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mellowumbra · 1 year

Text

-Good morning princess <3

~Abby Anderson smut~

pairing(s)! Abby anderson! x fem!reader

SMUT

warnings! porn with barely ANY plot, cursing, vulgar words, strap on! (r-receiving), sub!dom! dynamic, power and strength kink, dom!Abby w/slight rough, sub!reader, somnophilia (if you squint) vulgar description of s*x, oral! (r-receiving)

proofread?? yes? no? kinda?

word count?? 2,790

a/n! hi, so a quick lil side note. i definitely started over with my writing (not happy with my first one) . really wanted to take my time n write something with abby cuz i luvvv her!! based on a a scenario i know would happen after abby was stressed out ><

PLEASE lemme know how this is!!! is my first one imma actually keep hehehe

summary! after a busy morning, abby comes home to find you curled up in her bed, and she simply can't resist

Smut under da cut ;)

Abby wasn’t one to complain. She kept it tough, kept it together. But when it came to you, Abby felt weak. Abby felt weak in the best way. Walking into her apartment after a stressful morning of patrol and running into Scars, Abby was overjoyed to see you curled up in her bed, a blanket tossed over your sleeping figure. Nightmares had been plaguing you for days now, losing so much sleep every night. The bags under your eyes when you two saw each other for inventory meetings and patrol had worried Abby sick. She often was woken up in the middle of the night to meager knocks on her door, opening it to see your disheveled figure shaking with tears painting your cheeks. Abby never asked much, just swept you into her arms, shushed your sobs and wiped the tears away from your puffy eyes. You ended up sleeping in her bed most of the time now, grateful for a warm strong body curled up next to you.

Abby softly dropped her bag, unlacing her boots by the door. She scanned your body, checking for even breathing, making sure you weren’t in the middle of a nightmare. Since you had lost so much sleep, Abby refused to let you join her on patrols so early in the morning, shushing you back to sleep with soft kisses. You felt extremely guilty, letting that guilt get the better of you whenever Abby got back particularly pissed off. She never blamed you, even when you got angry. You had never seen such a vulnerable side of your girlfriend, where she comforted you that you were still incredibly important and vital to the WLF, even with nightly terrors.

Quickly donning a more clean outfit, the edge of the bed dipped as her weight fell onto the soft mattress. Gingerly scooting closer to you, Abby laid down on her side, softly capturing you in her embrace. She slowly pulled her body flush against yours, chest meeting your back, your backside resting against her pelvis. Abby loved how small you looked compared to her, her chin resting on your head, dwarfing you in size. Her soft fingers reached onto your exposed side, running them along the length of your ribcage. Softly moving them down, Abby traced her fingers along the smooth and warm plane of your stomach. She could never get enough of your warm and soft skin, supple to the touch. Her other arm moved to scoot under your pillow, settling between your neck and jaw. Her lips came forward and ghosted a kiss over the shell of your ear, moving them to place feather light kisses on the back of your head. She smelled your hair, so soft and clean. Abby could kiss and touch your skin forever. Tracing her fingers along your belly with soft scratches on your abdomen, Abby moved them up under the sleep shirt you wore, a stretched out tank top she usually wore to work out in.

“It smellsss like you,” you would say, for any chance to wear it.

Exploring the soft warmth of your skin, Abby sucked in a breath when she realized you didn't have a bra on. Ghosting over the skin of your breasts, Abby’s desire to touch you grew tenfold. Realizing the need for your sleep, she resigned herself to tracing her fingers along your skin. She groaned internally when her fingers traced below your naval, gently cupping your clothed cunt, incredibly warm to the touch. If you were canvas, Abby’s hands would paint you a masterpiece.

Feeling the memory of soft warm fingers on your skin, you slowly blinked, still half asleep in your dream-like state. You smelled a familiar scent and let out a content sigh as Abby realized you woke up. Her fingers could mold you into clay, keep you as soft as putty.

“Good morning Princess,” she whispered softly, placing a delicate kiss on your ear. Even though it was 3pm in the afternoon.

You hummed, scooting your ass higher into Abby’s front. She nipped at your ear, fingers cupping your waist, scooting you as close as possible to her.

“Cruel beautiful thing,” she rasped, to which you softly smiled and hummed again.

She kissed down your ear onto your jaw and neck, relishing in the amount of exposed skin you gave her as you opened your neck to her assault of kisses and licks. Placing soft and wet kisses on your neck, softly biting down onto your sweet spot, she dragged a low moan from out your parted lips.

“Can I touch you princess?” Abby cooed, almost like she was begging.

You hum, slowly nodding your head, not entirely awake yet.

“I need words, pretty girl,” she whispered once again, nipping at your earlobe, making sure you were lucid enough to say yes.

Breathy sighs fell from your lips as she held your ear in her teeth,

“yes baby,” you sighed. “p-please touch me.”

You had never ached for something so strong.

Snaking her hand up your shirt to cup your breast, she smiled to feel your pert nipples push against the fabric. She gathered the sensitive pink bud between her fingers, rolling it with painful slowness. Your eyelids fluttered, a breathy gasp leaving your lips. Abby got you right where she wanted, moldable and malleable. Her lips continued kissing, biting and licking your neck, eventually settling on placing a warm hickey.

“Oooh… Ab-Abs baby,” you moaned, electricity and warmth zinging down to your clothed mound. As she rolled your nipple, pulled it and stroked it, a pulsing heartbeat began to build deep in your belly. You were sure the blush on your cheeks was wild.

“Yeah princess? You like it when I play with you? Playing with these delicious tits of yours?”

“yes yesyes yes,” you breathed out, another moan falling from your mouth.

“Yes, what baby? What's my name beautiful?” Abby whispered, voice soft and low, laced thick with desire. She was sure her eyes had shifted, almost cobalt in their lust.

“Yes da-daddy,” you ground out, hungry for more. Your ass ground into Abby’s waist, earning a low chuckle from the blonde behind you.

“Atta girl,” Abby cooed again, taking the other breast in her hand, rolling the nipple between her strong fingers. You looked to see the muscles in her arm, taut and tight, heartbeat in your pussy growing by the second, aching to be filled. You clenched around nothing, soft shame burning your cheeks and turning your ears red.

“Ba-.. daddy… please please, i-i want,” you managed to babble, feeling warmth pool in your sleep shorts. You were sure they were soaked.

“Hmmm.. princess? What do you want? Gotta speak up for daddy,” Abby toyed with you, pausing her to pull off your chest, whining at the loss of contact.

“Touch me, oh please touch me,” you pleaded, breath turning shallow and fast.

“Touch you baby? Isn’t that what I’m doing now?” Abby chided playfully. The immense power trip she got from teasing you, displaying her obvious strength over you made your mouth water. Your outright begging to be touched was enough to snap Abby’s self control leash like a twig, delighting in the pleasure in riling you up until you practically screamed to be fucked.

“Or do you want me to touch that sopping cunt of yours?” She hissed, reaching her hand to roughly grip your clothed mound. You moaned loud at the feeling, dominance pouring through her words. Her vulgarity was striking against the formality she usually spoke at.

“You jus need daddy to fuck you, stuff you so full with daddy’s cock you can’t think? Is that it doll? Fuck you back to sleep?” Biting your ear as she said these vulgar things, you moaned, rutting your ass against her front one last desperate attempt to feel something.

“Pleasebaby i need–i need it i need your cock please ill take it good i swear…. I swear!” you plead, Abby easily grabbing your body and tossing herself over you, locking you in a cage of her arms. Her lips attacked yours feverishly, her honey hair cascading over you. Your hands immediately snapped up into her locks, interlocking your fingers, whilst wrapping your legs around her waist. The sounds of your kisses were filthy, coupled with spit and teeth. She swiped her tongue over your bottom lip, biting down and pulling your lip out. You groaned into her mouth, as she groaned low and loud from her throat.

“Shirt off,” she said, an air of power in her voice. Obeying soundlessly, tossing your shirt somewhere on the floor. Her approving smile warmed your insides.

“Pants off too angel,” she said, kneeling in between your legs as you kicked off your sleep shorts. She licked her lips at your obedience. As you leaned your head back on the pillows, Abby took your shut legs and wrenched them open, exposing your warm wetness to the cool air. It made you gasp while Abby stared, downright leered at your cunt. Her eyes grew hungry, mouth slightly opening, swiping her tongue over her lips. She took your body in, naked and spread only for her, and it fueled her.

“You’re fucking soaked angel, so wet from just me playing with you,” she chuckled. She took her thumb and led a slow languid drag down your slit. Your pussy was on fire, the simplest touch making your back arch and a moan split out of your mouth.

“You’re fucking pathetic baby, just a needy slut who needs daddy’s fuckin, is that right?” Abby questioned, almost laughing.

When you just whimpered, she took you by the neck, fingers wrapping around your throat. Her near animalistic stare locked with yours, pure hunger and admiration in her eyes.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you angel,” she emphasized the angel part, squeezing just a bit tighter. Your pussy pounded for relief at the feeling, cries falling on deaf ears as you said, “yesyes yes yes daddy i need your cock please!” you cried out, near tears.

“Then I gotta get you ready, don't I baby?” Abby mocked, moving her body down and locking your legs around her strong arms. She attacked your thighs with tongue and teeth, sure to leave her marks on you. She left a chaste kiss on your most sensitive bundle, then licked a clean and slow stripe from your needy hole all the way up to your clit. You nearly came to that feeling alone. Strangling your fingers in her hair you let your head fall back, drunk in the feeling of her mouth on your cunt. Abby was messy and she had no shame in it. Sucking and licking your clit in circles, moving down to fuck your hole with tongue, reaching up as far as her tongue could go. Loud sucks could be heard in the room, near pornographic moans accompanied. Abby hummed against, vibrations making you gasp.

“Ab-Abs abs abs oh-oh fuck daddy!” your legs shake, on the brink of the most delicious release. Suddenly, she stopped, earning another loud whine from your lips. Sitting up fast to stare at you, she gripped your neck again.

“Whiny whores don’t get dick now do they?” She softly threatened you, eyes dark and wide. Your puffy lips, fucked out eyes and pink cheeks made Abby’s pussy pound. The outright control had you in a puddle. Abby needed to make you feel good, needed to make sure you knew exactly who you belonged to. You shook your head in compliance.

“N-no daddy,” you blubbered, looking up at her with your wide doe eyes and pout. Abby couldn’t help but mock your pout, moving to kiss you slow and tenderly.

“Good girl- ass up and out princess,” she whispered, using her strength to easily flip you on your belly. Abby kneeled on the bed, lazily palming your ass, spreading your cheeks to see your soaking wet, throbbing cunt. You moaned loud at the feeling. You were making a mess on the bed, slick dripping down your thighs. Abby could feel that heartbeat, practically see it, and lavished in its thrum. You shook your ass slightly, earning a chuckle from the blonde as she pushed her hand down your spine, pressing your head into the pillow. Hearing the sound of clothes being discarded, your pussy grew hotter, swelling in anticipation. As 8 inches of silicone traced down your wet cunt, you pushed your hips toward her, greedy.

“daddyplease daddy please fuckme ive been so-soso so good,” you moaned low. Abby just hummed and filled you in one fell swoop without warning, gripping your hips so hard against her body bound to leave bruises. You groaned, something akin to a moan, or a scream. She picked up a steady rhythm of plunging deep inside your pussy and pulling out just far enough to suddenly pound farther in.

“Abs AbbyAbs oh fuck oh fuck!” you gasped and heard the wet slap of your pussy being stuffed rut against Abby’s skin. You gripped anything, knuckles white on the bed sheets. You’ll feel sore tomorrow, prey to Abby’s relentless teasing.

“Say,” thrust. “You.” thrust. “Are.” Thrust. “All.” Thrust. “Mine.” she ground out, the filthy sounds of your pussy filling her ears, moaning at the feeling of your ass against her. You squealed as she pulled your hair rough, back pressed against her now bare chest.

“Im- oh fuck daddy! im -im a-all yours, jus yours Abs” you shook out, nearly passed out at the speed and energy of her thrusts. You were fucked dumb, completely at her mercy. Short cries and mewls into the air left your parted lips drooling. She pushed your head into bed, hand still in your hair.

“Yeah baby? Only m’cock- fuck- c’make you feel this good hmm?” Abby cooed, unable to keep her own moans quiet anymore.

And you felt it, felt that orgasm from before growing in your belly; Abby could feel it too. She picked up your waist and lifted your bottom half off the bed like you weighed nothing. You gasped at her brute display of strength, loving the feeling of your pussy being used for Abby's pleasure, like means to an end. A white sticky layer of your come coated the strap, dripping down your thighs. “Yes daddy m’love your cock s’much on-on-only you,” moaning and blubbering your words as spit rolled off your tongue.

She pounded recklessly into you now, sweat lined her brow as your moans grew higher, laced with profanities. You were hers and Abby loved seeing you like this. Completely under her power, experiencing the greatest pleasure you could ever know. The only woman to ever make you feel this loved, this fucked out.

“Gotta give you one angel-fuck hmm oh fuck- gotta make it good baby yeah? You‘been so good princess- so so so good for me,” Abby rushed out, unable to keep her own orgasm from stopping.

She became sloppy, the squelch of your pussy taking her strap felt like music to her ears. She unlatched one hand n’began to stroke your clit with her pointer finger. The pressure deep in your belly grew.

“Oh fuck-fuc-abs- daddy m’please don’t stop donstop, mma’come Abs imgonnacome oh my god!” you cried, voice growing in pitch. The pressure in your pussy swelled, and your orgasm swelled over you like a wave, mouth dropping out in a silent O as your her name left your mouth strangled and loud.

Abby felt your cunt squeeze around her strap, clenching and unclenching, liquid gushing out of your swollen hole, falling onto the bed below. Seeing that sight ended Abby, tipping her over the edge, the pressure on her clit euphoric. She tipped her head back, moaning.

As you came down from your high, your legs shook and Abby slowly lowered your legs back to the bed. Abby took hands off your hips and kissed up your spine, making sure to end every kiss with “i love you,” “you did so good baby,” ��my perfect girl,” “my best girl.” She sang your praises, occupying your mind as the strap slowly pulled out. You cried short of the feeling, suddenly empty. You collapsed, body sweaty against the bed.

“Princess?” Abby cooed, quiet and tender now. She tucked hair behind your ear, kissing your forehead, once, twice. She had moved off her knees onto the floor to see you open your beautiful eyes.

“I’m gonna clean ya up m’kay baby hm? Get you all clean. Can you roll for me sweetie? Good girl thank you,” as you rolled over, thankful for the cool air.

She examined your fucked out face as you rolled. Your chest rose and fell in slowing breaths. Abby looked at the hickeys littered on your body, smiling. Kissing her sweet and tender, you hummed, closing your eyes. Returning quickly with a warm rag, Abby cleaned you then climbed into bed next to you, wrapping her arms around your body as you clung to her, head nuzzled into her neck. Her bare legs against yours was heaven.

“I love you s’much Abs,” you looked up at her, smiling, kissing her chin delicately. “That was the best way to wake up from a nap,” you giggled, as Abby laughed and kissed your head.

“I love you s’much princess,” she soothed. "Go back to bed, I got you baby."

HI! okay i hope you like it!!! Comments, reblogs, likes, anything is deeply loved and appreciated!! cant wait to get more out there for yall ;)

#abby anderson x female reader #abby the last of us #abby x reader #tlou abby #abby anderson smut #omgggg #such a hottie #cant help falling in love #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson tlou2

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punk-in-docs · 1 year

Note

“if you want to come you better beg” x prince paul cause i need this filth 😩👀

🥀Qualities of Mercy🥀

Prince Paul x Tsarevna // smut drabble - Bugger me sideways @usedtobecooler only the best for you babes crème de la crème - Prince Prick and some bratty behaviour culminating in angry!hate!fucking coming up. Also short? I don’t think I can write short drabble a about this man. I’m having a lot of feelings ok.

Some babes I know may want to see this @indouloureux @munsonswhore86 @heyndrix @lunatictardis @creme-bruhlee @callmeloverr @roanniom

It’s an odd relief to see the signs of war increase with each gained mile, burnt out patches of land and artillery tracks wedged into the mud. Foul air, fire, and rifle smoke; it means you’re closing in on your goal.

It means you’re that much closer to your husband.

Foul boggy mud, and nipping winds that cut to bone. You’re rumbling your way along treacherous roads, ever closer.

The terrain is dismal. There’s not even any sweetly soft birdsong chirping from the trees. There’s no kind nature. There’s only war and man, and guttural cries of the wounded. A landscape drizzled with slanted misty rain. Stubby felled larch trees and splintered bark.

The soldiers encamped, look like misshapen beasts. Blood crusted black, and the wounded wearing filthy yellowed bandages. Eyes missing, limbs turned to stumps. Squatting and huddling in clumps in the woods. Shivering under canvas with pithy licks of orange campfires staining the air with spicy woodsmoke.

They watch the carriage pass with rapt fascination. But too cold to react.

You weren’t expected.

That fact is writ plain as day all over the face of the dirt smeared soldier who trudged up to the carriage window. The soldier on watch. Who’d been pissing up against as tree when you rolled up.

His eyebrows buoy in surprise as you drop your fur lined hood.

“My Lady-“ He rasped in surprise.

“Tsarevna.” Your second maid, Maricel, leaned forward and snipped. Voice like a barking hound. Just as dogged.

She was eternally bolshy and hard edged. Hated you not being given the proper due politesse as deserving of your rank. She took great offence to those who didn’t understand the severity of your position.

“I’m here to see my husband. Kindly take me to him.”

“I’m not sure he’ll want- he’s occupied with many important matters.“ He fumbles for an excuse.

Maricel’s words come locked in impatience.

“Are you suggesting the Tsarevna of Russia is unimportant?” She tests.

“No- I.”

“He will carve out the time for his wife, you dumb prick.” She points out. Rubbing her shivering hands.

“Now, now.” You scold her.

She merely rolls her eyes. Not frightened by you whatsoever. Just pissy cause she’s cold.

The solider shuffles on his feet. Breaks eye contact. “I’m not sure I have the authority to-“

“Are you going to make me repeat myself.” You warn. Ire threaded into every word.

You stare him down with slicing diamond eyes. Tips sharpened and designed to cut.

A look you’ve thieved and mastered from Catherine’s own brand of venom. Don’t budge an inch.

It’s enough to get him to snap his mouth shut.

“No. Uh. Of course. This way, Tsarevna.”

You clambered out that boxy royal carriage. Door encrusted in a golden crest. Dainty sky blue heel sinking into earth. Hem sodden and dragged with it in no time. Maricel follows you dutifully. Your guard dog.

“Cunt.” Maricel bites out at the solider as she shuffled after you. Trudging into the muck.

“Put your forked tongue away.” You suggest.

She moodily deigns to do as you say.

You fold your gloved hands. Pretty pearl buttons march along your wrists now seeming contemptuous among all this. You rub at them to spark up some warmth in your numb fingers, as you looked around for the cluster of carmine coated generals.

Slipping and staining your skirts with slodgy mud as you followed the dismal soldier who’d take you to him. Your heels slip up, your feet get bogged. The stench of this place is curdling your lungs. Burnt larch trees and smoke and decay.

You press on. Determined.

The men swim their their groggy eyes to you. This place is used to viscera and gummy black blood, and mud crusted ash.

By comparison you look like a chunk of pure silken teal sky, fallen to earth. Precious and spotless. A drop of stunning sapphire wedged into all this dirt and death.

You squelch your way through tents and surgeon tents where men lay gouged and exposed. Rotting alive and shivering under the canvas as they cried out to the chowder thick sky. Rain melting on their eyelashes.

The smoke cleared past you, drifting. And then your overly elegant shape comes moulded out the congealing blood and smog of his hell. Pearl buttons, satin, and floral petal perfume. A wrenching juxtaposition coinciding.

You see your husband. Through the cloth mouth of one of the larger tents. No mistaking those puddle eyes for anyone else. The white scratchy wig. The cut of his powder blue coat and red royal medals slashing blood.

He’s gathered with men around a map table staked out with battle plans. This fare is all simplicity. Battle for blood and the vicinity of conquering men.

This is a land shuttered to the gaze of your sex. Your kind do not come roaming here. Not noble women anyway. The generals of mild importance probably had their favourite whores fetched in, however.

You stand and his eyes travel at last to yours. You smile lightly.

His expression altered into bitterness. Eyes lost their walnut warmth. Jaw clenched. Mood spiked sour.

He told you distinctly not to fucking come.

Yet here you stand.

You meet his burnt umber gaze and the sparky fire flecked there, scalds you.

“Tsarevich.” You greet him. Breath whipped to silver. You’re standing in the misty rain.

Waiting to see what comes spat back.

The generals clustering him, all bow in confusion and politely bob their unkempt wigged heads.

Not Paul.

His jaw clenched. Expression stiff. Posture as rigid as a Siberian Larch.

You’re fucking in for it now.

You batted at the sopping stretch of canvas. Hurling it out the way. Rain crashes down into your sprouting feathered hat and onto your shoulders.

Every squelch of your step into the oozing mud came sharp. Striking as a gut punch.

He’s following, hot on your heels, and you want to turn around and swing a punch into the angelic cherubim face you’d missed all these lonely long eight months.

His anger set off your own. Silky black gunpowder meeting roaring flame.

He’s livid.

You stand in his quarters. His tent is this huge beast of a thing. Clean and comfortable. A room with a table and maps and trunks takes up one. Green and gold tapestries make the walls slightly more habitable. More sophisticated. A cut above the desolate forest and the miseries of the wounded.

An emerald velvet curtain shields off the area where his ornate downy bed must be. He was still a Prince after all. He’ll be among his men. But he’s not sleeping in a frozen bedroll in the muck like an animal.

He storms into this space behind you and slaps the canvas closed. Words snapping out his mouth, that flimsy tent walls and steadily dripping rain will not conceal.

“This is not a place for you. You’re not supposed to be here.”

You don’t twist back to him as you angrily shed your gloves. Ripping them off like it was your own skin.

“Heaven forfend. I travel for two days in an uncomfortable carriage in the fucking driving rain to come see my husband and this is the thanks I get?”

“I told you not to come!” His words stamp out his mouth. He stabs a finger in the air. Aiming it as you.

“A lovely welcome.” You stab back.

He’s toe to toe with you. Muddy boots. Those chocolate eyes are all bitter. Not skated in love. Cold as all this terrible mud you’re bogged into.

“I don’t need you here. I have enough to deal with on my plate as it is fighting these Turks. I don’t need my wife by my side whilst I’m engaged in matters of battle.”

You steel your wilful jaw and bathe in the burnt brown shadow of his scowl.

“I am your wife. I have been left rotting at court. In misery now you’re gone. I decided to come and see you. To be here, by your side. In sickness and in health and even in battle. I don’t consider that as an action that deserves censure.”

“Yes it fucking is. I don’t need you here.” He shouts.

The burn of tears stings at your chest. Rips at your eyes. The man you’ve missed and ached after for months now and this is his choice of words levelled at you. It’s cutting.

“Lovely.” You bite out. “Well then. I won’t waste my time loitering around for you to yell at me.” You grip your gloves and turn back to him.

“Fuck you, Paul. Good day. Go back to your warring, and muddy filth.” You finish acidly. Your throat is full of clotting fire. Your rage. In situ with your wounded pride.

You shove at his coated chest, dull gold buttons. Go to move past him. Wipe your boots on his fine rug floors on the way out.

Your ruined shoes stick on the spot. He’s banded a hand around your wrist. It tugs. Burns skin.

“Let go.” You seethe. Pull your arm. You don’t look at him. Jaw grit.

He does not.

You wrench again. It brings you closer to him. You snarl. He stills your arm.

You do meet his gaze. The glint of fire - raked embers - returns to his eyes.

“No.” He decided.

Oh, now he’s in for it.

Anger spumes out of you like raining cursed hellfire. He should be terrified. You are mighty. Goddess of war backed with wrath. Angrier than Ares. These men should cower under your golden gaze. Desolation writ into you so heavily they should run for the hills.

“Thought you didn’t need me? Why would the mighty Tsarevich need his dumb bitch of a wife at his side? Run out of good whores have you?”

It was too late for niceties.

“Just be quiet.” He snaps.

Stepping very close. Close enough to touch only he doesn’t. His eyes move to your mouth. His hand seeks for your waist. Reels you in.

You don’t want too. But you clam up. You want to rear back and swing your fist to strike him. Preferably with a knife.

“I have never known a woman as disobedient. Nor as wilfully stubborn as you are. It’s infuriating.” He snipes.

His breath warms your mouth. He smells like his woody spice soap and bitter brush of smoke, and sweat. Still Paul. Underneath all things.

“Good.” You snarl with a nod. “I’m glad to have been such an inconvenience.”

“Constant dagger in my side.”

“Fuck you.” You announce passionately.

“I have had enough of your inability to listen to my orders.” He comments.

“Tough shit.” You snark.

“Elegant verbiage.” He insults.

His gaze is swimming into something steel black and lethal. You hate how much you like looking at him like this. It almost makes him look intimidating and handsome.

At this point, you’re half desire, half pure lightning hot rage.

“Get back to me when I don’t want to stick a knife in your thigh. Maybe my vocabulary will improve.” You hiss.

You’re so locked and entwined with this man. Tug his strings and it’s sure enough to jerk some distant part of you, merely by extension.

“Are you wet right now?” He asks. Head tilting His lashes shutter his eyes as he scans you. From the dirt crusted hem, sweeping upwards.

Your mouth is dry as tumbling scorched sands. Clench your teeth to dust. Heart ramming your tonsils.

He spies that twitch in your face. “Am I to take that as a yes, Tsarevna?”

If looks could kill.

“I’m going to fuck you. I know how plaint and weak it makes you when I work that delicious cunt open with my cock.” He steps you back. Hands tugged in your dress. Leading.

“I will fuck every disobedient word and thought out that head. Wife.” He sneers.

He pushes you to one of the wooden columns. Shunts a breath out of you. Hands digging through your skirts. Searching for your pussy.

You rake your nails into the nape of his neck. Hope it stings. Pray it brings blood.

“Be careful what you wish for.” You warn.

He smiles.

He’s fucking you not two minutes later.

Naturally, it didn’t take him long. You succumbed way too easy. Melted like butter, really.

He’s slithered to the gaps in your armour and snuck beneath with all the cunning adroitness of a serpent. You detest it.

He doesn’t give you what you need. Of course not. He doesn’t make this easy. His actions are all dipped in mocking taunt and brat.

He splayed you open, and rubs the fat leaking head of his cock against your trembling pussy. Eight months of nothing your your own fingers and he’s making you sit and beg like a trained lapdog.

Slapping it to your clit and smiling when you lurch. Unwilling to feed the head into you just yet.

It’s fucking agony.

You’re ready to slit his throat by the time he rewards you with sinking to the hilt in one ramming surge of his hips. The anger dissipates - a little.

You soothe the rest of it by leaning up and gnashing your teeth into his neck. Clamp down hard- force him to fuck you harder.

He cursed when sliding into you. Mumbled wisely about how conflict always made you so juicy wet for him. He pulled back and taunted you with your own greediness for his cock. The shine of your arousal coating him all glossy. A pretty sight, that.

“Hear how wet you are my love?” He lurches and slams you. A sharp stroke that wracked every vertebrae of your spine.

The sounds that come keening from you make your eyes flick back into your head. Enough to make him more smug.

“Utterly filthy. Soaking.” He huffs in gasps. “Making wet patches on my bed like a damn harlot.”

“Can’t believe you. Hmm- fucking brat. Yelling at me for coming here.” You manage to gasp. Cheeks blistering hot with this anger spurned arousal. Nails clawed into the carved headboard.

A hiccup snags the back of your throat as he knees closer.

Pushes your legs almost crushed up to your tits. Your stays almost strangling you. You cry loud because of this new angle. Makes him punch a spot inside that almost aches.

“I think this cunt is more pleased to see me than you are.” He smirks. Hands with dirty nails digging into your thighs. Ten half moons socketed into your quivering flesh.

“Fucking hell.” Spews out your mouth. Unguarded. He’s severing every strong steel thread of your resolve.

“I’ll take that as yes.” He says. Hair falls choppy in front of his wild eyes. Tiger eyes. Frightful fierce. Hands clamped to your thighs. He spreads you and sits up to stuff himself deeper. Harder. Faster.

The noises he’s getting out of you are just growing and growing. Rising in pitch and volume. So much so you’re swirling your hips to him to get feedback off that friction. That burgeoning pleasure begins to slice mean into your belly.

“How you moan for me when I give you my cock. Never gets old.” He grins.

“Never too late to punish my disobedient-“ he huffs and fucks hard inbetween his words. “Petulant. Stubborn. Wife.” He insists with a playful leer.

He can tell by the wails how close you are. Enough to taste it now. That eye rolling pressure ready to snap.

His cock stretched you just right. Stabbed into the gaping cup of your womb. You’re so treacherously close to that blissful peak you go rigid trying to chase it down and let the sensation ruin you.

It was mind meltingly good. Close and looming closer. Heat wrapping your limbs and warping your mind to bend to him. Every atom of you trained for this pleasure to come-

He yanks his cock out of you so fast, you want to shriek.

That coal hot glow of orgasm withers and curls to ash. He’s back to slipping his fat head around your cit again. Smearing your cunt in a sticky taste he’ll find and devour later.

“You fucking-“ you glare up at him all blissed and edged. Cunt clenching on nothing but air. He smooths both his thumbs over your pretty and dripping pussy lips. Making you throb.

“If you want to cum, you better beg.” He insists.

“I could kill you.” You seethe. Words dressed in a growl.

He tilts his head. Teasing. “Yes?”

You yelp when his cock slams into you once more. Puff for breath. God fucking dammit.

“How about now?” He checks as he folds you in half, yet again. Cock rooted deep.

The start of a long night, to be sure.

Hours later, darkness wraps you up. Comforting tenebrous blanket. Candles are lit. Dozy gold and matte dark pours into the tent.

He has you food brought in as an apology.

Someone ducks in the tent with a tray of it. He pulls on his boots to go fetch it. Leaves you boneless on his goose feather plumped bed.

There’s a bottle of wine with dinner too. Not the best but you’re not complaining. Dry hard biscuits and a salty wedge of goats cheese was your lot in the carriage ride here.

There’s a thick milky porridge with creamy oats and nutmeg and warming spices. A slab of pink roasted meat glistening with fat and golden globs of plain boiled potatoes barely salted. Sided with some hunk of brown hardy bread smeared in greasy butter.

This food is hot and warm and fills your belly well. He feeds it to you.

It’s how he soothes. But it’s not the only way he wants to offer you comfort.

He gets naked and climbs under the covers. Always bathed you in limitless comforts and luxuries after a rough fuck. The calm sweetness after a raging storm of passion and stinging claws and slamming hate. When the blood has dried to rust, along with the nasty words.

He slips between your legs under the sheets to tongue at your cunt like it’s a juicy honeycomb treat that drips honey.

It’s dripping him.

He eats it out of you. You sigh all dreamy and elongate your neck back to pillows that smell like his shaving soap, to moan his name.

Slipping your nails over the short brown thorns of hair. Rake over his scalp.

You gasp his name and you know the soldiers will have heard the sound sneak out the tent flaps. You don’t care.

His tongue slithers and laps through your puffy sex. Fully nursing your clit with the curl of his tongue. Brushes through the tactile scratch of your curls there. He loves burying his nose in them.

When he’s done he slinks up from under his furs and sheets. Wiping his mouth in the back of his hand. Still a little bit of both of you combined is smeared wetly across one cheek.

It catches in the flickering murky light. Candles are spinning red gold in the dim. Rain is a steady pat on the tent roof.

You look down at him. His gaze is all warmth and tenderness again. A knowing smile slopes the corner of his mouth.

“Did you really travel all this way just so I could fuck you?” He asks all smug.

You smirk. “Got what I wanted, now didn’t I.” You dismiss archly.

But you both know it seats a little deeper than that. There’s definite skin both of you have sunk into this game. It might even be the gummy beating walls of your hearts involved.

“You do know you’re a walking fucking nightmare.” He tells you.

Slotting himself between your hips. Seeking to hold your hands as he rolls into you. Makes your cunt clench.

Your hand slips from stroking his hair, downwards. Vicing your cruel hand around his soft throat. His eyes blaze again.

“Don’t you dare fucking forget it.” You sneer.

He sends you home sore - five days after your arrival.

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