15 minutes
ao3 • jonathan levy x f!reader | short | explicit | smut | wc : 1.9k
summary: you haven’t had sex in weeks , months even , if you care to count . is it any wonder that you’re so easily turned on these days ?
LATEST: july 18 , 2026
bedridden
ao3 • leto atreides x f!reader | short | explicit | smut , angst | wc : 2.3k
summary: his eyes peel open , heavy-lidded as they rake down the salacious dip along your spine — oh , what a lovely sight to wake up to .
//
“ don’t freak out , ok ?”
ao3 • x f!reader | drabble | mature | angst | wc : 319
cabin pressure
ao3 • x f!reader | multi-chapter | explicit | fluff , humour , smut | wc : 7.2k
summary:
“ it’s a surprise ,” you pull an innocent smile , batting your eyelashes .
“ you’ll see tomorrow .”
“ why tomor— ” poe flashes that boyish grin . “ what did you do ?”
morning view
ao3 • x f!reader | short | explicit | smut | wc : 1.6k
summary: it was your fault , really — for lingering just a bit longer than you usually would that morning .
to have and to hold
ao3 • x gn!reader | short | mature | angst | wc : 1.4k
summary: his hand , keeping you whole in his protective hold on you .
stars by the pocketful
ao3 • x f!oc | short | teen & up | fluff | wc : 9.4k
summary: life day has always been a bittersweet affair for poe dameron , this delicate balance between the sweet and the bitter . this is the bitter part for him on life day on d’qar that year ; but the sweet part though — her .
//
confection | confession | concession
ao3 • jake x f!reader | multi-short | explicit | angst , smut | wc : 7.0k
summary: you have all but forgotten about the note . you watch his eyes scan the words , his voice in your head enunciates each syllable : suck them like it’s my cunt .
“ are you there , moriarty ?”
ao3 • steven x gn!reader | drabble | explicit | smut | wc : 295
“ steven , please stop ”
ao3 • steven x gn!reader | drabble | teen & up | angst | wc : 200
best laid plans
ao3 • marc x gn!reader | short | mature | fluff , humour | wc : 1.7k
summary: there isn’t a proper plan in place just yet on how marc would like to broach the subject about steven and jake to you .
the hanky panky trilogy
ao3 • moon knight system x f!reader | multi-short | explicit | smut | wc : 3.1k
summary: the moon boys like you in all your different ways — all cute .
//
15 minutes
ao3 • jonathan levy x f!reader | short | explicit | smut | wc : 1.9k
summary: you haven’t had sex in weeks , months even , if you care to count . is it any wonder that you’re so easily turned on these days ?
bedridden
ao3 • leto atreides x f!reader | short | explicit | smut , angst | wc : 2.3k
summary: his eyes peel open , heavy-lidded as they rake down the salacious dip along your spine — oh , what a lovely sight to wake up to .
assessment [ 3 ] [ 4 ]
ao3 • michael perry x f!reader | multi-chapter | teen & up | fluff | wc : 7.7k
summary: you realise that the only valid reason he’d been hanging about this deliberately — it can only mean one thing : they were all assessments to see how you fared at adams elementary .
a/n: and how i became obsessed with that silver streak on his head .
//
grounded
ao3 • multi-chapter | teen & up | angst , fluff | wc : 5.7k
summary: bee-bee was the only reason that kept poe and rey together . now that he’s gone —
lost // found series
1 / bright stars
ao3 • modern au | multi-chapter | explicit | angst , smut | wc : 17.1k
summary: “ it’s something i’ve believed in for a while now , even before we — you know , got together ,” he said . “ that i’ll be — we’ll only be the best versions of ourselves when we’re together ; and — any other times we’re not , we’ll just be lesser versions of ourselves .”
2 / reckless
ao3 • modern au | multi-chapter | explicit | angst , smut | wc : 27.7k
summary: poe — mr dameron , he has an ability to kindle the softest light in her with that laugh of his , brighten the darkest enclaves in the depths of her soul , and bring a kind of warmth and comfort that she’d never known into the coldest and harshest parts of her body .
3 / sound of silence ( • • • ━ ━ ━ • • • )
ao3 • wwii au | multi-chapter | mature | angst | wc : 11.3k
summary: muted conversations that resonated through the acres of green pastures in the countryside ; a kind of silence that spoke volumes in the middle of the night , as the lights went on and off to a private rhythm only the both of them knew about .
4 / staying human
ao3 • post-apocalypse au | multi-chapter | explicit | angst , smut | wc : 13.6k
summary: she can’t remember when was the last time someone touched her — either voluntarily as a sign of affection , or just methodically doing what poe is doing now . the frenzy ended so long ago , and nobody is around anymore , nobody alive .
5 / rhyme and reason
ao3 • multi-chapter | explicit | angst , smut | wc : 25.5k
summary: the “big reveal” story that the preceding stories in the series are actually just dreams poe had — surprise! (?) each story is fragmented as dreams are , bits and pieces weaved into different settings/stories with a similarity in context you can’t quite put your finger on .
6 / burn , burn , burn
ao3 • au | explicit | angst , smut | wc : 12.6k
summary: these are chapters in correlation to each story from this collection , told from poe’s perspective before we get into the different storylines in earnest .
//
taglist : @mysticalmoonb3ams @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction 💛
not sure if this is still a thing but if you’re interested to get updates on my upcoming fics , let me know :)
May I vote for Jonathan Levy for another morning sex one shot? 😼
thanks for the ask nonnie !
here’s a quick one , in every sense of the word . 🐱
apologies for the unexpected visitor that may or may not seem appropriate .
//
☕ .
title: 15 minutes
pairing: jonathan levy x f!reader
rating: r , explicit
summary: you haven’t had sex in weeks , months even , if you care to count . is it any wonder that you’re so easily turned on these days ?
x-post: here .
content : non-canon , reader is wifey now . background minor (non-sexual) . established relationship . morning sex . smut . domestic smut . mild humour , i think . almost getting caught . quickie . f!masturbation . p in v sex . clothed sex . v fingering . clit play . squirting . dirty laundry , so dirty .
a/n : part of this morning sex thing .
//
Since the new school year started, it has been a neverending series of rinses and repeats — pickups and dropoffs at school, soccer practice and piano lessons. On top of that, Jonathan has taken up extra teaching classes at college, and you were somehow roped into the committee looking after the bake sale at Ava’s school.
These days, after you’ve taken your alternative turns to tuck her into bed at night, you can barely keep your eyes open while loading up the dishwasher, and Jonathan the day’s laundry into the machine.
You have also forgotten the last time you did your nightly skincare routine after a hot bath, and he has given up brushing his teeth before bedtime, the non-fiction he started reading over the summer already gathering dust under his folded glasses by the bed.
It is literally lights out for the both of you the moment your heads hit the pillows every night.
This morning is no different. Ava has a science project due today, so Jonathan will have to wrestle it into the backseat of the car without losing Pluto or Mercury or Jupiter’s ring.
She also has a replacement piano lesson after soccer practice. You are not looking forward to her trying to weasel her way out of another music class again because she is too tired or she might track mud across the teacher’s home — nothing you haven’t heard before, but which you have to talk her out of every time.
You are so worked up with the day’s full program that before the alarm goes off, you jolt awake of your own accord.
You fumble for the clock by your bed, heaving a deep sigh for the 15 minutes you are never going to get back.
Jonathan stirs behind you, his arms snaking over your torso under the covers, as he nuzzles his wiry beard into the crook of your shoulder, sighing heavily himself.
He adjusts to the new position, nestling his morning wood right along the valley of your buttocks, rubbing his semi against your plump cheeks — either on purpose or just subconsciously trying to get comfortable.
Whatever it is, that insignificant contact has gotten you all riled up now. You burrow your heated face deeper into the pillow, teeth worrying your bottom lip as you, ever so subtly, back yourself up to him, rutting your arse lazily against his hardening bulge.
You haven’t had sex in weeks, months even, if you care to count. Is it any wonder that you’re so easily turned on these days?
In front of you, your hand trails under your slip dress to your pussy, two fingers caressing along your folds to gather slick, before they twirl around your clit in slow, concentric circles to the rhythm of your canting hips.
Jonathan, who is very much as worked up as you are, responds to you accordingly, almost immediately. His arm tightens around your waist, drawing you flush against him — good morning, he seems to say wordlessly, as he nuzzles his nose into the back of your ear, nip-licking at that sensitive spot just below your earlobe.
Your mouth parts, hitching soft, kittenish gasps when his other hand wraps around your neck, squeezing gentle pressure at your angular jawline. Just enough to spur you on so your head falls back onto his shoulder, your fingers between your legs gathering pace.
His hips start rolling to your languid ministrations, his heavy-laden breaths growing dense, as he rubs his now rock-hard penis against your curved back. It’s delicious, feeling him like this — so visceral that you’re now jabbing your fingers into your cunt, mewling as your head swirls dizzy with the thought of his cock spreading you out and filling you up so full.
As if having read your mind, Jonathan grunts low, changing position once again — this time, flipping you over onto the bed and anchoring his heavier weight on you so agreeably you can’t do anything about it but surrender.
He looms over you, the sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains clinging to his salt-and-pepper curls all mussed. Beneath the deceptive halo, his darkened eyes dilate, watching you intently as you acquiesce to his every move. Writhing helplessly when he slides his cock along your very, very wet pussy. Sobbing impatiently as he teases your stimulated nub with his fat tip. Eyelids fluttering, mouth wide and groaning with pleasure when he shoves his entire length into your slippery hole in one smooth motion, bottoming out.
He drags his cock out of you, tediously slow — the tip settling right at the rim, before he thrusts back into you again. Once, twice, three times — knocking the breath from your lungs each time; just to get used to your heat enveloping him, just to allow you time to acclimate to the all too familiar stretch of his girth.
Then, he just — speeds up. Fucking into you in staccato brevity, rubbing abrasion along your walls. Yet not too deep — teasing stimulants in that interstitial space in your cunt, where it sets your nerve ends on fire. Touching you without even touching you there, where it aches for him so terribly.
Your fingers clench at his soft muscles, holding on for dear life; both of you huffing for each other’s next breath, as he chases after your highs like the devil is behind him — like there is no time to lose.
And, right on cue — right above your head, you hear the faucet turn on in the adjacent bathroom.
“Jesus,” you groan. “I told her not to leave the tap on when she’s bru— oooohhhh!”
You groan, when Jonathan’s thumb latches onto your clit, pressing quick, rough circles that match the shallow punches in and out of you.
Your body arches into him, whimpering — so loud that Ava can probably hear you over the running water.
Jonathan’s hand shoots up and clasps over your mouth.
“Shhhhhh…” his command jagged at his relentless pummels, and you have to bite down at his palm to muffle your cries.
That instead arouses him — his ridge catching on your fluttering folds so dreadfully it makes you gush even more, the lewd, squelching noise under the covers getting more pronounced with every pulverising hit.
He’s getting close. You can feel the urgency in his pounding as they get more resolute, and how he whimpers so pitifully — finally vocal as he noses the strap off your night dress, his moans sending shivers down your spine when he starts suckling at your breast, pebbling your nipple to a stiff peak under his wet strokes.
You are teetering on the edge yourself, teeth sinking into the slab of muscle across his shoulder, one leg curled around his thick waist, as you rut your cunt recklessly into him. The aggravating tension in your stomach twists tighter, your pussy quivering for an overdue release. It sucks his cock deeper, swallowing him whole as he pumps once, twice, three times — and cums inside of you.
You barely hear the faucet squeak off. You barely hear Ava’s tiny footsteps pad down the hallway to your room. Jonathan’s guttural groans fill your senses so completely, and his warm ejaculation fill your hole so abundantly — before they snap to an exclamatory halt when the door flings open; and he is throwing himself off you, his spunk spraying all over your stomach under the sheets as he huddles into a foetal position away from you.
You toss your arm over your eyes, heaving large gulpfuls of air where the penny hangs, too afraid to watch.
“Daddy — are you OK?” Ava’s voice edged with concern next to the bed.
You venture a peek from under your elbow to see her rearranging Jonathan’s tousled curls upon his bedhead, oblivious to her father’s hand still wrapped around his stimulated cock under the sheets — still cumming.
“Uhhhhh — not feeling too good, honey,” Jonathan croaks. “Think I got a uh — stomachache.”
You stifle your laugh at his rather ingenious effort to make it look like he is just rubbing his stomach, when he is still grinding his cock in his hand to finish up.
“But — who’s gonna drive me to school?” Ava asks, her bottom lip pouting dramatically.
You lower your arm with a sigh, smiling at the sweet child over Jonathan’s hunched form.
“Mummy will drive you to school, baby,” your voice coming out hoarser than you anticipated.
Heedless to say, your offer is enough to make her excited again. Your eyes widen when she jumps into bed, her foot missing Jonathan’s softening cock by a breath, as she leaps over him to your side of the bed.
You have to palm your hand over your crotch too to avert a potential disaster on your part.
“You sure?” Ava’s smile drops again when she’s had a closer look at you in the dimly lit bedroom.
She quirks a brow at your flushed complexion, laying the back of her small hand on your forehead; emulating the many times you did the same to her when she was feeling under the weather, or pretending to.
“You might have a fever, mummy,” she diagnoses with childlike confidence.
You shoot a sideway glance at Jonathan when you hear him smothering a chuckle into the sheets.
“Mummy’s fine,” you soothe, touching your forehead against Ava’s to prove that you are not feverish — also, because your hands are occupied for the time being.
“Can you make me blueberry pancakes too?” She mumbles quietly, fingers twirling timid spirals at a loose thread on the duvet.
“Of course, baby,” you brush your nose against hers until she giggles. “Why don’t you head on downstairs and bring out the ingredients — hmm? Mummy will be down in a sec.”
“OK!” Ava smacks a kiss on your cheek, and bounces back to Jonathan’s side for a quick peck on his face too. “Feel better, daddy!”
When her footsteps ebb down the stairway, Jonathan repositions himself next to you, cursing up at the ceiling.
“God, we’re terrible parents,” he mutters under his breath, a hand raking down his reddened face.
You snort, rolling over to kiss the round of his shoulder. Your hand slides up along his face, pulling him in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss.
You blink slowly, watching the flicker in his hooded eyes when you smear your slick-coated fingers across his beard, his hanging lips — the smell of your musky scent so pungent for the both of you to share.
“Your turn to do the laundry again, spunk boy,” you tease, already shimmying out of bed.
Before you can grasp for an escape, he flings his whole body over you, keeping you trapped under him once again.
“We’ll see about that,” he growls, his hand already slithering under the covers, thick, rough fingers bullying into your sensitive cunt without preamble.
“No, NO — Jonathan!” You rasp, your hand gripping at his working muscle with a flimsy attempt to stop him. “The door is open.”
“I’ll make it quick,” he reassures — his fingers wringing brutal, rapid squelches between your legs, his thumb on your clit strumming an amplified chord.
In a matter of seconds, a squirming heat climbs your body and breaks sweat through your pores, and you’re cursing breathlessly, brows pinched and nails scraping at the dishevelled curls at the nape of his neck.
“Mummy, come onnnnn!” Ava yells from downstairs, her voice travelling up the stairway into the bedroom.
“Just a sec, honey!” Jonathan answers on your behalf.
Then, in a lower, beastly tone that matches the mischievous glint shining in his dark eyes, a cocky grin curving his lips: “Mummy’s coming.”
He clamps his mouth over yours just as you tremble around his assaulting fingers, your drawn-out whine simmered to a stifled moan when the pressure crests in your stomach — and you’re finally squirting under the sheets, soaking through the mattress.
title: bedridden
pairing: leto atreides x f!reader
rating: r , explicit
summary: his eyes peel open , heavy-lidded as they rake down the salacious dip along your spine — oh , what a lovely sight to wake up to .
x-post: here .
content : leto is younger , probably in his 20s before he met lady jessica . non-canon , because canonically that man is hecking loyal to a fault . smut . mild angst . morning sex . sixty-nine . oral m!receiving . blowjob . oral f!receiving . v fingering . cunnilingus .
a/n : i be yapping again in my writing . sorry if this is such a mess , but i hope you enjoy nonetheless .
//
It is a disappointing revelation for someone like Leto to learn that he is not invincible after all.
He knew he should’ve called off the training sessions with the royal platoon, when the heavy rainstorm persists for weeks. When he finally falls sick, bedridden and stripped of any ounce of strength he has left in him to even wave for a sip of water — only then he yields; sulking in self-deprecation, berating himself on why he’d roughened it out in the pouring rain with his brothers in arms in the first place.
The only consolation he has as he writhes in his sweat-soaked bed, shaking off in vain the tremors that plague his body — is you.
You never left his side, constantly at his beck and call, big or small — for a sip of water down his parched lips, for a cold towel over his feverish head, for a warm body next to his shivering bones, for a soothing whisper to calm his delirious nerves.
You have spent sleepless nights next to him in his chamber, nursing him back to health. Until finally, this tempered morning, when his fever finally breaks, he stirs with a sleepy grunt, feeling the weight of your lithe body slither on top of his, his senses drifting awake to the soft, ebbing rainfall outside.
Usually, that would set him off, prompt him to spring from his bed and tackle the offender onto the floor. He would swipe the dagger hidden at the side drawer, and latch it onto their throat, stare deep into their eyes as rueful fear settles upon their face for even trying to usurp him.
Leto has been through enough training with his armed guards to lock himself in a constant fight mode, awakened his reflexes to protect himself from any potential threat that might befall the Duke of the venerable House Atreides.
Even in the weakened, drowsy state he is currently in, his body would rouse to attention, muscles taut and ready to fight back if he so commands.
But, it’s you — he recognises the sultry rhythm your body sways to, and the velvet glide of your skin against his. That comfortable weight that drags along his olive skin; not too heavy to suffocate him, yet enough gravitas to swaddle him snug like his nursemaid once did when he was just a babe.
You disarm him. You make him want to throw his hands up in sweet surrender. In fact, you can reach for the dagger and carve the sharp edges into the meat of his thighs, threaten to cut off his balls, henceforth severing the Atreides line forever — and he will let you.
The power you have over him, it is stronger than any mind games a Bene Gesserit witch can impose on him.
Only with you, Leto submits — as your thighs flank his forearms decisively, shackling him. As your naked crotch rubs against his chest, in parallel with his heart where it pulses mutedly under the radiating warmth of your cunt — a different kind of fever he doesn’t mind revisiting, over and over again.
He succumbs to your assertive hands sweeping up the length of his thighs, nimble fingers caressing the contours of his hipbones. He sighs in placid submission, as they slide between the mattress and his buttocks, and without so much as a struggle — none at all, lets you push his undergarment down his legs, blissful to the puffs of heated breath warming his cock, already twitching against the chilly air.
He keeps his eyes closed, pretending he is still asleep when he is already wide awake behind the shuttered lids. But, he is fooling no one — his hardon has already given him away, straining to attention of its own volition, waking up and keening to your slow, caring strokes as you rub him to a full, stiff mast.
Leto feels your lips rain kisses upon his slit, soft and soothing like the pitter-patters that rouse the pleasant smell of petrichor right outside the window — before your mouth closes over the tip, your quiet hums crooning deliciously around his girth, like you have just sampled the best foods the Caladanian chefs have to offer for the Duke’s favourite concubine — favourite lover.
His eyes peel open, heavy-lidded as they rake down the salacious dip along your spine — oh, what a lovely sight to wake up to.
He would gladly give in to whatever ailments that weaken his every sense, rid of his dominion of the Atreides armada, and render himself but a mere soldier on the brink of death — if this is what awaits him on the other side.
He basks at the sight of your plump arsecheeks moving in front of his face, brushing teasingly against the tip of his nose, riling him up to cup a feel, to touch you.
Go on, my dear Duke, you know you want to — you want him to.
So, he obeys — large hands gliding up your thighs to the globes of your cheeks, kneading lightly, firmly. You arch into his welcoming touch, pressing your crotch flush against his sternum, as you moan around him — a ricocheting effect that pulls a strangled gasp from his lungs, granting you full permission to pick up speed, to shove a few more inches of his cock into your mouth.
His eyes roll back, chin tipped skyward and nostrils flaring to grasp at the alluring scent of your sex. He can smell you now, beckoning him with a mouthwatering aroma that reminds him of seasalt but which he knows tastes like warm, sweet honey — greater than the coveted spice melange that rules kingdoms and peoples.
The mere thought of your slick hitting his tongue, it’s enough to elicit a ravenous groan from his chest, his fingers digging into your plush skin — clawing for more.
Leto hears you — gagging sloppily, so beautifully around his cock, as his fat, aching tip thrusts deeper into the heated cavern of your mouth. Your tongue is like soft satin, cushioning the base of his veined shaft. Your jaw like desperate shackles, squeezing him so lovingly when it hits the back of your throat — drawing from you a melodious choral that shoots sparks down to his belly, wringing fresh spurts of pre-cum down your throat.
Your one hand pumps affirmative strokes along the rigid length in gratitude — thankful for what he has gifted you. The other, expert fingers fondle the robust orbs, as you suckle him like the most devout, so very eager to please your Duke — your master.
Your tongue swirls in hefty stripes, stretching along his weeping cock. Your cunt grinds against his broad chest, heaving to the rhythm of his heartbeat — stealing for yourself whatever friction you need to dance to his song.
You whimper, when his hand drifts between the buried alcove of your thighs. And right there at the apex, his thumb traces reverence along your sensitive nub — softly, so terribly soft.
He feels you gush around his fingers, and with your silky smooth release, he smears coaxing circles around your clit, kindling a guttural purr against his stomach, where he feels your heart thrums with wanting ache — practically begging for the affirmation only he can provide to satiate you, make you feel seen.
Leto likes it when you beg. You rarely do that in court. You never ask for more than what you think you deserve, so stoically demure as your footsteps thread down the vaulted halls. Even when they carry you past the heavy doors into his chamber, where you look after him so diligently — in bed, in sickness and in health.
But, when you do beg, he can’t help but offer you in kind what he thinks you deserve for your loyal and honourable service — everything. He would’ve given you the world if he could. He would’ve married you tomorrow, made you his Duchess if the Mentat calculations proclaim you compatible. He would’ve loved you with his whole heart until the day he dies even if they don’t.
Alas. This is all he can give you — his fingers digging into your skin, prying open your arsecheeks for the glorious sight of your cunt, blossoming pink like the first springtime bloom in the courtyards of Castle Caladan; throbbing right in front of his eyes — calling out to him to touch you there.
So, he obliges — touches you where it hurts, eases two fingers into your puckered hole until the web of his palm kisses your lips, scissoring to spread you out like a sumptuous feast waiting to be devoured.
Your slick trickles down his wrist, your hearty moan resonates around his cock, squeezing a stringy groan from deep within him, as his eyes flutter shut to savour everything that you have to give him.
The wet, hot sludge of your pussy, dying embers rekindled around his drenched digits. And when they crook at that devastating spot inside you, massaging billowing circles with just a smidge of pressure, he feels your thighs tense up as you squirt so desperately to his come hither.
And the sound you make — mewling with your mouth so full of him, it’s ethereal music his Warmaster can never pluck from the strings of his baliset, talented as he is with the instrument.
It makes Leto want you more, frenzied fingers biting into the meat of your calves to pull you closer, until your knees are digging into his shoulders. His growing beard rutting abrasion against your inner thighs, his growling mouth finally coming in contact with your clit — he goes in for the kill.
You release his cock, crying out in sweet surprise, when his tongue nudges into you, lapping at your bundle of nerves without any ducal decorum. His large hand presses upon the small of your back, to hold you in place, pull your arched form into his labouring mouth.
He plants his feet flat on the bed, angling his cock right back into your gaping mouth, silencing your outcries to smothered whimpers. His undulating hips drive himself deeper into you, filling you to the brim as the leaking head rams against the roof of your mouth, making you gag and drool down your quivering chin in a muffling mess.
Leto hums hoarsely against your cunt when your teeth drag along the veinous ridge for purchase, for any sense of control, when you’re already squirming, already unravelling to his desired device.
He knows you are close. He feels your pussy flutter at his ministrations.
He buries his nose against you, heaving in lungfuls of your tangy scent. His tongue teasing you in a quickened momentum, slurps hungrily like a man deprived of food for days.
Your hips gyrating against his chest, matching the temptuous tempo of his fingers, prodding in and out of you —
Until you clench around him. Your whole body shivering and your nails scraping at his inner thighs as you cum. His tongue flicking at your overstimulated nub still as he carries you through the storm.
You let out a long, stifled drawl around his cock, and he harmonises with you a delectable shudder that hitches in his throat, as he drinks in every drop of your honeyed offering, like sweet medicine to cure him of this insatiable disease.
Then, he pulls away just to see your pussy dribble onto his chest, painting him a lovely sheen — making him yours.
Leto’s eyes flitter shut, as he slips his anointed fingers into his mouth, revelling in the syrupy taste of you. Your heady scent assaulting his senses, making him dizzy — damn near feral.
It is enough to galvanise him, rocking into your wailing mouth with such dire urgency, as if he’s thrusting his cock into that pretty cunt he’s just fucked till kingdom come with only his mouth and fingers.
In one little moment, it feels like the fever has returned. Hellfire burns through his screaming muscles, as cold sweat licks at his pores. The pressure low in his belly coils tight —
And then he is snarling under your captive body. Balls drawing up in your loving hold, and spilling white, hot ropes down your throat, working with such deep devotion as it bobs frantically to take in every drop he has to offer.
He hisses, fingers biting crescents into your arsecheeks, when you hollow your cheeks and suckle at his reddened tip. An encore to make sure you’ve wrung him dry without a straddling drop left.
Until you have had your claim of him — all of him.
Only then, the storm clouds pass, and the rain subsides to mere whispers. His skin cools, and the thunder in his ears dwindles — and all he can hear is the steadfast sound of your heavy breathing.
Leto feels your heartbeat normalising against his abdomen, your fingertips mapping haphazard trails along his bare legs. Pathways covert even to himself, but nonetheless surefooted in finding your way to his heart.
He turns his face against your inner thigh, impressing pliant kisses to your skin, as his hand mirrors your motion. Trying so desperately to pillage his way through the shrouded labyrinth, and finally come home to where your heart lays.
His hooded eyes keep watch of you, as you drop your head and hum against his softening cock — a song that is already fading, even before he can learn the notes, memorise the words.
In knowing that, tears brim in his eyes before he can stop himself. His hand slides up your body, rubbing soothing circles up your spine; dislodges himself from under you to align his naked form against yours — from the tips of your toes, to the curves of your waists, to the rounds of your shoulders, where he brushes his lips and tries to lay his claim of you — all of you; when in truth, he has barely enough of you to hold on to from the start.
making a list! i loooove making lists if i make a good enough list it will act as a salve and lessen the pain i just know it. my lists are so comprehensive and so easily digested and honestly i should just be hired to be a list maker already this should be my job they're that good. my lists are great. my lists are going to help me. my lists are the answer
title: bedridden
pairing: leto atreides x f!reader
rating: r , explicit
summary: his eyes peel open , heavy-lidded as they rake down the salacious dip along your spine — oh , what a lovely sight to wake up to .
x-post: here .
content : leto is younger , probably in his 20s before he met lady jessica . non-canon , because canonically that man is hecking loyal to a fault . smut . mild angst . morning sex . sixty-nine . oral m!receiving . blowjob . oral f!receiving . v fingering . cunnilingus .
a/n : i be yapping again in my writing . sorry if this is such a mess , but i hope you enjoy nonetheless .
//
It is a disappointing revelation for someone like Leto to learn that he is not invincible after all.
He knew he should’ve called off the training sessions with the royal platoon, when the heavy rainstorm persists for weeks. When he finally falls sick, bedridden and stripped of any ounce of strength he has left in him to even wave for a sip of water — only then he yields; sulking in self-deprecation, berating himself on why he’d roughened it out in the pouring rain with his brothers in arms in the first place.
The only consolation he has as he writhes in his sweat-soaked bed, shaking off in vain the tremors that plague his body — is you.
You never left his side, constantly at his beck and call, big or small — for a sip of water down his parched lips, for a cold towel over his feverish head, for a warm body next to his shivering bones, for a soothing whisper to calm his delirious nerves.
You have spent sleepless nights next to him in his chamber, nursing him back to health. Until finally, this tempered morning, when his fever finally breaks, he stirs with a sleepy grunt, feeling the weight of your lithe body slither on top of his, his senses drifting awake to the soft, ebbing rainfall outside.
Usually, that would set him off, prompt him to spring from his bed and tackle the offender onto the floor. He would swipe the dagger hidden at the side drawer, and latch it onto their throat, stare deep into their eyes as rueful fear settles upon their face for even trying to usurp him.
Leto has been through enough training with his armed guards to lock himself in a constant fight mode, awakened his reflexes to protect himself from any potential threat that might befall the Duke of the venerable House Atreides.
Even in the weakened, drowsy state he is currently in, his body would rouse to attention, muscles taut and ready to fight back if he so commands.
But, it’s you — he recognises the sultry rhythm your body sways to, and the velvet glide of your skin against his. That comfortable weight that drags along his olive skin; not too heavy to suffocate him, yet enough gravitas to swaddle him snug like his nursemaid once did when he was just a babe.
You disarm him. You make him want to throw his hands up in sweet surrender. In fact, you can reach for the dagger and carve the sharp edges into the meat of his thighs, threaten to cut off his balls, henceforth severing the Atreides line forever — and he will let you.
The power you have over him, it is stronger than any mind games a Bene Gesserit witch can impose on him.
Only with you, Leto submits — as your thighs flank his forearms decisively, shackling him. As your naked crotch rubs against his chest, in parallel with his heart where it pulses mutedly under the radiating warmth of your cunt — a different kind of fever he doesn’t mind revisiting, over and over again.
He succumbs to your assertive hands sweeping up the length of his thighs, nimble fingers caressing the contours of his hipbones. He sighs in placid submission, as they slide between the mattress and his buttocks, and without so much as a struggle — none at all, lets you push his undergarment down his legs, blissful to the puffs of heated breath warming his cock, already twitching against the chilly air.
He keeps his eyes closed, pretending he is still asleep when he is already wide awake behind the shuttered lids. But, he is fooling no one — his hardon has already given him away, straining to attention of its own volition, waking up and keening to your slow, caring strokes as you rub him to a full, stiff mast.
Leto feels your lips rain kisses upon his slit, soft and soothing like the pitter-patters that rouse the pleasant smell of petrichor right outside the window — before your mouth closes over the tip, your quiet hums crooning deliciously around his girth, like you have just sampled the best foods the Caladanian chefs have to offer for the Duke’s favourite concubine — favourite lover.
His eyes peel open, heavy-lidded as they rake down the salacious dip along your spine — oh, what a lovely sight to wake up to.
He would gladly give in to whatever ailments that weaken his every sense, rid of his dominion of the Atreides armada, and render himself but a mere soldier on the brink of death — if this is what awaits him on the other side.
He basks at the sight of your plump arsecheeks moving in front of his face, brushing teasingly against the tip of his nose, riling him up to cup a feel, to touch you.
Go on, my dear Duke, you know you want to — you want him to.
So, he obeys — large hands gliding up your thighs to the globes of your cheeks, kneading lightly, firmly. You arch into his welcoming touch, pressing your crotch flush against his sternum, as you moan around him — a ricocheting effect that pulls a strangled gasp from his lungs, granting you full permission to pick up speed, to shove a few more inches of his cock into your mouth.
His eyes roll back, chin tipped skyward and nostrils flaring to grasp at the alluring scent of your sex. He can smell you now, beckoning him with a mouthwatering aroma that reminds him of seasalt but which he knows tastes like warm, sweet honey — greater than the coveted spice melange that rules kingdoms and peoples.
The mere thought of your slick hitting his tongue, it’s enough to elicit a ravenous groan from his chest, his fingers digging into your plush skin — clawing for more.
Leto hears you — gagging sloppily, so beautifully around his cock, as his fat, aching tip thrusts deeper into the heated cavern of your mouth. Your tongue is like soft satin, cushioning the base of his veined shaft. Your jaw like desperate shackles, squeezing him so lovingly when it hits the back of your throat — drawing from you a melodious choral that shoots sparks down to his belly, wringing fresh spurts of pre-cum down your throat.
Your one hand pumps affirmative strokes along the rigid length in gratitude — thankful for what he has gifted you. The other, expert fingers fondle the robust orbs, as you suckle him like the most devout, so very eager to please your Duke — your master.
Your tongue swirls in hefty stripes, stretching along his weeping cock. Your cunt grinds against his broad chest, heaving to the rhythm of his heartbeat — stealing for yourself whatever friction you need to dance to his song.
You whimper, when his hand drifts between the buried alcove of your thighs. And right there at the apex, his thumb traces reverence along your sensitive nub — softly, so terribly soft.
He feels you gush around his fingers, and with your silky smooth release, he smears coaxing circles around your clit, kindling a guttural purr against his stomach, where he feels your heart thrums with wanting ache — practically begging for the affirmation only he can provide to satiate you, make you feel seen.
Leto likes it when you beg. You rarely do that in court. You never ask for more than what you think you deserve, so stoically demure as your footsteps thread down the vaulted halls. Even when they carry you past the heavy doors into his chamber, where you look after him so diligently — in bed, in sickness and in health.
But, when you do beg, he can’t help but offer you in kind what he thinks you deserve for your loyal and honourable service — everything. He would’ve given you the world if he could. He would’ve married you tomorrow, made you his Duchess if the Mentat calculations proclaim you compatible. He would’ve loved you with his whole heart until the day he dies even if they don’t.
Alas. This is all he can give you — his fingers digging into your skin, prying open your arsecheeks for the glorious sight of your cunt, blossoming pink like the first springtime bloom in the courtyards of Castle Caladan; throbbing right in front of his eyes — calling out to him to touch you there.
So, he obliges — touches you where it hurts, eases two fingers into your puckered hole until the web of his palm kisses your lips, scissoring to spread you out like a sumptuous feast waiting to be devoured.
Your slick trickles down his wrist, your hearty moan resonates around his cock, squeezing a stringy groan from deep within him, as his eyes flutter shut to savour everything that you have to give him.
The wet, hot sludge of your pussy, dying embers rekindled around his drenched digits. And when they crook at that devastating spot inside you, massaging billowing circles with just a smidge of pressure, he feels your thighs tense up as you squirt so desperately to his come hither.
And the sound you make — mewling with your mouth so full of him, it’s ethereal music his Warmaster can never pluck from the strings of his baliset, talented as he is with the instrument.
It makes Leto want you more, frenzied fingers biting into the meat of your calves to pull you closer, until your knees are digging into his shoulders. His growing beard rutting abrasion against your inner thighs, his growling mouth finally coming in contact with your clit — he goes in for the kill.
You release his cock, crying out in sweet surprise, when his tongue nudges into you, lapping at your bundle of nerves without any ducal decorum. His large hand presses upon the small of your back, to hold you in place, pull your arched form into his labouring mouth.
He plants his feet flat on the bed, angling his cock right back into your gaping mouth, silencing your outcries to smothered whimpers. His undulating hips drive himself deeper into you, filling you to the brim as the leaking head rams against the roof of your mouth, making you gag and drool down your quivering chin in a muffling mess.
Leto hums hoarsely against your cunt when your teeth drag along the veinous ridge for purchase, for any sense of control, when you’re already squirming, already unravelling to his desired device.
He knows you are close. He feels your pussy flutter at his ministrations.
He buries his nose against you, heaving in lungfuls of your tangy scent. His tongue teasing you in a quickened momentum, slurps hungrily like a man deprived of food for days.
Your hips gyrating against his chest, matching the temptuous tempo of his fingers, prodding in and out of you —
Until you clench around him. Your whole body shivering and your nails scraping at his inner thighs as you cum. His tongue flicking at your overstimulated nub still as he carries you through the storm.
You let out a long, stifled drawl around his cock, and he harmonises with you a delectable shudder that hitches in his throat, as he drinks in every drop of your honeyed offering, like sweet medicine to cure him of this insatiable disease.
Then, he pulls away just to see your pussy dribble onto his chest, painting him a lovely sheen — making him yours.
Leto’s eyes flitter shut, as he slips his anointed fingers into his mouth, revelling in the syrupy taste of you. Your heady scent assaulting his senses, making him dizzy — damn near feral.
It is enough to galvanise him, rocking into your wailing mouth with such dire urgency, as if he’s thrusting his cock into that pretty cunt he’s just fucked till kingdom come with only his mouth and fingers.
In one little moment, it feels like the fever has returned. Hellfire burns through his screaming muscles, as cold sweat licks at his pores. The pressure low in his belly coils tight —
And then he is snarling under your captive body. Balls drawing up in your loving hold, and spilling white, hot ropes down your throat, working with such deep devotion as it bobs frantically to take in every drop he has to offer.
He hisses, fingers biting crescents into your arsecheeks, when you hollow your cheeks and suckle at his reddened tip. An encore to make sure you’ve wrung him dry without a straddling drop left.
Until you have had your claim of him — all of him.
Only then, the storm clouds pass, and the rain subsides to mere whispers. His skin cools, and the thunder in his ears dwindles — and all he can hear is the steadfast sound of your heavy breathing.
Leto feels your heartbeat normalising against his abdomen, your fingertips mapping haphazard trails along his bare legs. Pathways covert even to himself, but nonetheless surefooted in finding your way to his heart.
He turns his face against your inner thigh, impressing pliant kisses to your skin, as his hand mirrors your motion. Trying so desperately to pillage his way through the shrouded labyrinth, and finally come home to where your heart lays.
His hooded eyes keep watch of you, as you drop your head and hum against his softening cock — a song that is already fading, even before he can learn the notes, memorise the words.
In knowing that, tears brim in his eyes before he can stop himself. His hand slides up your body, rubbing soothing circles up your spine; dislodges himself from under you to align his naked form against yours — from the tips of your toes, to the curves of your waists, to the rounds of your shoulders, where he brushes his lips and tries to lay his claim of you — all of you; when in truth, he has barely enough of you to hold on to from the start.
