You could still remember the way he'd looked at you, the night you'd met. With dismissal. Disinterest. Anger. It took all of your available willpower not to cower under the weight of his scrutinizing gaze--made all the more intimidating by the large, angry scar across his face--or display just how much his clearly negative reaction to meeting his betrothed was affecting you. Clearly, even dressed in your finest clothes, he hadn't been impressed. Or, perhaps simply the idea of this arranged marriage caused his scowl. You couldn't quite tell; Charlotte Cracker was a difficult man to read. Standoffish and intimidating with his 10-foot height. Oh dear…
He couldn't be more different from you if he tried. Where your body curved and rounded, his was taut and toned. Without a shirt to cover his torso, you could see the defined muscle and evidence of his past combat experience in the small, visible scars that marred the skin. You were soft. He was tough. You had come into this arranged marriage with optimism and a desire to at least make the best of it. He, obviously, felt no such thing.
Despite his mother's enthusiasm for the wedding to come, his sour expression had never wavered once. Did she even notice her child's displeasure with the whole thing? Even if she did, you suspected Big Mom couldn't bother to care. The political gain from your own country's resources overshadowed all else, you were certain.
After the Yonko had declared the meeting had ended, Cracker had slipped away to his own rooms in the castle before you had a chance to speak with him alone. He had no intention of getting to know you before you were sworn to one another. Another slight aimed at you, perhaps. Or maybe he simply was running from the issue while he still could. In a matter of days, you'd both be bound by marriage, whether he liked it or not. Giving up on seeking him out, there was nothing to do but return to your own guest room alone, disheartened, and dreading the preparations to come.
Even Whole Cake Island's confectionary beauty couldn't seem to lift your spirits. The night was clear and the scent of sweet sugar hung upon the air, though all you felt the need to do was sigh, head hung low. This was not at all how you'd hoped things would go.
You watched the lights in town slowly wink out, one by one, as the hours ticked by, until your heavy heart coaxed you to finally sleep.
"Tch!" Cracker's eyes narrowed down at you, annoyed that you had approached at all as he prepared for the day's tasks, attaching his armor piece by piece. By now, the bite to his tone was familiar, if not tiring, to hear. "I never asked for a wife. Especially one that tries telling me my business. Go find something else to do."
"I wouldn't exactly call me saying 'please be safe' as me telling you your business." You gripe with a shake of your head, tidying up the bedroom as you went. You knew Cracker would be late home, as usual. His patrols of the islands took much of the day and he never seemed to be in a hurry to return home to you. "Is it so unusual for a wife to worry after her husband?"
"You think me weak, in need of your silly blessings?" He goes on to say, turning his back on you and twisting his hair into the typical braids in the mirror. "I don't need nor want your sentimental platitudes."
"Must you twist my words like that? I do not think you weak, as you well know." You sigh, saddened that your attempt at kindness had been effectively thrown back in your face. It wasn't the first time, and you doubted it would be the last. This first month of your marriage hadn't been easy, in no small part due to Cracker making it very clear that he was unhappy even being your husband.
"Why bother? You had as much choice in this as I. Let's not pretend we are friends." Bitterness drips from each word that spits from his mouth. You would never know where all of his venom came from.
Grabbing the last of the stray dirty clothing from the room, you pile it all into a hamper and hold it against your hip. He meets your gaze in the mirror, expression and eyes twisted in an annoyed glare. You can't spare much more than a steady, weary stare in return.
"Is it so hard to believe that I care about your well being, despite it all? That I care about you? I only wish to see you happy, even if you can't stand the sight of me." You say, turning away to go about attending to laundry. "We are married, husband and wife. Regardless of the circumstances of how that came to be, I am devoted to you. I wish you would acknowledge that, at the very least. I am not your enemy."
You don't see his face, but you hear the quiet scoff he replies with. If you had been looking, you would have seen a frown mark Cracker's face, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes.
The sound of the door opening from down the hall makes you glance up from your work over the ball of dough you were kneading. With a curious flick of your eyes up at the clock on the wall, you raise one brow. It's with this expression that Cracker steps into sight from the kitchen entryway, spotting you with an exhausted air about him as he moved to the bedroom down the hall.
"You're home early." You say neutrally, continuing to work the dough with your chubby hands. He hums a confirmation, the sound and movement indicating he was unwinding and changing out of his cracker armor. Given his lack of talking, it must have been a long, hard day.
Minutes later, he returns to the kitchen, steering a straight path to the fridge to grab something small to eat or perhaps a refreshment. It was his routine. Come home, change into more comfortable clothing, grab a quick bite before retreating away to his study to do whatever it was he enjoyed doing in his free time. You weren't likely to see him until dinner later in the evening.
Tonight, however, he broke that routine.
"A bad storm rolled through Totto Land today, worse than we usually get them." His quiet, tired voice proclaims from behind you. Glancing behind your shoulder, you see him leaning against the counter with a glass of water in his hands, watching you evenly. "My biscuit soldiers couldn't go ten minutes without simply breaking down from the water-logging. Replacing them was…exhausting. Patrols were rough."
You couldn't recall a time when Cracker had taken the time to tell you about his day. But, for the past few weeks, you'd noticed a slow change in his demeanor to you. While there was still a clear distance between you two, the open hostility that he'd perpetuated since the beginning was largely absent. It still felt premature to hope that he was truly warming up to you, perhaps only getting used to having you around. One could only deny being married to someone for so long. It wasn't as if Big Mom would be thrilled or willing to let them go through with a divorce.
"Surely no one would think to attack Totto Land? This is Big Mom's territory, after all." You venture to say, putting more effort into kneading the dough into a more pliable mass. "Maybe the patrols aren't so necessary in such conditions."
"We're only as impenetrable as we are vigilant. Taking a day off, loosening up on our security, is just asking for an attack. Mother may be a Yonko, but the world is full of pirates just stupid enough to try something." He says with a shrug. "Even in conditions this bad. Some might think it the perfect opportunity."
"Then sit and rest." You offer, gesturing to one of the stools on the opposite side of the counter. "You're home, your duty fulfilled for today. Relax and get comfortable while I make you something."
Rather than snap at you for telling him what to do, he simply nods, rounding the counter with his glass. He sits with a low groan, body weary and muscles tense after his unending vigilance to protect the country that day. You feel a spot of warmth, thinking about the dedication he displayed in keeping all of you safe. For as rough as his exterior could get, you knew he did truly care about his family and the duty that was entrusted to him.
"What are you making?" He asks suddenly, drawing your thoughts away to focus on him. He gestures to the ball of dough you were nearly finished working with. How strange…it wasn't like him to be curious about your goings-on.
"Biscuits." You give him a little smile. "Your favorite."
Surprise makes his brows shoot upwards. It looked downright cute, you couldn't help but think. "How'd you know that?"
"Call it intuition." Is your coy reply. "There are some things a wife just knows, you know?"
Cracker doesn't respond to that, perhaps too caught off guard to think of something to say. But he does spend the rest of the evening with you as you bake, finding the occasional anecdote to regale you with as you do so.
Gardening was difficult work on its own, even more so with Totto Land's brutal sun beating heat down onto you. The tall umbrella you'd propped up into the ground, open and providing you with a semblance of shade in such focused rays, was the only thing preventing a red and angry sunburn onto your skin.
Tossing aside the weed that had been giving you such trouble for the past ten minutes and sitting back on your haunches, you breathe out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. One swipe of your arm along your forehead wets it with sweat, uncomfortably warm in these conditions. Perhaps another day would have been better to get this work done, but the severity of the weeds growing in was worrying. Before long your garden, tended to with such care, would look more like an overgrown patch of brambles and that just wouldn't do. You'd spent nearly a year sprucing up your home, and you'd not let nature destroy all of your hard work.
The sound of footsteps behind you makes you smile, but you keep your eyes to the garden, already leaning forward to clear the next section. A presence stoops beside you, and you finally look up when a hand lays on your shoulder.
"When's the last time you went inside?" Cracker asks, eyes scanning your face and upper torso for signs of heat stroke. "I won't have you withering away in the garden with the plants."
"Withering? Hardly." You say with a chuckle, patting the hand that rested on your shoulder. "I'm just fine. I'll get myself a glass of cold water once I'm done with this flower bed. Then there's just one more to do."
"Why not now? I'll have lunch made and we can eat together."
At the sound of that, you smile, but cock your head in curiosity. "Aren't you patrolling?"
"The cracker soldiers can handle it for now." He says with a dismissive wave, bringing his hand up to tilt your chin up. His smile is equal parts coy and thoughtful. "Besides, can't a man come home and see his beautiful, buxom wife when he pleases?"
That familiar warmth bubbles in your chest, and you can't help your own smile widening to match his. He could be such a sappy fool when he wanted to be. "I suppose he can."
"Then come." He urges, standing and holding out his hand for you to take. He doesn't seem to mind that your gardening glove is already covered in dirt, and heaves you up onto your feet from your sitting position. Your weight is nothing compared to his corded strength. That idea sends a thrill of delight up your spine. "You're hungry, aren't you?"
"I could certainly eat." You say, naturally letting your eyes wandering over the expanse of your husband's chest. You were, not for the first time, thankful that he had a penchant for running around without a proper shirt. What a delightful view.
"So could I." Cracker hums low, his own gaze reaching down and slowly making its way back up your curvaceous body. The lighthearted tone slowly deepened into clear sensual interest. "If you'll allow?"
You meet his gaze, and despite the similar desire that rises in your chest, so does the nervousness that always seems to accompany it. The fear of disappointing, of not meeting expectations. Surely, you were just being silly, but it was a difficult thought to overcome. This wasn't the first attempt Cracker had made at something a little…more, but just as every time before, you shake your head in a silent decline.
Unperturbed, Cracker's expression remains curious and interested. "Another day then, when we have the proper time to make the most of it." He sends a wink in your direction, before guiding you into the house for the promised lunch.
You've nearly paced a worn path into the bedroom's carpet by the time you hear the front door open, the distant thump as it shuts behind your husband. Home from a long day of work, with the promise of a day to himself tomorrow. You're certain he was looking to relax and unwind, and with luck, he'd be pleased by your choice in evening activity.
Your heart thumps, each beat harder than the last against your ribcage as his footsteps grow closer. Clammy hands can't seem to settle, and you're unsure how you should stand or sit when he finally does approach. So many days of preparation, of working yourself up to the point of coming around to tell him the truth. Deep down, you had no doubt that Cracker would not reject you, but the horrid thought that your inexperience would put him off still made your mouth dry.
Eyes closed, you hear the bedroom door open. Peeking through your eyelashes, Cracker stands in the doorframe, struck still by the sight of you there in your sheer, lilac lingerie. Surprise flickers across his expression, mouth half open from whatever greeting he'd been about to speak. His eyes drink in your exposed skin, the way the fabric hugs each curve, covering just enough to have him wanting to uncover what was underneath. You catch the way his tongue peeks out to wet his lips in delight. He's slow and measured when he shuts the door and comes closer to stand before you.
At least he's interested, you think.
A shaking breath leaves your lips as one of his fingers trail down, following the thin strap keeping the sheer top on your shoulders. Light and ghostly touch lays a path around the fabric covering your ample breast, making you shiver. Uncertainty must radiate off of you, because those touches travel upwards to your face. It's somehow difficult to look at him, but that changes when he gently cups your cheek and tilts your face to peer up at his significant height. There's a fondness behind his eyes, overlaying the lust so blatant.
"I've never done this before." You whisper, getting the words out in the open before your nerves leave you mute. "I'm worried I'll…do it wrong."
"I'd say you've got the gist of it so far." Cracker's amused breath replies, eyes flicking down again to admire the luscious view you were providing him. "You're lovely, my dear, a delectable treat I'd devour in an instant…but I hope you're not doing this because I've pressured you."
"No, I want to." Your hand comes up to lay atop his own on your cheek. "I want to have this with you. I just…don't want to disappoint. I don't know if I'm any good-"
"You could never disappoint me." He promises, leaning in to place a long kiss against your lips. He pulls back only enough to mutter, "We'll start slow. Let me show you…"
It's easy to give into the comfort and safety that Cracker provides to you. At one time, you'd never imagine trusting him to the extent that you do now, but the buzz of anxiety in your belly is quelled enough to let him guide you into this act of intimacy.
His tone is quiet and encouraging when he shows you how to unlatch the biscuit armor around his waist, letting the heavy plates fall to the ground behind him. You can't help the surprised noise you make when his gloved hands grasp your wide hips and lift you to fall back onto the large bed behind you. Once more, you're struck by the sheer strength of your eager husband. The surprise turns into a laugh, marveling at the sudden change in position. You rather enjoyed having him hovering above you like this.
Just seeing his much larger frame was doing things to you, and he hadn't even really truly touched you yet. Oh, you were certainly in for it…
Once more, your lips are swept into a passionate kiss that leaves you panting and breathless. Your curves and rolls tingle with anticipation beneath the rough texture of his gloves, slipping underneath the top of your lingerie to caress your skin. He doesn't squander the first opportunity he's been given to have you as he likes, but you're thankful that his lust is tampered by the gentleness from this being your first time.
His lips quickly replace his hands, placing kisses on each and every inch of exposed skin he can find, teasing by avoiding that which is obscured by your top. If you had known he'd tease you like this, you'd have simply stood there naked for him. But oh, you suppose it's enjoyable too, tantalizing with the promise of what was still yet to come.
Eventually, you feel a tug as he lifts the fabric up your torso, and with a bit of shimmying and lifting on your part, the flimsy top is completely taken off, dropped off the side of the bed to the floor below. There you bask beneath him, exposed and waiting for what pleasure he'll provide. There's an elation in your heart, by the lack of fear for giving yourself like this to Cracker. Your husband loved you dearly, you knew it, this was simply a wonderful confirmation of that fact.
Again, his lips descend, this time latching onto a breast and kneading the other with long, narrow fingers. Gentle, insistent sucks of your hardened nipple makes your toes curl in delight. You're putty beneath him, the mewling from your mouth making it clear that you liked this and wanted more.
The impulse to run your hands along his toned chest, feeling the way his torso flexes beneath your fingers, is too strong to ignore. You couldn't say where exactly all this courage was coming from, but you thought it would serve you well. His welcome hum proves his enjoyment, pleased with the way you explore and experiment with his body, and you'd only just begun.
The room felt way too hot, and as if you couldn't quite catch a full breath. You knew what was happening, but it felt so unfamiliar. That buzzing, that coiling deep in your core, rising and heating. You weren't sure how to handle it, writhing beneath Cracker's attention. And just when you thought you couldn't lay there any longer, his lips released your breast with a wet sound.
Gentle fingers hooked under the string keeping your panties on, and with dilated pupils and the most ravenous expression you've ever seen, your doting husband looks back up to you. "Will you trust me?"
"A-Always." You mutter, thighs clenching together. They release enough to allow him to pull your panties down your ass and past your legs. With a ruffle, they join your top onto the floor. He guides your knees apart, opening your pussy up to him. You shiver at the vulnerable position.
"Oh, my dear wife…" He groans at the sight, hands on your thighs to keep them apart. He can't look away from your wetness. "I've wanted to taste you for oh so long…"
Cracker descends before a response can even be formulated on your part, before you can question if he's sure about what he wants. That first long, wet swipe of his tongue on your folds rips a cry from your lips. The first instinctual jerks of your hips, the attempt to close your thighs, is stopped by your husband's strong hands on your legs. And despite him keeping his promise to be gentle, to go slow, even this small bit is enough to have you squirming against the bed, hands fisting the comforter for strength.
Gluttony was a trait strongly inherited in the Charlotte children, and Cracker proved that now with the way he barely broke away for air to lap at your pussy, starved for something only you were able to provide. Either he ignored your cries of pleasure as you clawed at the bed, or was invigorated by them, using them to fuel the way his mouth ravaged you deeper.
Oh, the things he could do with that tongue! Dear god, you'd missed so much in all that waiting…
And then his fingers! One slipped in while you're distracted by the sensation of his mouth doing such wonderful things. The intrusion is unexpected, but oh so welcome, especially when he slides the second beside the first, stroking your inner walls with a precision that both terrifies and pleases you. Your loving husband hums, happy to have found exactly what to do to get you to react in such a way.
With only one hand to hold your legs, you manage to close them around his head, impulse driving the action. Still, his pace never slows. The combination of stimulation feels like too much, but you'd be shocked if it suddenly stopped. It was a newfound addiction. Now that you'd gotten this taste of the sort of pleasure Cracker could give you, there was no question you'd crave it fiendishly after.
You're vaguely aware of his name spilling from your lips in a torrent of moans and keening sounds. Such noises had never come from your mouth before. In the privacy of your bedroom, you didn't think to care about the volume, either. That pleasure that had built up before has rekindled into a raging fire. It heats all of your nerves. It pulses in your blood. You feel like a live wire, exposed and sparking.
Looking down at Cracker as his head stays buried between your thick thighs is nearly too much. It's then that you notice his own hips shallowly thrusting into the bed, stroking his own cock against the strain in his pants, getting what friction he can as he pleasures you. It's then that you become aware of the subtle vibrations as he moans into your pussy, lust-drunk and lost. Your eyes flutter shut, the sudden spike of lust dragging you to that unexpected edge, that peak of your orgasm. It comes to suddenly, you try to tell Cracker in some way.
But it's too late, and just as sharply as the heat had risen, it bursts, crackling through every nerve ending. Your wails are caught in your throat, the sudden feeling of wetness bursting forth. It's a moment or two before you realize that you indeed had made quite a mess upon your husband's face, a subtle squirting sound coming from where he was still buried face-first between your thighs.
It's only when your squirming becomes more pronounced, the overstimulation veering more towards pain than pleasure, that Cracker's tongue ceases it's movements. Your legs release him, limply falling to either side, as he lifts up and peers at you. Your own wetness coats his face, dripping down from his chin. A small part of you fears he'll be upset by this mortifying turn of events, but there's not a trace of anything but pride in his expression.
"You're more amazing than I'd imagined." He huffs, finally able to catch his breath. He reaches up, his fingers still slick with your juice, and traces your jaw affectionately. "Is it all that you were hoping it to be."
"It was…more than I thought something like that would feel like." You admit, chest heaving as you pant out in exhaustion. Who knew cumming so hard could take so much out of you? Then, you frown slightly. "But…what about you?"
"Oh, there'll be plenty of time later for me." He says with a chuckle, shifting to lay beside you with a bit of grunting and adjusting. Your eyes gaze down and catch the sight of his bulging pants. Clearly, he was still rather aroused. "I don't want to overwhelm you the first time. Unless you think you're up for more?"
"Ah…" Your head flops down onto the bed, and your eyes close. "As much as I'd like to…I think you've worn me out with that."
"As I thought." That tone of voice, so cheeky and proud. Your husband was insatiable.
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