." He mumbles, caressing your cheek as you try to pull your head back from him.

Leading members of the high houses gathered on Arrakis to celebrate his birthday and the fact that he had managed to restore the mining and export of spices to extraordinary levels.

Feyd was to put on a spectacle, killing the most dangerous Fremen who managed to be kept alive during interrogations. However, you and Feyd have bigger worries to take care of right now. Like the baron and the emperor. Or Paul Atreides... or rather, their Muad'dib, who has not been found by you yet. Something Feyd decided to ignore for now in favor of groping you and trying to get into your pants.

Over the last few weeks, he has clung to you like a limpet. It made it very difficult for you to do any work or spy, as he was literally following you around. You felt like his favourite dog on a leash, taken for walks around the building before locking you in his chambers for the night, keeping you close to him. Even his harpies couldn't take his attention away from you. Something you really hoped would happen soon.

"It's always been… your harpies' privilege." You say as he tangles his hand in your hair.

"And now I want you to do it." He says it calmly, caressing your cheek as you try to pull your head back from him. "Do you mind?" You huff at his condescending question.

"Don't ask me questions like that; otherwise, I'll start thinking that I really have a choice here." He laughs, showing you a set of his freshly painted black teeth and shakes his head at you.

"We both know you're too smart for that, my shrewd little witch." He says this and leans in, gently brushing your lips with his. He keeps a tight grip on your hair as his kiss becomes more intense and possessive. He tightens his grip on your waist, tugging at the fabric of your dress, causing the silver chains on it to clang against each other with every move of his hand.

His hand reaches for the strings of your corset at the back, but before he can untie even one of them, there's a knock on the door.

"My Lord Na-Baron, the Baron, and your brother have just landed on Arrakis. The emperor should also be arriving soon."

You feel him tense slightly as he pulls away from you. His face hardens as he puts on his emotionless mask, staring out the window, where he could probably see the ship landing.

"Come on, little witch. I don't need to remind you to be on your best behaviour, right?" You roll your eyes at him, placing your hand in the crook of his elbow.

"I think I can play your concubine for a day. Consider this my birthday gift to you, my Na-Baron." You say it sarcastically and sweetly, walking with him out of his room and towards the great hall where he would greet everyone gathered. If you were lucky enough, you might be able to escape from him for a moment or two...

"In my chambers as well?" He asks teasingly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him trying not to smile, but the corner of his lip twitches, giving him away (at least to you).

"Anywhere but there." You reply quickly, making him smile this time. At least for a second. After all, he has a reputation to uphold.

"That's okay. We don't need to do it there. There are so many other places…" He whispers hoarsely in your ear before you enter the room where the first party is to be held. You can't stop a cold shiver from running down your spine.

Doors are opening for you. You wait for him to let go of your waist and move in front of you like he usually does at these types of parties with the concubines he brought for company, but he doesn't do that at all. Instead, he tightens his grip on your waist and holds you by his side as he navigates through the sea of people. You can't help but blush slightly.

If you had any doubts over the last few weeks that he was no longer interested in you, they were gone with his small gesture. He will indeed ruin you. As soon as he finds the opportunity suitable. You were afraid that the evening of his birthday might be considered in his eyes as a perfect time to do this.

But somehow you manage to get out of his sight. You position yourself against the wall, having a perfect view of the most important people in the room. The Baron and Feyd were talking about something with the Emperor and his daughter. You look at them curiously, especially since the Harkonnens have their backs turned to you. And looking at Princess Irulan in a silver dress that was constructed to resemble armour, you see in her your chance for freedom. If Feyd married her, he would probably get over his strange obsession with you.

"Lady Y/N." Feyd's older brother's mocking greeting reaches your ears. You turn to him, taking your eyes off Feyd for a moment, and nod to the man standing next to you.

"Count Rabban."

"I heard you and my brother dealt with the rats of Arrakis. My congratulations." You are quite wary of his civilised attitude. The last time you saw him, Feyd made him kiss his shoes. And yours. So you definitely didn't stay in... a neutral relationship after that.

"Na-Baron is a great commander." You reply with a polite smile. Your eyes involuntarily wander to Feyd. There's a knot in your stomach when you see him talking to the princess. You frown, wondering what the hell is wrong with you.

"I have no doubt." He nods, also looking at Feyd. "He will destroy you. Like any toy he had before you. When you lose your usefulness, he will throw you to his harpies. He's more unpredictable than me or even my uncle. But you know that... so what are you still doing by his side?" He asks, turning his gaze on you.

"I am his right hand. I live to serve him." You answer automatically, shrugging your shoulders.

"If I had known that Bene Gesserit witches were so devoted, I might have appointed one to be my right hand."

"Believe me, count Rabban, the overwhelming majority would not serve him or anyone else so loyally as I do. They would probably prefer to poison themselves." He laughs at your words, taking two drinks from the passing servant. He hands you one, but you shake your head. "I don't drink if I don't have to. Old habits from my home planet. My mother would slap my sisters and me on the hands until she could see our bones as a punishment for stealing a drink or two." You're half lying when you remember how the Reverend Mothers made sure you were completely… untainted by any substances that could make you less healthy. All for breeding. Like farm animals.

"And they say the Harkonnens are monsters. At least you can get drunk with us… well, before we torture you to death or accidentally kill you."

"I've gotten used to it. Fortunately, I have fast reflexes." You reply with a smirk, knowing full well what he's trying to do. He wanted to ingratiate himself with you while you were still important in the Harkonnen court. His brother currently despised him, and his uncle probably did too. He saw an opportunity to increase his political influence when he spotted you alone.

Suddenly, you feel someone's intense gaze on you. You turned your face to notice that Feyd's eyes were on you and not on the princess, with whom he was still talking. Judging by the way your skin was burning from the look Feyd was giving you, you could tell he didn't like his brother being close to you at all.

And Feyd was incredibly pissed off and furious. In his eyes, Rabban wasn't worthy enough of your time, attention, or even being close to you to have the pleasure to smell the scent of your perfumes. But not only did his brother have the courage to talk to you; he even made you smile. Feyd was already planning in his mind how to tear his head off.

Na-Baron would have done just that if an arrow had not suddenly passed between him and Princess Irulan.

Panic filled the room when suddenly, a hail of arrows hit random people. You grabbed your blade and were about to move towards the first archer you noticed, but suddenly a cold steel was pressed against your neck. The Fremen woman holds you tight. You can only stand there calmly and watch as they overpower the more important representatives of the great families, leading the less important people out of the room. Feyd's blue irises are focused on you all the time, which surprisingly makes you feel a little better.

"Silience!" You freeze when you see Paul Atreides emerge from the crowd of Fremen.

Your informants haven't told you much about him. He had done well since he was forced to live on Arrakis among the Fremen. He became stronger, smarter, and more ruthless. He had no weaknesses… except one. You look around the room, your eyes locking on the woman who stood a few metres away from you. His lover.

If living among powerful men taught you anything, it was that they only had a few weaknesses. Fear for their lives, property, title, and, among those younger and less experienced in life, their loved ones. But Paul Atreides changed on Arrakis. He wasn't the little boy you knew during your training with his mother. You could only hope that he loved his woman enough to consider rescuing her. Maybe you will buy enough time before your trops, waiting on ships above Arrakis, come to rescue you.

"Let me go. Give me your blade. Keep your mouth shut and close your eyes for the next 30 minutes." You use your voice on the woman who holds you.

While she does what you told her, you try to get to Atreides' lover unnoticed. You ignore his speech; your heart is racing in your chest, and all you can hear is the sound of your blood flowing in your blood vessels.

When you reach the Fremen woman, you quickly disarm her and press your dagger to her neck. Atreides stops his speech. Before anyone can react, you take a deep breath and say loudly:

"Everyone ten steps back. Stay still, or slit your throat with the nearest weapon." Everyone in the room is listening to you. You have to take a few steps back with the woman you have in your iron grip. You tremble as you feel the eyes of everyone in the room on you, especially Feyd's. However, your gaze is fixed only on Paul Atreides.

"This is impossible… what are you?" He asks in shock, not moving after you forced him and everyone else in the room to back away from you.

"It doesn't matter, Atreides. Take your men and get out of here. I advise you well." You growl furiously at him. You feel the blood start to pulsate in your veins. The old wound on your side is slowly starting to open up under the pressure your body is going through. You're glad you're wearing a black dress. At least not all of them will see the blood stain on your dress when it will be leaking out of you more and more by the second.

"You cannot keep them under your will forever. You'll soon get tired, faint, or bleed to death." He reasons, fully aware that your crowd control is time-limited.

"My men will be landing here soon. They'll take everyone who counts and fly away with us, raining nuclear bombs on your precious little desert. The spice from these areas may have been contaminated for several centuries, but we still have the opposite pole of Arrakis to exploit and extract it. So better choose wisely."

He frowns at your words, looking at you carefully and analysing your facial expressions carefully. You stare at him hard and unfazed, even though you feel the fabric of your dress sticking to your open wound. You have a staring fight with each other until you press your dagger a little more into the woman's throat and take her blood. He looks briefly at his girl before he opens his mouth to speak.

"We've met before, right?"

"You have one minute to make a decision before I make your woman bleed to death in front of you." You say hoarsely, feeling your muscles tremble slightly. But you hold on with all your might, maintaining your calm, dangerous, hostile attitude.

You all wait in suspense to see what he will do. He might as well attack and kill you, risking his men overpowering any reinforcements that come to your rescue. But you hope he's considerate enough to back off. If not because of the people who came after him, then because of his girlfriend or concubine, whose life now depends solely on you.

You almost sigh in fucking relief when he takes a step back. You let him get out of your control, looking at him carefully all the time. You swallowed and let go of his woman.

"Follow your Muad'Dib." You command the people of the desert. They stare at you for a moment before their eyes rest anxiously on their leader. He nods at them as he slowly leaves the room.

As quickly as they arrived, they left. You stand at attention for a long time—a minute, an hour, or hours—until you hear the ship approaching and the movement of the sands of Arrakis under the influence of sandworms.

They left. You realise this with relief. However, it is a very short-lived relief. It ends when your eyes meet the eyes of the reverend mothers, who are clearly communicating with each other. You fucked up. You revealed that you were a Bene Gesserit, or at least that you knew some of their tricks. Unconsciously, you completely let go of control over the gathered crowd.

"Why didn't you wait for your people so we could kill them? Kill him?" The emperor's voice reaches you vaguely. You raise your head and meet the gaze of an old man standing a few steps away from you.

"I bluffed, my emperor." You reply shakily, feeling blood start to flow from your nose as well.

"What?" He asks in shock, unable to believe that all your talk was a pure bluff. You don't have the strength to explain anything. You can stare blankly at the floor, feeling your strength slowly begin to drain away after you use the voice on the people gathered in the room.

"I bluffed." You repeat, feeling your heart beat rapidly against your chest. Your vision becomes completely blurry; all you can hear is the buzzing in your ears, the pounding of your heart, and the slow dripping of your blood onto the floor.

"But… you…" Whatever he was about to say, he's interrupted by you falling to your knees. You don't register at all what's happening around you. The only thing you are sure of is that there are suddenly a lot of people around you.

You're clinging to what little consciousness you have when you suddenly feel something pull you against the hard wall of muscle. You lean against the unexpected support, slowly drifting into blissful unconsciousness as you no longer feel the pain from the open wound on your side. The hoarse call of your name makes you a little more aware, enough to distinguish Feyd's voice from the indistinct gibberish around you.

"Get a medic here!"

He whispers something else to you as he brushes your hair out of your face, but you don't hear anything anymore. You let yourself go into the blissful darkness, happy that you can rest, at least for a moment. And you feel surprisingly comfortable, with the warmth of his arms and his scent being the last things you feel before passing out.

You're surprised that when you wake up in the hospital wing, there's no one at your bed, looking at you like a guard dog. Once you get used to the feeling of being fully aware, you rub your eyes. The moonlight shines through the window, illuminating a dark and empty room you found yourself in.

You ignore the strange twinge in your chest when you don't see your Na-Baron anywhere near you and slowly sit up on the bed. You check the status of your wound and are pleased to see that you are in a more stable condition than you were a few hours ago.

You place your feet on the floor and slowly stand up, testing your muscles. You're relieved to see that it's not as bad as it was in the past. You walk over to the chair where a black silk robe is hanging and put it on. You take a moment to search the room, smiling hugely when you find your daggers on the nightstand next to your bed. You attach one to your thigh and tuck the other inside the sleeve of your robe. Maintaining great silence, you tiptoe out of the room.

You sigh in relief as you wander the empty corridors again, hiding in their shadows. You feel like a newborn, like a fish that has returned to the current of a familiar river. You weren't aware of how therapeutic it was for you to wander the halls alone at night until Feyd trapped you in his arms and his bed practically every night. You missed it. Very much so.

However, today's attempted attack by Atreides made you realise that you were too focused on getting away from Harkonnen and trying to keep him at a distance. You had to take action. Otherwise, Paul Atreides will cut off your head, just like his mother once wanted to do.

You shudder as you remember the day you escaped from the Bene Gesserit sisters' sanctum.

You ran barefoot through familiar corridors in the cold, dark night. You didn't need a torch or other light. You had lived within these walls long enough to know which corridors ended in dead ends and where to turn to reach each gate. But Lady Jessica knew them as well as you. You had to be a lot smarter if you were going to escape the woman who wanted you dead.

Yesterday there was a great meeting of Reverend Mothers after Lady Jessica failed to give birth to Leto Atreides' daughter at the right time. The Reverend Mothers had to find... a new breeding mare for Feyd Rauthy, from whose blood the Kwisatz Haderach was to be created. They chose you. And now, because of this honour that had been a death sentence for you from the very beginning—a curse, an evil fate that seemed to have stuck with you since your birth—Lady Jessica had tried to kill you in your sleep and was now trying to complete her work.

You decide to go to the ramp, hoping that you might be able to capture some small ship—something flying around—that would get you away from those damn Bene Gesserit.

You knew you were too weak to fight Lady Jessica. She taught you a lot, but not how to defeat someone stronger, like her. If you wanted to live, you needed to find a way to escape.

You speed up as you hear the click of her heels behind you. You run as fast as you can, reaching the door just as Lady Jessica appears at the end of the hall. You close the door behind you with a loud snap. You sigh, leaning against it for a moment. You freeze as you feel the blade against your throat.

"Step away." You order in panic before opening your eyes. A cold chill runs through you as you see Na-Baron Harkonnen's cold blue irises staring at you in shock as he obediently steps away from you.

You stand there for a few minutes, staring at each other without saying anything. Na-Baron examines you carefully: your dishevelled state, rapid breathing, red cheeks, and bare feet. You have no idea what he deduced, but it was enough for him to not immediately slit your throat for using the voice on him.

"You should go back to your sisters, little witch. Unless you want to join me, I wouldn't say no to the company of... such a pretty mouse." He speaks hoarsely. He doesn't wait for your answer, though. He simply turns and walks slowly towards the ship his men are packing. You swallow and wonder: Is death at the hands of Lady Jessica or at the hands of Harkonnen? Your pride chooses for you.

"I'm not a mouse, I'm a warrior." You reply, gathering all your inner courage. Na-Baron stops in his way.

His raspy laugh sends another shiver down your spine as he slowly turns back to face you. He approaches you slowly, each step perfectly calculated as he stands a few millimeters in front of you, invading your personal space. You raise your head proudly and meet his gaze with your own, determined one.

Which impresses him.

So much so that he reaches for the dagger strapped to his hip. You don't flinch when he runs the tip of the dagger across his tongue. You watch him closely, waiting for him to either slit your throat or accept the challenge. Feyd is surprised. And very curious—too curious—to simply walk away and continue on his path. That's why he takes your hand in his and hands you the dagger he was just testing.

"So show me what you can do, little witch. Except for using that honeyed voice of yours." He says it mockingly and takes two steps back, drawing another hidden blade from his armour.

You don't remember the entire fight clearly. The adrenaline was pumping through you so much that you only remember snippets of that dance with him with daggers in your hands. Surprisingly, neither of you disarmed the other. You stopped as you both placed your blades against the other's flesh—at points that would guarantee instant death if either of you decided to press the blade against the skin a little harder.

"You fight well, little witch." He praises you, moving away from you. "You're wasting yourself here." He says, looking at you acutely for a long time, considering something. But finally, he nods at you and turns again to join his men and board the ship. You quickly grab his hand before he gets too far away from you. You feel him tense at your touch, but he doesn't make any moves.

"Let me go with you. My blade will be an extension of yours, Na-Baron. I'll be your spy from the shadows, just... get me out of here." He widens his eyes slightly, unprepared for such a request. He turns towards you and glares at you with his icy irises.

It could very well be a trick from those witches, but Feyd would be lying if he didn't say that you caught his attention the first day he saw you training. And he really wanted to see what you were really capable of doing. Few had the guts to challenge him. And he found it somehow charming—how your eyes shone with determination every time you held the blade in your hands.

"Your sisters won't be happy when they find out that I took one of them to Giedi Prime." He says, feigning hesitation. His people knew him well. If he wanted something, he took it. A group of old witches wouldn't stop him, not now that he saw... great potential in you. Maybe not only as one of his soldiers.

"With all due respect, your house is not known for following anyone's rules except those you set. I… I can't stay here any longer."

His heart beat faster, seeing the desperation and helplessness in your eyes. Normally, he would laugh at someone who showed him weakness and kill him on the spot without much thought. But you... when you stared at him with those pleading eyes of yours, flushed from fighting him... it did something to him.

Feyd knew the feeling of helplessness. His uncle loved making him feel this way. And Feyd himself finds great enjoyment in making others feel that way. Humiliated. Weak. Scared. Somehow he didn't like the fact that staying in the sisterhood made you... feel like that and do such desperate actions as coming with him to Giedi Prime.

However, he had no intention of letting go of such a valuable bird that was voluntarily pushing itself into his cage.

"Well, you fight better than most of my men... I will make you my right hand. And as for your Bene Gesserit sisters..." You sigh softly as he reaches for your hair and cuts it in half. He cuts your shoulder and dips the cut hair in your blood. You see him put a few strands in his pocket, before he handed them to his servant, growling something at him in his native language. You raise an eyebrow at him. "I told him to convey my thanks to the Reverend Mother for... sending me a delightful toy. He might also mention that my darlings liked your meat." You nod, swallowing. He laughs mockingly, patting your shoulder. "You have many things to learn, little witch. You better prove to me that I wasn't wrong about you, or you will suffer exactly the fate that my servant will pass on to your sisters. I don't like weakness and disappointment."

"I have no intention of disappointing you, Na-Baron."

"Good. Come with me. I'm fed up with this planet. Besides, you need to change your clothes if you don't want my men to think you're a whore they can enjoy while on our journey." He nods and walks towards the ship. You follow him like his shadow, casting cold, sinister glances at the people staring at you.

"I am perfectly capable of defending myself, my lord." You reply confidently as you walk with him up the ramp to the Harkonnen ship. You see a small smile appear on his face at your words.

"I don't doubt that. However, I wouldn't want to lose more people than necessary. It's supposed to be your job to clean up after me, not the other way around, little witch." He responds, testing you and carefully watching your reaction. You don't flinch, perfectly prepared and familiar with... the brutality of the Harkonnens.

"Duly noted. There's only one thing I don't understand." He doesn't stop in his steps, but he gives you a quick glance and hums, allowing you to continue and ask a question. "I appreciate it very much, but… why didn't you kill me at the entrance?"

He chuckles hoarsely at your question and stops at a specific door. He turns to look at you, a spark of amusement shining in his eyes as he studies you like a predator would its prey before deciding to answer you.

"You didn't apologise or beg for your life. I found it... very refreshing." He says, opening the door. The metallic smell of blood fills your nostrils. You look into the room and see several prisoners chained to the wall of the ship with some strange cuts on their chests—probably some words in Harkonnen."Your first task, little witch. My darlings are very hungry. They will need the meat of my enemies. Come back here in an hour... I should finish by then. And change that rag you wear. I want to see you only in black." He orders, closing the door behind him with a bang.

You stand in the hallway for a moment, blinking and staring at the door, as you are suddenly thrown into a new reality that you have to get used to. You mutter a series of curses under your breath as you go searching for... any clothes or shoes. The cold metal of the ship's floor and the dried blood in some places made walking around on your bare feet quite uncomfortable.

Feyd-Rautha was indeed psychopathic... but it was better for you to be the devil's right hand than his mistress. And it was certainly better to inhale the toxins of Giedi Prime than to smell the flowers from underneath your grave.

You find yourself in front of a door that you don't want to go through. But you know you have to do it if you want to remain free and independent of anyone. You couldn't escape now. Not before Feyd-Rautha. You had to pay the price of your freedom with someone else's freedom. And you were ruthless enough to do it without blinking an eye. Maybe the years of living with Harkonnen really made you one of them...

You knock and enter the cave of Feyd's three harpies.

As you might expect, they don't welcome you very warmly. As soon as you close the door behind you, you hear their hisses. They stop feasting on some Fremen and glare at you, slowly approaching you.

"Relax, ladies. I'm here... to make a small agreement." You announce, taking a seat in the only chair that, surprisingly, isn't covered in anyone's blood. The women look at each other distrustfully and approach the table where you are sitting.

"Agreement?"

"With a little witch?"

"We don't make any agreements with our meals; we simply eat them."

You don't flinch at their words. Instead, you nod and draw your dagger when they get too close to you. Two of them move away automatically, but one—the oldest of them—continues to look at you. You give her a cold and dispassionate glare as you play with the blade in your fingers.

"But that's exactly what I'm talking about. About... a food. A great meal. A feast you will remember for a long time, ladies." You try your best to sound encouraging.

Their eyes light up, interested as you meet a fresh meal. You know perfectly well that they haven't eaten anything... desirable for a long time. They probably had to drag the body of this miserable man to their chamber themselves since you didn't have time to... make sure they were fed. And if there's one thing you can get on Giedi Prime with something other than power and sex, it's food.

"The little witch is planning something…"

"The little witch is up to something interesting…"

"The little witch wants to do something against our master…"

You look at them unfazed as they read that you have no clear intentions at all when it comes to working with them. But anyone who managed to survive on Giedi Prime and Arrakis was surely a man whose conscience had gone a long time ago.

And maybe your plan wasn't good for everyone... but it was definitely good for you. And Feyd. He'll agree with you... or at least you hope so. You're still not sure if his obsession with you was just a passing whim or if he really wanted to keep you with him. But you didn't want to end up like his concubines and pets.

"Possibly... but isn't that what you want? For your master to give you his attention again instead of taking care of me?" This seems to interest them even more than the promise of food.

"What do you want, little witch?" The oldest harpy asks you, looking at you carefully. You give her a mischievous, sinister smirk.

'"Have you ever thought of feasting on the Baron?" Your question hangs in the room. The harpies watch you carefully, smiling slowly and showing a row of black teeth.

Nothing united women like a common enemy.

To be continued... Taglist: (I REALLLLY hope that everyone who wanted to be here is here...😅 I;m sorry if I missed someone <3) @skymoonandstardust @prettybubblesintheair @thegabbyh @himesuedi @wo-ming-bai @beebeechaos @mamawiggers1980 @moonsoulk @avidreader73 @heartarianagran @dreamlandcreations @ancientbeing10 @lovereadingfanfic @jeansjoie @workof-a-rr-t @aixicl @ladyredstar1991 @evangelineimagine @hobobobo-fett56 @happyant3 @marsflys @aaaaaamond @kamcrazy123 @k1swass @yum-yahgurt @tyns13 @oh-you-mean-me @menari @tyns13 @vaf24 @dacreshoney @emrennoll-blog @tian-monique @slightlypossessed @celestialadrift @lauramooij05 @flaps200 @chixnugg22 @aaaaaamond @marvelfangirl04 @sw33tsnow @emeraldsgirl @imyourbubblegumpop @tempt-ress @k1swass @alana4610 @cloudroomblog @lotus-888 @lowlyloved @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @w3ird11 @kythefangirl25 @hobobobo-fett56 @nj452896

748 notes · View notes

slightlypossessed · 7 days

Text

writing tips/inspo/help

Character Movements #1

Punctuating Dialogue

50 WORDS TO USE INSTEAD OF “SAID”

traits turned sour

DESCRIBING THE PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES OF CHARACTERS:

Vary your language with synonyms to use instead of "said"

WEBSITES FOR WRITERS

Descriptions in Between Dialogue

switch up your verbs (part one) ~

words to use when writing

writing resources - smut

Writing Resources: References

Writing Resources: Advice and Motivation

Writing Resources: Basics

Writing Resources: Characters

Writing References: Narratives

words to use when writing

writing perfect betrayal

toxic traits

words to use instead of...

fight scene

how to create a supermarket setting

kissing vocab

smut writing

3K notes · View notes

slightlypossessed · 7 days

Text

the most adorable fic 🥹

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) - bonus post-epilogue chapter

Note: I randomly wanted to write a wedding, but I don't actually include the ceremony, so this is more like a "pre-wedding/post-wedding" story if we're being honest ! Also it takes place about 2 years after the epilogue :)

Warnings/Tags: 18+ Content! (Explicit Language/Sexual Content).

(Read on Ao3) /// (Masterpost)

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

Sydney held the wooden spoon toward you and the scent of the honey and ginger glaze tickled your nostrils. Earlier in the afternoon, she rolled the sleeves of her dark green sweater to her elbows and the beaded bracelet (a gift from Richie’s daughter, Eva) slid partway down her wrist.

“Alright, it’s your entree. You get to try it first.”

“I thought that was the chef’s honor?”

“Yeah, well, you’re the bride so…” she trailed off, shrugging. “I think that superimposes chef’s honor.”

You smiled and raised both eyebrows at Syd. She didn’t have to help, especially considering how busy The Bear is nowadays, but she offered and you gratefully accepted. Wedding planning – as it turned out – was a stressful affair. You and Carmy had your location set, but the guest list, wedding registry, and menu were woefully incomplete. You tangled yourselves into knots over the planning, but the goal remained firm in your mind; a celebration with Carmy and your friends mixed with the legality of marriage. You would overcome any hurdles you needed to cross because all of it would be worth it in the end.

Wordlessly, you closed your mouth over the spoon. Your lips puckered and your tongue recoiled to the safety of your back molars.

“Oh, oh shit,” Sydney said emphatically, “you hate it.”

“N-no!” You coughed, swallowing, and grabbing your glass of water. “The acidity is just a little...strong. It needs to be adjusted, that’s all.”

“Fuck,” she said, slapping her palm on the wooden countertop. “Okay – uh – that’s okay. We can – I can totally fix this. No biggie.” When she tasted the glaze, her expression pinched before she stuck out her tongue and gagged. “Yeah, nope.” She released a forced, short laugh. “There’s no saving that one.”

You loved Syd’s earnest, anxious awkwardness. Her blunt nature had been the first foundational stone of your friendship. You liked that she didn’t let Carmy off the hook, regardless of his experience and talent, and their partnership was an integral component to the Bear’s continued success.

“Back to the drawing board,” you said, drumming your fingers on the countertop. “Maybe ginger is too sharp? Do we lean more savory?”

“Interesting idea coming from the baker,” she teased.

“Hey!” You pretended to be offended and infused your tone with as much indignation as you could. “Just because I run a bakery doesn’t mean I have a sweet tooth.”

Syd laughed. “There is literally a bowl of candy by the entryway.”

“It’s for Halloween.” You crossed your arms and said, “There are a ton of families in this building.” In truth, your lack of nicotine intake after quitting smoking had manifested into a ravenous sweet tooth and, the lollipops – although bad for your teeth – were monumentally healthier than cigarettes.

“Dude, Halloween is seven months away.”

“We’re prepared.”

“What for like kids who don’t know how to like tell time and show up a few months early?”

“Obviously.”

She finished scraping the glaze into the trash. “You’re fucking ridiculous.” Her bright smile faded and the light entered her dark eyes. You recognized it as her ‘I have an idea face’ and your mood lifted—the overly sour glaze quickly forgotten. When Carmy said he wanted The Bear to cater your wedding, you had been shocked, and concerned about the additional stress it would add to your lives. However, with Syd in your kitchen, the pan gripped in her hand and her expression rapt with wonder, you realized that you had nothing to worry about. The wedding’s menu and food preparation were in the best hands.

“Do you have any soy sauce?” she asked, “Worcestershire sauce will work too, or liquid aminos if we’re desperate.”

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

Carmy watched as your fingers held aloft over the keyboard and the spreadsheet glared menacingly in a harsh blue-white glow. The guest list had been easy to start. The obvious ones were Syd, Natalie, Peter, Richie and Eva, and your best friend, Taylor. The harder choices were family and how to arrange the tables. Your eyebrows angled in confusion and you drew your hands away.

“I’m not inviting my dad,” you said after a moment’s pause.

Carmy nodded. “Okay.”

His neck prickled uncomfortably. It wasn’t the flushed heat that arrived when he felt embarrassed. No. This discomfort traveled from his neck to his fingers. It raked across his skin like a thousand needles, pricking every nerve, and drawing blood. He thought about going to his coat pocket and withdrawing a crumpled pack of cigarettes. The quick, cold rush of nicotine would ease his headache and calm his nerves. But, if he smoked, then he’d need to walk downstairs and into the blustery sharp gray wind of March. And he didn’t want to bail on you. The puzzle of who to invite and who to sit with whom was a project for the both of you to untangle.

“I dunno if I should…” He cleared his throat and looked away when your eyes met his over the laptop screen. “I dunno.”

“Your mom?” you correctly guessed.

Carmy sniffed, scratched the side of his nose, and nodded. His heart thumped into his ribs. Maybe he should take a walk. Maybe the March air would clear this dreadful feeling from his skull. His stomach hardened into a pit at the idea of his mom coming to his wedding. But, at the same time, his dread and fear congealed into a sharp guilt that curdled his stomach acid. His mom was a force to be reckoned with. A hurricane of a woman. He loved her. He didn’t know if he wanted her at the wedding. He knew she’d be upset if she weren’t invited. But, both of you decided to keep the guest list small. The careful cuts were necessary, and not just due to the frugality aspect, but in terms of everyone’s enjoyment.

“She’d make it about her,” he said, “remember Sophia’s second birthday?”

You placed your hand on the middle of Carmy’s back, right between his tense shoulder blades, and he forced a harsh exhale through his teeth. They almost called the police, Carmy thought with a frown. His mom showed up and seemed fine, and then shortly before cake and presents, she buckled little Sophia into her car and claimed that Natalie hated her and didn’t want Sophia to have a relationship with her grandmother. His niece, at the age when separation anxiety often occurred, cried so much that she threw up on her special birthday dress.

“I do,” you said and your eyes softened.

“I’m a terrible son,” Carmy said, “I’m a fucking asshole. We have to invite her, don’t we? She deserves to be there.”

“Carmy, you’re not.” You rubbed his back. “Do you think I’m an asshole for not inviting my dad?”

He quickly said, “No.” The pit in his stomach gnawed at his smoke-deprived lungs. “It’s different.”

“How so?”

“He has another family.” Carmy stood, raking his hand through his hair. “My mom only has Nat and me.”

“So you have to sacrifice your happiness and comfort for hers?”

“Yes!” he said immediately followed by a quick, “No. I don’t know.” He reached into his coat pocket hanging by the door and fished out the squashed packet of cigarettes.

You trailed after him and wound your arms around him, pressing your face into his back, your hands coming to rest over his heart. Carmy froze. The pressure of your hands on his chest made him realize how fast his heart was beating. He squeezed the cigarette packet and it crinkled beneath his clammy fingers.

“Remind me,” you said, voice faintly muffled by his t-shirt, “what was the possible diagnosis your therapist gave her?”

“Borderline personality disorder.” His therapist also said his mom could have narcissistic personality disorder, but BPD was more likely, based on his descriptions of childhood. It helped to have a name for it. It gave him a better understanding of everything he went through.

“Which defines her behavior but doesn’t excuse it,” you said as you circled around him to face him. “Carmy, I love you.” You cupped his face in your hands. “I will support you if you want to invite Donna and I’ll weather any storms she brings with her. Who knows...maybe it’ll be a good day for her.” Your tone toward the end of your sentence became dubious.

Carmy sighed. “I don’t think I want to invite her, but I feel like I should.” He frowned. “That doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“No, it does. You feel an obligation as her son to share this big moment with her. I get it.”

“Do you feel guilty about not inviting your dad?”

“A little.” Your lips pursed. “But, if I visualize our wedding, the thought of my dad standing beside me doesn’t make me happy. I don’t feel excited about it. I just feel…”

“Dread?” he guessed.

You smiled faintly. “It’s more annoyance and anger for me.”

“Mm, yeah. Makes sense.” He leaned his forehead and touched it to yours. How did he get so lucky? He imagined the wedding. He imagined seeing you across from him, sliding the ring on your finger, and stuttering through his vows. The usual nervousness bubbled up inside his chest, but it was smothered by the overwhelming warmth and affection he felt for you that bled across his skin like thick honey.

“I don’t think I can invite her,” he whispered.

“That’s okay, Carm.” You kissed him softly. “That’s okay.” You repeated against his mouth. A sensation of cool and blissful relief extinguished the last lingering remnants of his dread.

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

“Something is weird,” you said, leaning forward in the passenger seat. “Why are there two florist vans? Did we accidentally get two?” You didn’t recognize the name on the second van either. Must be a local shop, you thought, although that doesn’t explain why they’re here.

“I don’t think so,” Carmy said.

As everyone poured out of their cars, their garment bags slung over their arms or over their shoulders, a sharply dressed black woman emerged from the entrance and strode purposefully toward you and Carmy.

“You must be the Berzattos,” she said breathlessly as she shook your hands. “It’s good to meet you. My name is Vivienne and I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“What sort of bad news?” Richie said, “The kind that gets us a discount?” He grinned at Carmy and your husband-to-be rolled his eyes.

“Perhaps.”

Richie whispered, “Oh shit.”

“We’ve had some technical issues with our new scheduling program.” She wrung her hands together. “The venue has been double-booked.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, noticing all the additional staff buzzing to and fro across the manicured lawn.

Vivienne said, “I’m so sorry for the mistake. If you’d like, we can reschedule you.”

Your stomach dropped into your shoes.

“Absolutely not,” you said, “people flew out to be here. We can’t reimburse flights and accommodations, and nor should we have to considering this is your error.” You sighed, feeling a headache press into your temples. “Why didn’t you notify us?”

“How about a discount and you can split the venue?” she offered, “we only realized the mistake when the two catering companies showed up.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” said Richie.

“Fuck,” Syd said.

Natalie crossed her arms. “I’m sorry did they say double-booked?”

“Mommy!” Sophia pulled at Natalie’s pant leg. “Mommy, look! Sunflowers!” She pointed at the floral van carrying out their arrangements.

You shared a glance with Carmy. “Can we have a minute?”

“Of course. Again, we’re so sorry.”

You and Carmy broke away from the group of your closest friends and family. You rubbed your hands down the length of your face.

“We can’t reschedule,” you said, “but how the hell are we going to share the venue? They have one kitchen and we paid for our guests to stay the night.”

“Maybe the timing works out,” Carmy said, taking your hand in his. “You want to stay here?”

“Yes.”

“Then fuck it. We stay.”

“Okay, fuck it.” You smiled. “Let’s negotiate a good discount.”

“Say the word and I’ll send Pete in,” Carmy joked.

You laughed. “God, we might need him.”

The organization was a cluster-fuck. The venue manager, Vivienne, assured and promised that the space was large enough and that the other party – the Carmichael's – were having a noon wedding with a 2 PM reception and everything would be cleaned up for your 4 PM wedding and 5 PM reception. But, you noticed the proverbial cracks in the foundation. The necessary kitchen prep work, the clashing decorations, the intermingling guests, and the underlying stress and confusion permeated every interaction. You practiced intentional breathing and hoped you’d make it through the day without bursting into stress-induced tears.

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

The zipper was halfway up when it broke. You felt the snag, then the tug and pull, and the abrupt separation. You pressed your hand to your mouth and muffled the noise of discontent and frustration that threatened to break free.

Taylor pushed her long, thick dark braid over her shoulder and pursed her red lips at you. “We can work with this,” she said after a long moment of contemplation. “We can fix it.”

You released a strangled, “can we?” You blinked back your burning tears—you didn’t want to ruin your makeup.

“Yeah, most of these places have emergency sewing kits,” your best friend said while digging through the drawers, “also, this might be a bad time, but is the chef single?”

Despite everything, you laughed. “Which chef?”

“The tall blonde one with the accent.”

“Luca?”

Taylor’s eyes brightened. “Yes!”

“I’ll find out for you,” you said while reaching for your phone. You smiled at the sight of your phone background, a black and white photo of you and Carmy, and Taylor snickered.

“I remember when you told me about him,” she said.

“You do?”

“Yeah, you were all tied into knots about it...and now look at you! Tying the knot.” She winked. “I’m glad you guys figured it out.”

Your chest warmed with pleasure. “Me too.”

“Aha!” She held the little sewing kit aloft. It had the venue's name printed on the front of the bag. “Do you think they write this so nobody steals it?” She asked while tapping the swooping decal.

Before you could answer, your mom bustled into the room, her billowing lilac sleeves trailing after her arms.

“Oh! Look at you!” She grabbed your chin and kissed your cheek. “I’ve got something for you. A little tradition.”

“Mom, I don’t know if I can stomach any more surprises.” Taylor began to fix your zipper and the cold metal teeth periodically kissed your skin.

“You’ll like this surprise.”

Your mom removed a potted plant from her purse. The dark soil clung to her fingertips, the plant likely got knocked around more than once, as she set it down on the vanity. You recognized the wide, verdant leaves.

“A basil plant?”

“Normally, we give a flower of some type, but I chose a basil plant instead.” She smiled, pleased. “Nurture the plant as you nurture your future and it’ll thrive.”

Your throat tightened. “Thanks, Mom.” Your shoulders jerked as Taylor finished zipping and she whooped in triumphant delight.

“There we go, crisis averted,” said Taylor, “now we don’t have to worry about walking down the aisle naked.”

You rubbed your fingertips along the basil leaf and smiled at them.

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

“God,” Richie said, fixing his tie, “I can’t believe you’re getting fucking married, cousin.”

“Yeah, me either.” Carmy scratched the side of his nose.

“I always thought Mikey’d get married before you,” he said, “he was just more charmin’, you know? He had a way with people, women especially, God…” Richie shook his head. “He couldn’t walk down the street without getting some chick’s phone number.”

Carmy stared sullenly at his reflection. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t? ‘Cause then he’d have an ex-wife, or a widow, or a kid or somethin, I dunno.”

Carmy wondered if he’d forever be in rooms with Mikey’s shadow stuck to the corners. It didn’t suffocate him as much anymore. Mikey’s memory lurked within every conversation – like slivers of light through the paneled window shades. Today of all days though, Carmy suspected those slivers would blind him. Mikey should’ve been here, could’ve been, and he wasn’t.

“Yeah, good point.” Richie turned the side and smoothed his lapels. “Still, it should be him.”

Carmy’s neck flushed with indignation. Did Richie seriously have to be such an asshole? His brow furrowed. It was his fucking wedding day for fuck’s sake!

“Cousin—” Carmy began.

“Standing here, I mean, as your best man,” said Richie. “Look, there’s no takebacks and this would be a hell of a time to change your mind but it should’ve been Mikey. Not me. I get that, okay? That’s all I’m trying to say…” He fixed his tie again. “And I’m gonna do everything to make sure that this day doesn’t go to shit. I can promise you that, alright?”

Carmy blinked, at a loss for words at Richie’s admission. It had been six years and counting since Mikey’s death and Richie had been with him for every one. If he was being honest with himself and not caught up on nostalgia, if Mikey was here, then Carmy wasn’t sure he would have trusted him with all the responsibility. Hell, Richie organized a pizza-making bachelor party for him. He offered to trash the other couple’s wedding.

“Who else would it be?” he asked softly, “you’re family, Richie.”

Richie sniffed, nodded, and clapped his hand on Carmy’s shoulder, jostling him. When Carmy met his eyes, they were glassy and bright.

“I know.” His lips twitched up into a grin. “Let’s get you fucking married!” He pulled Carmy in a one-armed, half-hug and shook him. “Put a fucking smile on that face, Carm. Come on! Come on!”

He affectionately pinched Carmy’s face in one hand, squishing his mouth, and Carmy shoved Richie away, annoyed, but laughing—in the same way he’d get annoyed and laugh whenever Mikey goofed around with him.

“Fuck off,” said Carmy, without any heat.

“Hey,” Syd poked her head into the doorway, “you ready? The photographer wants to see all of the groomsmen.”

“Shouldn’t you say grooms-people? To be like politically correct or whatever,” Richie asked, “or groomsmen and women considering you’re among us.”

Syd made a face. “Richie shut up and come pose with us.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be inclusive,” he said loudly.

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

If someone asked you to recount all the details of your wedding—you didn’t think you could. It was the busiest and most stressful day of your life. You’d always remember the finer details like Carmy’s thoughtful, flustered vows, Richie starting a limbo competition, or Syd’s dad dancing with Taylor—at least for a while until she disappeared with Luca in tow. Good for you, you remembered thinking as you watched her form retreat down the hall.

But the rest of the day was an exuberant blur. It had been long and you were grateful to relax into the lush pillowcases with your short silk gown kissing your skin.

Carmy climbed into bed after showering and peppered kisses along your nose and jaw, his hands finding your hips beneath the covers and holding them.

“I can’t believe you’re my husband,” you said with soft laughter before chasing his lips with yours.

“And you’re my wife,” he said, lifting your wrists and placing them over your head, “keep those there.”

You said, “We’ve been married less than twelve hours and you’re already bossing me around?”

Carmy chuckled and his breath puffed over your peaked nipples. His tongue laved over the silk, and moistened it before he drew your nipple between his lips. The soft silk and warmth of Carmy’s tongue was a heady, back-arching mixture.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered, plunging your hands into his damp curls and scraping your nails over his scalp.

“Yeah?” His calloused palm felt its way down your thigh, “Are you wet for me already?”

“A little,” you admitted as you parted your legs for him.

“God,” he muttered before mouthing along your breasts and wetting the silk with his tongue and lips. He held one of your breasts in his hand and squeezed, pushing the mound into his mouth again and sucking your hard nipple. The sensation turned to liquid, sticky heat between your legs. You moaned, pushing upward into his grasp and gyrating your hips in askance. His hand was frustratingly close to your cunt, but not close enough. He rubbed up and down your inner thigh from knee to apex, letting his knuckles occasionally brush your pussy, before drawing away without adding any pressure. The fucking nerve of him!

“My wife is so fucking hot,” Carmy said, and hearing the words sent a hot, fresh thrill trembling through you.

“And my husband is a fucking tease,” you said, digging your fingertips into his hard, sculpted shoulders.

Carmy pulled his mouth away from your wet breasts. The silk had darkened where his mouth had been and you could faintly see your nipples through the semi-translucent fabric.

“Am I?” He drew his hands away from you and grabbed your wrists again, pinning them above your head, “I thought I said to keep these here.”

You snorted. “When have I ever listened?”

“You’re a great listener,” he said honestly.

“I want to touch you, Carmy,” you said, matching his honesty with your own, even as his praise sang through your ears and warmed your skin.

He softened. “Okay.” He pulled your wedding ring-adorned hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. The moment he released your hand, you slid your fingers down his chest, smiling at the way his eyelashes fluttered and his cheeks darkened. You wiggled your fingers beneath the tight waistband of his boxer shorts and found him hard and pulsing within your grasp.

“Fuck.” He shuddered. “I feel like I could come just by looking at you.”

He jerked his hips into your touch as your fingers encircled him. You craned your neck upward and kissed him, finding the familiar rhythm of tongue and teeth, and moaning wantonly into his mouth when his hand cupped your wet folds. He hissed when his index finger pledged into you and your mind went white-hot and blank.

“Do you think the stress of the day has manifested into being super horny for each other?” You asked, your other hand cupping the back of Carmy’s neck, pinning his face close to yours so you could kiss him. His pretty blue eyes blinked at you.

“Maybe. But, I think I just want to fuck my wife.” His cock twitched in your hand and you grinned.

“It turns you on to call me your wife, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

His admission made your walls clench around his index finger. Maybe you liked it too. Maybe. You felt Carmy smile against your lips. “Can’t wait to be inside you,” he muttered, “filling you, listening to you moan.”

You gasped and your eyes rolled back into your skull. It wasn’t often that Carmy engaged in dirty talk, so when he did, it was a rare and special treat that never failed to drench your core. Carmy ran his tongue along your neck, tasting your sweat before a second finger speared between your folds and coaxed that inner fire.

“Keep this on,” he said, dragging his teeth across the strap of your gown, “when I fuck you.”

“Mm – fuck. Okay,” you groaned.

“Actually, I—” his words were suddenly lost to a moan as you adjusted your grip on his cock, your fingers slicked with pre-cum. “Fuck, baby. I need you on top of me.”

“Gladly.”

Carmy rolled onto his back, yanking his shorts down, and you smiled at the sight of him – as desperate as you were with his chest heaving and his wet curls falling onto his forehead. Your walls clenched in anticipation as you hiked the hem of the dress over your hips. Carmy’s hands settled on your thighs and he watched hungrily as you held the base of his cock and slowly lowered yourself onto him. Your spine convulsed and the sensation of him stretching you and filling you wiped out every lingering thought in your mind.

“God,” his voice was strangled, “you feel so fucking amazing.”

You cupped his face, resting your forehead on his as you rode him, and said, “so do you.”

“I love you so much,” Carmy said reverently, “so goddamn much.”

Your heart threatened to break and regrow the from sheer tenderness of his words. Carmy, you learned over the years, expressed his love with acts of service and he said ‘I love you’ most often while having sex. However, something about this ‘I love you’ was different. It was more intense on your post-wedding night. You buried your face into his sweaty neck, your bodies and hearts joined, your futures intrinsically linked.

“I love you too.”

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

You tilted the watering can over the thriving basil plant and smiled.

“Auntie.” Sophia, freshly eight years old, held something in her hands. “I found a worm.”

You blinked at her. “Put it back?”

“Okay!” She replied cheerily and dropped the worm back into the potted rosemary. She spun when the balcony door slid open. “Hi Uncle Carmy! Do you want to see the worm?” She pointed.

Carmy smiled, first at his niece, and then at you. “Let me see,” he said, crouching. He balanced his wrists on his knees and the sunlight gleamed off his wedding band. Your heart skipped. My husband. You wondered what your grandfather would say if you could tell him that his death led you to your soulmate, a second family, and a range of new friends. Knowing him he’d tell me that he would’ve died sooner if he knew how happy it’d make me. Your grandfather had had a wry sense of humor.

Carmy stood and put his arm around you. “We’re going to need to re-pot the basil if it keeps growing like this,” he said absentmindedly.

You leaned into him and kissed his cheek.

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slightlypossessed · 8 days

Text

the amount of times I accidentally post and incomplete draft is embarrassing.

god, cure me of this fumbling disease

#straight up humiliating #and when it gets notes too!#like no pls it is but a fic-ling still to young to feast ur eyes upon

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slightlypossessed · 9 days

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goddamit!!! how is it so adorable!!!??? AAAAAAAHHHH

taylor swift song request lesgooo!!! end game from reputation where y/n has a really big reputation as a 'bad girl' and peter (good boy loml) ends up tutoring her, and sees she isn't all bad...

first off, i am so sorry this took so long, you may not even be on my page anymore, but this struck something in me & i couldn't stop.

second, i switched up the request a little because if you listen to the song, (in a non snooty way lmao) taylor is the one expressing she wants to be with this person but she has a bad repuation and everyone's heard about it, and it's a lot to commit to because of the talk surrounding her.

---------

Everyone had it wrong.

You were good. And kind. And smart. And talented. And confused. And lost. And just like every other kid in the school. You were good. You stayed to yourself. You didn’t gossip. You didn’t judge. You didn’t tattle. You were good.

So why did everyone hate you so much?

It was your brother’s fault. His reputation preceded yours and it ruined everything for you.

He was the one that picked fights.

He was the one that pushed teachers to the limits.

He’s the one that sold dope from his locker.

He’s the one that hooked up with a girl in the teacher's lounge.

And the third floor bathroom.

And the girls locker room.

And underneath the bleachers.

He’s the one that made everyone think you were just alike.

It ruined everything about high school so far.

Jokes, rumors, lost friendships, people refusing to date you.

It was childish and unfair. You wanted one person on your side, the one person you watched in class, the one person that was nice to you in a school of jekyll’s. And you couldn’t have him.

“Hey, still coming later?”

Peter Parker had a smile that could make the devil buckle. He was sugar, spice and everything nice. Long time crush, but the part where you’ve been smeared into a good for nothing whore, made nothing possible.

“You sure you still wanna do this? I don’t mind asking Mrs. Stu-”

Peter called your name like you were telling a joke, “it’s my honor to tutor you! Don’t blow me off.”

You want to protect him. You like him too much. He hangs around you long enough and accusations with his name start flying around with yours.

“If you’re so desperate,” grinning brightly, “I’ll see you later.”

Peter was so kind to tutor you. Your teacher asked on your behalf, she said she thought you’d be a good pair and you couldn’t deny the extra help, too bad Peter had to be the one on the chopping block. He was being a good samaritan and you knew what it would cause for him, even with the alone time you’ve been craving, you’d keep him pushed away at all costs.

You didn’t want the fallout to burn him, you’re used to the sting and he’s someone that shouldn’t feel anything but a loving touch.

Even if it would kill you, you’d have to pretend to be disinterested in Peter Parker and watch him walk away.

Oh, the things you do for love.

—------------

You’ve never felt so paranoid in your life. You swore everyone was looking at you, or maybe they were looking at Peter. Telling themselves it seemed fit that a nerd would be trying his shot with the school whore, because it’s not like you’d say no.

“Hi, can I sit?” Peter pointed at the patch of grass next to you, your eyes squinted as you looked up at him, it was hard reading his expression. You were the shade but he was standing under the sun, everything was washed out and too bright.

“Um, here?” you pointed at the same spot, taking a chance to look around, you felt eyes all over you. “Yeah, I mean, unless you want me here?” He pointed at a patch on the other side of you, “or here,” gesturing next to your feet, “you know what? You choose, I’m the guest.”

He’s so nice. Gentle, even. You hadn’t experienced someone so kind, so golden hearted, in a minute. His kindness shouldn’t be his weakness or his downfall. With one last scope of the scene you assume he could stay for a moment, at least you could figure out where to meet later.

You give Peter a smile and pat the first spot he pointed out, “you can sit,” answering his original question. His backpack hit the ground first, jimming himself closer to the tree behind you to rest his back on. Peter’s fingers picked pieces of grass, you assume in boredom.

“So,” you both speak at the same time, a soft exhaling laugh at the symmetry. You wave Peter along, the sooner he gets it out the sooner he can leave, the quicker he is with you the less he’ll be attacked.

“Wanna meet at the library?”

And have everyone see? Have his reputation smeared like your own? There’s a reason you don’t have many people around you, you can’t believe he doesn’t see it.

“No,” he’s taken a bit back by your blunt tone. Peter hums low, “your place?”

You scoff, “absolutely not.”

There’s no other option then, “alright, my place it is. Wanna come with me after school? We could take the bus, unless you prefer the subway.”

God, there’s nothing in the world you want more. It was too dangerous, if you got close enough it’d be too hard to rip it away. If you were seen leaving school with him, going to his house with him, it’d be over for him. You would give him the mark of cain.

It hurts more than you’d like to admit, you take your turn at plucking small weeds, avoiding his face. He’s hard to say no to.

“I can’t. But, I’ll come over tonight.”

You hate how happy he sounded when he answered, it was so unfair. You were a good kid, your brother was the bad one, but you dealt with all the repercussions. Your heart felt so weighed down, you wanted nothing more to reach out and hold Peter’s hand.

You wanted a boyfriend.

You wanted a friend.

You wanted love.

You wanted to feel accepted and heard and validated and supported by one person.

But you couldn’t have him.

“Cool. Wanna give me your number?” It’d be better than talking in person, easier to keep him away from you unless absolutely necessary. You nod, finally looking at him when you hand over your phone, he’s got a giant smile and you have to look back down at a patch of weeds with a single dandelion poking from it.

“Yours?”

Peter’s fingers brush yours when he hands his over, a warm jolt spreads down your wrist and into your elbow. It makes you feel alive, it’s a welcomed feeling. You try to forget it immediately.

His screen is cracked and scratchy as you type your number in, feeling him watch over your face you scan the crowd of people. You swear you see someone pointing, you shove his phone back in his hand, scrambling to stand.

“I’ll text you when I’m on my way, I have to go.”

He’s not allowed to care this much. It’s unfair.

“You don’t want to have lunch with me? I have half a sandwich if you want it, I know we only have like, ten minutes left but if you want it, it’s yours.”

‘If you want it, it’s yours.’

Does he mean it? Is there a limit to what could be yours?

Too bad you’ll never know.

“Thank you, but I can’t.” He almost looks disappointed, you have to stop making things up.

“You sure? I don’t mind sharing with you.”

You do. He can’t suffer the same consequences you do, it’s too isolating. Lonely. You were lonely. He doesn’t deserve it.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll see you later, Peter.”

Peter takes his time unwrapping his homemade sandwich from cellophane, he takes a bite from half and moans, outstretching his hand with the other half, still wrapped up. “Here, take it to go. My aunt made it, if you try hard enough you can taste the love.”

He’s god damn irresistible.

You take his gift, slowly backing away, “thanks, I’ll search for it.”

Peter’s smile hurts your eyes, “good, it isn’t hard to find.” He’s adorable, even when he’s wrong.

It must be his superpower.

—-------------------

Peter’s aunt was two things.

A lot, and very kind.

You can see where Peter gets his aggressive pleasantry from, the moment she opened the door she was eager to please you. May wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug, her voice cheery in your ear.

“Oh my goodness, it is so nice to put a face to the name.”

Politely patting her back you swallow thickly, she’s heard all about you and your make believe history. She’s kind but you know in the back of her mind she’s hoping you’d leave her nephew alone, get what you need from him and leave.

“Nice meeting you too, you make a killer sandwich, by the way.”

She gasps, pushing you away by your shoulders, moving her head to catch her eyes. An unfamiliar smile crosses her face, you don’t know what it means but it feels as welcoming and radiant as Peter’s.

“Oh, good! He shared.”

May said it like it was planned, like she could tell you were confused she broke your attention away. “I made cookies, because everyone knows you need sugar to help you focus.” A wink, she was so gentle, it’s something about those Parker’s.

You play along, it’s nice to be welcomed for once. Even if it’s until you’re gone, the moment she tells Peter she knows all about you and to keep his distance.

“I think I read a story on that once, nine out of ten dentists agree, right?”

And just for a moment you let yourself dream, floating on your imaginary high of Peter Parker when his aunt laughs at your joke, her smile slowly dimming while she looks at your face, deep in thought. A confident head nod.

“Peter was right about you.”

You should take it negatively, but you don’t. There’s something about her that tells you she only means well. It must mean she hasn’t heard the bad things, but once she does, she’d be eating her words.

But damn, if you aren’t curious about what Peter said. Was he nice, did he hint at a crush, did he make his aunt believe you were someone you’re not?

“Peter was right about what?”

The devil himself appeared from nowhere, his body standing next to yours, so closely you can feel hints of his cotton zip up hoodie brushing your arms. You closed your eyes to breathe slowly, the sight of him with his hands flat on the kitchen counter, leaning his weight into the laminate, his hoodie strings dangling in a tempting way.

In a way you want to pull him closer by them, curling the fabric around your fingers and tugging him until his mouth is on yours.

You’re easy to read, you can see it on May’s face the second you open your eyes. You know in an instant she knows that you like her nephew. Even more surprisingly, she looks excited with the knowledge.

Her eyes flicker back to her nephew, “how lovely you said our guest was, what else did you say?”

You can see Peter freeze, “May,” it’s a warning tone. His aunt bulldozes, “wasn’t it something about how pr-” You don’t know what she says, Peter speaks over her. “May!” Jumping in your spot, caught off guard by his sudden tone and volume change, Peter moves a hand to your arm, “sorry,” it was delicate, it was him saying he was only sorry towards you, sorry for catching you off guard.

Fighting past his numbing touch, you smile, “it’s okay, I didn’t know you could be so stern.”

You need to see a therapist, because you swear you shared a moment. “Only when it’s something I’m passionate about.”

He’s talking about you, he has to be. You want him to be.

You have no idea how you’ll keep yourself from tying to him. But you’ll give it a fighting chance.

“You know what I’m passionate about?” Peter shakes his head, it’s hard to look away from his eyes, you never knew brown eyes could be so pretty. But you do, attention directed to fresh made chocolate chip cookies.

“Cookies.”

Peter won’t let you off that easy, “what kind?”

You bounce different flavors over in your head, “you’re opening pandora's box, parker. I mean, are we talking grocery store, homemade, or bakery?”

His arms crossed over his chest, “well, now I need to know every answer.”

You blow out a breath like you’re about to compete in the olympics, “alright, off the shelf grocery, you can’t go wrong with double stuffed oreos. But, personally, those keebler elves, with the fudge? I love em, my mom stopped buying them cause I’d eat half the pack in one sitting, so now my dad sneaks them to me. But, I mean, you can’t go wrong with those little bakery sugar cookies, you know, the ones that stick to the roof of your mouth?”

Peter bites back a grin, you weren’t lying, you really were passionate.

“I know what ones you’re talking about, they’re gross.” It’s the most offensive thing he could say to you. “You’re wrong, but okay.” He laughs, “opinions can’t be wrong,” you pull your head back, “they absolutely can, yours is proof.”

You look for support from his aunt but she’s long gone, you didn’t even see her back away.

Peter rolls his hand, amping you on, “homemade?”

You spit the answer quickly, “butterscotch oatmeal.” He’s never heard of them, or tasted them, but if you love them, he thinks he would too. “You’ll have to bring me some to try, they sound tempting.” Agreeing with him, “you’d never go back.”

“Bakery?”

“That’s the tricky one, it’s a rare find, not every place has them. But it’s my all time favorite flavor of anything ever made, s’mores.”

Peter loves it, your favorite treat was s’mores and it fit you.

His personal mission was tracking one down and bringing it to you.

“S’mores? Really?”

You nod, “really, really. If you find one you’ll have to try it, unless you have another wrong opinion and don’t like s’mores.”

“Nah, I love s’mores.”

Peter Parker was too good of a person to bring down. You need to shut down your admiration, because his alienation would hurt the most.

—---------------------

This wasn’t good. No, this was bad. This was really bad.

Peter Parker just called open season on himself and it was all your fault.

You should’ve refused for him to be your tutor, that was the mistake. The moment it was agreed upon it was over. You should’ve never gone over to his house, if you hadn't then you would’ve never told him about your favorite cookie, and he wouldn’t have gotten you one.

It happened in third period, he approached your seat and set a small white box in front of you. Your eyes flickered from the box to him several times before you asked, “what’s this?” A gift, you knew that much, he’s given you a gift and Jeffery Stewart was watching it go down. Peter would have an hour until he was tied to you.

“Open it,” slowly opening the cardboard your heart skips three beats, once for each cookie. You’ve never felt so seen, dare you even say loved? He listened, that’s what it was. He listened to you and he tracked them down and presented them to you, he was proud.

Peter Parker has made everything about your current life harder.

“Oh my god, where did you find these?”

He shakes his head, like it doesn’t matter where he sourced them, what matters is that he did.

“You were right, they’re hard to track down, it took me three days. Surprisingly, they’re mostly seasonal.”

You tsk, contemplating tearing one in half right now. “It’s so wrong, isn’t it? I mean, you can buy s’mores stuff all year long, so it doesn’t make sense.” Fuck it, it’s selfish, but he went above and beyond.

Splitting a cookie, you hand half over, cheersing yours with his. You throw your head back and hum the second you bite down, they’re the best ones you’ve ever had. You weren’t sure if it was because they were that good, or because it felt like they were purchased with care.

“Holy shit, Peter. These are unearthly.”

He’s in the same boat, he can understand why they’re your favorite now.

Nodding excessively, “my world has changed for the better.”

“Yeah, mine too.” It was a slip, you didn’t mean to say it. It came out without thinking, you said it sincerely, and he knows it. Peter finished the rest of his cookie and licked his thumb, “good, I’m glad to hear it.”

This was bad. This was very bad.

Because Peter Parker lays his hand on your desk and leans in, really closely, it makes you stop functioning all together. He needs to leave, he needs to back away, he needs to leave you alone. He doesn’t know what he's doing to himself, but you’re too selfish to stop it.

Even with Jeffery Stewart staring you down like a dog in heat, a wicked grin spreads while he ropes over the many rumors he’s about to flood the halls with.

“Wanna come over tonight?”

Lost in a world of a million thoughts, all of them being about the distance from his lips to yours. Blinking back to attention you groan, “I don’t really feel like studying tonight, my brain is mush.”

Peter nods, then moves in, just an inch closer, you feel like you’re about to die.

“Not what I asked.”

“I don’t-”

“I asked if you wanted to come over, not if you wanted to study.”

The room is spinning, everything is a blur. He’s flirting, Peter Parker is flirting with you in front of an audience. He’s fearless, it’s impressive. There’s no way he doesn’t know about your reputation, the things people say about you, the things you do.

Suddenly, a chill creeps up your spine. What if he knows exactly what people say, what if that’s why he’s being sweet, what if that’s why he’s acting like he cares? Fuck it, you’ll call him out on his bullshit, but privately, you don’t need any extra attention.

“Sure. Same time?”

“Same time,” it’s set in stone when the bell rings, Peter knocks his knuckles on your desk before he walks away. It’s unfair how much you hate to see him pull away from you.

—------------------

The upside to being cynical is that when things don’t work out, like you plan, you’re not that hurt, because you called it the whole time.

Just like Peter, you knew the second it circled back to him he’d be gone. It proved to be true when you heard mumbles by your locker, eyes flicking to you and back, quicker whispers shared.

From what you’ve gathered, either Peter has seen your nipple piercings or he’s given you nipple piercings. Not that you had them, but that didn’t matter. What now mattered was that Peter was directly tied to you and your boobs were involved, that’s enough alone for him to get a clap on the back while you’re being shamed for even acknowledging your body autonomy.

What a lame rumor, Jeffery Stewart could’ve gone to the moon with theories but this was the one he settled on? Usually he was a bit more creative, his last one ended up with you and the guidance counselor in the principal's office informing you that it was a safe space, and that if the school’s janitor came onto you it wasn’t your fault.

It took three weeks for people to totally forget it, but those few weeks you’d hear claps and wolf whistles when you passed by the janitor's closet made you feel like you were on the constant verge of vomiting.

Usually it wouldn’t bother you, but once they involved Peter’s name you felt sick. Everything you feared itching to life, and right when you heard a third possibility you couldn’t stay silent, slamming your locker door shut and giving wild eyes to the girl talking to her friend on your right.

“Which one is it, Lindsey? Was he holding my hand while I got them done, did he see them, or did he do them? I don’t know about you, but if I heard three totally different versions of a story I’d question the authenticity of the claim.”

It didn’t matter who was watching, you couldn’t hold it in.

You felt like you were on fire, you could see her sputter, like she didn’t expect you to call her out. You felt like the walls were closing in on you, she didn’t start the rumor but she was helping it spread and she was the closest person you could explode on.

“C’mon, Lindsey. Which one? I want to hear your side, unless you think it went down a totally different way. What? Scared to talk?”

Your throat’s closing, you can’t stop, you step closer, you shout at her.

“Which one, Lindsey!” The hall was dead silent, for the first time you had no cares about who was looking.

Her shoes squeak as she backs up, her eyes wide and blinking, a flash of terror, it makes you want to squeeze her and shake her, try to get her to understand this was what it felt like to be you.

“Fucking answer me!” Your voice cracked, she whimpered, fat tears falling.

“None! I don’t believe any of them!”

She doesn’t. You can see it written all over her face, she was just talking to talk, knowing you could hear every word she produced. It just made you feel sad.

“You can hunt other women as much as you want, Lindsey. But the collusion doesn’t save you from the same hunt.”

Lindsey nods, like she understands. But you know she doesn’t, you know she’ll keep being the same, until they turn on her, and then she’ll wonder why no one stands up for her and how anyone could believe the jargon they say about her. And on that day, you’d be nodding with the crowd.

—-------------

If Peter told his aunt about today she had an excellent poker face. Because she was more than happy seeing you when she opened the door, hugging you close before she could even shut it.

“Hi, sweetheart! How are you doing?” Politely hugging back, you talk back in her ear. “Hi, Ms. Parker, I’m good, how are you?” A squeeze before you’re released, her hands warm on your shoulders.

“Oh, please, just call me May. Did Peter give you the cookies?”

You nod while biting back a grin, she might have a clue for how you feel about her nephew but you’re not announcing it either. “Good,” she’s got something in her that makes you feel like she’s more of a wingwoman than aunt.

“Peter’s in his room, I won’t be back until late, are you sleeping over?”

You feel off balance for a second. May’s leaving you and Peter alone, for several hours, and then suggests you’ll be spending the night. She really is a wingwoman. It makes you second guess everything Peter might have told her, it’s clear she can see your mental gymnastics when she pats your arm.

“He said you guys are gonna hang out, maybe watch some movies. I just meant, will I be surprised if I come home to you two cuddled up somewhere.”

Is she saying not to fuck in the common areas?

“Are you saying-”

“Keep it in his room.”

Mortified. She must assume the worst out of you, you’ve only met her twice and her thought was that the second you were alone you’d be fuck bunnies. To be fair, Peter is really attractive. She can tell how embarrassed she’d made you and she’s quick to jump over it.

“No accusations and no shaming. I’d just rather be clear to both of you. Peter had a worse conversation, be glad.”

You take that as her permission, and that she likes you. She has to, she just implied she’d be cool if you and Peter hooked up. Even if the world hated you, having her approval made you feel like you had someone to impress again.

“Okay, I understand and accept the rules and boundaries of your home.”

May laughs, hooking her purse over her shoulder she pats your arm again. “You’re a good kid, don’t forget that.”

And that made you want to curl up and cry, you haven’t had unprompted support like that in years. It worked, because you’d never, not once, cross any boundary of her’s. In fact, after that? You’d die protecting hers.

“Thanks, May. See you later.”

A wink, “See you later, honey.”

You took a second to breathe, and look over yourself in the mirror before approaching Peter’s door. Knocking for a second and opening it when he answered, he spun one eighty in his desk chair, a blur of blue plaid until he settled.

Before he had a chance to speak you did, “did your aunt give us permission to have sex, or am I tripping?”

Peter’s grin dimmed, he looked to his closet doors while his cheeks tinged pink. “I promise you, whatever she said to you, is nowhere near as bad as my talk.”

“She mentioned that, was it all about the ins and outs of pleasuring a woman?”

Peter’s avoiding eye contact, you came here to tell him he should keep his space but watching him shrink under your questions made you feel powerful. Each blush he gives makes you want to dig in further.

He more or less shrugs, it’s a damn bold line, you don’t even know what you're saying until it comes out in full.

“Tell me, Parker, could you please me?”

Seconds tick, you can hear it on his clock, finally he looks at your face. Any trace of a blush fallen, it makes you feel choked.

“I’m not sure, but I’d love to find out.”

Panic. He’s not supposed to say that, he’s supposed to back down. You’re supposed to back him down.

Peter can’t go down this road and it’s your job to block his path, but you can’t stop yourself from moving out of his way.

“I mean, since you already know about the nipple piercings…” you trail your words, expecting a sneer. Instead he laughs, a full on body laugh, it makes you smile, just the pure happiness radiating from him.

For once a rumor is just something you can laugh about.

“Psh, of course I knew about them. I mean, isn’t that the third time you’ve had them?”

It was. You didn’t realize it but that was the third time the rumor was reused. You didn’t notice but he did, did he notice all the other ones too? All the ones that stated how bad you were? Did it even matter if he believed them, you didn’t think so, at least not at this point, you just didn’t want him to suffer the same fate.

Peter pats the top of his bed, “take a seat,” your stomach lurches, the thought of being in his bed enough to ignite you in flames. His aunt said keep it in his room and he’s luring you right in, your palms feel like they’re sweating. If he heard all the rumors about you sleeping around and thought you were like that, he was about to be disappointed.

Holding your eyes shut and squeezing fists you rush the words out, the quicker said the quicker this would be over.

“I’m a virgin!”

Instead, he looked utterly confused, looking around his room like he was trying to figure out where the explosion came from. Settling on a low release of words, his eyebrows furrowed in, “so am I?”

Just to be clear, “I’m not looking to change that tonight, so if that’s why you wanted-”

“No!” Peter almost slips on the floor he stands so quick, “that’s not at all why I wanted, I just thought…” He doesn’t know how to say it, he almost said he thought you needed a friend, but that could be offensive, or worse, he’d be friendzoning himself for you.

“Thought what, I’d be an easy piece? Cause I know you’ve hea-”

“I asked Mrs. Sturgis if I could tutor you!”

You stop talking, his words looping in your brain. That doesn’t make sense, because if he did ask then that means he wanted to tutor you, that means there was a deeper meaning, that means when his aunt said he talked about you it went further than what was said at school.

“Please,” he pleaded your name, “come sit? Just for a second.”

You follow his command and sit on the edge of his bed, watching Peter pace as he combs his hands through his hair. He’s nervous.

“I don’t know how to talk to you, my brain is just… you make me really nervous.”

“Why did you ask to tutor me?”

Peter stops moving to look at you, it was easier to answer when you asked.

“So I could talk to you.”

It’s a start, “why?”

“I just wanted you to trust me. I hear what everyone says, and I don’t believe a word of it, but I didn’t want you to think I was asking for the wrong reasons, or making a joke out of you.”

Your face scrunches, “you thought, I’d think, that you asking to tutor me, directly, would be a joke?”

Peter shakes his head, sitting back in his chair and taking a second to answer you.

“No, I think if I asked you out on a date you’d think it was a joke.”

You laugh, “well, yeah… It’s not like you…”

Except he does, and you can see it all over his face. He really, really does. With the new knowledge you don’t know how to act, suddenly aware Peter Parker sees you in a different light. He doesn’t see you as his student, he sees you as a potential mate.

You only know fight or flight, and your flight option was crawling further up his bed, backing away until your back hit the wall, a dull thump produced. You give a barely audible, “ow,” your brain racing with thoughts, trying to catch up with his admittance.

“You okay?”

You’re thankful he can’t see you, the top bunk perfectly cutting your head from his viewpoint.

“Peachy,” you can barely speak.

“Cool, cause it seemed like you kinda freaked when I implied I wanted to ask you out.”

You nibble on your thumbnail, “implied or asking?”

“I’d rather ask when I can see you.”

How is he so calm, he was the one that was just pacing the floor talking about how nervous he was. Now he’s a smooth talker.

“Is that why you asked to tutor me? So you could ask me out?”

“Maybe, but you also need a tutor.”

Rude. Fair, but rude.

“So, you like me?”

You wish you could see the smile he has, you know he has one, you can hear it in his laugh.

“What would give you that impression?”

You shrug, but he can’t see. “I don’t know, you’re not nervous anymore.”

“I don’t have to be, the girl I like likes me too.”

You gasp, you’ve said no such thing! There was absolutely nothing to base his accusation off of. You mock his words.

“What would give you that impression?”

Another laugh, you wish you could see that laugh. But once you emerge it’s over, it means he’s signed his life away to be with you. An act of selflessness you didn’t know was possible.

“Look at yourself, you’re hiding cause you’re petrified to be asked out.”

“No, I’m not. I’m protecting you, cause if you don’t ask, you won’t be ridiculed.”

You imagine he looks offended, because he sounds it.

“Do you think I give a shit what anyone thinks?”

“It’s isolating, Peter. I’d feel like I’d bring you down, and you don’t deserve that.” You take a breath, “you’re very kind, and I really like that.”

“You’re kind too, and smart, and really, very, pretty. And I think once you have a boyfriend and a friend group, things won’t be so bad and everyone will forget why they teased you.”

You hum, playing with your nails and chewing at your bottom lip, silence took over. It was a rush of a lot of emotions, you’re shocked and excited. You’re also panicked and jittery. It was everything you feared and wished for at once.

Peter Parker is asking to be in your life, no matter the cost.

That’s the bravest thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Clearing your throat, “who would be my boyfriend?”

Peter pretended to think about it, “you could have whoever you want.”

“Anything you want, it’s yours.” An immediate flashback to the first day he sat with you, you mumbled out the words and scooted, just an inch, from the wall.

“What was that?”

You announce it, moving forward another inch, “anything you want, it’s yours. You said that at lunch the first day you sat with me, do you still mean it?”

There’s just something you’ve been dying to do, something you’ve been wanting to do. And he said whatever you wanted.

“Whatever you want, I mean it.” He sounds sincere too, you move forward a few inches.

“Have you kissed anyone before?”

Peter doesn’t understand the correlation but he’ll entertain it. “Yes?”

You offer up more information, hoping he’d catch the hint. “I haven’t.”

He doesn’t. “That’s no biggie, I think over half the school-”

You speak over him, “but, I want to.”

It takes Peter a second to register it, and when he does he almost collapses.

“Oh. I see. Um, want me to come in there, or you come out here?”

Your heart races, he’s so willing to do whatever with no qualms, you just asked and he’s delivering. You were about to have your first kiss with your number one crush, and he liked you too.

“Wait, you’re gonna do it?” You’ve never been so excited. Or anxious. Were these the butterflies people talk about?

“I’m sorry, did I read that wrong?”

“No, you’re just… right now?” You think you’ll puke all over him, that’s why you’re stalling.

You can see Peter drum his fingers over his pants, “do you wanna hold off for a second? I’ll do it whenever you want.”

Your heart clenches, “Peter,” you groan out his name, “stop being so nice, it hurts.” Waiting a moment before continuing, “I’m gonna suck, and you won’t like me anymore.”

God, you wish you could see the cocky grin smear, you can hear it, but you want to face him more than anything. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose. He knows you can’t stay hidden forever.

“Wanna bet?”

Why not? If you really think about the last year and change of high school, what else would you really have to lose?

Plus, he was really cute.

Overwhelmed with the knowledge of knowing you were about to have your first kiss, you slowly shimmied to the edge of the bed, right where you were before you hightailed it backwards.

Peter looks even better than you’ve pictured, his hair fluffy from where he ran his hands through it. A greeting smile rested on him, and his bright brown eyes warmed. “Well, hello there, I was afraid you got lost.”

Sucking the life force from your bravery, “I was told there would be kisses out here.”

A surprised look crossed Peter before he fell back into neutral, pushing off his desk to glide over in front of you, his knees knocking yours, suddenly you feel panicky again. “There absolutely can be.”

Peter catches your nerves and figures it’d be easier to actually get it over with, because the second he would pull away all panic would hit near bottom ground. Using what little skill he has, he rests his right hand on your thigh while his left cups your face.

You suck in a breath, following his guide when he brings your face up to his. Peter swipes his thumb across your cheekbone and you feel everything in you be set ablaze with desire.

You wonder if he can feel how warm your cheek is under his touch, if he does, he doesn’t comment. When you give him no disagreement he leans in, he can hear your breath hitch, it brings him a little pleasure to be the ‘cool’ one in the situation.

When he’s closer than you would’ve ever imagined he gives you a grin, “hi.” It was a hushed whisper, you give him one back, “hi.” Your eyes flash from his gaze to his mouth, you were caught, it makes you look down at your hands.

Your mind spirals, why hasn’t he kissed you yet, and also, what do you do with your hands? Giving it a shot you press them against Peter’s chest, but it feels like you’re pushing him off, so you move to his shoulders but it doesn’t feel quite right.

“Want some help?” Peter caught on to your struggle, of course he did, he just notices the little things with you. He doesn’t even pull away, just bringing his hand that was on your thigh to bring your left hand around his neck. Your right hand outstretched to rest on his ribcage, when you look back he seems much closer, this time he’s looking at your mouth.

“Do-”

Peter cuts you off, a hushed whisper, “I’m gonna kiss you now,” you breathe in sharply, “oh, okay.” Peter can’t fight the smile, “is it?”

You don’t get a chance to answer, his mouth is on yours, and it’s heaven. You feel like you’re floating, his lips velvety smooth, the only way you know how to show your shock and appreciation is by gripping his shirt. Peter’s bottom lip favored your top lip, moving into his kisses awkwardly. He was much more experienced, but he didn’t make you feel overwhelmed, it felt like he was guiding you.

You didn’t feel like you were doing much, but it felt like everything you imagined. It made you dream of a day where you could do this with him whenever you wanted. It felt like he was pulling away, you refused to part and followed him, holding tight to his flannel. It failed when he was able to push you away with ease.

Peter sounded slightly winded, you were blinking with stars in your eyes, your heartbeat in your throat, and just a little shy to look at him. “Funny thing about kissing, you gotta breathe to keep doing it.”

You're new to it, gulps of fresh air weren’t as refreshing as him. You wanted to kiss him again, but you didn’t want to put him out, and you still weren’t sure how to initiate or ask for it.

Peter tapped on your knee, “wanna take me out for another test drive or are you happy with your purchase?”

He wanted to do it again.

That’s a good thing.

“If I buy it, does that mean the test drives stop?”

“Of course not. That just means you don’t need to ask to drive it.”

You lean in this time, “but I have to ask now?”

Peter speaks against your lips, “it would be the customary thing to do.”

“Well then,” you speak softly and look at him, “would you kiss me again?”

Your eyes close when he brushes against your mouth, a kiss is pressed to the corner of your cheek, “depends, are you planning on purchasing?”

Boldly, you give him a chaste kiss, “everyone at school is gonna hate my new car.”

Peter kisses your cheek, “best in show, baby. Best in show.”

You take a deep breath, it wasn’t a bad thing to need someone. And it wouldn’t be bad to let yourself have them.

Peter Parker heard everything everyone said but he wasn’t even listening, it felt dizzying, for the first time someone saw the real you, the good you and wanted you. He wanted nothing and everything at the same time. You liked him, maybe a bit too much, and the risk of losing him was enough to send you flying. But the chance of love, and hope and trust was even bigger.

Someone wasn’t scared to have a big reputation with you. Peter Parker was proud to have the same big enemies as you.

And for that reason,

“Sold.”

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #brilliant writing #so adorbs

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slightlypossessed · 9 days

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people telling you they reread your fic is the biggest compliment you could ever receive. there are thousands of stories out there begging to be found, to be explored, but your story meant so much to someone that they came back to it eagerly, they went over every word again. to love is to return and loving a fic is rereading it. thank you to all readers and rereaders <3333

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slightlypossessed · 9 days

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Synopsis — Spencer's favourite meal (aka dr reid eats pussy)

Who? — Dr. Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

18+ content — MDNI

small drabble post bcs pussy drunk Spencer is on the brain <3

"Spencer," you whine, "no more, please,"

"C'mon, baby," his voice is desperate and pained, as if he's the one who's been mercilessly toyed with this past hour or so. "One for more for me, sweetheart," he licks a long strip along your cunt, "one more."

But it was one more an orgasm ago. In fact, it was one more three, four, five orgasms ago.

Distantly, somewhere in the back of your frazzled and half-mush brain, you wonder if his jaw is sore – if he's really enjoying it as much as his humping and moaning seem to be giving away. Does he really get this much pleasure out of something as simple as eating you out?

But it's not that simple, no– not to Spencer.

For Spencer, it's the concept of your pleasure, the show you unawaredly put on: the hitches in your breath each time he puts his tongue on your clit again, the low moan when he sucks, the breathy please as you beg him to go faster. The way your hips circle and stutter beneath the hold his arms have on them, it's the way you sigh his name – low and dreamy as your back arches of the sheets when he makes you cum.

Spencer enjoys it all – craves it all, always. He's barely even lucid at this point. Your slick a most sweet elixir, throwing him deeper and deeper into a lust-filled haze till he's mindlessly rutting into the mattress and moaning into your core.

He wants to taste you again, taste your sweet liquor as you cum for him, again.

How can he not when your so pretty like this? taste as addictive as you do? make him feel half-insane as you moan out his name and grind your hips down onto his tongue – greedily asking for more, always wanting more, just as he so desperately does. You're the same as him, you want more, more, more – and he'll always so oh, so eagerly provide.

Your thighs are wet and sticky and Spencer seems to revel gleefully in the fact – he's made them like this, he's why your cunt is wet with slick, why your face is covered in tears and few smudges of mascara.

Spencer's mouth is hot on your pussy as he continues his work. He plunges two long and slender fingers inside of your, hooking them up as he moves them in-and-out, all the while sucking on your swollen clit.

"fuck," your back bows off the mattress. You're already so close – was close the moment he put his tongue on you again not even a second after your last orgasm.

"Spencer, please–" you don't know what you plea for – don't know if it's for mercy or for damnation. You're not sure if you should pull his head closer by the hand in his hair, or move away to stave off your orgasm. You're not sure you can handle more, even if you want it, you can't guarantee that another orgasm won't break you. But it doesn't matter, Spencer's movements are relentless, and either way he'll get you there – he needs to make you cum. Your hand in his hair remains neutral.

The coil in your stomach tightens, and you can already feel the familiar sweet, honeyed sensation fill you up. Warmth moving through your nerves and seeping deep into your bones. Your eyes are already closed, eyes sightlessly moving around beneath your lids as if caught in a restless dream — and you almost feel like you are in one: some feverish, psychosomatic sex dream.

Spencer efforts double, almost like he can notice the proximity of your orgasm, telepathically able to predict when the sensation is about to flood you even before you've been made aware yourself. His hips grind down harder against the mattress as he, seemingly unaware, tries to make himself cum to the sweet sounds of your pleasure.

His fingers move deeper, motions precise. The pads of his fingers nudge that soft spot deep in your cervix, and your legs are clamping closed, only held open by his bobbing head.

"Spencer!" you moan, "too much, fuck– please, honey, please," soft words bubble from your lips, your brain too pleasure-frazzled to form any other, more coherent requests.

Spencer's fingers continue their movements, his tongue moves up and down your cunt, before he rips out his fingers to stuff his face right in the centre of you to get a good taste, his nose brushing against your clit as he does so. You reward him with a cry, and he gifts you back his own moans. His sounds pressed deep into your cunt, making vibrations reverberate from your core to your chest, wrecking your body tremors as they flow through you.

He sucks and sucks, drinking your juices like a man depraved and dying of thirst. Spencer's always been an eager lover.

The coil begs to snap, stretched far too taught. His tongue plunges deep inside you, tasting along the spongy walls of your cunt.

All it takes is one simple movement from Spencer. His thumb circles your clit once, twice, his nose nudges your clit closer to his thumb – and you're screaming.

"Spencer!" you cry out as your back arches off the mattress completely. Your hips still held down by Spencer's strong arms intertwined around them, holding you hostage to his pleasure.

Moan after moan releases from your throat, mindlessly spoken words mixing in the middle: some please, some Spencers, a few cuss words in the bundle.

Despite the intensity you feel, the electricity that increases second by second, your hips act on a mind of their own. As every alarm in your friend brain goes off, telling you to stop the stimulation before you go insane, your hips yet continue to move, jerky circles following Spencer's still ongoing torment.

And Spencer's doesn't deprive you of any pleasure – his tongue still rapidly laps at your juices. The movements of his thumb on your clit are gentle, however. Slow, deliberate and soft circles.

Spencer doesn't fully slow down though, and before you can consider pulling him away with your weakened grip on his hair, Spencer's movements stutter. His body wracks with tremors, the movements of his mouth on you spasmodic. His hips thrash against the sheets. Spencer's movements are sporadic and shaky as his own cum erupts through his aching, hard cock.

Spencer's eyes roll far back into his skull, and you lean your head down to watch as his back bows while he whimpers and mewls against your pussy as he ruins the fabric of his boxers.

His hips continue to jerk, and he lays some soft, open-mouthed kisses on you as he rides out the high of a most divine feeling.

When his hips still, and sounds come back into focus, Spencer's hands loosen on you as he begins his ascent up your body, too eager to share the sweet taste of you on your tongue.

"mhmm," he hums against your pubic mound, laying a wet kiss as his handa move up to caress your body.

"you made me cum, pretty girl," he whispers against your stomach, you feel the curve of his lips around every word. "fuck, your sweet cunt and pretty sounds made me cum," another kiss laid higher up, "made me feel so good,"

You hum back in reply, unable to fully form a sentence yet.

"Didn't even need to try," he murmurs, and it's true. Spencer can cum from just looking at you, from your soft sounds and breathy whimpers. It's happened before, and it almost happened tonight when you moaned out his name all dreamy and dainty as he made you cum that first time.

"You sounded so pretty, too," his words carry on as his kisses move higher. He lays a wet kiss on your sternum, quickly darting out his tongue to lick a drop of sweat of your skin.

His big hands move all over you, from your hip to around your waist, then up to caress your chest, thumbs running over your nipples, before Spencer decides to taste them instead.

His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as he settles himself between your legs.

His takes one breast into his mouth, sucking at the plump skin, head bobbing as he kisses and licks at your chest. His tongue swipes over your nipple, once, twice, three, five times till your hoarse voice whimpers out your pleasure – much to his satisfaction. He moves to repeat the same movements on the other breast.

Once he's satisfied, he releases you with a pop, the sound obscene and loud, contrasting your soft pants.

"Did you feel good, baby?" he speaks the words now against the side of your neck. You nod in response, your jaw softly meeting the side of his face as you do. Spencer chuckles at the contact, and moves out of the cervix of your neck to properly look at you instead.

His brown eyes meet yours. This close, you can make each individual flick of gold in his eyes, each green strand the decorates the brown.

"Tell me," he requests, soft and gentle. He kisses you tenderly on the lips. "tell me how good it felt,"

"So good, Spence," you reply, voice rough with use, whilst you wrap your hands around his neck, one burrowing into his soft curls. His eyes flutter as your nails lightly scrape his skull, and he feels a low buzz at the contact.

"Good," he kisses you again, satiated and satisfied with your answer.

It seems to you like Spencer's gotten his fill, for now. He's only made you cum, what? 5 or 6 times?

He kisses you softly, and you hope that Spencer's settling to rest with you.

He kisses you slow and soft, humming gently against your lips. He lays one kiss on your temple, another on your forehead, and one on each of your closed eyelids as you begin to settle and relax against the pillows, your brain wandering off as you lose time between each kiss and the next; your brain dozes off for half-seconds as the atmosphere quiets.

so calm....so quiet

Your grip on Spencer loosens, the entrancing, post-euphoria haze thickens and stretches time as sounds around you mute and an exhausted smile settles across your face as you give into that weightless feeling and finally rest.

—

Spencer's hands wander downwards, yet again, his fingers settling on your clit as he aligs his once more hard cock with your entrance.

Liked reading this? >> Give this a go

A/N — some late night Spencer thoughts. Been wanting to right for dr. pretty boy for a while now.

+ experimenting with shorter fics now, hopefully I'll write more like this? also it's not properly edited if u can't tell ⊙⁠﹏⁠⊙

Feedback is always wanted & appreciated!

Requests are open!!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #Spencer reid x reader smut #fanfic #fluff #love #smut #criminal minds #criminal mind x reader

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slightlypossessed · 9 days

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My tags couldn’t even do it justice!!! I’m so obsessed with that fic you don’t understand it’s even in my drafts for rereading😭😭 in love with it!! It’s written so well!! -@steveharringtonat3am

holy shit tysmm!!!!!

I'm so beyond happy u like it!! it's always so insanely gratifying when I receive good feedback on my fics like this

tysmm I'm so happy u enjoyed it 🫶🏻🥹💗

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slightlypossessed · 9 days

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Monday Mornings // S.G

Summary: Steven's found his new favourite way to start off his week.

Warnings: This is a smut ladies and gentlemen, teeth rotting lovin' from our favourite steven (fuck you steve rogers), and a hell lot of action.

Word Count: 5.5k+

Monday mornings were always the worst for Steven.

Not only did he have troubling sleeping, but when he did sleep, he'd wake up missing a few days and feeling like he got run over by a bus, twice. He also has to get up and get ready to catch the bus for his 8-hour shift of Trying Not To Kill Donna™ and Tolerating The Plethora Of Historical Inaccuracies™.

But recently, since you've been in his life, he's come to not mind Mondays — in fact, he even looks forward to them now.

Steven never thought he'd manage to have himself a friend, let alone a girlfriend.

But he, somehow, managed not to fuck up the days, showed up on time and brought you roses and some fancy chocolate — leaving you with a very good impression for a first date and a heart yearning for more.

You couldn't help it, really, the gravitational pull to the mystifying universe that was Steven was just far too captivating for you not to get attracted to.

The way he talks and gesticulates, with widened eyes filled with unbridled mirth and excitement as he talks about the latest addition to the museum, or his love for Egyptian deities and their histories, had come to have quite the effect on you.

An effect that's warm and dopey, reminding you of the after effects of cough syrup, or a long day in the sun.

You found yourself staring at him often, with a small smile and a look of adoration, in wonder as to how the hell didn't he manage to get snagged way sooner? couldn't people see the beautiful curve of his angular jaw, reflecting the light off in a way that made it look all the much more sharper? or the way his finely curved cupid bow would dip when his pink lips would smile or he'd speak, and wonder what it'd feel like to kiss them? did they not wonder what his soft, dark curls would feel like as they ran their fingers through them?

Because you certainly did — in fact, it's all you did since you've met Steven.

You've spent hours, days, wondering how nice his lips would feel between yours, or how wonderful it'd feel to touch his soft, dark curls, fantasizing about how they'd feel as they snag gently between your fingertips as you played with them, or tugging at them as his soft lips mouth at your neck, your chest, maybe your thighs, or at somewhere warmer, wetter.

And his fingers— god, his fingers — you imagined them holding yours and playing with them as you huddled up with him, imagined how'd they feel caressing your face in motions soothing both you and him. There were the occasional images of his fingers splayed around your neck, touching and caressing and groping. these were usually followed by abrupt, lust-filled flashes of his fingers shoved deep inside you as you rock in rhythm with his long, strong fingers stroking your cunt.

Steven thinks he's the luckiest chap on earth for managing to somehow get someone so beautiful, so wonderful, someone like you, to be his girlfriend— his.

He doesn't know that you wake up everyday with pretty much the same thought; in wonder of how you managed to find someone so sweet, so lovely, like steven to be your boyfriend, to be yours.

Yours to hold, yours to touch, to love, to fuck, yours, yours, yours.

And you're his, too. His to admire, his to hold, to protect, to make love to, his, his, his — fucking his.

Since you've been in his life, you've not only made him like Mondays, but every other day, and every hour — pretty much every second because your here, you're with him, in his life and his bed — and sometimes in his makeshift office reading his books and touching his things, asking questions with wide, pretty eyes and listening to his long stories with a pretty smile on your pretty face.

And Steven has to hold himself back, then, to not pounce on you and kiss your soft lips and feel that lovely smile with his eyes closed, tracing out every line and ridge of your lips and commit them to memory, or take you by the waist over to his bed and make your eyes widen and flutter in something other than curiosity.

Or maybe even just hold you, take you in his arms and hold you close till the only thing he can feel is you, till his senses and his heart are full of you — becoming one with you.

Steven's realized that this is the only way he can actually sleep: with your arms around him, fingers soothing through his curls in motions that left his brain half-melted into his cranium as you kissed his forehead goodnight.

It's his new favourite thing, having you cradle him in your arms and letting him hold you in return, dozing off with you in a sleep so deep that he question himself the next morning if he might've accidentally slipped into a short coma.

it's just that — he's never felt quite so refreshed when he woke up. Steven usually woke up bolting out of bed, with the memories of a far-too-vivid nightmare and a metallic taste in his mouth.

He never falls asleep so easily either; it's usually an unintentional thing. He fights off sleep like it's his mortal enemy, and in return sleep yanks and wrangles his consciousness till it slips and he submits to sleep's awaiting claws unwittingly.

But with you sleep is something tender — something warm and riddled with child-like exhaustion, lulling him to a warm and gooey sense of calm.

And he loves waking up with you still in his arms, too. Besides feeling like everytime he wakes up to you is the most relaxed he'll ever be, he loves the little littered kisses that follow your hoarsely murmured "morning", kisses so random that it makes him think you're mapping out obscure constellations across his face and neck.

Another things steven has grown to love is putting that newfound energy he got from his deep sleep into good use.

Like he's doing right now.

it's why loves Mondays, he gets to watch you cum to start off his week. He couldn't imagine a better anything to motivate him go get through the week like the sight of you splayed out on his bed, fisting his sheets and moaning his name.

The sight of you breaking down in pleasure under his hold has him ready to go through his week, if only to get to have you for the weekend, two whole day to make you tremble and mewl under him — or above him, he doesn't mind.

"Fuck, steven, please," this is the nth time you beg him this morning to please just give you a little more, a little friction, please just anything to make you cum.

But he likes to savour these moments, and by savouring he means holding you on edge for as long as he can before you go insane.

And you know that he loves this, you know that your voice begging and moaning for him will echo in his head all day, acting as a confidence booster and adding a little skip to his step.

His tongue slows once more, "I thought you told me to do whatever I want?" he asks, his sound muffled by your sopping center.

"yes, I— but please, I can't, it's been too long, please steven, please, please, please." your voice comes out soft and breathy, edged with simmering desperation. You think if he doesn't do something soon you'll have to take matters into your own hands — flip him over and ride him till you're both sated.

He chuckles, deep and low, shooting you a smile too sly to be on your sweet steven's face, but that's what you do to him — your begging and whining spurring him to a confident dominance.

He continues his ministrations once more, this time granting your wish and adding two of his long fingers into you, spreading you open for the first time this morning. involuntarily, you clench around them, your muscles reacting to the gratification of your wishes for more friction. His mouth is on your cunt again, licking and sucking at your clit — giving it small kitten licks and a light graze of his teeth.

And it's too much now, it's been almost 30 minutes that's he's been shoving his tongue in you and playing with your clit that the mere addition of his finger significantly increases the tempo of your heart. You can feel yourself break a sweat despite the cool air of steven's apartment, and your vocal cords strum on their own accord; low mewls and moans of his name sound from deep within your throat, increasing in pitch with every stroke of his fingers inside — especially as he repeatedly hits that one spot that has you keening.

As you clench more around his fingers, Steven finds himself involuntarily moaning into your cunt. Deep, needy sounds escaping him as he thinks of how good you'd feel around his cock — his painfully hard cock that has so far only been stimulated by Steven's occasional hump of the mattress.

He's trying to savour this, savour you, saving his pleasure till you're begging and delirious, only then will he let himself sate the throbbing ache at his center.

But he's in a playful mood today, something he's been more and more since he's been with you.

Your presence around him and they way you react and respond him help him believe that maybe he's not as much of a loser as he thought himself to be. He's got to be doing something right if he managed to get you.

You make him confident and calm, and Steven has never felt more confident in his own skin than when he was around you, cracking jokes and retelling anecdotes to watch you giggle and look at him like he's your stars and moon, or like when he was spreading you open with his mouth, finger and cock to watch you shudder and cry under him.

You moan louder underneath him, your back arching on it's own accord as the vibrations of his deep moans stimulate your clit further. He keeps moving his fingers inside you, barely pulling them out before they're stroking at your spot again — it's almost a grind now, steady and deep. He moans once more and you arch further, your hips jutting towards his jaw causing your center to grind with his tongue and fingers. He keeps sucking at your clit, pulling for a moment to blow cool air on it then delving back in. The sudden shift from warm to cool then warm again throws you for a loop, and for a moment your head spins dangerously as if you've just stepped off a rollercoaster and fuck you don't think you can take it; it's too much , too good, too— fuck fuck fuck it's so goo—

—Steven pulls away just as you begin to spasm around him, already tipping off the edge. The shock of him pulling away so suddenly — ripping away both his warm tongue and his fingers — has you reeling back from climax.

"What the fuck? Why Steven?" you inquire, trying to sound stern but your voice is still high and breathy, cracking in the middle to further prove how far gone you were before he rudely interrupted your descent to your high.

"If you want to come I think you have to pull your own weight around here," he replies, a playful smile on his softened features, contrasting his teasing words.

His intention isn't lost on you; you know how much Steven likes you riding him, and how much better it feels when you're in a desperate haze like you are now.

He pulls back, giving you space to lower your leg from his shoulder and scoot back to sit up and look at him.

His jaw and lips shine with your arousal, and you have to resist the urge to pull him by the nape to taste yourself on his lips, opting instead to shoot him the stink eye.

But you can only manage a slight furrow, still too hazy with endorphins to summon an expression holding any true discontentment.

"Couldn't you have done this after you made me come?" you arch a brow, "It's only fair after you've been torturing me for the past 30 minutes."

Steven's smile stretches, peaking slightly at one side, granting him a cheshire effect.

"Please?" he bats his lashes at you and slightly tilts his head, and fuck that bastard has the audacity to look so cute. He doesn't hang on your previous comment, knowing by now that your words are teasing at best, and hold no true contempt.

You try to resist him, you really do, but Steven's current mannerisms remind you of a cute kitty, with his doe eyes and warm expression, and you find it hard to deny him — or yourself — the pleasure of granting his wish.

You push yourself upwards, your fingers hook with the chain around his neck, and you use it to pull him towards you as you tilt your head to give him a soft kiss, and another, followed by another one, this time slightly hotter — his tongue moving to slot itself between your lips granting you a taste of yourself mixed in with his own tatse.

And he tatses sweet, something slightly tart but sweet like powdered sugar. You would kiss him forever if you could, but unfortunately your need for air makes itself ever-present, so you pull away to take in small gasps of air before going back to kiss his lips not even a second later.

One of Steven's hands move from where it rests at your hip to hitch up your shirt — well, his shirt — but he made the mistake of once telling you what's his is yours, so now this shirt, and all his other shirts, are a part of your assets.

His other hand moves to hold the back of your neck, keeping you in place as he takes control and kisses your mouth with barely controlled desperation — you think if he doesn't get his cock in you soon he'll just opt to fucking your mouth with his tongue.

Another low sounds vibrates against your lips like it did against your clit, and you find yourself kissing him with more fervour, chasing the pretty sound and hoping to elicit more of it.

You move the hand holding his chain to splay against his neck, not squeezing but simply resting there. Your other hand moves down his warm chest, your fingers tracing at his abs and suddenly you're overcome with urge to lick them and taste his flesh under your tongue.

But you save it, waiting to build him like he did with you. Your hands continue their trail towards his boxers to find them already stained with his arousal. You reach beyond the hem, a reluctant finger caressing his wet tip.

Steven's breath hitches against your lips, and he pulls for a moment to release a shaky exhale. His eyes flutter open for a moment, and he moans when he sees your eyes already open, watching him with blown-out pupils.

His reaction motivates you, and you reach in to pull his cock out, pushing away his boxers and watching as he impatiently rips them off and throw them somewhere in the corner.

You tilt your face forward, moving to reconnect your lips. This time you offer Steven a gentle kiss, something to match the light caress of your hand against his aching cock.

He groans against your lips, his mouth parting slightly as you increase your tempo a little, and you repeat the same tongue movements he used against your cunt on his lips, eliciting a much higher moan this time — almost a whine. Steven's hands grip you closer, leaving you almost flushed against him.

You pull away to watch him. His brows are furrowed and his lips hang slightly as soft pants hit your lips.

You move one leg to straddle his hip, not stopping your hand movements on his cock, and you gently manoeuvre him so that he's lying in the center of the bed. He lets you move him around, completely pliant under your touch.

Your grip tightens around him, stimulating him further and you watch as he tilts his head back with a low moan. Your other hand, which now rests at his shoulder, moves down to graze over his nipples. You watch as they harden under your touch and lean down to kiss one, taking it in your mouth and giving it a long suckle for good measure.

Steven's hip stutter underneath you, his jerky movement almost throwing you off where you're straddling his hips. He's panting rapidly now, with moans and whines slipping from his lips — one's he can't control even if he wants to.

You weren't the only one getting all hot and bothered this past half hour. Steven has been fighting the urge to grant himself relief, waiting to feel your touch and your pussy. He's spent the last 30 minutes getting harder and harder, till it's almost pleasurebly painful that you're touching him now.

"fuck, oh please," he whines, his brow furrowing deepening and his back arching slightly. He doesn't know what he's begging for, he definitely doesn't want to come before he's inside you and made you come, but he's also so achingly hard and wants more friction than simply your hands.

"please what, baby?" you tease, enjoying how easy it is to make him like this: needy and whiny all for you.

"n-need you, please. y-your m-mouth or-or anything, please," he begs, his voice going deeper as he tries to ground himself for your pleasure.

You lean down and grant him a long kiss on his parted soft, pink lips. He kisses you back fervently, wasting no time to lick at your lips and arching under you to touch your skin together, only to realize your still wearing his shirt. He pulls back, this time the furrow in his brows is of contempt toward the offending clothing. He quickly pulls it off of you, throwing it in the same direction his boxers went. Immediately, his hand is soothing down your hair and splaying across your back to pull you closer to him. You go with him, leaning till your chest is in contact with his warm one and meet his lips halfway through for a brief kiss before you pull back to litter kisses across his jaw and down his neck. You pause at that sensitive spot at his jugular and give it a light bite, before soothing it with a lick of your tongue. Steven's head falls back to the pillow, his moans vibrating through his throat and against your lips.

His hips thrust up to meet every movement of your hand, setting a slow and steady pace as he fucks himself up into your fist.

You begin kissing down his chest, following the same trail your hands took a few minutes ago. You mouth at his chest once more, sucking each nipples into your mouth for a few seconds each, swirling your tongue around his areola.

Steven's moans increase then, adopting a breathier edge. His hips move rapidly again your hands, his hipbone slapping against your inner thighs.

"Please, please, fuck. So good, too good fo'me," he murmurs towards the ceiling as his head tips back further, exposing the veins of his neck. You look up at him, mesmerized by his beauty. Something about Steven when he's so needy like this has you reeling. His blissed expression triggering more wetness between your thighs. You stop your ministrations for a moment, moving to put both hands on either side of steven's broad chest.

He whines pitifully, his hips stuttering against nothing. Suddenly his cock feels cold against the breeze coming from the window in the corner, and he tries to fight the tingles at the base of his spine and his cock to focus enough to open his eyes and look at you.

As his eyes manage to flutter open, they're already closing again as you begin to kiss his neck once more, sucking and biting at his soft throat.

His hands move to hold you closer, one tangling in your hair and the other tightening around your waist. He makes a soft noise, one that interrupts your kisses and attempts at marking him and you peer at him curiously.

His eyes are hooded, that familiar pleasurable furrow in his brows present again and he voices softly: "j-just come here and kiss me,"

His tone is faint and breathy, and you fight the urge to swoon at how pretty he sounds.

"Of course, baby." you reply with a smile, already leaning down to give him his requested smooches.

He groans against your lips as you kiss him, his hands tightening around you. His hand at your waist moves from holding onto one side of you to wrapping around your waist entirely and pulling you flush against him, causing your cunt to rest right above where he needs you most. You feel his tip slightly grazing against your entrance, causing you to pull back from his lips, realigning to finish your previous mission before he distracted you with his kissable neck and pretty lips.

He whines quietly at the loss of contact, but it quickly turn to a low moan when he notices where you're headed.

You manoeuvre down towards his hips, gifting his lower abs with open-mouthed kisses, with occasional soft licks and bites. By the time you're down with him, steven's soft, tan skin will be covered with evidence of your love for him.

You descend in your path, reaching his hip bones and giving each side a kiss, before deftly skipping over his cock that's begging for your attention and opting to loiter kisses at the soft expanse of his inner thighs.

His hips jerk at the contact with his soft thighs, and you find yourself using both arms to hold him down onto the mattress.

He whines out another plea, titling his head to look at you — in a haze, you lock eyes with him and move towards the heavy weight of his cock, grasping it and giving it a few pumps before leaning down to give the tip a few soft kisses, extending down till the base.

Steven's hip jerk against your hold as he stutters out another moan, one mixed with your name.

His expression looks tortured, he's tied between letting you have your way with him or flipping you over and getting his own pleasure that he's becoming increasingly desperate for.

Thankfully, you quiet his inner conflict as you suck his tip into your mouth. You pump the rest of him before sliding down further, taking more of him into your mouth until he's hitting the back of your throat. you massage the rest of is length, moving your hand in rhythm with the steady bobs of your head.

Steven sighs out your name, a quiet sound you miss at first and only notice when he repeats it after you pull away to suck at his head once more.

His hand in your hair moves to take your other hand that lies across his hips, intertwining your fingers together across his stomach. The sudden acts of affection sparks something sweet and warm within your chest, turning molten hot as it fills you down to your core and you find yourself moving your mouth and hand more rapidly.

"fuck, I- please, I can't, can't-" Steven almost howls as you increase your speed. Suddenly, his hands are pulling you away from his cock and up till you're face to face with him and your pussy rests atop his hard length.

He's panting rapidly, his eyelids still fluttering as his lips pull into a soft smirk. Despite having woken up only an hour prior, his expression is one of sleepy exhaustion, but you know that's just the effect of the blissful tingles that run from his cock to sizzle out his neuron synapses — melting his brain till the only comprehensible thought is you, you, you.

"my little minx, you," he teases softly with a chuckle, making you smirk as he pulls you by an arm around your shoulders to kiss you.

His other hand aligns your hips above him, and takes his aching cock to nudge at your entrance. His tip catches on your clit, eliciting a gasp from you at the sudden sensation.

Your head drops to his shoulders, hiding in his soft embrace as he begins to rock up into you.

He pushes up into you, his head tilting back, a sinful moan choking out of his throat.

"fuck," he groans, "didn't want to come before I got to feel you come around me, darling." he whispers in your ear, the low tone causing his accent to sound much thicker.

Steve thrusts into you, bottoming out. His tip hits the deepest part of you, the way it always does whenever you two make love. The curve of his dick is perfect for you, grazing every area and spot that has you seeing stars. sometimes it feels so good you believe you've transcended and may even see these deities steven describes so vividly.

His hand at your hip moves to wrap around you, his arm pushing you even closer to him before he uses it for leverage to push you up and down his cock.

Your hips begin to grind in tandem with his slow, yet deep thrusts.

"c'mere, look at me," he pulls you by the nape from his shoulder, his fingers lovingly caress your cheeks as he lock eyes with you, "look at me, baby."

Your foreheads touch and suddenly the act seems a hundred times more intimate now, with your eyes exposed for him to read your every expression — and he offers the same to you, a baring of vulnerability and trust laid at your feet.

Steven sets a steady pace with you, both of you now pulling your weight in to reach orgasm. one hands reaches up to hold his hair, running your fingers to feel his curls latch onto your fingers. What once was a fantasy for you is now an everyday reality. With Steven you get all that you ask for, and more.

As the thought settles into place, you find yourself preening into his eyes, admiring the brown irises you've come to adore in the past few months.

Your grinds become more irratic, more desperate.

"What?" he chuckled breathlessly as he notices the way you're staring at him, with wide eyes and raised brows and small pout at your lips. Despite the combination of expressions, you look quite... smitten to him.

"I just-" you begin, but the words catch in your throat. This isn't the first time you've told him you loved him, you and steven have been open about your feelings towards eachother from day one, but you've never said it during sex before — depending on the act itself to portray the emotion.

But you want to — have to.

You're gripped by a sudden urge to tell him over and over that you love him, in love him, smitten, completely gone, a total goner.

"I just really fucking love you," you confess against his lips, before melding them with your own.

Steven's hips stutter mid-thrust, a high sound releasing from his throat as he grips onto you tighter.

He pulls back, his brows lifted in slight shock but they fall back in pleasure as you deliver a particularly slow grind of your hips.

"I-I f-fucking love you t-too," he stutters out through the haze in brain. He's positive his brain is just a pile of pink goo in his skull now, melted down by your languid ministrations and desperate confession.

He leans up to kiss you again, pulling your lower lip and giving it a slight bite, rolling it between his teeth. Simultaneously, his hips increase in speed, as do yours.

You struggle slightly with meeting his thrusts, his cock's constant catching on your g-spot leaves you with a puddle of a brain and legs too shaky to function.

As he continues to kiss you, swallowing down every mewl and whine and gifting you his own sounds in return, his hand at your neck reaches down between you two to rub at your clit, stroking it in tight circles.

"fuck, Steven," you pant out as you break apart to catch your breath. "so close baby, please."

"me too, me too." he replies just as breathless. His finger speed up, his thrusts hitting harder inside causing you to clamp down on him elicit another of his beautiful whines.

"Come for me, c'mon," he murmurs against your lips, his sweaty forehead touching yours with every movement of your bodies.

He nudges your nose with his own when your eyes close, slowing his fingers for a moment. "look at me, hey, look at me, please," he asks, "want to see you come fo'me."

He speeds up his fingers once more, and leans up to kiss you just as you release a sound he can only describe as delicious. It's tenor causes his dick to twitch inside of you — and suddenly that simple gesture, alone with his incessant thrusting and constant stimulation of your clit has you keening, your body curving in as you tremble above him and finally, finally, come.

A cross between a sigh and a high cry erupts from you, and the sound, along with your cunt holding his cock in a vice grip, triggers Steven's own orgasm.

He can feel your grinding hips coming to slow stop over him, and the slight stimulation as he comes has his cock pulsing even more.

The feeling of him coming deep inside you as you come around Ignites white flashes behind your eyelids that have involuntarily fallen shut. Steven makes you see stars — feel stars — as warmth ignites your skin and fills you completely.

"I love you, i love you, i-fuck, i love you, I love-" you repeat deliriously as you ride out your long high, fingers latching onto his neck and waist to ground yourself.

Steven releases another high, breathless sound as his eyes flutter in bliss. He's overwhelmed in the best way possible, both by your cunt still pulsing around him, and your desperate words of affection.

As you come down from high and open your eyes, you find Steven's to still be close, his mouth slightly agape and his brows pulled together in pleasure as quiet whimpers sound from his throat in his afterglow.

You experiment a little, grinding your hips again against Steven's. You ignore the aftershocks that flow through you, only focusing on Steven's pink dusted cheeks and blissed-out expression that begins to contort as you grind against him once more.

His heels dig into the mattress underneath you, trying to stave off the burning in his base as you tease him further.

"fu-fuck baby, s-stop," he chokes on a whimper halfway through his sentence. His trembling hands move to hold your hips still.

He finally manages to open his eyes, and takes note of your smug expression and sly smirk.

Before you can begin to tease him verbally, he opens his mouth to reply to all your confessions from earlier.

He takes your face in his hands and brings you close once again. He holds you there for a moment, just admiring you.

"I love you, so much."

He pulls you down on him, manoeuvring with you in his arms so that you're under him. His arms wrap under and around you — one at your shoulders and the other pulling your waist towards him as he lowers himself to cage you underneath him.

"I love you. I love you so, so, so much." he repeats between the kisses he's began to plant on your neck.

The pleasure of your previous orgasm and his affectionate words have you giggling mirthfully into his neck.

With a hand in his hair you pull him back up to give him a long, fat kiss on his jaw before tilting to appreciate his soft lips with your tongue.

He lets you kiss him for a moment, simply holding you and feeling you drip around his cock that's still inside you, before he pulls away, an apologetic smile on his face.

"I have to get up, darling," he informs you, his voice quiet. "My shift's in an hour and Donna will have my arse if I'm late again."

"I know," you tell him, but hold him closer anyway, nuzzling your body into him.

You know he'll have to get up soon, but you try to extend this morning for as long as you can. If he'll try to pull away too soon, you'll just use the excuse that you're helping boost him up for his long week.

Maybe even offer a pout and a "but i thought you liked Monday mornings with me?"

And you know he'll stay a little longer then, even if it's just to kiss your pout away.

My first published moon knight fic, hopefully I'll get around to finishing the other 3 in my drafts.

Hope you've enjoyed this one, and if you want to read more click here

#shameless self reblog #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader

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slightlypossessed · 10 days

Text

Discord has introduced microtransactions to make only specific users hear sound effects. Skype is back as a livestreaming platform. X is now marketing “twitter” as a paid-only private area to post in on X. There are clouds gathering above the field now. There’s an ache in your tooth when you eat something sweet, sharp and stabbing, but you put it off. The wind makes the puddles in the mud ripple after it rains. When you look out, you like to pretend they are deeper, deep enough to drown in. You wonder if you’d still be able to see just how big the cloud-heavy sky is as you fall beneath the surface. You wonder if you’d hear the first drops of rain. You wonder how the wind always seems to find you out there. The field is large, and it is cold outside. Come inside now. It’s getting late.

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slightlypossessed · 10 days

Text

holy fuck!!! the tags!!! I'm so happy u enjoyed it aaahhh!!!

tysm! ur so sweet 💖💖

Synopsis – Steve let's someone take care of him, for once in his fucking life 🙄

Who? – Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

18+ content – MDNI // handjob, thigh riding, marking and kissing.

4.05k – 17 mins

words are lost on him

it's not that there are none coming to mind — they are, they're just not sticking: light flash-bangs that don't last enough to know if he's really seen or imagined them.

the words are too quick for him to grasp onto, nerve endings fried as they spark alight with every stroke of your hand.

The movements you so torturously inflict on him are gentle, yet cruel. ministrations calculated and precise to ensure the most damage to his mind and fragile, vulnerable, state as he lies bare beneath you.

Body bare and soul rested on a silver platter for you, laid prettily at your feat for you to take as much as your heart, and lust, desire.

"Baby..." his whisper is husky, voice wrecked and all scratching-on-metal as he tries not, but fails, to beg.

Cognitive dissonance is a killer thing, Steve decides as you give a particular rough tug to his straining cock, more so than he's realised now that he's in the deep cusps of it. On one hand he's trying to hold himself together, trying to be man — in his mind, he's made to please, to be a caretaker — it's why he puts up with the bloody kids that he knows will make his hair go gret by the time he's 32, it's why he's there after every argument max has with her father, every time dustin feels lonely, every time Lucas has a falling out with the rest of the boys — always there, an invisible hand on the back, guiding, cautious, caring.

And it's why it's typically the other way around with you two than it is now. Steve's gotten comfortable with the unintentional routine: you beneath him, mouth and sex hot as you beg and scratch while he wrecks you piece by piece. He's your boyfriend, he's yours, and it's his job to please you. He's gotta care for you, for your pleasure — because he's your man, and because he goddamn wants to.

But as his darned luck would have it, your hands feel too good on his cock for him to push you away: far too gentle to push him over, but determined to press all the delicate parts of him, your fingers deft and rubbing down the areas you know to be sensitive — just enough times with every stroke to keep him constantly on edge.

He's lost time, how long it's been: maybe five minutes? ten? fifteen? maybe just the one? a torturously slow minute of pure ecstatic and exhilirating agony? He's doesn't know, all he knows is that he's at your mercy to grant him what he most needs.

And right now he needs more of what you're giving, just – god, please, more – enough to quiet the voice in his head telling him he's failing... something. Your pleasure? His supposed boyfriend duty? he doesn't know, but he wants it quiet — you've already told him you want to take care of him.

However long it was ago, his brain is half-mush and he can't quite remember, you took in your arms mid make out session and told him you wanted him, your tone different than every other time you've said those words, your hold on him more tender and enveloping.

"let me take care of you," you'd whispered against his lips, your hands on his chest and steadily caressing lower, "please."

He couldn't say no to you then, can't say no to you ever — his sweet girl, whatever you want, you'd get — and he's decided then that he'll be most compliant for you, he'll relent underneath you as you take care of him, in whatever way you'd wished to do that.

and fuck, he wasn't prepared – doesn't think his brain has relaxed ever since you pushed him against the headboard and straddled his legs and fucking told him to just relax.

How can he? when the prettiest girl he's ever seen is on top of him looking so pretty with earnest eyes tracking every emotion and expression that passes over his face. You're so keen, attention completely tuned in on him.

Nerves firing blast rapidly, blinding white light behind his eyes, whether his eyes are closed or not.

He's not even sure anymore if they're open or closed, there's just glimpses of you, and he's not even sure if his short-circuiting brain is catching up a moment late, doesn't know if by the time he's caught to the beautiful sight of you as you stoke more heat in his belly, he might've already drifted in another mini ecstasy and closed his eyes again.

Fuck, he needs more — he's not sure he can handle it — so much going on in his brain, so much pleasure emitting from your soft hands on his hard cock, but he needs more. Maybe it'll quiet his mind, maybe it'll ramp up the frequency to a million, maybe he'll completely lose it and go insane by your hands — but he craves what you give.

"Please," his voice is foreign to his own ears, broken and pleading. If he were to really think about it, you haven't even done that much to warrant his half-wrecked state. But he's there, and he seems relenting to the idea of you completely breaking him.

Maybe the idea of you taking care of him has done more to him than he thought it would.

A low moan escapes his throat as his hand previously gripping the sheet moves to anchor itself to your hips.

"Fuck," another broken sound, "please, honey, more." He isn't sure more what, faster? harder? both? he just needs your hands on him and to forget all his thoughts before he even has them.

"shh," you soothe as your hand tightens around the tip of him– and by god, you're evil, a wicked little thing— you know he's most sensitive there, and if you'd had any doubts about that, they were now for sure quelled by the debauched moan that escapes his throat. "I've got you, sweetheart, just relax for me."

But he can't relax, oh god, what are you doing to him?

Evil, he's decided.

Heavenly, his heart argues, as you lean down to give him a saccharine kiss on his parted lips, your tongue swirling with his.

Deep down, you're aware that your torturous and slow pace over the last few minutes has built him yet kept him consistently at bay, kept him all achy and squirmy underneath you – all because of you, for you.

He whimpers quietly, the sound low and vulnerable against your lips, and you pull back to hear his sweet sounds better – and immediately he gifts you another desperate sound as he chases your lips.

Usually, hand jobs are quick business in your relationship. Quick things done in foreplay before Steve's putting his tongue on you and making you cum a few times as he gets hard again to fuck you – sometimes he's even pushing your hand off him before he cums, choosing to sink himself deep inside you instead.

But it's been on your mind for a while now, this urge to just take care of him. You're brain constantly wandering to how he'd look like, sound like, if lets himself loose and handed over the reigns of his pleasure to you. He's stretching himself too thin everyday — acting as a brother, a father and a friend to a group of 15-year-old kids united by other-worldly trauma. He's the perfect boyfriend 24/7, small gifts every now and then, dates every week, fucking you silly almost every night – and on top, he's got a full-time nine-to-five.

You want to do something for him, get his mind of off everything for a while. And maybe this opens the door for more later – it's not that Steve doesn't let you take charge often, but even then he's still very much a giver rather than a taker, and this time you want him to just take and be as selfish with you as he'd wish to for once.

And so you stroke him faster in your hand again, your grip tighter this time.

A low groan sounds from his throat when your hand squeezes him at the base. Electric shocks from the centre of him to his brain.

You can't deny him what you want, can't ignore his pleas for more pleasure, not when he's so pretty underneath you, face red and flush, and his hair a mess all over a place with a few strands down his forehead.

Beautiful, in every sense. Debauched facial expression: eyes heavy-lidded and mouth agape, heavy pants in and out.

So pretty, and so you really can't even think to deny him what he aches for. Your hand moves faster without meaning to, just wanting to see more of him in this state. He rewards you with another groan, his hand tightening on your waist.

faster and faster, the sudden change of pace makes his back arch of the headboard bringing his chest closer to yours and he can feel your hardened nipples from beneath your thin shirt. The feel of it makes him shudder and he feels the need to be closer to you.

He can't think to even lift hands to take the shirt you're wearing of you, feel you closer to his skin, his heart – but he can lean his face up towards you and hope you understand his polite request.

And you do, instantly, because you were already halfway down to laying another kiss on his soft, pink lips.

Your lips meet his, gentle and tender as you feel his soft lips between your own. Your hand moves even quicker now, your thumb pressing down on the on spot you know makes him keen — and his reaction is instant. His mouth opens mid-kiss as he moans unabashedly against your lips as you continue to press over that one spot over and over again.

He's going to go insane, by god, you're going to drive him to the crazy house, because the things you're doing to him are effectively frying his brain.

You leave his mouth, and choose to kiss his exposed neck instead.

He's welcoming of it; without meaning to, he tilts his head to give you more access to suck and bite all kinds of marks along his neck – and he'd wear them with pride, let everyone now how good his girl takes care of him, how good she makes him feel. Fuck, he just wants you all around him, your soft lips on his neck and hands on his cock. He can feel your thighs against his, your calves rubbing against his knees – with every brush of your skin against his the fire in his belly grows warmer, moving from his core and spreading to his chest, his head, his limbs – rendering him tingly all over and loose beneath you.

Your hand move down as you caress his balls in slow circles as your other hand moves to continue stroking his cock.

And Steve keens, whimpers uncontrolled rolling out of his lips. And you time your hand encircling and tightening against his taut balls as you bite down on his neck, your lips suck on the tender flesh of his neck, suck and bite on a tender point on his neck.

And Steve? fuck

Steve's mind goes blank.

No thoughts, no words, nothing.

Just pleasure.

White, hot, blinding pleasure.

He feels it deep within him, a feeling like hot, melted honey so visceral it moves along from his center to spread all over him in intense waves.

In a haze, he's aware his thighs have begun to shake, his sartorius muscle clenching and rippling underneath his skin as the feeling begs to claw out of bones and release.

He's keening, hot moans and whimpers flowing through his lips in a steady flow. You can feel the sounds before you hear them, your lips still pressed to the length of throat.

Both of his arms are now gripping your hips hard, urging you closer to him. He wants– no, needs you closer. There's some part kf him that feels like he can't handle anything else, that if you were to repeat the same movements you've just done, of you were to press down on that spot along his tip, he might just go insane. Maybe lose all cognitive ability as your constant infliction of pleasure fries his nerve endings.

But these thoughts don't last, nerves frayed and through barely able to keep grip as your hands continue to jerk him quick8and quicker, unaware of how intensely you've just wrecked him.

— it's quiet and yet he can't think.

"Please," a voice he doesn't even register as his own, "please, baby, I lov- fuck, love you —oh – fuck, oh, honey–"

He's not sure what words he's saying, not even sure if he's speaking or thinking them, but the desired effect comes anyway.

The precum on your fingers help keep your movements quick, and you continue to move your fingers up and down as your other hand massages his balls.

On one particularly hard jerk, his legs twitchs beneath you, resulting in his thigh rubbing hard against your center, brushing your clit the way you've been abstaining of doing for the past god knows how long now.

shit, you might just come from this slight touch. You hadn't even realised how hot and wet you've become over the duration of pleasuring your boyfriend.

He's always been so hot to you (to everyone really, if his reputation so implies), and one look from him would've been enough to have your underwear ruined.

But, god, he's given more than just a look. He's given you his pleasure, his bare form against yours – he's given you his moans and mewls, his vulnerability. He's given you full control over his body and his pleasure – hadn't even tried once to flip you over and switch roles (not that he'd even be able to with how week in the knees you've rendered him)

So, how can you not be all hot and bothered by this? by the lascivious site of him beneath you as he desperate and weak cries fill the room around you?

Without meaning to, your hips rock against his thighs, moving in tandem with the rhythm you've set with your hand against his cock.

The feel of your dripping centre against him weakens him further, his eyes closed and head burying in the pillow. To know that his pleasure affects you that much makes his cock twitch in your fingers, makes his heart swell with an affection that is so foreign to him.

He's felt it before with you, with his tongue on your center and fingers buried deep – he's cum many times as he ate you out, unable to control himself from letting go as your pretty sounds spurred him on.

But it feels weird for the script to flip, for his immense pleasure be reason for your own, even as you remain untouched above him.

Your lips move from one spot on his neck to the other, biting and sucking as you go, feeling the vibrations of his throat down to even your core as you steadily grind yourself back and forth along the thick expanse of his muscular thighs – feeling every bulge of his muscles, every twitch of his form against the folds of your pussy, the curve of your clitoris.

His voice gruff and broken as he whimpers for you.

And despite the oath you took to only focus on him tonight, you can't stop your hips from moving even faster, motivated by lewd noise he makes.

You are human after all, and the intimacy of the atmosphere around you can't be ignored. The sight of his heaving chest gone red from blush of pleasure tempts you to feel him against your skin – to feel more of him as you make him (and yourself) cum.

You can feel it now, the shift in the atmosphere as your fingers keep moving and your hips keep rocking – it's all coming to a crescendo.

Maybe when your done milking him till you're both reasonably satisfied, you'll kiss him stupid as he recovers and then ride him till he's coming inside of you — maybe he'll sound even prettier then, cock deep in your cunt as you bounce up and down the length of him. You'll kiss his pretty neck all over then, too, feel the whimpers as they form his throat and kiss his lips as he moans for you.

or maybe you'll let yourself go now, core molten against his thighs as he cums for you spurt after spurt.

You can already feel yourself growing weak and weightless with euphoria, filled with a fever-like weakness that pulls you lower and lower to the throes of passion.

Before you can register your movements, you're pulling your hands away from Steve and ripping his shirt that still on your body off you.

The moment of reprieve, or perhaps frustration, shocks Steve, and he mewls against your throat for more.

"so close, bab– oh god–" his pleas are cut short as your hands resume their earlier position, moving faster and harsher now, more determined to get him to his high before you lose it yourself.

Your thumb drags over his slit and down to his pleasure points, up and down gripping the base. Up and down and a squeeze to his balls. Faster, gentler, more – Steve can't think, can't hold it together anymore. It's too much, please, oh please– too much yet he needs more, needs that final push to euphoria. Needs it, fuck– wants it and can't take anymore.

You lean down to kiss him on the lips again, and your nipples bush against his chest – the feeling making you both keen against each other. The soft curve of your breasts rubs against the peaks of nipples. Each rock of your hips against his thigh moving your body against him, electrifying touches all over his body and your chest rubs against his.

You bite his lips as you kiss, taking his plush bottom lip between your own and awarding it a slight tug, before letting go and soothing his tender lips with your lips.

You pull back a moment to admire your handiwork. His lips are red and kiss-bruised. His eyes are heavy lidded and you can see the dreamy and half-present look in the crescents of his eyes. He pants against your lips and tilts his head upward to kiss your lips and intertwine your tongue with his own. You watch his eyes fully close before your own do and you kiss him back.

And it appears that Steve's torture has gotten the best of him, because beneath you his chest hitches as his back begins to arch the way it always does before he cums. The sounds escaping his throat and vibrating against your lips are sporadic and disjointed. He's less kissing you now, more letting you kiss and suck at his parted lips.

His muscle tense and twitch against you, and you know all you need to do is just give him a little more, an extra nudge, and he'll topple over.

Your thumb presses against his slit as you jerk him, and your other hand massages and circles his balls just a tad bit harder.

And Steve feels himself fall.

He's not sure if the sounds he hears are his own or yours — pitches and tones melting into one, sounds coming in and out of focus as his eyes roll back and his body breaks out into tremors.

The feeling is intense, hot and burning and too much, spreading from his cock to his guts to his chest and head.

Steve shakes beneath you, body vibrating as shot after shot of hot cum fills your fist and releases over your hands and onto the sheets.

His abdominal muscles twitch as you milk him for all he's worth, your hands continuing to move as he experiences his high. Your hips rock harder and harder against his thighs, clit brushing faster as your wetness soaks his thighs.

You only slow your hand when Steve begins to thrash beneath you, his silent scream turning to aching cries.

"Steve," you moan against his lips as you rock harder, electricity filling you as your head begins to buzz and your eyes roll.

"Fuck," his whisper is quiet and rough with use, "cum for me, baby, come on," his hands, despite weak with euphoria, grip your hips with all his might to help rock your hips faster against him. "cum, honey. I love you– come on."

Steve, despite barely able to even blink his eyes open or keep his head straight, moves a hand to the back of your head to bring you closer, granting you the same intimacy you'd given him for his own orgasm.

He pulls your face to his lips, biting your plush lips in the same manner you did to his lips moments prior.

Despite the fact that Steve's brain is so euphoria-riddled that everything he experiences feels as if through a haze, he's completely and acutely in tune to your pleasure – to the hitch in your throat as your whimpers grow breathier, to the jerk of your hips against him, to how you seem to burrow yourself closer to him as you approach your own high.

Desperate and nerves frazzled to meet your own high, your hand moves to your own centre.

You bow your back as you begin to circle your clit, using Steve's sticky cum to intensify the feeling.

As your hand moves, Steve pulls back from kissing your neck, tilting his head to watch you make yourself cum with his own spend.

"oh, steve– I love you, fuck, baby–gonna cum fo'you," your words are just ramblings, breathless and desperate as you near your high.

A whimper releases from his throat as he watches your fingers circle your clit – one, two, three tugs before your body tips forward, tremors and twitches racking through your body. Your front presses against your boyfriend's chest as soft, gentle pressure fills your core and your body, leaving you weightless and pliant in the aftermath.

Those gentle waves of euphoria render you speechless against Steve, your limbs are jelly as you melt against your lover.

If Steve wasn't so spent, if his head wasn't already far too high in the clouds of venus, he might've gotten hard all over again and fucked the mix of yours and his cum deeper into your cunt.

But that'll wait, maybe a few minutes, or an hour – maybe...

His eyes are already closing.

Bone-deep euphoria induced exhaustion pulls him deep into a restful slumber.

He'll clean you both up later. You know he'll repay the pleasure you've given him with a hundred acts of care and praise. But for now you'll let him pull you down again him, let him bask in the intoxicating feeling of intimacy that comes after your love making. He settles you close, his hips against your own as you lay over like a weighted blanket.

A soft, comforting, supple blanket.

His hands fumble next to him as he reaches for the tissue box on his bedside and hands you one to wipe your fingers, eyes still closed. The rest of you can be cleaned...later, in the shower, or with his tongue; he'll decide later.

Right now, he just needs you against him.

As a final act of love before he's out, his hand moves to the back of your head and kisses your lips one last time, slow and tender, and another against each eyelid, before coming back again to your lips.

"Steve..." you break the kiss to whisper against his lips, "you gotta let me take care of you often." your words barely even a slur. Despite your love-drunk state and sensitivity, you already know that you want a repeat of this night; of the gratifying feeling as you give your lover pleasure.

Before you can respond to his weak chuckle, you're both out like light, his arms wrapped tight against you as yours rest around his neck, keeping him close to you as you bask in the post-euphoria quiet intimacy.

Like it? >> Give this a go

A/N – wasn't really sure how to end this. It's been almost two years since I've written anything at all so it feels great to get back into it. Feel like I've forgotten how to describe things??? but oh well Feedback is always wanted and appreciated

Requests are open <3

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slightlypossessed · 12 days

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me, proudly presenting my fics <3

trash!!!!

#thoughts and prayers for my writing process

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slightlypossessed · 12 days

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Synopsis – Steve let's someone take care of him, for once in his fucking life