#i think i need that tag at this juncture

[quatregats]

Saw this post and had exactly one (1) thought

[eyelessfaces]

bob definitely cries after sex

(the way that I had started writing this even before I received that ask)

summary: it tends to all come crashing down once the tide washes off.

tags: post intercourse, nothing explicit mentioned, fluff, mandatory slight angst, healthy crying, shoutout to bob's big blue gentle eyes and soft curls, intimacy, hurt/comfort, healthy relationship, this man needs to be held and I volunteer as tribute

word count: 0.9k

masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ♡

Bob’s forehead drops to your shoulder, his whole body going limp over yours; its warmth seeps into you seemingly even more intensely than it did before, and you can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as it’s tightly pressed against your own when you both silently fall into that comfortable matched rhythm.

You feel hazy, fingers mindlessly curling around the hair at the back of his neck when he nuzzles the juncture between your shoulder and neck, warm breath fanning over your cooling skin, soft curls tickling it. 

You stay like this for a little while, light and comfortably quiet – you wouldn’t ever want to move in moments like this, would let him cling to you like a second skin forever if you could, if your body didn’t eventually have to remind you it has needs outside of him. You know that if you don't get up, the idea of having to do it is only going to get worse. 

Your hand slides down against his back, mouth gently pressing against his cheek as a preemptive apology before you have to break it to him; “C’mon, ‘gotta use the bathroom” you mutter softly, to which he responds with a soft, tired noise before he reluctantly slides himself off of you in order to let you go from the cage of his own limbs. 

He flops back onto the mattress with a sigh, one arm lazily flung over his eyes while you quickly shift to grab a tshirt and an underwear to wear before you head towards the bathroom linked to his room. 

When you come back, you find Bob sitting at the edge of his side of the bed, still shirtless, turned away from you, shoulder sagging. You crawl back over the bed and settle behind him, fingers running along his bicep, tracing lines down his arm as you press soft kisses against his bare shoulder. “You okay?” you murmur, nuzzling into his hair. 

You feel him nod, but it is small, barely convincing, so you’re quick to sense something is wrong. Your intuition is easily confirmed when you push the hair covering the side of his face to take a look at him. “Bob–”

“I’m sorry,” he quietly breathes out when he looks at you, soft eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t even know,” his head shakes, and he turns away from you as he tries to hold it back, to not have you see him like this. 

“Hey,” you softly call. Your hand comes to cup the back of his head, fingers threading gently into his hair. “That’s okay”

He nods like he’s trying to convince himself of it, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. “It’s not you. It’s not anything you did,” he hurries to explain, voice hoarse. “It’s just– I don’t know,” he shrugs, finally turning back to look at you. “A release of tension I think. But it’s so much, and so fast, and I don’t know what to do with it” he chuckles, the ghost of a smile appearing over his face for a second before he brushes it off by rubbing a hand over his face. 

You don’t say anything, just watch as he tries to steady himself. You try to make it easier for him, more comfortable, your thumb soothingly running back and forth at the nape of his neck. It’s quiet for a while – you let him cry, let it soak, because you know it’s the good kind of cry, the kind that will make him feel lighter afterwards, the kind that he needs to move forward. You hold him like you know how much it costs him to feel this much, this intensely.

Bob eventually turns to look at you after a while, deep blue eyes gentle, breath trembling as it leaves him. “It just– It feels a lot. How you make me feel safe. Loved.”

Your heart leaps inside your chest, stomach fluttering in a way you can’t explain, blooming with an overwhelming warmth at his words. You could almost cry too; the deepness, the softness in his glassy eyes, the sincerity and the vulnerability of it all as he looks at you. 

“Maybe that’s why your body lets go” you nod, grinning softly as you reach to take his hand in yours. “It just has to get used to it.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like half a laugh, half a sigh. “I guess that makes it sounds a little less pathetic” 

You smile, leaning forward to press a kiss just beneath his ear. “It’s not pathetic,” you say. “It's honest and a little sweet, if you ask me” you smile, reaching to wipe away the remaining trails of tears over his cheeks. 

He chuckles and sniffles quietly, head leaning to settle at your shoulder, hand letting your fingers intertwine, tightening around yours, gently squeezing in silent affection. He sighs softly when the hand that is not holding his buries into his dark locks, and again, you remain like this for a while, dwelling in that floating atmosphere, time stilling while it all quiets down, while you hold him until his breath gets even again.

“So I'm gonna have to make you get used to it, huh?”

You feel him smile against the fabric of your shirt. “Guess so,” he grins as he looks up at you, a glint of playfulness shining inside his eyes beyond the sheen of remaining tears. 

Everything in that gaze alone makes you want to try your hardest.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and helps more than you think!!

buy me a coffee ♡

thunderbolts taglist: @majestic-jazmin @eternallymaroon @sillymilly17 @yyiikes @snazzynacho

@harebrained-0

[dksfml]

LOVE 119 [PART II]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. masterlist.

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: enemies at work, lovers at home. secret dating. jungwon is hot when jealous, suggestive, fluff summary: your coworkers think that you and niki look cute together while jungwon, your boyfriend is literally standing next to you and it's driving him insane. word count: 3.5k author's note: hey everyone! as promised, i'm here to serve another paramedic jungwon brainrot because it's not fair to just devour this cutesy alone. enjoy and leave some notes <3 read part 1 first and reply if you want to get tagged for the next parts!

You’re midway through a lukewarm coffee in the hospital cafeteria when your coworker leans in, voice low and eyes gleaming with intrigue. “So…” she starts, drawing the word out slowly, “who’s the lucky guy?”

It takes you a second, but the question sinks in just as she tilts her head, nodding toward your neck with a smirk. Your hand instinctively rises to the spot Jungwon’s lips had claimed last night, right at the juncture of your neck and shoulder—a parting gift as you’d curled up together, something you didn’t think twice about until now.

A blush surges to your cheeks. “What? Oh, no, that’s… I scratched it too hard,” you say quickly, heat rising not only from the surprise but the memory of last night—Jungwon’s sleepy grin, the way he’d pulled you close, whispering in your ear as he pressed soft kisses down the curve of your neck.

“Sure you did,” she teases, crossing her arms as her smirk widens. “You’re going to need a better excuse than that. So… is it Niki?”

“What?” you laugh, the idea so out of the blue it’s almost comical. “Niki? Why would you even think that?”

She shrugs, the smugness on her face never faltering. “You always have a soft spot for him. You never scold him like the rest of us. Plus, everyone’s seen the way he hovers around you in the halls, he’s clearly smitten.”

Your eyes widen at the notion. Niki, your young, eager junior who fumbles his way through shifts and who you can’t help but look after because he’s new and a little too starry-eyed for his own good? It’s laughable. “It’s not like that,” you manage, shaking your head. “He’s just… young, that’s all.”

“Mhmm,” she says with a knowing chuckle. “Sure, if you say so.”

Before you can protest further, your phone vibrates. Glancing down, you find a message from Jungwon: a photo of his lunch, neatly arranged with a sweet message beneath it. “Eat well, ily.”

The casual intimacy of it makes your stomach flip, and you feel an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. You quickly swipe away the notification, hoping she didn’t see the smile or the faint hearts in your eyes.

The day unfolds in the usual rush of patient check-ins, chart updates, and emergency calls. You busy yourself to the point where the cafeteria conversation drifts from your mind—until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the break room mirror and spot the faint outline of that now-infamous hickey, the concealer having barely managed to mask it. You tug your collar higher, hoping to hide it through the rest of the shift.

The afternoon in the ER has been a blur of movement and urgency, leaving you barely a moment to breathe. Every time an ambulance pulls up, your heart skips a beat, half-hoping, half-dreading that it’ll be Jungwon walking through those doors.

But each time, it’s someone else, and you return to the steady rhythm of your work, instructing Niki at your side as he follows your lead. Despite the tense environment, he’s attentive and focused, learning from you as he manages each step of the patient’s treatment with remarkable ease.

Afterward, you and Niki head back to the department office, the adrenaline settling as you both chat lightly, unwinding from the chaotic pace. As you enter, you spot Jungwon down the corridor, heading the other way with a stack of documents.

It’s almost comical how, even amidst the bustling hospital, his presence stands out so starkly to you. For a split second, he glances your way, and the fleeting moment feels charged, pulling your attention and making it impossible to look away. But as soon as your eyes meet, you glance down, hoping no one notices how that brief connection leaves your pulse racing.

Once back at your desk, you feel your coworkers’ eyes on you, their curious glances flickering between you and Niki. You try to brush it off as nothing, settling into your usual seat, with Niki across from you. Just as you’re starting to sift through some files, Jungwon’s familiar stride enters the department office.

His easy confidence fills the room, and he greets everyone with that understated charm, heading to a nearby colleague to ask for specific documents. You’re not even looking at him, but his presence is impossible to ignore. You focus on your papers, hoping that looking busy might steady your nerves, but the pages blur in front of you, your mind too distracted by the fact that he’s just a few steps away.

Then, just as you’re juggling a pile of documents, you accidentally knock over your iced coffee. The mostly empty cup clatters over, spilling what’s left onto your coat. The moment the coffee splashes onto your coat, Niki and Jungwon are both at your side in an instant. Niki’s quick to pull out a box of tissues, while Jungwon silently holds out a pristine handkerchief, a touch of annoyance already flickering in his gaze.

Caught off-guard, you instinctively reach for Niki’s tissues, leaving Jungwon standing there with his handkerchief, his jaw tightening slightly as he watches you dab at the stain.

Your coworkers notice the scene and immediately latch onto it, their laughter filling the room. "Oh, come on, you two," one of them teases, grinning at the pair of you. "Why don’t you just date already?”

Another chimes in, "Yeah, it’s obvious there’s something going on. I mean, look how attentive Niki is—always ready to help you out."

You wave them off, laughing it away, but the teasing only grows louder. Someone else playfully nudges Niki. "What’s next, bringing her coffee in the morning?"

Niki laughs, scratching the back of his head, visibly flustered. "Come on, guys, we’re just… coworkers," he insists, though his blush only adds fuel to the fire.

Meanwhile, you can feel Jungwon’s gaze on you, sharper and more intense than ever. His silence speaks volumes; the usual relaxed confidence he carries seems to be tinged with something harder, a jealousy that simmers just beneath the surface. It unsettles you, tugging at something guilty inside as the teasing around you grows.

Suddenly, Jungwon steps forward to you, interrupting the chatter with a clipped tone. "Enough with the tissues,” he says, leveling his gaze at you, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Stop fussing with that coat—you’re only making it worse. Change into something clean, or the smell will stick with you all day.”

The room falls silent, your coworkers exchanging amused glances. You roll your eyes, unwilling to let him get the last word.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Practicality. I can handle a few drops of coffee,” you retort, folding your arms and meeting his gaze with a defiant tilt of your chin.

He raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk forming on his lips.

"Right, because dealing with a coffee stain is something you’re well-prepared for," he says dryly, folding his arms to match yours. "Clearly, practicality isn’t your strong suit."

You scoff, refusing to back down. "And since when did you become an expert in coffee stain management? It’s barely noticeable, and I’m perfectly fine with it."

Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t waver, the challenge sparking between you both as he leans in just a fraction, his voice lower. "Just because you’re fine with it doesn’t mean everyone else is." His eyes flick down to the stain and then back up to yours, a knowing glint in them.

Your coworkers are watching with raised brows, amused but also visibly intrigued by the tension between the two of you. "Are we interrupting something?” one of them jokes, breaking the silence. "Honestly, the way you two bicker is like a married couple."

The comment makes you blush, but Jungwon doesn’t flinch. Instead, he holds your gaze, his smirk deepening. "At least one of us knows how to handle these little emergencies,” he quips, voice steady, though there’s a hint of something raw behind his eyes—a hint of jealousy that only you can catch. The way he’s looking at you, there’s no mistaking it: he’s anything but amused by the teasing around Niki.

But before you can respond, Niki steps forward, awkwardly placing his coat over your chair. “Um, here,” he says, clearly trying to ease the tension. “You can wear mine for now if the coffee’s bothering you that much.”

The room erupts into more laughter, someone nudging Niki with a grin. "See? He’s a gentleman. Really, you two should just make it official."

Another coworker teases, "Or maybe they already have, and they’re just not telling us."

Jungwon’s expression hardens as he watches the exchange, his eyes narrowing. His gaze flickers from Niki to you, a frustration simmering beneath his calm facade.

You feel the tension growing, an almost tangible weight of jealousy in the way his jaw clenches, his fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh.

Finally, he speaks up, cutting through the laughter with a controlled but slightly irritated tone. "Enough of the matchmaking." His gaze falls pointedly on you, something possessive flickering there, though he masks it quickly. "And you should change. That coffee smell won’t just vanish."

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to back down. "If it bothers you so much, why don’t you bring me a change of clothes yourself?"

"Thanks," he says shortly, taking the stack of paperwork with a polite nod. He turns back to you and your coworkers, offering a quick, “See you all later. Take care, everyone.” His voice is casual, but as his gaze lingers on you for a fraction of a second longer, you feel the weight of everything left unsaid.

With that, Jungwon strides toward the door, his usual self-assured calm back in place. You watch him leave, but just as he reaches the exit, your phone buzzes in your hand. You glance down, your pulse quickening as you read the message from him:

“I have something you can change into in the back of the car.”

It’s simple, yet there’s something about it that makes your stomach flip. You glance up just in time to catch Jungwon’s silhouette disappearing down the hallway, feeling the tension of the moment linger in the air long after he’s gone.

The rest of your shift rolls by with its usual demands, and you brush off the incident from earlier, deciding against getting the change of clothes Jungwon offered. By the time you finally clock out, the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the nearly empty parking lot. Just as you step out of the hospital doors, Jungwon’s car pulls up in front of the exit.

You feel a small smile tugging at your lips as you walk over and slip into the passenger seat. “Hey,” you greet him, but his focus remains straight ahead, his hands firm on the wheel, his paramedic uniform clinging to his form. The sight of him in that navy blue uniform, complete with the badge and patches, usually makes your heart race, but today his expression is unreadable. A flicker of surprise hits you. Jungwon, who is usually quick with a playful remark, doesn’t even turn his head as you settle in, leaving you feeling a bit deflated.

You tilt your head, watching him closely, noticing the slightest crease of annoyance in his brow. With a slight pout, you try breaking the ice, “So, how was your day?”

He answers, but his tone is clipped, barely more than a few words. "Busy. The usual."

You blink, feeling a hint of tension in the air. Normally, he’d be cracking jokes or filling the car with easy chatter, but now he’s focused on the road with a seriousness that feels almost uncharacteristic.

Leaning back in your seat, you give him a sideways glance. “Is this about the clothes?” you finally ask, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Are you upset I didn’t change into them?”

A quick denial. “No,” he says, a bit too fast, but still refusing to look your way.

You can’t help but smile a little, noticing his hands gripping the wheel tighter than usual. “Uh-huh. Doesn’t sound like you’re not upset,” you tease, leaning forward to get a better look at his face.

“I’m not upset,” he repeats, but he’s biting his lip, eyes fixed stubbornly ahead as if he’s hyper-focused on the road. His brow furrows, and he lets out a soft sigh.

“Come on, Jungwon, it’s cute when you sulk,” you say, your smile widening at the way his jaw clenches ever so slightly, revealing his irritation in the most subtle way.

This finally gets a reaction. He glances at you, his eyes narrowing just a little. “I’m not sulking,” he mumbles, but the denial lacks its usual conviction.

“You look pretty sulky to me,” you murmur, enjoying the rare moment of catching him off guard.

Just then, the car comes to a stop at a red light, and you glance over to find him holding a long breath, his expression somewhere between frustration and fondness. The tension in the air shifts slightly as he turns his gaze towards you, and in that moment, you feel the familiar flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

Without breaking eye contact, he places his right hand gently on your lap, rubbing small circles with his thumb. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, igniting that familiar spark between you two. It’s a simple gesture, yet it feels so intimate, especially with the way he’s staring at you as if he’s trying to convey everything he can’t say out loud.

He resumes driving as the light turns green, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but his voice softens, a hint of vulnerability slipping through the usual bravado. “I’m not upset,” he assures you, though the sincerity behind his words hints at something deeper, something he’s wrestling with beneath the surface.

You can’t help but smile at him, the weight of his earlier mood lifting slightly. “Then what’s with the whole silent treatment? You know you can just tell me, right?”

Jungwon shakes his head, a faint smile creeping onto his face despite his mood.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he says, his voice maintaining a lightness that’s undercut by an earnest edge. “I don’t want to be the guy who gets all worked up over people assuming you and Niki are a thing.”

You bite your lip, the realization sinking in that his jealousy is more about their perceptions than the spilled coffee earlier.

“Well, I’m definitely not dating Niki,” you reply softly, trying to ease his tension. “He’s just a good coworker. You know that.”

He glances at you briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smile as he focuses back on the road.

“Good,” he mutters, his hand still gently rubbing your thigh, sending tingles coursing through you. The intimacy of the gesture makes your heart race.

He passes another intersection and accelerates, the car moving smoothly through the streets.

“But you know,” you continue, trying to keep the mood light, “if you were just a little quicker with your offer, I wouldn’t have to deal with all this teasing.”

Jungwon lets out a soft chuckle, the tension in the car easing slightly. “I thought I was quick enough,” he says, a playful tone returning to his voice. “How was I supposed to know you’d be so stubborn?”

“Stubborn? Me? Never,” you tease, rolling your eyes dramatically.

He shakes his head with a laugh, his grip tightening slightly on your thigh, a subtle reminder of the unspoken bond between you two. As he navigates the streets, the silence stretches comfortably, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sound of traffic.

“Hey, you should know,” you add after a moment, “if you want to make sure I’m not wearing Niki’s clothes, maybe you should just… keep me in yours.”

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Is that your way of saying you want me to dress you?”

“Maybe,” you reply coyly, biting your lip again, the playful banter making you feel bold.

He laughs, shaking his head as he pulls into a quiet parking lot. “You really know how to make me feel like I’m the jealous one, huh?”

“Just speaking the truth,” you say, leaning back into the seat, enjoying the rhythm of the moment.

As he turns off the engine, the atmosphere shifts slightly, the playful banter fading into a more intimate silence. Jungwon finally meets your gaze, his expression earnest. “Just so you know, it’s not about Niki. I just…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “I want to be the one you lean on, the one you trust.”

Your heart swells at his confession, a warmth spreading through you. “You are, Jungwon. You’re the one I always want to lean on.”

He smiles, a genuine light returning to his eyes, and in that moment, everything feels right.

When you arrive at your apartment, Jungwon opens the door for you, the familiar scent of your space washing over you. As soon as you step inside, he follows closely behind, and before you can even set your bag down, he closes the door and turns to face you.

In an instant, the air between you shifts. Jungwon steps forward, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you closer. You barely have time to react before he captures your lips with his in a deep, passionate kiss that takes your breath away. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you and the electric tension that crackles in the air.

His lips move against yours with a fervor that surprises you, and you feel your heart racing, responding instinctively as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, his mouth coaxing yours open as he explores the sweetness of your taste. It’s intoxicating, and you lose yourself in the moment, your worries and doubts melting away.

In the midst of the kiss, he breaks away for just a moment, breathless and looking down at you with those soft eyes. “I can still smell the coffee,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You giggle, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, the reminder of the earlier incident making you giddy. “Well, I didn’t exactly plan for that to happen,” you reply, your voice teasing but breathless.

“Maybe I should get you a proper change of clothes next time,” he quips, his eyes sparkling with mischief. But then he adds, more seriously, “You should probably take those off; the smell will cling to you.”

His suggestion sends a thrill through you, and you find yourself biting your lip in excitement. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you want me to take them off?” you tease, your heart racing as you lean closer, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

He chuckles softly, but there’s a glint of something deeper in his eyes. “Okay, maybe it’s a little selfish,” he admits, his breath ghosting over your skin as he moves in even closer.

With a playful grin, you decide to indulge him. “Fine, but only if you do too,” you say, your fingers finding the buttons of his uniform. You start to unbutton it, your hands trembling slightly with anticipation. Each button that comes undone reveals more of his toned physique, and your breath hitches as you take in the sight of him.

As your fingers glide over the fabric, Jungwon watches you, his expression a mixture of desire and admiration. “You know, this might be the best idea you’ve ever had,” he murmurs, his voice low and enticing.

You finally push the uniform off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. In that moment, the playful atmosphere shifts into something more intimate. He captures your lips again, and you feel the heat between you both intensify as you pull away the last barriers that had been keeping you apart.

Just when you think it can't get any more intense, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he admits, his breath mingling with yours, creating a palpable tension that thrums in the air.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, your voice teasing yet filled with warmth.

“You know I can’t let everyone find out I’m dating the hottest doctor in the hospital, or else…” he argues, a playful grin breaking through his earlier seriousness.

“Oh, please,” you bite back with a smirk, playfully nudging him. “Like they wouldn’t notice that the ‘sexiest and charming paramedic’ is completely smitten.”

With a smile that could light up the room, you lean in for another kiss, feeling the world around you fade away once again as you get lost in him.

masterlist.

[manicmanuscription]

Selfishly Late

This is the the second part to unapologetically selfish!!

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 1554

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, suggestive, possessive Azriel.

Summary: Azriel has you running a little late to your introduction with his family. But he just can't seem to keep his hands off you.

A/N: I have literally rewrote this piece like five fucking times no joke. It's still not perfect in my eyes and there's definitely going to be a part three but I needed to post this before I went insane.

Thank you all for your patience I love you <3

acotar masterlist | main masterlist

You took one last look in the mirror before scoffing. 

Azriel had absolutely covered you in hickies. On any inch of skin he could reach, paying extra attention to your throat and collarbones. You gave him a pointed glare as he finished dressing behind you in the mirror but he was too busy fixing the cuff of his sleeves to notice. With a roll of your eyes you reached down for the scarf, draping it over your neck and brushing your hair back from underneath. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”  Azriel asked, slightly appalled as you adjusted your scarf and hair to cover some of the more egregious bruises.

He crossed the room in a few strides before standing directly behind you as you sat at your vanity. You didn’t even have a chance to respond before he pulled the scarf away from your neck gently and pinned your hair up with the jeweled metal hairpin he had gotten you last year as a birthday present, perfectly showing off the hickies.

“Azriel!” You exclaimed, turning in your seat to face him and his eyes gleamed at the yellowing dots decorating your bare skin. “I can not show up to your family’s house like this!” 

His brows furrowed slightly, the only sign of confusion you’d read off the usually stoic male. “But you look so pretty like this my love.” He murmured, reaching down and brushed his fingertips against the tender skin, his breath tickling your ear as he pressed another biting kiss to the juncture of your throat. 

Everyone told you once a mating bond snapped the males got unusually possessive, of course you believed them but Azriel was something on a whole different level. When you first met him he explained Illyrians were more territorial, all the instincts heightened. You couldn’t remember the exact sciences on it why but it made you feel so safe, loved and incredibly turned on. 

You gave him an exasperated look through the mirror, one he promptly ignored. His hands curling tighter around your shoulders. This had been going on for years. Every attempt at an introduction was thwarted by Azriel’s skilled persuasive abilities and intoxicating touch.

You did your best to stay strong this time, trying to ignore the way your entire being electrified at his close proximity, sparks running along every expanse of skin he touched. Your toes curled and you let out a soft breathy moan. One that Azriel had still heard and a victorious smile graced his lips. He hid his face in your neck so you didn’t see it. 

But you still did and it was enough to -barely- break you out of his spell. You stood up out of your chair and he rose to full height with you, towering over you slightly. “Azriel!” You reprimanded. “We are going to be late.”  

“We’re already late, what’s an extra five minutes?” He smirked, his shadows swirling around his shoulders as if in agreement. You scoffed, letting out a few curses under your breath. He had been pulling this all morning. 

You didn’t have to be a Spymaster to know Azriel was dragging his feet, first holding you tighter in bed so he could keep using your stomach as a pillow, spilling coffee on the outfit you’d picked out so you’d have to spend another 15 minutes trying to create a new one and now this hickey situation.  

You knew the High Lord or Lady was yelling at him too if any of the occasional winces and rubbing his temples were anything to go by. 

“I’m going to be making such a bad impression already!” You protested, holding your palm out for your clothing back. “Now give me my scarf so we can go please.” 

Azriel just looked at the light brown fabric still wrapped in his hands as if it committed a grievous act against him. “You’re so obsessed with this scarf.” 

You groaned, this time you were the one soothing your head with your fingertips. You knew he struggled when you were gone for long periods of time, both of your work schedules making it endlessly hard to actually have time to be husband and wife, mates, and life partners it drove you crazy too but you’d have to find a compromise because there was no way you were showing up to the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court’s estate covered in hickies. 

You told him as much and he paused, finally noticing your nerves of the event. Years after missed dates and scheduling conflicts and getting distracted by Azriel’s sly touch was all coming to an end, you were finally meeting his family, it loomed over your head and nerves pumped violently through your bloodstream.

It was a bittersweet feeling and you just wanted everything to go well, Azriel wouldn’t stop talking about how amazing his family was. His love for them ran deep and if they somehow didn’t like you….

Azriel begrudgingly passed the scarf over, your comfortability and safety would always come first and he tamped down those raging instincts telling him to whisk you and mark you more thoroughly and reclaim you over and over again especially after your long time apart. He instead pressed a comforting kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t worry love, we are completely mild compared to the crazy shit I’ve seen or heard my brother’s get into with their mates.” He shuddered and you laughed a little bit, pressing yourself closer to him so you could give him a quick hug and a soft peck to his lips, hearing a mumbled “Gods you’re killing me.”  Before sitting back down at your vanity. He sent a wave of reassurance through the bond and you returned it. You've dined with High Lord’s before this would be fine, you were fine. It had to be fine. 

“He’s not coming.” Mor said with finality. Looking over at the golden watch on Amren’s wrist. “I mean they were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago.” The ancient female pulled her hand away from the blonde sharply, giving her an even harsher look of disdain.

Cassian eyed the clock nervously and shot Mor a warning glare. It was incredibly important to him that this went well, you were a major part in his brother’s life and he wanted to not only make a good impression but also make sure you were good enough for Azriel, he recognized it as a silly thought you’d been mated for many years (unbeknownst to him) -and he’d definitely be having some words with Azriel about not being there for his mating ceremony later- but he wanted to make sure Azriel felt loved and cherished, taken care of with all the shit he’d already been through in his lifetime. 

Rhysand just let out a soft sigh, swirling the orange juice in his glass, desperately wishing it was something stronger. He’d assumed his dear brother would be late based on his previous patterns and the little reunion they’d witnessed last night but not this late and he was giving the Spymaster five more minutes before he winnowed the entire family, and their dining table to his living room torches all ablaze and pitchforks raised.

Although he couldn’t help but let out a soft smile at the thought of the usual strict and punctual Shadowsinger was willing to abandon his rigid routine for someone. 

“He’ll be here.” Feyre assured on her mate’s behalf, although her own confidence in him was waning, he did have a habit of simply not showing up when an introduction was planned. 

“You’re sure the female you saw wasn’t an illusion or a paid actress or-?” Mor started but suddenly the lighting in the room dimmed, shadows moving briefly across the edges of the floorboards before the sunlight streamed through the windows once again. An unfamiliar female’s voice rang throughout the large house as she laughed and Cassian’s heart flooded with relief at the sound, anxiety simultaneously  pumping in his chest, he wanted everything to go perfectly.

 “-are absolutely ridiculous.” “Yeah, yeah.” The shadowsinger muttered, the leftover pieces of conversation barely reaching the Inner Circle’s ears. 

Two sets of footsteps echoed across the floorboards, getting closer and closer to the dining room.

 Mor whispered a shocked. “No way.” Another step. “No way.” Another step. “No way.” 

She whispered it after every movement made until finally the couple came into view, standing in the open doorway and she couldn’t even make a sound, her mouth dropping at the sight of you. 

There was a few stunned moments of silence. 

The Inner Circle was staring at you as if you were a foreign creature and you shifted a little bit under their gaze, your mate had prepared you for an endless stream of questions but not the wide eyes and open mouths although you guess it was to be expected and Azriel tightened his hold on your shoulders protectively. 

“Surely you have better manners than this?” He bit out a little harsher than originally meant after a few more uncomfortable moments of stillness. 

You gave them a bright smile and a timid wave, breaking them out of their trance and all of a sudden they erupted with movement pulling you in for hugs and shaking your hands. Not so subtly inspecting you all the while bombarding you with questions.

This was going to be quite the breakfast. 

divider by @strangergraphics-archive

[lysarion]

━━━━━━ in the fog, in his arms ⟢

♱    |    flins is an inexperienced lover. more often than not, you're the one who initiates affection. but during his bouts of jealousy, he gets a little clingier.

𖤝 including  ⠀! ⠀flins          ◟          𖤝 warnings ⠀! ⠀written pre-release so expect ooc, no beta we die like xiao's adeptus friends, bulleted headcanons w/ a short written portion!          

𖤝 notes⠀! ⠀after grinding on crk to try and max out manju cookie, i finally remembered i had some stuff to do and one of them is this fic LMAOO THAT PHAINON LONG FIC IS STAYING IN THE BASEMENT.... divider used were made by @uzmacchiato please check them out!!!

❝      tags     ⚜     .  @aritsukemo and @luvydei my favorite flins kissers i was motivated by your reblogs to make this so i hope you dont mind the tag HELPP

flins, to say the least, is an inexperienced lover. it’s really no surprise that his affection towards you comes across as awkward and stiff, after all, you are his first lover.

early on in your relationship with the lightkeeper, you’d need to learn how to voice and act on your wants and needs. flins doesn’t initiate affection, not because he doesn’t want it, but more so he’s not quite sure how to without seeming too clingy or overbearing. so please, take his hand in yours when you're taking a walk down the streets of nod-krai in the wee hours of the night—he’ll squeeze at your hand when the fog gets thicker and tug you closer so you won’t get lost.

if you want a hug, just wrap your arms around his torso. doesn’t matter if you're taller or shorter, flins will always find a way to pull you closer by your shoulders, press his nose at the juncture where your throat meets your shoulder, and simply melt. do card your fingers into his hair and watch as he unravels with a content sigh and low chuckle, the sound reverberating across your bones like a trail of goosebumps. 

if the night is stretching too far and flins still isn’t in bed with you, just walk into his office like you own the place, and make yourself comfortable in his lap. flins doesn’t even bat an eye to the added weight, in fact, he relishes in it! you’ll feel him lean back in his seat, hold you by your waist, and tuck your head under his chin as he works. when he hears the steady rhythm of your breaths, flins will instead brush his thumb across your cheek and press a loving kiss to the crown of your head before carrying you back to bed.

but there are still downs in your relationship, especially when you realize that flins cannot be a normal lover. his work requires his attention almost 24/7, leaving you to your own devices for days—sometimes weeks—in your lonesome. you understand, truly, you do. but like everyone else when you feel lonely in the absence of your lover, you often find yourself in the nearest tavern, chatting away with his subordinates with rounds and rounds of beer.

now, flins trusts you to remain faithful as he is. but seeing you chat animatedly with his soldiers that are prominently bigger both in stature in build, flins can’t help the jealousy that twists inside his chest as he gazes from afar. he knows he can stand on his own during fights, and he knows that you’re simply enjoying yourself while he’s away. but was it really necessary for the fatui soldiers to hoist you onto their shoulders, holding you securely by your thighs (with consent) and boasting about their strength? 

flins thinks, no, it was not at all necessary. so he marches his way over after finishing his usual drink. true to his habit, flins doesn’t enter the circle through normal means. he’s grown quite fond of giving you a slight startle with his little talents with the shadows. so what better way to get his lover back by tugging at your shirt from behind until you fall straight into his arms with a surprised scream.

“flins?!” you shout in alarm. arms snaking around his shoulders to steady yourself as his hands gently cradled the back of your legs and back. you blink up at him curiously when he simply nods in acknowledgement to the soldiers and begins walking away. another blink, you’re staring over his shoulder and waving your previous company goodbye.

flins huffs, adjusting you in his hold. “did you have fun without me?”

you like to think that you’re far into your relationship with flins to know his little quirks. it’s given you the perfect opportunity to test your perceptiveness on multiple occasions—this being one of them. 

you look back at him to see that he’s already staring at you. you don’t even notice how he’s summoned his lamp and how the fog grows thicker. you let out an amused snicker before tucking yourself under his chin, letting your nose ghost over his throat and feel the way his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “i did. maybe i should hang around your subordinates more often while you’re away.”

flins scoffs at your obvious teasing. his finger tapping repeatedly at your back, a giveaway to his growing irritation. “shall i order a few of them to be stationed near my office? i’d rather not have you sneak out during after hours when you can easily get lost in the fog.”

“do you not trust me?” you challenge.

“i don’t trust your sense of direction.” he fires back.

you playfully hit him on the chest, crossing your arms over your chest and huffing. flins’s chuckle courses through your body like a warm bath—easing taut muscles and reminding you of home. 

“i missed you, my love.” flins whispers to the crown of your head. you don’t point out the erratic beating of his heart, nor the way the back of neck looks unnaturally red. 

with a resigned sigh, you throw your arms around his shoulders, and whisper back to him, “i’ve missed my flins, too.”

flins is an inexperienced lover. he’s a bit shy with his affections—never really asking for more than what he’s given—but he’ll lap up whatever you drop by his feet. at times, you feel like he’s more of a guard dog than a lover with the way he shadows you around, ready to civilly tell anyone off and show that you’re taken. but you can excuse it, especially when he gets extra clingy when he’s jealous.

© 𝓵ysarion 2025 — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.

[lady-lauren]

❥ RYOMEN SUKUNA X FEM! READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: Cannibalism (Sukuna just takes a few bites of you, as a treat), Sukuna has two cocks and four arms, major dub-con, blood, Sukuna is a sadist, double penetration (vaginal and ass fucking), degradation, branding (his name on your skin), squirting, belly bulge, overstimulation, creampie

Dead Dove Do Not Eat. I’m serious. Sukuna eats more than just pussy.

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

“Oh you poor, poor little thing,” his maniacal mouth coos, sweat shimmering against the black lines of his body like an abyss, “does it hurt? I bet it does.”

It’s a rarity that Sukuna plays with his toys, normally too insatiable to take his time and savor. But you’re just so sweet, juicy with fear and plump with arousal. 

He’ll have to taste the whole menu to decide which doughy part of you is his favorite. 

You’re spread open like a feast, two hands prying your legs apart while another keeps your pesky hands locked above your head. Sorcerers are tricky—one lapse in judgment and you’ll be squirming out of his bed, throwing annoying techniques at him like you really think you stand a chance.

Perhaps you won’t, though. Your precious cunt is drooling for him, even as his fourth hand digs a claw into the flesh of your thigh. Blood swells to the surface, spilling in a streak down your skin. So close to where your pussy is stretched open, where your tight little hole is fluttering like it's scared. 

“Just a few little bites, m’kay? Then maybe, just ~maybe~ I’ll let you go.”

“H-how many?” 

He’s surprised you can still speak. 

“Hmmmm,” his voice rumbles in the thick confines of his throat as he ponders. Carmine irises flicker over the shape of you. “This looks good.” Sukuna taps his bloody fingertip to the underside of your breast, pressing into the gooey fat. “This too.” He traces a sharp fingernail across the juncture of your neck and shoulder, eyes sparking when you swallow. “And I already got started down here.”

Sukuna digs a claw back into your sore thigh, using the barest hint of his strength to rip into your tender muscle. 

Your scream makes a satisfied shiver run down all of his limbs, both cocks throbbing. They twitch together, hot and angry, red tips leaking down his shafts.

Licking his lips, he admires the sugary shine of your subcutaneous tissue, peeled back to reveal bloody insides of your flesh. Just a little rip, a stringy bit of meat that’s too easy to fully tear off and slide between his teeth. 

Sukuna swallows and the taste of you makes him want to cum.

“Mhmmmm, fuck, what did you do to get so flavorful, hm? Or have you always been so sweet?” 

He watches you whimper and wiggle, nipples hard and puffy. 

“You like this?” The grin that curls around the tattoos on his cheeks is sickening. “What a fucking delightful little human. I’ve never gotten lucky enough to find one of the sluts.”

He tests his theory under the safety net of knowing that pain makes you numb. Releasing your wrists, he revels in how you simply let the weight of freedom fall into his mattress. You aren’t going anywhere.

Your poor little pussy is creaming, squishy and wet and begging. He likes the way it smells—tangy, thick honey. It almost overpowers the iron scent of dripping blood. 

“‘Suppose you need some attention. Don’t want you passing out before I’m done.”

You gratify him with a high-pitched moan as he swirls two fingers against your cunt, knuckles sticky in your slick. Easy, it’s far, far too easy for him to slip his digits into you. Normally there’s resistance, like human pussies are trying to push him out, yet you’re sucking him in.

“What should I eat next? Pick for me.”

All the emotions that filter over your face are foreign to him. He’s not sure what you’re thinking, but can smell some sick mixture of pain and pleasure rippling over your skin as you weakly buck your hips. His fingers sink deeper into your cunt, claws tickling against soft spots that make you mewl. 

“C’mon,” he tsks, “don’t make me wait.”

Your little gulp is so cute, “My c-cunt…”

“Oh, don’t get greedy. Dessert comes last. Try again.”

You’re almost shy as you drag one of your hands from above your head, trailing down to cup one of your breasts and squeeze. “Here?”

“My, my, those tits do look delicious.” 

He shoves a third finger into your weeping hole as he latches his teeth to the fat of your breast. 

He sucks, tastes your sweat, licks at the salt. As the first bite hits his taste buds, blood trickling down the corners of his lips, his eyes go wide in astonishment. He wasn’t expecting such a burst of flavor, like jellied candy popping in his mouth.

Your shrieks are just fodder, background noise, as he hums in delight and sucks at the viscid lining of your skin.

Fuck. With the next bite he wants to be inside you, feel the tremors of your wrecked body around his dicks. 

The wound bleeds down your stomach as he pulls away, swallowing and licking along his sharp teeth to gather the remnants. 

“Aren’t you just such a treat?” 

Sukuna swats your cheek, quick with his nails angled like a cat so he can scratch at your skin. Your head lolls to the sheets, panting, damaged tits heaving as you try to find sanity. It’s too late for that. He’s going to break your body and mind, binge in your honeyed sorrow. 

“Wakey, wakey, little human. You won’t want to miss what comes next.”

Your brows pinch as he draws his messy fingers from your cunt, only to wrap a hand around each of his cocks so he can pop both heads into your holes. 

That wakes you up. 

“C-can’t, n-not both.” 

“Oh please, you’re all soft and squishy. Girls are made to be fucked.”

The swell of your belly as he pushes in makes him even hungrier. Your ass strangles his cock, the rim wet with the drippings of your slick. He hates that he has to be careful. A too strong push could split you on his dicks, and he’s having far too much fun to be devouring your guts just yet. 

But he’s not gentle. All four hands latch onto you—legs held so wide it’s nearly obscene, the other two sinking into your rib cage and smearing in blood so he can pull you down until you’re impaled. 

The squeeze of you is divine. 

The heavy mass of his cocks stretches your walls thin. He can feel the outline of both his dicks as he starts to thrust, mushroom heads catching on one another before bullying in deep.

It’s no surprise that you’re crying—humans always cry, sob, beg. It is perplexing and oh so satisfying, however, that you’re blubbering because you feel good amidst all your pain and suffering. Your hips are rolling back to meet his thrusts, pussy convulsing every time his pelvis grinds into your clit. 

Your bleeding and broken body is devouring him just like he swallowed your flesh. Your gooey pussy is sucking around him, dragging along his shaft like lips gobbling him whole. 

The hiss he releases is sinful, like a snake coiling as his tattooed thighs presses you deeper into the crimson mess he’s created. He likes the way the ichor stains your skin. He takes a bloodied hand and curls it around your thigh, fingers long enough to overlap and color your flesh like a brand. He could crunch your bones beneath his palms, break you into pieces if he wanted.

“Do you want me to, ah fuck—” he loses his train of thought when the sound of his voice makes your ass clench, ribbed walls wedging around his second cock. “Never fucking mind giving you the option. I’m keeping you. Alive. Want your body warm every time I fuck it.”

The look in your eyes is so hopeful and darling that it almost makes him feel something. 

Sukuna pummels into your gaping holes and leans over your body to sink his teeth into your neck. He bites hard, hard enough to make you weep and wail and to remind him that you’re only here to be devoured.

He rips tender flesh and digests it, drinking down more of your blood as you start to coo from the stinging pain and numbing ecstasy of having him ravage your sensitive little pussy and ass. You get so tight around him in your anguish, all fucked out and eaten like you’re nothing but a willing piece of meat. 

His wanton tongue laves over your marred skin, sliding through blood and sinew. Humans always were his favorite. Only now he can’t remember what any of them tasted like before you.

Your cunt is slobbering, creaming, and he’s pretty sure he hears your weak little heart stop beating for a split moment before you cum. 

“God what a good fucking slut,” he purrs, eyes rolling back in his head as he feels both of your channels compress around his lengths as you break. “Let’s make you do that again.”

You’re so overstimulated from the bliss of his cocks thrusting in, out, in, deeper, faster that all the suffering he inflicted is null. You cum again because it’s so easy to make you, one of his hands pinching your swollen clit until you squirt all over his toned stomach and your belly bulges from the shape of his inflating cock.

“Ohh I like that. More. Give me more.”

Two hands keep your kicking legs pinned to the bed as another torments your clit and the last is gathering your slick. He runs his fingers over the grooves of his abs and up to his pecs, finally flicking his fingertips into his mouth to eat your cum like sauce. 

His cocks swell at the flavor of you, tart and salty like some kind of rich delicacy. 

Sukuna continues to stuff you full, over and over again, pressing in until it seems like you’ll pop. His balls are bruising against your body with every brutal thrust. You’re babbling and messy, coated in slick and blood and tears and spit. It’s almost disgusting, yet he has to admit you’re just so damn pretty and warm that he thinks it’s cute. Like a pet. 

He rubs at your engorged clit until you’re squirting and screaming again, babbling about how it’s too much. Only it’s not enough, not for him. He’s close to the edge and knows just how to get himself off. 

Sucking at a clawed fingertip, Sukuna eyes a soft patch of skin below your bouncing, intact tit. The other is still seeping, his fresh bite etched into the globe.

“One last thing,” he smirks, crazed and nearly fucked out, “gotta let everyone know these slutty holes belong to me.”

The sharp tip of his nail digs into your meat, slicing the characters of his name as if he was signing a gory, whorish picture. His smile nearly splits his skull at the sight, all bloody and gross and his.

“~K-Kunaaa…” hearing his broken name out of your stupid little slut mouth is the last straw, some primal instinct to claim his prize overwhelming his senses and making him explode. 

Cum bursts from your seams all while bloating in your belly, your ass, pearly white strings glistening against all your fluids. He feels relieved as he releases into you, hot balls pulsing as he feeds his seed into your gummy depths. 

You’re so full of his cum that another orgasm crests over you, making you tremble and quake and scream. He relishes your final squeezes, letting your cunt and ass suction around his cocks until he’s milked dry. 

“I fucking love whores.” Just because he can, he pushes his hand into your bulging belly, laughing as cum gushes from where your pussy is cinched around his shaft. You whimper, twisting against the hands holding your thighs open. 

“No no no,” he wags a finger at you, “I still haven’t had dessert.”

He wonders if he’ll be able to stop himself from sinking his teeth into the delicate, syrupy folds of your cunt. Depends on just how good you taste.

[bullet-prooflove]

Pause: Dennis Whitaker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @sargeant-sad-eyes @caffeinatedwoman @hooks-martin

Summary: You and Dennis have a frank conversation about the future.

Companion piece to:

Peppermint - The taste of peppermint will always have a special place in Dennis’s heart.

The Morgue Thing - A miscommunication between you and Dennis almost ends things before they begin.

Written In The Stars - Your first date with Dennis takes place underneath the stars.

In The Park - Dennis reveals a secret after the two of you spend the night together in the park.

Virgin - There's a rumour going around about Dennis.

Debauched (NSFW) - Karaoke night ends a lot differently than it did the first time around.

Symphony (NSFW) - Dennis has never eaten pussy before…

Pretty Boy (NSFW) - You and Dennis take the next step in your relationship.

Firsts (NSFW) - Dennis experiances alot of firsts during your first night together.

Permanent Marker - You find out about the betting pool.

The Porn Boom (NSFW) - Dennis isn't like the other man you've been with.

Bite (NSFW) - Dennis doesn't mean to edge you.

Wild Flowers - A crown of wildflowers leads you and Dennis to discuss the issues he has with his family.

A Friend of Denny's - Your relationship with Dennis takes a turn when his parents come to town.

A Cold Day In Hell - Dennis tries to make amends for his actions.

Dennis wants to marry you, he makes that abundantly clear in the first five minutes of the conversation you have in Elmer’s Coffee Shop around the corner from the hospital.

“When I say I want a life with you, I mean a life.” He tells you as you wrap your hands around your coffee mug, warming them. “I’m not talking we’ll see what happens in the few months leading up to Match Day. I want to be with you, to grow old with you, to have a little house with a garden and a dog-”

You hold up a hand to slow him down and he concedes although it seems like he has plenty more to say.

You are very aware right now of the differences between you. You may be around the same age but you are in two very different spaces due to your experiences. Your career is firm, established while his is in flux. You’ve been around the block a few times in terms of dating but you’re the second person he’s slept with. You’ve had the time to grow, to get to know yourself, Dennis is still finding his place in the world away from his family.

“Dennis,” You begin as you lean forward, setting your elbows on the table. “Right now the phase of the relationship we’re in… it’s very new and very shiny. It’s fun, it’s easy… It’s pretty wonderful but it won’t always be that feeling and I don’t want you to make a decision about your future  based on the honeymoon period. I don’t want you to get a year or two down the line and regret the choices you’ve made because you decided to stick around for me.”

“I won’t-” He interrupts but you cut him off again.

“You need to take a step back and get some objectivity.” You assert as that tiny crease appears between his eyebrows. “You need to look at all the factors, without me or you mom and make a decision that is truly for you.”

Silence stretches between the two of you as you wait for him to absorb your words.

“Lola… I… Are you… Are you breaking up with me?” He asks, his eyes wide, his expression distraught.

“We’re just putting things on pause for the moment.” You tell him and he sags back in his seat, blinking quickly as he looks away. “I will always be there for you but you are at a really important juncture in your life and you need to think about it without me as a distraction.”

You can feel his sadness radiating off him in waves as he abruptly pushes away from the table, rising to his feet. “I gotta go.”

“Ok.” You say knowingly, your own eyes starting to sting because even though this isn’t a break up, his response to it… It damn feel feels very much like one. “You just let me know where you land when you’re ready.”

“Uh huh.” He says, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows hard against the emotion rising up in him. He can’t even bring himself to say goodbye because even that, it just feels too final so he gives you that look instead, that tortured, kicked puppy expression and it feels like someone’s just put a gun to your chest and pulled the trigger.

“I really do love you.” He says softly, tugging on his jacket. “If you can’t see that…”

“I do see it and that’s the problem.” You say, clasping your hands together on the surface of the table. “You love with your whole heart Dennis, you are willing to sacrifice everything for it and I can’t let you do that. I wouldn’t love you if I let you do that.”

“Oh.” He says because that’s the first time you’ve said it out loud, the first time he realises just how much he means to you.

“I love you.” You tell him with a sincerity you want him to feel in the depths of his soul. “And that is exactly why this needs to happen.”

Love Dennis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Kinktober (24)- Hair Pulling

Scarlet Witch X Reader 18+

Summary: Waking up in her variant's body, Wanda has one thought on her mind. Find her family. What happens when she discovers that in this reality she has a wife not a husband.

Warnings/Tags: Scarlet Witch, Dream walking, Fingering, Oral, Strap-Ons, Rough Sex, Light Angst

Kinktober Masterlist

Opening her eyes, the red slowly faded back to green while she took in her surroundings, the unfamiliar room catching her interest. Wanda noticed she was now in a bed, soft and gentle breaths coming from the person behind as she moved to sit up right. Her fingers didn’t hold the corruption of the darkhold in this variant, her fingertips free from the black and darkness that stained her hands. Magic still coursed through her body though, bringing a smile to her lips as she tried to get up.

A pair of arms wrapped around her middle, the witch now only noticing how she was in nothing, the only thing covering her body being the thin sheet that covered the bed. A pair of lips pressed a soft kiss at the base of her neck, travelling further up the skin till their teeth nibbled on her ear lobe, hands tightening their grip around her middle.

“Where do you think you’re going, love?” you rasped out at the shell of her ear, your bare front now flush against her back.

Wanda’s mind practically froze as you continued to press your lips against her skin, her body warming up at the feeling. Her variant was with a woman? Where was Vision? The boys? The darkhold-

“Come on love, I’m sure I could persuade you to stay,” you tease while moving your hand lower on her stomach, Wanda tensing at the touch, trying to ignore the heat building in between her legs. She was here to find her husband and twins, not to fuck whoever was currently in her bed.

“I have to go,” she mutters, turning around to see you, breath hitching slightly at the sight of you. You were the most beautiful woman she had ever seen; your body now being raked over by her green eyes that darkened with every second she looked at you, your hands cupping her jaw and angling her head to look into your eyes.

Maybe staying for a little bit wouldn't be such a bad thing.

“Do you?” you murmur, leaning forward slowly and claiming her lips. The kiss was intimate and passionate, something Wanda has craved to feel for so long. You moan when she kisses back hungrily, guiding you onto your back as you smile into the kiss, your fingers threading through her brunette locks and keeping her head close. “I think you could stay a little longer,” you mutter, her hands drifting down your body experimentally.

“I think I could too,” she whispers in response, her fingers now at your hip bone. Maybe it was wrong to enjoy the love and affection you were giving her, pretending for the moment that you were hers and not her variants. “What do you want, Detka?” the low rasp of her voice, accent delicately wrapping around her words making your eyes darken with lust.

“You,” the tone of your voice a breathy sigh as you let your head loll back against the soft mattress, Wanda busying herself with kissing your neck, teeth scraping the juncture of your neck sending a shiver down your spine. Your words make her groan against your skin, moving to kiss the top of your breasts while looking up at you, pure desire swirling in her eyes. “I need you to touch me,” your fingers softly scratch at her scalp, “Fuck me however you want to, just use me love.”

Your words awaken something primal in Wanda, moving up to crash her lips to yours, tongue sliding into your mouth and dominating it while her fingers swipe through your folds. Both of you moan at the feeling, her amazed at the abundance of arousal now coating her fingers while you moan at the way her fingers draw circles on your clit perfectly.

“Fuck,” you groan against her lips when she slides a long slender digit inside you, curling it perfectly against your velvety walls to have you squirming under her.

“You like that Detka?” she taunts, repeating the action and hitting the spots that make you see stars, pleasure clouding your mind. “Of course you do, you’re just a little slut for me, aren’t you?” A sinful noise escapes you as she increases the pace of her fingers, pumping them in and out of you brutally.

“Yes,” you sigh out, back arching when she slides another digit into you, stretching you out. Your hands move to her back, nails digging into the skin as she crawls down your body, littering it in open mouthed kisses until she reaches your core. Her hot breath fans over you, teasingly kissing around your thighs to have you whimpering under her. “Please,” she licks a stripe up your core, groaning at the taste of you, the addictive sounds pouring out of your mouth encouraging her as she continues to thrust her fingers into you, tongue now swirling around your clit, mouth occasionally sucking on it making you buck against her face. “Oh god Wanda,” your hands move to clutch the sheets next to you, knuckles bleeding white as she eats you out like she’s starved. “I’m going to come,” Wanda merely groans into your dripping core at your words, sending you over the edge as you scream her name, legs trembling around her head as you clamp your thighs around her, rutting against her face to ride your orgasm out.

“Detka,” she moans out when you release her, your arousal now coating the lower part of her face as she moves away from your core. Her eyes gaze down at you, her want and need for you not fulfilled yet. “Turn over,” her voice dropping an octave, you instantly rolling onto your stomach and moaning as you feel a strap on pressing into your ass. You look back to see her magic fading around the conjured-up toy, her kneeling behind you as she teases the tip at your entrance.

“Are you going to take this like a good girl?” she husks out, pushing her hips into you making an unabashed moan reverberate around the room from you. The feeling of the false cock hitting even deeper inside you, Wanda pounding into you from behind makes your brain cloud with the thought of her. One of her hands goes to your hair, bunching it into a makeshift ponytail and pulling on your hair, your head craning back as her hips snap into you.

“Yes, I’m your good girl,” you moan out, hands grasping at the sheets in front of you for support as she relentlessly thrusts into you. A grunt leaves her lips as she continues to snap her hips into you so hard the whole bed is shaking and smacking against the wall with each thrust. Your body writhes under hers as she drills into you with no mercy, desperate to make you numb with pleasure.

“Look at you stretched out and trembling around me,” she husks out between especially hard thrusts before looking down to see the toy being swallowed up by your needy cunt and groans at the sight. “Taking me so well.”

“Please,” you whimper out, Wanda never wanting to forget the way you sound when she’s fucking you like this. Her other hand moves to press her thumb firmly against your clit, your body squirming at her touch. She tugs on your hair again causing a lewd noise to be ripped from the back of your throat, her thumb never easing up from circling your clit. “Please can I come?” you whimper out, body buzzing with pleasure.

“Come for me,” she pants out, keeping up her pace of pounding into you mercilessly. A scream leaves your lips as you tense, pussy spasming around the toy as her name falls from your lips like a prayer, Wanda slowing down to help you with your aftershocks and not overstimulate you. “Good girl,” she murmurs, moving down to interlock her fingers with yours as she kisses along your back.

When you’re ready, she pulls out of you, magic dissipating the toy away and moving to cradle you in her arms, your face instinctively going to the crook of her neck.

“I love you,” you whisper, making the witch tense.

“I..” your finger moves to press against her lips to quieten her, not wanting her to say it back.

“Shush love,” You pull away from her neck to look her in the eyes, a hand cupping her jaw, “I don’t need you to say it back, I just want you to know I love you, in every universe.” Her brows furrow as she looks at you, tears forming in her eyes at the care and love in yours.

“How did you know?” she whispers, you just smiling softly at her before pressing your forehead to hers, letting her enjoy the intimate moment.

“My Wanda would never fuck me like that,” you tease, “She’s scared I’ll break, but it’s ok because I love the way she makes me feel. I love the way any of you make me feel.” You let her move to your neck, basking in the warmth there as tears threaten to spill, arms snaking around your middle and holding you as close as possible, desperate to feel anything but the pain of her reality.

[hotshotsxyz]

Perhaps some Buddie “I didn’t know where else to go” if you so wish? Love your writing!!

(buddie) (975 words) (edit: now featuring eddie pov!)

cw: vague description of a very bad car accident

Buck is exhausted and aching and, at this exact moment, extremely confused.

Eddie, illuminated only by the flashing blue and red of the police car idling in his driveway, looks wrecked. The phone pressed to his ear slides through his fingers and clatters to the ground.

“Buck,” he says, only it sounds less like his name and more like a sob.

He launches himself forward and wraps Buck in a hug so tight it hurts. He presses his hand to the back of Buck’s head and buries his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. A shaky exhale ghosts across his skin.

“Eddie,” Buck says, tentatively returning the hug, “what—what’s wrong?”

A choked sob wracks his body.

“Eddie,” Buck repeats, alarmed. “What is it? Is Chris—“

“No,” Eddie gasps, “no, it’s—“ Another sob interrupts his speech. He doesn’t let go.

“Eddie, what?” Buck asks desperately.

He pulls back, just far enough to look Buck in the eye. His cheeks are tear stained and red and Buck’s really starting to panic because he’s only ever seen him like this once and—

“I thought— you— god, Buck, I thought you were—“ He squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re here,” he says shakily.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Buck replies helplessly.

Eddie takes a few deep, shuddering breaths.  “I saw—it was on the news. They weren’t sure there were any survivors,” he whispers.

Buck’s stomach drops. “Eddie,” he says, unable to keep the devastation out of his voice.

“And then your Jeep was—“ Eddie continues haltingly. “I tried to call you.”

“I lost my phone,” Buck breathes. “I—I’m sorry.”

“God, Buck, you don’t need to—fuck.” Eddie lets go of him and drags his fingers through the tear tracks on his cheeks. “You’re here,” he says, something like wonder coloring his tone, “that’s everything.”

All at once, the exhaustion that’s settled into his bones threatens to bowl him over. “Can we—“ He gestures to the still open door.

“Yeah, of course, I—“ Eddie takes another breath and grabs Buck’s wrist.

Buck scoops Eddie’s phone up off the stoop and allows himself to be pulled into the living room.

“Was it as bad as it looked?” Eddie asks quietly once they’ve settled on the couch.

“Worse, probably,” Buck admits.

Black tags had outnumbered the green three to one. He’d’ve been one, probably, if his Jeep hadn’t gotten pinned between a Prius and the guard wall. The several minutes it took him to shatter his windshield and clamber out were the only thing between him and the tanker when it exploded.

By the time the 136 arrived, there wasn’t much left to save.

Eddie takes Buck’s face in his hands and tips forward until their foreheads touch. “Thank you,” he breathes.

“I got lucky,” Buck replies. So fucking lucky.

“Thank you for coming here,” Eddie clarifies.

“Where else?” Buck asks.

Eddie tenses. “Shit,” he says. “Your sister.”

For a moment, he doesn’t understand, but then Eddie’s scrambling for his phone and it hits him like a ton of bricks. She must think—

The call connects before the first ring finishes.

“Eddie,” Maddie gasps down the line, “is—“

“It’s me,” Buck says quickly. “I’m fine, Maddie, I’m okay.”

“Oh thank god,” Maddie says. Her voice cracks, and with it, Buck’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says. A tear slips down his cheek.

“Evan,” Maddie says, and yeah, that just about covers it.

“We need to call Bobby too,” Eddie says, a little mechanically.

“Of course,” Maddie says. “Thank you,” she continues in a rush. “Thank you both.”

The call ends and Buck takes a shaky breath. “You all saw it?” he asks.

Eddie shakes his head minutely. “No, just— just me.” He stares down as his white-knuckled hands. “When I couldn’t get ahold of you, I…” Eddie trails off.

On instinct, Buck takes one of his hands. “I’m okay,” he says quietly.

“Let me—after we call Bobby?” Eddie asks.

Buck nods. “You can make sure,” he whispers.

With shaking hands, Eddie navigates to Bobby’s contact and taps call.

“Bobby,” Buck says as soon as it connects.

“Kid,” Bobby answers with palpable relief.

“I’m okay,” Buck continues. “I’m with Eddie,” he adds unnecessarily.

“That’s— thank God,” he says emphatically. “Athena!” He calls out, a little muffled.

Buck swallows harshly. “I’m sorry I scared everyone,” he says.

“You’re okay,” Bobby says firmly. “That’s all that matters.”

Eddie meets Buck’s eye and gives him a slow nod.

“Okay,” Buck says. “Okay.”

He talks to Bobby and Athena for another few minutes while Eddie grabs his first aid kit from the bathroom. It takes him a little longer than it should, and when he comes back, his eyes are a little more red and swollen.

They end the call and Buck lets himself be manipulated into a better position for Eddie to check him out. His eyes slip shut as Eddie methodically checks his vitals.

“Shirt,” Eddie says quietly after a few minutes, pressing his palm gently to the center of Buck’s chest.

Buck dutifully sheds his jacket and pulls the t-shirt over his head. As soon as it’s off, Eddie sucks in a sharp breath.

“That bad?” Buck asks.

Eddie reaches out and trails a gentle finger along the already purpling bruise that stretches diagonally across his torso. He shakes his head.

“It could be a lot worse,” he murmurs. His expression shifts minutely, and he swallows.

Buck catches his hand and presses it to his chest, right over his heart. “I’m okay,” he says. “I’m alive.”

Eddie closes his eyes and brings his other hand to Buck’s cheek. “I don’t want to say it like this,” he says.

“Eddie,” Buck replies. He aches.

“But…” he continues. “Stay?”

“Always,” Buck breathes.

Eddie pulls him into another tight hug. His shoulders shake.

[leashybebes]

many...sentences monday?

tagged by @firehose118 so here's some more salbucktommy which is title-less for now and as ever, entirely vibes based.

They really need a new couch, Sal thinks. Especially if they're gonna keep talking themselves into arguments about Evan Buckley. He's been tossing and turning for hours, catching sleep in ten minute snatches here and there. He knows he should get up and actually pull out the pull-out bed if he wants to be even semi-functional for his shift tomorrow, but that feels like - like admitting defeat or something. Too much like the way the den when he was a kid firmly became his Pops' bedroom by the time Sal was twelve.

He must drop off again because the next time he opens his eyes to turn over and punch the couch cushion he's using for a pillow he can hear Tommy breathing. He's sitting on the floor - ever the fuckin' martyr - with his back to the couch and Sal drops his hand into the tangle of curls at the back of his head.

"Hey," Sal says, quiet.

"I like him," Tommy says into the darkness. "A lot. He's hot, he's sweet, and that night was a lot of fun. But I'm in love with you, Sal. Jesus, you make me fucking crazy, and I love you so much."

"Get up here, you dumbass."

"Real nice. I'm not sleeping on the couch with you," Tommy says, but he lets himself be towed closer, lets Sal pull him up and on tip of him, the miserable fucking couch somehow immediately more comfortable with Tommy's bodyweight pressing him into it.

Sal strokes his hands up and down Tommy's back, dips his fingers inside the arms of his tank top to touch skin. He's always teasing Tommy about these slutty tank tops, but he hopes it never makes him stop wearing them.

"I like him too," he says. "So don't make me break those fuckin' Bambi legs of his, okay?"

"Okay," Tommy says, breathing it into the juncture of Sal's neck and shoulder.

Sal kisses his temple. "I love you."

aaaaand i'm in a rush, so call it an open tag.

[rottiens]

PRETTY IN THE DARK | GETŌ SUGURU

✮ tags. . noncon/dubcon vampire getō x human fem reader, blood, objectification, 18+ mdni. divider creds: cafekitsune. | WC: 2.3K

✮ about. . in your desire to protect your family, you end up making a deal with the devil.

He is sitting in the dining room when you enter the room. Your body doesn't react with a shrug of muscles as it was usual to do every time you encountered him wandering around as if he owned your apartment, but your heartbeat detonates as if someone has pushed you from behind and you plummet into the void.

Shadows take over every corner of your place as if this were their and Suguru's home and not yours. You breathe, exhaling the fright that has frozen your veins and move towards the switch blindly, sliding your fingers along the wall until you manage to make light.

Suguru squints his eyes being struck by the ace of light. He is sitting in one of the chairs with his elbows on the small wooden table, he has a half bun tying part of his hair up, the rest of the black hair falls down his back perfectly. The turtleneck sweater is new, it makes him look more elegant and you almost laugh at how formal he looks.

"I wasn't expecting you today," you say approaching, dropping the keys of the apartment on the table surface. You want to tell him he's quite the dramatist for setting this scene for you, the waiting in the dark in your apartment god knows what for so long, the absence of light, the black clothes… you wonder how long he's lasted waiting there for you, if he's gone through your kitchen, if he's rummaged through your clothes.

His clear eyes scan your face as if reading what you're thinking, then he notices the paper bags you drop next to your keys before answering. "I thought I'd stop by for a snack" He replies with a mocking tone.

"What's this?" you reach out to grab the glass bottle in front of him. Inside a red, almost black liquid swirls amusedly as you move it back and forth in search of something to give you a clue as to what it might be and you pray it's not what you're thinking.

"Beet juice." The confession makes you scrunch up your face in distaste. Okay, it wasn't what you were thinking but this doesn't make it any less gross. "It's good for the red blood cells."

You squint to examine it better. Was he giving you a gift? Was that what he meant? The vampire who had threatened to kill your family if you didn't feed him your blood?

"I'm not going to drink it." You set the bottle down on the table with a thud.

"You will. I need you to be healthy." There it is, the reason. You should have known better.

Suguru pulls his hands away from his face that drop his jaw, invisible hands squeeze your chest at the sight of him again, it was a strange feeling having him erase your memory after feeding on you to make you forget details about him that you don't need to know, just in case you decide to expose him to the church. So seeing him always makes you feel uneasy, he is handsome, his small eyes are intimidating and the whole aura around him makes you feel tiny.

"Shall we get this over with?" you raise an eyebrow looking to put an end to an encounter that shouldn't be any longer than necessary. You move the sleeve of your sweater up revealing your right wrist which begins to heal, at the juncture are two dots on your skin, around them the flesh takes on a yellowish color.

Suguru gets up from his seat and without taking his eyes off you sits on the chair next to you. His fingers take your hand gently, without wasting time he brings it to his mouth and his lips brush against your skin causing you to tingle, he breathes in your scent, breathes in the essence of your skin with his eyes closed.

"Stand up," he suddenly orders.

You move against the wall, trembling with fear and anticipation. Suguru is in front of you taking up all the space that allows you to see the rest of the room, your gaze riveted on the silver cross hanging from his neck and you snort at the irony.

With his finger he lifts your chin and makes you look at him, you want to run away, but you force yourself to be brave by chewing on the bottom of your cheek.

"You don’t have to compelled me." Suguru raises an eyebrow, questioningly. "I'm not going to scream."

Surprise marks the wrinkles at the corner of his mouth in a brief smile. "You want to feel the pain?"

You shake your head before pulling your face away from his finger yanking back. "I just want to know what it feels like." You feel guilty. A bitter cocktail rises in your stomach, you think it's unfair to have to be protecting your family without knowing exactly how you do it, what happens before, during or after. You feel guilty for not feeling pain.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he speaks softly. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut ignoring the hotness that suddenly chokes you.

Instead of answering you reach out your hand, you hear him chuckle softly and when you sense him lowering your hand back to its place you turn hurriedly to look for him, wondering why. The hope that he is going to let you go today crosses in front of you.

"I want from the vein in your neck."

You swallow. Suguru can't disguise staring at your throat and how it rises and falls. Wordlessly you push down on the fabric of the sweater collar and let him see the vein pulsing rapidly thanks to your racing heart.

Suguru moves closer to you, his teeth grazing you as if testing how fast he can break the skin. Then, he deposits a kiss that makes you clench your lips to keep from moaning, his tongue glides in wet circles that that warm the area and your body trembles.

"Hold still."

Is all you hear before suguru opens his mouth in an inhuman way and sinks his long fangs into your neck, the pain making you moan involuntarily. His fangs are sharp needles that sink into the flesh and pierce until they leave two holes just enough for blood to spill out of the vein. The piercing pain stops, instead you feel his soft lips sucking like he's giving a hickey.

"It hurts…" you whimper.

The sounds of your blood gurgling in his mouth deafens you, you drop your eyelids as he pushes your head further to the side in an awkward position so he has the space to go deeper and chase the spilling crimson stream.

A hand-shaped snake crawls up your navel, searches for the button of your pants and in seconds undoes it to find your panties. Suguru stops feeding to speak in your ear.

"I'm going to make you feel better." His voice is almost unrecognizable, less friendly, deeper and more terrifying. "I'm going to keep feeding on you and you're going to cum on my long fingers."

You don't even respond. You can't complain because of the way your hands lose feeling and your knees buckle. Suguru goes back to sucking as the pad of his cold fingers push your pussy lips wide open and squeeze your clit back and forth almost in a lazy way. You squint harder to imagine that you're not there, that you're somewhere else and this isn't happening. Because what kind of person would you be if you felt pleasure because this creature, who every week comes to feed on you, is making you feel good?

He slips a finger easily inside you masking the pain in your neck with pleasure. Suguru pushes it in as if searching for something, then adds another finger and a louder moan tears your throat. Suguru pauses to lay his forehead on your throat, giving one last lick to the open wound that slowly stops bleeding and just lies there enjoying his long fingers parting your wet pussy.

"You taste so good when you're aroused," he growls, thrusting slowly. "I can hardly stop myself."

His fingers increase the intensity of his strokes, massaging your pussy in an erotic back-and-forth, scissoring his fingers and thumb touching your clit. It doesn't take your body long to reach orgasm, shattering you to pieces and making the lack of blood make you feel dizzy. Helpless and weak, you cling to his sweater, intoxicated in the peculiar perfume that envelops him until you begin to see black and everything becomes one big swirl that makes you fall into a deep sleep.

. . . When you wake up you are in your bed, lying on your back with one of your plush blankets covering your legs. You try to sit up but your body aches, especially your neck. You bring your fingers to where the wound should be but find the soft fabric of one of your scarves wrapped around your neck.

"Was I too rough?" This time, your body does react by curling up on the mattress. You pull your legs up to the level of your chest and search for the voice that burst into your room.

You find him as a long figure standing at the edge of the bed looking down at you from above. Did he care? Clearly not, because his mischievous-looking smile tells you otherwise.

You begin to tremble as he approaches, your gaze following him as you watch him come closer to you. The bed sinks with his weight, he reaches for one of your arms hugging your knees and pulls it towards him, Suguru brings the back of your hand to his mouth and leaves a kiss there, and the scene is so intimate that it feels awkward to you.

His body sensation is not icy cold as it normally is, his warm hands mimic the warmth of an ordinary man and you have a theory that it is due to the temperature change your fresh blood briefly carries in him, this only lasts a couple of minutes after all.

You wonder what he's doing, what he's playing at. Your heart leaps out of your chest the moment Suguru starts a path of kisses from your palm to your wrist, your blood turns icy cold after he stops on your wrist, you stutter his name, you think he's going to bite you again but what he does instead takes you by surprise.

Suguru gives you a long lick, the taste of your body cream diluted in the day's sweat soaks his tongue, then he closes his lips around the area and makes a hickey. Red, small, and when he pulls away to contemplate his creation it almost looks like the shape of a map. He crawls from your skin reluctantly and looks at you between heavy lashes, there's lust in his gaze mixed with hunger and desire and you hate yourself for the way your body reacts, your nipples harden and your pussy gets wet for him again.

"What-"

"No one touches my property." Your eyes widen. "This should carry a message to whoever you're fucking, unless of course, you wish me to show up in person to your job."

You reeked of man perfume and it made him want to throw up. He didn't want to smell someone else's scent on you when he was feeding.

"That's not of your business," you spit with a boiling face and a flutter in your stomach, tugging at your hand to escape the trap it had fallen into but it's only in vain because his strength is triple yours and you don't move an inch. "Our deal is just my blood."

"Perhaps," suguru murmurs, flashing you in a brief smile just the tips of the fangs that a moment ago were digging into you. "But it will be your fault when I bring their head as an offering along with another bottle of beet juice."

You struggle to hold back tears of helplessness. He grins again and his teeth cut through the darkness, you clear your throat to fight back and say it's not fair however Suguru gets up before you can.

Gracefully, he gives a brief tour of the room. You are embarrassed that he finds it in this state, books on your bed, shoes out of place and clothes on the floor. You were in a rush this morning, you were going to be late and you prioritized time over tidying your safe space as you rummaged through your uniform shirt.

He removes the hair tie that grips his mane and lets it fall all the way down his back like a dark waterfall as he looks down at the jeans on the floor, on top of it is a pair of light pink panties that he observes undisguised. As if every move is planned he ties all his hair back into a high ponytail, the movements causes the black sweater to ride up his abdomen revealing a wink of toasted skin, with a line of hair revealing itself at the edges of his pants and rising blurred to his belly button.

"How are you feeling?" He asks suddenly, dropping his arms to either side.

"Do you even care?" you reply curtly, looking down at his feet. You glance up at him in time to see him smirk, clearly amused by your attitude.

Suguru moves towards you again and you wonder when you will stop feeling not enough in his presence. He sits at your feet, puts his hand to his mouth and bites down hard. Your body squirms at the action, raw fear showing on your wrinkled nose and furrowed brow.

"Drink," he says reaching out, droplets of blood slipping onto your favorite blanket.

"No."

"It's not a request, sweetheart." You don't understand what he intends by this but you don't seek to make him angry either, so you lean down and wrap your lips around his skin to finally suck the blood that spurts out of him.

The taste of iron is so strong it's unbearable. Your mouth fills with saliva and your stomach knots warning you with rejecting what you are drinking, you want to move away but his hand is behind the back of your neck pulling you closer to him and preventing your escape.

"Keep sucking. Your wound will heal faster that way."

You blink faster pushing away the tears that peek out, you close your eyes tightly becoming oblivious to what you are doing, his fingers pampering your hair as if you were a pet. Stroking you gently.

"Swallow. That's a good girl."

[steddie-island]

Wiggly Wednesday 🪱

Tagged by @runninriot and @mugloversonly

I can not stop thinking about this art by Jenifer Prince.

This isn't a full fic ofc but I'm adding tags anyway: Sapphic Steddie, vampire Eddie Munson, Vampire hunter Stevie Harrington, blood play, knife play (you know, the good shit).

No pressure tags for @pearynice @finalmoondragon @klausinamarink @hellion-child @stervrucht and as always anyone else who wants to join who hasn't been tagged yet.

This is long but hopefully worth it. 😌

I can't stop thinking about Stevie. Maybe she's still a monster hunter, on a mission to take down a vampire who's said to be killing people for fun in the city.

Maybe she signs on as a dancer, where she can keep an eye on things.

Maybe she notices Eddie keeping an eye on her, too. Which is a good thing, it's what she's there for. Cut the head off of the metaphorical snake, the rest of it crumbles down, too, right?

Stevie doesn't expect to enjoy being called to Eddie's office for private shows. Doesn't expect the way those dark eyes track her movements to make her ache with want.

She tells herself that her desire is just a weird vampire thing. She's definitely not into this woman who trades insults as often as she doles out compliments about what a pretty thing she has in her arms.

We get sort of spicy under the cut

It's harder to deny when Eddie gets her spread out on her desk the first time, legs draped over her shoulders. Eddie devours her, uses her tongue and her fingers and has Stevie crying with how badly she needs to come. Just when she feels like she's getting ready to lose her mind sharp teeth find the juncture of her thigh.

Stevie realizes Eddie's drinking from her, and she comes harder than she ever has before, screaming the other woman's name and holding on to those dark curls.

One time might be an accident. It stops being an accident when it keeps happening. Stevie is supposed to be there to kill Eddie, not to let the other woman fuck her on every surface in her office. She does, though. Gladly.

Stevie's bosses start coming down on her, tell her they're starting to suspect she's not actually trying to get the job done. Stevie doesn't want to but has to admit they're right.

She means to kill Eddie. Really, she does. Eddie just finds the knife first, when she's hiking Stevie's skirt up around her waist.

The vampire doesn't even question it. She traces the blade, lets it nick her thumb. Spreads the blood on Stevie's lower lip before licking it away.

Maybe it makes sense that Eddie doesn't end up dead, that the freak is into it. Maybe it makes sense that Stevie ends up riding her strap instead, coming so many times she's delirious.

Or maybe that's from blood loss from Eddie leaving shallow cuts across her skin only to drink from them until the bleeding stops again.

Maybe Stevie's a little bit of a freak, too.

[hyperfocusthusly]

Several Sentence Sunday

No one tagged me but I’m going to give you a little look into my @bucktommyfluffebruary day 16 prompt ‘AU: didn’t know they were dating because it has taken on a life of its own and I’m not sure I’ll be able to get it out in full on time 🙈 so enjoy this little bit and know that I am working on it 😘

Also shout out to @leashybebes for the motivation/ listening while I yapped about this

———

“Hey did you know that Bruce Willis wasn’t the first choice to play John McClane?”

Tommy dumps his bag down by the island, comes into the kitchen to see what Evan was making for dinner.

“No, I didn’t.”

Buck face lights up with the knowledge that he’s giving Tommy something new.

“Yeah, he was like sixth in line, they offered it to bunch of people like Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sylvester Stallone, Burt Reynolds, Harrison Ford before they gave it to him. Apparently because he was in a show called Moonlighting at the time which was more like a drama comedy thing? They weren’t super sure he’d be a good fit for all the action.”

“Hard to imagine anyone else doing it now.”

Tommy watches Evan, he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, radiating energy.

“Wait, how did you know? I thought you said you’d never watched it before?”

“I hadn’t.” Evan grins slips past him to get to the fridge. He tries not to think about the bare heat of Evan’s bicep as it brushes past his own. “I was listening to this podcast at work today.” He comes back past, waving the stick of celery he had retrieved as he talks. “While we were restocking the engine, it was really interesting - apparently McClane wasn’t meant to fall so far in the elevator scene, he was supposed to stop at the first vent but when they shot it the stunt man slipped and fell further than he was meant to.”

Tommy isn’t paying as much attention to Evan’s words as he should be. He is watching the muscles in Evan’s back move as he chops the vegetables on the counter in front of him. The up and down of his shoulder, the flex across his shoulder blade when he has to press down through something harder. Selfishly imagining what it would feel like to feel those muscles shift under his hands, to press a kiss to the juncture of Evan’s neck while he’s cooking, rambling about a film he had no interest in before yesterday.

A film that he went and researched because he thought Tommy would like the extra information. He squeezes his eyes shut, scrubs a hand over his cheek. He needs to get a hold of himself. Evan is straight. He’s has never talked about anything other than women as far as Tommy can remember and even if he wasn’t, it’s not like he would be interested in Tommy anyway.

——-

NP tags 🫶🏻: @dark-alice-lilith @livelaughlou @laundryandtaxesworld @sad-girl-hours23 @bidisasterevankinard @sweaters-and-silly @theotherbuckley @sunnywithachanceofbi

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

WHAT UP, MY DARLINGS

Sorry for the long hiatus. New full-time job was kicking my ass, and I also realized there were a lot of changes I wanted to make to what I'd already written. That said, new chapter of my Feyd Rautha/Reader arranged marriage!AU is up.

Link to full AO3 fic here

Tags and CW for this chapter: switching; riding; body worship; come-eating; knifeplay; nipple play; oral sex (M+receiving); mentions of past self-harm; masochism; orgasm delay; teasing; subspace!Feyd; pregnancy discussions; dom!Feyd as well as sub!Feyd; both dom! and sub!reader; subspace and subdrop; collars; leashes; blindfolds; face-fucking; implied/referenced past child abuse; implied/referenced past incest; the Reader being an unreliable narrator/having way too much trust in the Bene Gesserit; mentions of Feyd's mommy issues

This takes place seconds after the previous chapter so if you need a refresher I also have the previous tumblr chapter here. Even with the tags up above this is definitely the softest and most romantic chapter I've put up so far. Like, by a significant margin.

CHAPTER TEN: UNLEASHED

For a few minutes all you do is kiss, lazily, trying not to move your hips too much as you lay atop him and his hands pass over your ribcage, your sides, your hips, before curling into your hair.

You're sweet like this, you almost say.  Never thought I'd be able to say that about you.

You drop your head and bring your mouth just below his ear, at the juncture of his jaw and neck.  Past experiences dating even prior to him taught you that this is a weak spot for you, and it appears to be the case for him as well as he gasps.  You remember the knife beside you, think about how he always enjoys a bit of pain to heighten his pleasure, and curl your fingers around the hilt.

You’re almost stunned at your own confidence as you do it, your bone-deep certainty that Feyd will enjoy this, as you lean upwards, taking the knife, and just barely pressing it against his chest, drawing a thin red line that ends just above his left nipple.  The cut’s shallow and the knife’s sharp so it probably doesn’t hurt much,  even as Feyd shifts and arches his hips, browline furrowing and mouth falling open in a silent gasp.  And then you lean down and lap up the blood welling up in slow, deliberate licks.

His dick twitches inside of you, and you gasp as it starts to fill out–slower than before, but awakening all the same.  He gives a rattling breath as you close your teeth around the nipple and tug lightly.  His hand curls around the back of your head but applies no pressure, as if he isn’t sure if he wants you to keep going or pull back, groaning and filling out more as you gently roll your hips and set the knife down  beside you.  You smirk around his bare skin, clench around his finally-stiff cock, and think, Alright.  I think it’s safe to say you’re ready for round two .

You sit up all the way, then, fanning your fingertips over his chest at first, fingertips of your right hand catching the last tear-droplets of blood that you bring to your mouth, sucking on your fingertips as you roll your hips properly.  Will he wear his favorite collar next time he lets you use him like this?  Will he still lie docile, waiting for you to command him?  

You picture it, and groan at the idea: him with his hands tied–wrists bound above his head, or maybe, oh, Great Mother, tied to the bedposts.  Is that why he has hooks on each of his bedposts?  You laugh, the heat already building up your spine, coming swiftly for you as you bear down on him, head falling back as the laughter turns into a moan as you shift your hips in just the right angle.  Incredible .  You can’t help it as the words spill out of you.  “I could do this all night,” you tell him.  “I– oh, fuck– I could ride your fat cock all night.  Would you like that, Feyd?” 

He groans an affirmative, and you feel all the hotter for it, stunned at how quickly the heat builds again, at the obscene squelch of your slick around him.  You move his hands from your hips to your breasts and he immediately understands your instructions, squeezing and fondling them as you topple effortlessly into your third orgasm, leaning back at just the right angle, both hands braced on his thighs.  

Thing is, you meant it when you said you could keep going, if nothing else than sheer force of will. You keep moving, desperate to come again, desperate to keep him inside of you for just a little longer, searching for the moment where you hit your threshold.

“Don’t come yet,” you tell him, panting.  “Not until I come again.”

Feyd groans under you and it takes you a moment to realize that it’s not out of protest, but arousal.  You try to make sense of it as you finally understand the phrase ‘ drunk with power ’ because the hold you have over him right now is utterly intoxicating.

It makes sense; one of Feyd’s strongest qualities is his discipline.  You venture further, trying your luck.  “If you want to come then make yourself useful, Feyd,” you tell him, and he gets to work, spitting on his thumb and bringing it to your bud, as if you’d need the extra lubrication when you can feel his previous spend leaking out of you.

You reach down and pinch both nipples, twisting.  His hips jolt up, nearly knocking the wind out of you as it feels like his cock is all the way up in your ribcage, but he doesn’t come, even as he gives an agonized groan and the cords of muscle in his neck bulge.  He arches his back, jaw clenched, eyes shut.

Oh, that won’t do .

“Look at me, Feyd,” you tell him.  You want him to see your face when you come, and it’s so close you’re about to lose your mind.  Four times in one night .  You didn’t think such a thing was possible.

He obeys you with a low groan, working your bud faster, managing to meet your frantic pace, his pupils blown wide, beautiful and pitiful and vulnerable and entirely at your mercy.  His cock has never felt so good , you think, one final roll of your hips hitting just at the right angle inside of you.

You come with a guttural wail, head falling back, trembling and feeling utterly possessed, hips still moving but quickly losing rhythm, just frantic grinding on top of him to wring every last drop of pleasure you can get out of him.

Feyd gives out a pained growl of his own but you don’t feel the tell-tale sensation of him spilling within you.  You open your eyes as you pant and stare down at his slack face.

Please.  Please tell me I can come, Y/N, he seems to be pleading with you .  I need your permission to come.  Have I not been good for you? he seems to ask.  And he has been good, hasn’t he?  So good and obedient, laying there and taking it, letting you use him.  The grip he has on your hips is going to leave bruises and you’ll prod at them later with fondness.

“That’s it, come for me, Feyd,” you tell him, and he does, spasming, hips bucking up into you as he groans, still sounding like he’s either in paradise or agony and that he loves it either way.  The moment lasts for another moment, him spurting inside of you as every muscle seems locked, and then on an exhale he sinks back down, his grip on your hips and thighs loosening.  

He shuts his eyes as he gathers his breath and his face starts to relax.

“Hey,” you say, voice gentler this time, waiting for him to absorb the words.  “Look at me,” you tell him as you stroke his cheek.  He does, eyes opening wide and bright, full lips parted.  You smile down at him, thinking, you’re so beautiful .  And he is beautiful, in the way that a briefly-tamed beast is beautiful.  For a moment you remain still, sitting on him, feeling him softening inside of you, wondering what he’s seeing when he stares up at you.  If it’s as stunning to him as he is to you right now.  Then you finally dismount, panting, looking at the pallor of his face as close to flushed as he’s ever going to get.  

You wonder–while he’s like this, open and vulnerable, if maybe he’d–?  Even still in a near-euphoric haze, you pay close attention to the way he breathes when you lean down and kiss his neck, when you nip at his pulse point again.  He gives a soft sigh and you slide down further and scrape your teeth across one of his nipples.  This time he gasps, hands leaving your sides to clutch at the sheets.

“Yes, that’s good,” you murmur.  “Keep them there.”  

He does, and you watch the corded muscles of his forearms clench and shift to obey you.  You smile again, feeling strangely fond, as you go lower.

His pants are still around his knees and it doesn’t take much effort to tug them down and toss them over the edge of the bed.  His cock is utterly coated in both of you, and a thought occurs that’s so obscene it surprises you, but piques your curiosity.

After half a second of hesitation, you lick the spend off of his cock and go lower, to where it’s drizzled down one testicle, and then the other.  He’s never let you do this before, never let you taste and touch him on your own terms rather than feeding his cock into the cavern of your mouth, and the idea of continuing to play with him is too tempting to ignore.

His breath hitches and his stomach clenches, and for a moment you pause, waiting for him to tell you to stop, but he doesn’t.  He trembles under you, spreading his legs a little more, and you look up to see his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a wet gasp.

“Do you like this, husband?” you ask him.  You keep your voice quiet, as if any volume above your near-whisper would penetrate the fog that’s settled over you.  He jerks a nod.

It should probably feel subservient, licking him clean like this.  It doesn’t.  You’ve never felt more powerful in your life.  You kiss the top of one thigh, wanting to bring your mouth to his scars, but refraining. He’s being so pliant, so patient for you–you don’t want to risk ruining it, uncertain if such an intimate touch there would. Instead you finally bring them up.  “These scars don’t match.”

Feyd makes a noise like he’s only starting to come back to his senses, but still foggy.  Still lost.  

“The scars on your legs.  One of the legs has different cuts from the other.”  You stroke his hip and outer thigh as you stay propped up above him.  “How’d you get them?”  You don’t think they came from the Baron.

“Left leg, seventeen.  A woman did it to me,” Feyd says.  “I asked her to.”  Asked .  Not commanded.   Interesting.  “Right leg, a few weeks later.  Did it to myself, wanted to replicate the feeling.”  

You glance back down between his thighs as he’s still obediently laid out before you.  The scars on his right thigh look deeper and angrier with shorter strokes.  “Did it work?”

“Not really.  It’s not the same if you do it to yourself,” he says.  “I just ended up losing a lot of blood and passing out.”  

You give a soft hum and nuzzle your cheek against his inner right thigh before turning your head and licking along the scars.  His breath hitches, and you sink your teeth in.  It’s more of a playful bite, not hard enough to even try to break skin, before coming back up, face to face with him.

Feyd kisses you languidly, accepting the taste of you, of him, on his tongue, and burying both hands in your hair.  He sighs into it, closing his eyes, relaxing into it and letting you control the pace until you break away, coming down from the peaks you’ve reached.  

You’re an utter mess between your legs, you think as you set the knife on your nightstand and the two of you pull up the covers that had been kicked down around both of your ankles earlier.

How did they end up that way, again?  Oh, right, my husband ambushed me in bed while I was asleep and rewarded me by letting me use his body as my personal playground .

“You know,” he says, still seeming somewhat out of it–and no wonder, you are, too– “there are devices, something I can wear next time you ride me.  It would delay things even further, making you able to come five times for every time I come once.  You’d be able to ride me for hours, if you wanted.” 

Part of you would prefer to test his self-control to its furthest limits without the use of an aid, but his suggestion makes you smile as you settle in with him.  “That so?” you ask.

“You took to it like nothing I’ve ever seen, Y/N,” he says, as you settle back, turning off the lights once more.

He turns to lay on top of you; you feel him squeeze his eyes shut as he rests his head against your shoulder.  You can’t help but smile to yourself as you gently stroke the back of his head and neck and wrap your other arm around his back.

It’s something wonderful and powerful he’s given you, and you’re certain that he wouldn’t have unless he felt you earned it.

He takes a deep breath as he wraps his arms around you, as he moves his body down lower and lays his head on your stomach.

“Is this what you need, husband?” you ask.  There’s probably proper terminology for this sort of thing, but you don’t know it.

He nods.

“In a couple of days we’ll find out if life’s growing in there,” you say idly as he nuzzles against the soft skin of your belly.

“There is.  A boy,” he tells you and you laugh.  Wishful thinking.  How could he possibly know?

“I saw him,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts.  “Dreamt about you giving birth to him.”

“A dream doesn’t predict the future, though,” you tell him as you absently run your fingers over the back of his head and neck.

“It’s not the first time I’ve dreamt of something that came true, faces I’d never seen before but met later on,” he says.

“Oh?” you ask, and he gives a grunt in the affirmative, but says nothing else.  His breathing grows slower and his muscles slack.  You lay there in silence with him as he drifts off, still nestled against your stomach.

It's not the most comfortable position to try and fall asleep in, but you'll give him this.  You laugh quietly to yourself as you look up at the ceiling.

You have to remind yourself that your husband of one month just pretended to be an assassin to test your training and reflexes, and it’s somehow brought the two of you closer together than ever before.

.

You wake hours later to an empty bed.  There’s enough gray light streaming in to tell you before you’ve even looked at the timepiece on your nightstand that you’ve slept in.  You rub the sleep out of your eyes as the events from the previous night–into the early morning–trickle back into your consciousness.  For a moment you could almost believe that last night had been a dream, but the knife’s still on the bedside table and you feel a delicious soreness in your legs and abdomen and the less-enjoyable feeling of flakes of dried come on your lower lips and inner thighs.  You can’t help but smile remembering Feyd slack-jawed and moaning underneath you, how good he felt inside of you from that angle, how insatiable you were.

There’s a knock at the door and you instinctively pull your sheets up to cover your breasts.  “Who is it?” you call out, to hear Idrisa’s voice muffled from the other side assuring you that it’s just her with some morning refreshments.

“The Na-Baron wanted to let you sleep in, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says as she comes in and sets down a tray.  

“Oh?” you ask, reaching for your robe to put on as you swing your legs to the side of the bed and sit on its edge.

“He said you could take the morning off, Na-Baroness,” she tells you.  “He said you had an eventful evening and you’re going to have a busy day.  He said he wanted you well-rested.”

Last time he'd given you the morning off, it'd been because he was furious with you.  You can't imagine that being the case today, but you’re also not entirely sure, and that makes you nervous.  His birthday is two days from now; you can't afford to be on poor terms with him right now, between the Bene Gesserit visiting tomorrow and Feyd 's arena showing the day after that.

“How did he seem?” you ask, trying to process everything and imagining that a little caffeine will help. 

“I did not see him, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says.  “I’d received word from a Fortress guard what his instructions had been.  I heard nothing to suggest that he was in a foul mood, though.”

“Alright,” you say, still thinking, still wondering what the shift last night started will mean for you, in and out of the bedroom, going forward.

At breakfast there’s of course no acknowledgement of what transpired last night; neither of you would ever have that conversation in front of Feyd’s uncle anyway, but there’s a cool detachment in how Feyd treats you that feels tangible.

“Your brother sent word that he will not be attending your birthday festivities,” the Baron tells his nephew as soon as you’re seated, presumably continuing the conversation they were having before you came in.

“Best idea he’s had in months; it’ll save him the embarrassment of showing his face here,” Feyd says, wordlessly passing you a tray of fruit.  The Baron narrows his eyes for a moment, looking between the two of you, as if there’s something conspicuous about a man passing a plate of food to his wife during breakfast.  You look away, accepting the plate with a mouthed ‘ thank you ’ and pretending that you didn’t notice.

The conversation goes back to Feyd’s arena performance, with a brief discussion of the new Mentat, a man named Kalevi Itkonen.  It’s a name you realize is familiar because he was one of the first faces you saw landing on Geidi Prime, and one that made another appearance at your wedding; a lean man who had greeted you and your family with a friendly smile that didn’t reach his dark, deep-set eyes.  Affable, certainly compared to other Harkonnens, but seemingly amused at your dread and discomfort.

“May I ask what happened to the previous Mentat?” you ask.

The Baron sighs.  “An unfortunate casualty during the fall of Atreides.  It’s a shame; he was good.  Of course, Itkonen’s fit for the job as well, if only Rabban was willing to listen to his statistics.”

If Rabban’s this bad at his job then why not reassign him to something else?  Something where he isn’t in charge of Harkonnen lives? you want to ask, but instead offer your condolences.  It’s thankfully the most you and the Baron interact but you don’t get any private time with Feyd to set him aside and ask if he’s alright.  

Not long after breakfast Idrisa escorts you to the Dressmaker’s atelier, and the Dressmaker curtsies low and deep at your arrival.

“As requested, your gown for the Na-Baron’s birthday,” she says, stepping aside to show you the gown she made out of your measurements.

The dress is all black; common but not a requirement, you’ve noticed, for Harkonnen fashion.  Shades of charcoal and gray are also in vogue, even tinted with navy or forest green.  This, however, is as utterly devoid of color as Geidi Prime’s sun.  That’s not what makes your eyes go wide.

“It’s revealing,” you say after a moment.  The top half has thin straps, and you’re pretty sure the leather-like bands around the ribcage were added to make sure to not completely reveal your breasts, because it has a plunging neckline and no real back to speak of, you realize as you slowly walk around the mannequin.  It’s fitted tight from the ribcage to the hips, only flowing once the hourglass shape ends.  There’s a slit in the skirt that will reveal the curve of your thigh every time you walk.  On the floor beneath it are a pair of black boots with a reasonably high heel and around the mannequin’s neck a necklace that looks almost like one of the collars Feyd-Rautha has used on you.

The Dressmaker’s face falls.  “Does the Na-Baroness not like it?” she asks.  “The Na-Baron specifically requested a gown that would show off his wife’s assets.”

“Thank you,” you say, realizing that you won’t be able to wear anything underneath to protect your nipples.  “If that’s what he asked for then that’s certainly what he’s getting.  I’m sure he’ll love it.”

It also sends quite a message.  Look at the fecundity of the Na-Baroness’s body.  Look at what the Na-Baron gets to take for himself whenever he wants .   Look at how he owns her.

But that's the image you're meant to play.  After his birthday will come the news of his upcoming fatherhood, and depending on how you play your hand, either the birth or Feyd 's coronation will come next.

.

You spend the afternoon practicing Harkonnen pleasantries and as such don’t see Feyd until dinnertime; he doesn’t say much, not to you or to the Baron, who reminds both of you about the Bene Gesserit visiting tomorrow.

“I trust you’ll have the results that they want,” he says, leaving the implications hanging open in the uncomfortable air between the three of you like wet laundry.

“We’ve done our part,” Feyd says, voice curt, tearing his bread in half with a little more force than usual.  You’d not blame him for his irritation with his uncle but for the fact that you’re stuck here, too, sitting in uncomfortable silence, supposing you ought to be grateful that the Baron’s little jabs at your potential childbearing abilities aren’t out of any interest in you.  But of course that’s due to the possibility that even though he probably hasn’t forced himself on his nephew in nearly a decade, he may still get some secondhand voyeuristic satisfaction thinking about how he performs in bed and the thought of that puts you off the rest of your dinner.

After the fact, while you’re getting ready to leave Feyd places a hand on your arm.

“Meet me in my room tonight,” he says quietly.  You nod, glancing back at him, hoping for some sort of barometer for tonight and getting nothing.

.

Feyd’s naked, as he typically is during your night-time rendezvous, and you’ve matched him coming into his chambers.  He stares at you for a moment without a word, cock not-yet awakened, his expression inscrutable.

You finally ask the question that’s been bothering you all day, hoping the honorific at the end will appease him.  “Are you upset with me, husband?” 

Feyd tilts his head ever so slightly.  “Why would I be upset with you?” he asks, probably knowing the answer and pulling it out of you anyway.  You fidget and twist your hands, trying to look him in the eye.  Right now they give nothing away.

“Last night…we did something different.  I liked it.  It seemed like you liked it.  But now I don’t know how you feel about me seeing you…like that.”

“Submissive and obedient?” he prompts you. 

“Yes,” you manage, blinking, looking down, forcing yourself to look back up.  Feyd’s gaze is dark, and for a moment cruel in the brief seconds of silence that drag on and make your heartbeat speed up.

“I do like it that way sometimes,” he says finally.  “And I enjoyed it last night.  So no, I’m not angry with you; you passed more than one test.  If I’d known what you were capable of sooner, I’d have allowed you to take control sooner, but I wanted to wait to make sure you’d be equipped.”

“ Equipped? ” you repeat, raising your eyebrows.  “Why?”

“Because in the past I’ve killed people who put me in that role but didn’t do it correctly,” he says.  He sounds so casual and detached as he says it.  “You know me well enough at this point that it won’t be an issue.  My trust is not something I give out easily, so don’t take it for granted.”

“I won’t, husband,” you say quickly.  “I assure you that I,” you take a breath, “I appreciate the…the trust and patience you showed me.  But may I ask, why did you seem withdrawn earlier?  It seemed like you regretted last night.”

A faint hint of a smile appears at the corners of his mouth.  “Because it made me wonder if I could have the same effect on you.”

“I don’t think I understand,” you say.  When have I not been at least to some extent obedient in bed with you?  I’ve almost always been submissive.  

“Don’t be naive, pet.  It doesn’t suit you anymore.  You saw how I got when you were on top of me, like I was almost delirious.  Seemed at times like you were, last night, too.  I wanna see if I can get you to that place where I’d gone last night.  You’ve gotten close, but never quite there.”

You try to think.  Yes, you suppose there have been times where you’ve felt a level of catharsis, exhaustion and relief, when he’s pushed your boundaries and tested how much you could take, what you enjoyed despite yourself.  Thinking about it, though, he’s right.  You never felt quite so dazed as Feyd looked, like he’d disappeared within himself.

Could you get there?  Maybe.  “So how do you want to go about it?” you ask.

“I want to see how much of it’s natural for you, see how much you trust me.”

“What makes you think you haven’t earned my trust?” you ask.

He looks at you and you can tell that if he had eyebrows, they’d be raised right now.  “Because I still frighten you,” he says.  “Not that I blame you; you know who and what I am, but even when you’ve enjoyed submitting to me, you’ve never quite let go and allowed me to possess you the way you did with me last night.”  He crosses over to his armoire and opens a compartment in the lower drawers.  “What’s been bothering me isn’t what happened last night.  It’s that all day I’ve been wondering if I can really do the same to you.”

He pulls out a blindfold.  You stare at it as you think about the collars, the leashes, the floggers, the clamps, the ropes and chains–the moments of shame for being subjugated replaced with shame for enjoying the sensations of it and his hungry gaze on you.  

“So,” Feyd says, seeming to watch for any potential signal on your face.  “Will you allow me to try?”

You’d gotten so wet last time he’d put you on a leash and collar that you’d been able to feel it trickling down the inside of your thigh.  The only humiliation you’d felt then was knowing what your friends and family would think if they knew you were learning to get off to things like this.  But they’re not here; it’s just you and Feyd.

You look at the blindfold for a moment before meeting his gaze again.

“Yes,” you tell him.

.

Feyd sets out his favorite collar for you alongside the blindfold on his dresser. After he grabs a length of silver chain he takes a step back and looks over at you as if to ask, Think you can handle it?

You simply brush your hair to the side so he can get the collar around your neck and he grins.

“Comfortable?” he asks as he fixes it around you.

“Yes, husband,” you tell him, and he gives a soft hum as he takes the blindfold and wraps it around your head.  It's soft; your eyes flutter closed at the silk.  His touch feels somehow more intimate with one of your senses gone.  

“Good?” he asks again, and you nod.  “I want a verbal confirmation.”

“Yes, husband,” you answer, meaning it.  You can feel your nipples stiffening as the faint gust of his breath against the shell of your ear, hear the clink and swallow at the sudden weight of the chain being clipped to your collar.  If you concentrate you think you can hear him breathing.

“Kneel,” he says, and you do, taking a deep breath, your hands at your sides.  The chain starts to have more give, being tossed to you in increments as he seems to be walking way, to another spot in the room.

“Crawl over to me,” he says.  “Follow the sound of my voice.”

You think you manage the right direction, moving slowly, until you hear him speak again. 

“Stop right there, stay where you are,” he says, and you do, staying on your hands and knees, waiting for the next instructions.  Several seconds tick by, and for a moment you drop your head, wondering what the next signal will be, what Feyd wants from you next.  It doesn’t sound like he’s moved, but he can be utterly silent sometimes, so hard to detect.  He’s still here, at least; you can feel the chain being held upright.

Please say something, do something.   You wait, suppressing a whine, trying not to get agitated as the silence grows. You breathe in, breathe out, and try to focus on what’s grounding you–the marble floor below you, the leather of the collar and the weight of the chain.  The certainty that there’s someone on the other end of it, holding it for you.

“I’m here, pet,” you suddenly hear above you.  “Get on your haunches.”

You exhale.  It occurs to you that a month ago you wouldn’t have imagined being relieved at the sound of a voice as rough as his, but warmth floods your belly as you do, sitting back on your heels and settling your palms on the tops of your thighs, waiting for more.  Give me more.  Push me.  Show me what I’ve been missing and the place you went to last night while I was on top of you .

He leads you up to your knees and without thinking you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out.  He’s only gotten you in this position before for one purpose, so the gesture comes naturally.  There’s nothing to it, you realize. 

Feyd laughs quietly above you.  “That’s it.  You know what to do,” he says as he pushes his cock inside.  “My pretty, perfect cockslut.  You love this, don’t you?”

You feel yourself flush, heat flooding your face and licking up your spine.  No one’s ever called you a slut before; you’d bristle at the term were it not for the fondness in Feyd’s voice, the warmth of his palm cupping your face and traveling into your hair.  Without letting yourself question it you moan an assent, hands at your sides, focusing on breathing through your nose.

“Sometimes I think about claiming you in the arena,” he says, one hand secured on the chain, the other clutching the back of your head as he presses in deeper.  “Showing my people how breedable you are.  But I’d kill anyone else who’d ever see you like this.”

You whimper around him, trying to swallow down, trying not to gag, feeling all the wetter for it even as tears prick up at the corners of your eyes and dampen the fabric of your blindfold.

He pulls out, giving you a few seconds to breathe before pushing back in, and he’s in so impossibly deep, down your throat, that you don’t understand how you’re even taking him, but everything feels as if it’s encased in mist.  All you can feel is the marble under your knees, your husband’s hands stabilizing you, his cock so close to cutting off your airflow until it doesn’t, and he releases you again–this time for an even shorter reprieve.  You whimper again around it, holding still as he rocks his hips.

“You’re getting so good at this, pet,” he says.  “Such a smart girl, learning so quickly.”  He stops moving his hips but holds your head still for a moment, as if he’s simply curious to see how long you can take the length and girth of his cock in your mouth and down your throat, how long you can push past the discomfort and keep him there.  And then in one practiced movement unlatches the leash from your collar, letting the chain fall to the floor.  His grip relaxes in your hair, his hold barely more than a touch.  You could pull off if you want, you realize, but he said he wants to see how obedient you can be, so you keep your hands at your sides as you swallow around him, the tears collecting in your lashes as you try to breathe through your nose.  

The next time Feyd applies pressure, it’s to pull you off of him.  You’re not entirely sure how long you had him down your throat, but you can feel the string of saliva connected to his cock as you gasp for air, coughing and sputtering.  Your head swims.  Feyd swipes his thumb over your chin and lips, collecting the saliva that’s pooled around the sides of your mouth.  You’d give anything to see the expression on his face right now, but you also don’t want to take the blindfold off, not until he says so or does it himself.

Without thinking you nudge your head forward, once you’ve regained your breath and you’re certain you can take more–you can take anything he gives you and you gasp as Feyd stops you, your breath close to the head of his cock, you’re certain, but not quite touching it.

Give it to me, Feyd.  Please, I can handle it.  I want to prove it to you .  You say nothing; you wait.

For a moment the tip of his cock brushes against your cheek and you turn your head, lavishing your tongue along his frenulum, wrapping your lips around the tip of him.  You moan, utterly shameless, to try and encourage him to push in deeper.  He just stays that way for a moment, though, not thrusting in, not burying his head in your hair to push your mouth onto him, either.  He simply lets you feel the weight of him on your tongue before he takes a step back, slipping out, and you wait, unmoving, for what comes next, wet and pliant and ready.  It’s only the marble beneath your knees that grounds you.

And then without a word he takes off your blindfold and you blink against the sudden light before you realize Feyd’s staring at you with his pupils blown wide like last night, chest heaving and mouth open.  He cups your chin in one hand, eyes darting across your face.  Does he see in your eyes what he felt last night?  

“Get back on all fours for me, pet,” he says.

For a moment you feel disoriented.  Does he want you on all fours on the bed or…?

“Right here, pet,” he says, knowing what you’re about to ask before you can ask it.  You can’t speak, can’t form coherent words as you lean forward and brace yourself on your forearms, breathing in, then out.  His voice sounds almost like it’s coming from another room or inside your own head, you think as he kneels behind you.

He wordlessly slides his head along the line of your spine, applying only the faintest of pressure, guiding your top half down, down, until you rest your cheek against the floor, your forearms a cage bracketing your head, your ass raised up to expose it and your weeping cunt to him.  The cool marble feels nice against your flushed cheek.

He trails his fingertips along your slit, getting all the verification that he could need of what this is doing to you.

“Greedy, eager thing, aren’t you?” he says softly, and you sense him gripping his cock in his fist to line up against you.  You can’t help the giggle that spills out of you.  You really are, aren’t you? 

He finally pushes in and you arch your back into it, wanting to slide the rest of the way onto him but waiting, knowing that you’ll accept what he gives you because you can.  

“ Oh ,” you manage when he bottoms out inside of you.  He’s still for just a moment, and for that moment you wait in delicious anticipation before he starts thrusting.

He doesn’t hold back, grabs your hips, kneads your ass, knowing you’ll stay face-down because there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.  You probably sound needy and pathetic, but you don’t care.  There’s no one here but the two of you as he pulls you onto his cock again and again, taking you on the floor, the sound of skin slapping skin, his grunts as he changes his angle that hits your insides differently, dragging against a spot within you that has you seeing spots and stars instead of the vantage point you have of the bed only a couple of meters away.  You open your mouth in a silent scream, hips jerking uselessly, stomach clenching.

Feyd, ever so clever, senses your shift immediately and bears down on you from this new angle that’s probably strenuous on him, from the way the muscles in his thighs clench and his grunts become harsher, but he keeps going, giving you everything he can, everything you can take.  You want to touch yourself, bring a hand between your legs, but you’re not going to.  Feyd will handle it or he won’t.  You feel drunk even though you haven’t had anything that could get you drunk in over a week.  

“You want to come, Y/N?” Feyd asks behind you, and you moan an assent.  “You’re gonna have to use your words if you want me to make you come,” he says, tone on the verge of scolding, but still playful enough to keep it from stinging.

It takes a moment to form any coherent words, the four syllables laborious.  “Yes, please, husband,” you manage, voice sounding wrecked, and Feyd obliges you as soon as you get the words out, bringing his fingertips to where the two of you are joined, collecting the slick there, and rubbing circles along your bud.  You can’t help but buck your hips, your moans desperate.

“That’s it, pet,” he says, rubbing harder now, probably relishing the sounds you’re making as he brings you over.  You nearly black out, tears streaming down your face, clenching again and again around him, coming so hard you think you might actually be drooling, and then when you think the most intense shockwave of it has passed, you feel his seed filling you up.

I feel so full, Feyd , you think, delirious. 

You can hear him panting and grunting behind you as he pulls out part way, the last of his come landing hot and viscous on the small of your back.  You gasp, feeling decidedly marked up, but you don’t move, waiting for what’s coming next.

Feyd pauses; you hear his breath even out, and from the shift behind you you’re pretty sure he’s settled back onto his haunches.  It seems to take him a moment to decide what he wants to do with you next before he’s kneading the soft flesh of your ass.  You sigh at the contact, arching your back, and feel your mouth pop open in a surprised “Oh!” as Feyd’s tongue makes contact with your lower back, licking up the remaining droplets of his spend in one long stroke.

And then it’s done, but you don’t move, and for a moment neither does Feyd, who you suppose must just be staring at you and the way you’re exposed to him in a way that you could almost recall being humiliating around the time of your wedding but feels titillating now.  

After a minute Feyd starts to get up, but you stay where you are, still face-down, ass-up, presented to him as if he were to start again immediately.  He might.  You can handle it if he does, you’re certain.  You have no idea how long you remain there, the side of your face pressed against the floor, your body weight on your elbows and knees.  The combination of yours and Feyd’s fluids seeping out of you start to turn sticky, but you’re utterly calm.  You feel weightless.   Your breathing evens out.

“Sit back up for me, pet,” you hear as if Feyd was a thousand leagues away.  You blink and start to rise up on your forearms, stretching like a cat, rising up to sit on your haunches.

Feyd comes back into view, taking your chin in his hand.  You don’t know what he’s seeing in your eyes; perhaps what you saw last night in his.  He drops his hand from your face and extends them both to you in a silent offer to help you stand.

Once he has you up, he tips you, a hand behind your back, and you hardly realize what’s happening before he has you in his arms, carrying you to bed.  He sets you down gentler than you expect before pulling the covers over you and climbing in with you.  Smart idea; you hadn’t realized how cold you suddenly feel, shivering as Feyd gets under the covers with you, braces himself above you, and leans down for a kiss.

You kiss him back immediately, suddenly desperate.  Up until this moment you’d felt almost like you were floating on a string, and now that string's been cut and you’re crashing to the ground.  You gasp into it, clutching his back.  You dig your nails in, your breath ragged, and after a moment Feyd pulls away, eyes darting across the different points of your face.

“You’re shaking, Y/N,” he says.

Yes, you are.  A fresh batch of tears comes and spills down your cheeks and you don’t know why.  If you didn’t know any better, Feyd looks almost concerned, an expression you’ve never seen on his face before that takes you a moment to place.  Has he never reacted this way before?  Never been affected quite this way before?

“Can you please hold me?” you finally manage, and he complies wordlessly, shifting to lay on his back, wrapping his arms around you.  You don’t know what’s wrong with you, why you’re crying.  You’re not sad, not angry.  Just spent in a way that you’ve never felt before.

After a few minutes your breathing evens out again.  The solid wall of the man holding you and the steadiness of his heartbeat against your ear helps.  Feyd senses it and reaches for your collar.

“Let me keep it on for now,” you say, and Feyd stills his hand.  “Please.”

Feyd looks for a moment like he wants to ask why, but doesn’t, instead keeping an arm wrapped around you as you nestle against him.  You can’t explain it; right now you feel kept, like you’re something precious.  

“Better?” he asks after a moment.

You nod against his chest.  “But I wasn’t feeling bad before,” you manage, speaking slowly and trying not to slur your words.  You doubt you have it in you to do all this over again, even if he asks, even if he manages to get you floating again.  “It was just overwhelming for a second.”

“I know,” he says, and when your grip on him relaxes he shifts, moving to sit up, and you furrow your brow, wanting to follow him, nervous at the idea of being alone in this bed.

“I’ll be back,” he says.  “I’m not leaving this room, pet,” he says, getting up.  You notice that this time on the side table the water pitcher has two glasses and he fills both.  

He notices your hands are still shaking and lifts the glass to your lips himself, watching as you gulp half the water down first, then take small sips of the rest, not setting it back down on the nightstand until it’s finished.

“When I first met you I’d never have taken you for such an affectionate little thing,” he says before taking a sip from his own glass.

“Neither would I,” you tell him.  “Definitely not with you.”  

Feyd smirks at that above the lip of his glass before setting it down next to yours and settling back in with you.

“I’m going to take the collar off you now,” he says.

“Okay,” you manage, fading, tilting your head to give him a better angle as he unfastens your collar and sets it on his nightstand.  Not that you want him to get up and leave you alone in bed again, but you’re a little surprised that he doesn’t immediately and meticulously set everything back in his armoire.  He’s not the type to leave things until the following morning.  But he’s doing it now; he turns off the light and quietly turns you around so he can pull your back to his chest and slide one muscled thigh between your own.

You’re not sure what the name is for what you’re feeling, the way he shifts and wraps an arm around you and nuzzles his face into your hair.  It’s a sinking feeling rather than the floating feeling you had earlier, but nice all the same.  You start to drift off, the feeling of his heartbeat against your back, his breath slowing down, and just before you fall asleep you remember the word you’re looking for.

Peaceful .

.

The next morning you don’t wake up until you feel the absence of a solid form behind you and sit up to notice Feyd almost-fully dressed, putting on his boots.

He gives you a small smile when he senses you watching him.  

“Excited for tonight?” you ask him.

Feyd’s smile fades as he stands.  “It’s an obligation like the rest.  We’ll make a good appearance for the guests, Uncle will get the confirmation he needs, and we can plan for tomorrow.”

“So is that a no?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“I obey the Bene Gesserit’s instructions. I don't have to like them,” he says, voice flat.

You look down.  He’s implied it before; you’d assume it’s because the Bene Gesserit tend to make powerful men nervous but there’s likely more to it.  

His mother was Bene Gesserit.  You’re not about to ask if she treated him like a son or a cog in her Sisterhood’s larger plans.  Not this morning, perhaps not ever, you think as he watch him leave.

The entire Fortress is bustling, preparing for incoming visitors; not just the Bene Gesserit but Harkonnens living off-planet in colonies and fiefdoms as well as a few guests from other Houses.  Your family will not be among them, but they’ve sent a gift–casks of some of your planet’s finest liquor, apparently.  

Not that you blame them for not wanting to come to Geidi Prime, but it would be nice to see them, especially when you can feel the mounting pressure on you like a valve you wish you could release.

.

It’s both too soon and later than you realize when you have to change into a different dress that’s thankfully more modest than your gown for tomorrow, complete with long black gloves and a lace cloak meant to evoke the often-veiled and hooded style of the women you’ll be greeting.

Itkonen will be the first Harkonnen official to greet the Bene Gesserit after they receive their medication to help with the atmosphere, at which point you and Feyd will accept them and act as intermediaries before bringing them to the Baron.  The Baron’s also reminded you and Feyd that they’ll examine you to make sure that you’ve secured an heir for the Harkonnen line, as if either of you could forget.  As if that’s not the entire reason the two of you even met.

The anticipation builds as you and Feyd wait in the Reception Hall, you on his left and half a step behind him in deference.  In front of both guests and other Harkonnens, you call Feyd exclusively by his title, because as far as Harkonnen politics are concerned, you may be his wife, but you are not his partner.  You are his subject, and as such you will keep up the appearance of being his doting subject, his broodmare, his doll that dresses and presents herself as he chooses.  You’ll live with it, and some part of you might even want to smirk at how the people won’t be privy to what you and him have developed.  They won’t see how you’ve fucked him into an incoherent state, how worshipfully he licks your cunt, or how he likes holding you against his chest at night when you fall asleep, but the two of you will know better.

You’re also reasonably certain that these women, certainly the Reverend Mother Mohiam, will know better as well.

Itkonen steps in, inclines his head, and announces your Bene Gesserit guests.  His dark eyes slide towards them as they enter, a hint of a derisive smirk on his thin lips that only you and Feyd see as he glances back at him.  Duplicitous whores, the lot of them, aren’t they, boss? his eyes suggest.

All the women are veiled, most with their faces hidden.  You incline your head in a slow, respectful curtsy.  This is what you’ve been training for your entire life.  You were made for this, you remind yourself as you then lift your head with a polite smile.  

You only recognize the Reverend Mother Mohiam, but there’s another just behind her, one who’s quite beautiful with almost cat-like eyes and high cheekbones.  You noticed her, though, not because she’s beautiful but because you could sense Feyd-Rautha just barely stiffen for a moment beside you as they entered the room, and when you glanced over at him saw a glimmer in his eyes that suggested uncomfortable recognition.  If you hadn’t been so close to him you wouldn’t have noticed but it’s unmistakable.

They’ve met before , you realize, even as they don’t exchange a word of conversation and the woman doesn’t spare him so much as a second glance, her gaze on you.

Feyd seems to recover almost immediately as he greets the Reverend Mother.  “We offer our fondest welcome to your Reverence and your Sisters on behalf of the Baron and Geidi Prime, and gratitude for making the trip here for the occasion.”

Reverend Mother Mohiam looks both unsurprised and unimpressed that the Baron himself couldn’t be bothered to get up from his throne but accepts the greeting with the same dignified coldness she’d shown you back on your planet.  She looks over at you, taking inventory of your still-intact hair and eyebrows, and looks back at Feyd.  “We appreciate your hospitality, Na-Baron Harkonnen,” she says.

You’d almost forgotten that Feyd does a decent job despite having a menacing presence at playing the part of statesman and representative.  Not that he was ever quite able to fool you into thinking that he’s harmless–and he certainly doesn’t fool them–but he manages to keep the small-talk polite without being insipid as the two of them lead the conversation towards the Baron’s throne room.

The Baron stays seated in his suspensor chair, which whirrs forward as he nods his head in acknowledgement.  “Welcome to Geidi Prime, your Reverence,” he says.  “We do hope you and your Sisters enjoy the festivities during your stay.  My gentle niece-in-law will be especially accommodating.  She’ll be relieved for female companionship.”

Much as it makes you want to grind your teeth and glare at him to speak as though you aren’t there, he’s right about that.  How he’d even know, you’re not sure.  He’s certainly not asked you.  

“Our services will take only a minute, but we appreciate the invitation to enjoy Feyd-Rautha’s birthday,” the Reverend Mother tells him.

“Forgive me for not knowing the exact details,” the Baron says, “but what process do you use to determine if young Y/N has secured the Harkonnen bloodline?”

“Nothing invasive, Baron,” the Reverend Mother replies.  “Just a private meeting.”

“Well, then, you certainly have your opportunity now,” the Baron says, gesturing loosely towards you.  “The people of Geidi Prime will be happy to know that my nephew has continued the Harkonnen bloodline.”  He looks at Reverend Mother Mohiam expectantly, as if to say, alright, let’s get it over with.  Show me if my nephew knocked up this Y/H whore or not .

She holds his gaze.  “We’ll conduct the test privately, absent of any men,” she says. 

The Baron blinks and looks at her as if to say, Are you dismissing me?  Have you lost your mind?  You can’t possibly expect me to wait outside , before beckoning a servant over.  

“Show the Na-Baroness and our Bene Gesserit visitors to the next room, on the left.  It should more than suffice for their needs,” he tells her.  

It is; a sort of lounge area that tomorrow will be teeming with guests, you notice as you trail in.  There are ample seating areas, tables that can and will hold down trays of food and drink.  The lighting is even somewhat hospitable.

“May I ask,” you start as you’ve all filed in, “how you’ll be conducting the investigation, your Reverence?”

The Reverend Mother looks at you.  “You seem healthy,” she says.  She means, Feyd-Rautha’s been civil towards you?

“Thank you, your Reverence,” you tell her.  “Geidi Prime requires an adjustment period, but I believe I've been able to find some decent footing here.”

The Reverend Mother looks a moment longer at you before speaking.  “Have you met Lady Margot Fenring before?” she asks, extending her arm to the woman you couldn’t help but notice earlier.

“We have not met officially, your Reverence,” you say, looking over at her.  Fenring .  She must be the wife of Count Hasimir Fenring, then, even if she looks like she must be a good thirty years younger than him.

“Lady Fenring here is expecting as well, Na-Baroness Y/N,” the Reverend Mother says.  “She has a certain talent for detecting pregnancy in other women before doctors even can.”  

You glance at Lady Fenring’s stomach and don’t see a bump–a still-recent development, then.  She sees where your gaze drops and explains, “I’m only two months along,” she tells you.  “A daughter.”

“Congratulations, Lady Fenring,” you tell her, cautious, wishing you knew more about Bene Gesserit customs.  Nothing invasive, they said, watching as Lady Fenring delicately pulls off the glove of her right hand and reaches for your stomach.

You take a small step back before you realize it, and Lady Fenring gives a coquettish little smile.

“ Don’t be afraid ,” she tells you, her voice pleasant and melodic, and she slowly places her ungloved hand on your lower abdomen.  For a moment, your heart slows down, your limbs feeling heavy, and you’re not entirely sure if her words were spoken aloud or if you thought of them yourself.

The woman closes her eyes and you can’t help but stare, vulnerable at her gentle touch but unable to move.  You feel lost, reminded of the early morning fog on your planet, before the sun starts rising.  You close your eyes as well to try and snap out of it, but the same murky feeling persists where fear and dread had been.

Did she just…did she just use the Voice on me?

That can’t be right.  The Voice is forceful, commanding, or so you’ve heard.  Margot Fenring is anything but.  You breathe in, breathe out, and wait, until she speaks again.

“Congratulations, Na-Baroness Y/N.  Your union has proven fruitful.”

You open your eyes and gasp, unable to tame your reaction before it comes, unable to stop your smile and breathless, “ Really? ”  You suddenly feel sharper, everything brighter, as Lady Fenring removes her hand and you move yours to where it had been.

“The life growing within you is new, the seed still very small, but it’s there, and it’s growing,” she tells you.

You can’t help but laugh a little, bringing a hand to cover your mouth as you do.  You did it .  How long has it been forming?  A week?  Two?  Three?   Is it smaller than an apple seed?  Can this woman tell if it’s a boy like Feyd claims he dreamt of?

And then you think about the other man waiting for the news outside, probably more impatient for the results than your husband.  Your smile fades and you drop both hands to your sides.

“Thank you, Lady Fenring,” you tell her.  “The Na-Baron will be pleased.”

You need to help me keep the Baron away from it, keep him from c orrupting it.  If you’re anywhere near as invested in keeping it safe as I am then …

This is why they’re here, you remind yourself.  They need you and your progeny to be healthy.  They’ll look after you.

.

You emerge with the Bene Gesserit sisters trailing behind you.

“We bear good news,” the Reverend Mother says.  “The Na-Baroness is with child.”

Funny thing is that before all of this, before you thought you'd get married to a Harkonnen, you'd never had any expectations about how the moment would happen, when you would find out you were pregnant for the first time and told your husband.  It hadn't been a situation you'd ever really entertained even as it was always inevitable.  And yet this feels disappointing, not even being able to say it yourself, and having the news shared in front of your vile uncle-in-law as you try to seem demurely pleased and nothing else.  You try not to make direct eye contact with Feyd.  This isn't for either of you as individuals.  It's for the Harkonnen bloodline, for the Baron, for the Bene Gesserit and their selective breeding program.  So when it stings a little that Feyd 's only response is a nod in your direction as if to say, Well, done, you feel silly for it. 

The Baron says, “We’ll wait until after Feyd’s birthday celebration to make the announcement; we don’t want to overshadow his match.  Still,” he glances at you, “the people of Geidi Prime will be delighted to know that he’s continued the Harkonnen line.”  

You lower your head.  He truly has a gift for being able to suck the joy out of any celebration.  The baby growing in your womb will have to share space with the gnawing twin feelings of disgust and dread settling in your stomach.

After that, though, the Baron makes it abundantly clear that his main purpose for inviting these women has been accomplished and foists the responsibilities of entertaining all but the Reverend Mother onto you.

“Mohiam will speak with you tomorrow, young Y/N,” he says to you.  “But in the meantime, I’m sure there’s lots for you to discuss with our other distinguished guests.”

You curtsy and assure him that you’ll be an exemplary hostess in your most deferential tone before you and the other women are escorted back into the room you’d just been in; servants have already begun laying out plates of foods, various delicacies representing different Houses, goblets with pitchers of water, juices, and wine.  

The veiled women wait until the food and drinks are set out and all the male servants have gone before they show their faces, lifting their veils to take the first sips and bites.  Their ages range from possibly even younger than you to their seventies, all quiet at first.

Lady Fenring ranks above the rest of them both in title and within their ranks, it seems, as they defer to her and she’s the one who initiates conversation with you.

“It appears you’re adjusting well to Geidi Prime,” she says.

“Thank you, Lady Fenring,” you tell her.  “It was an unfamiliar environment to which to adapt, but the Fortress has been accommodating.”

“We’re in casual company now, do feel free to call me Margot,” she tells you, and you blame it on the fact that you haven’t gotten to talk to any of your friends in over a month that you smile, feeling warmth flood your chest.  

“Then feel free to call me Y/N,” you tell her.

“I was curious about your hair,” one of the Sisters says.  “The fact that you still have it–was it your decision or your husband’s?”

“The Na-Baron informed me shortly before the wedding that I could keep my hair.  It’s my preference as well, but I would’ve made a concession if it had been required,” you tell her.  He only allowed the hair I have growing out of my head, though, you don’t add.

“About the hairlessness–is it a personal choice or are Harkonnens simply incapable of growing any?” she asks.

“They are while living here,” you tell her, knowing that everyone’s listening.  “Geidi Prime’s bustling with industry but not organic life.  I’ve heard that it’s only possible for Harkonnens to start growing hair if they live off-planet for long enough.”

“It is indeed,” Margot says.  “The late Abulurd Rabban had not only a full head of hair but a beard when he died, but at that point he’d been living on Lankiveil for over twenty-five years.  Have you ever seen a picture of him?”

“I have not,” you tell her.  “His memory isn’t widely celebrated here, for obvious reasons.”  You’ve never seen a picture of either of Feyd’s parents, but you’ve wondered what arrangement of features they each had that they could have produced such different-looking brothers as him and Rabban.

She looks at you a moment longer, as if contemplating what next line of questions she has for you.

“I’ve done a bit of research,” you say first.  “The Harkonnens are of course better known for commerce and warfare but the library they have in the Fortress is very impressive.”  You wonder how transparently you’re trying to play ambassador.  You wonder how much it’s working.

When you all conclude your meal, and once all the plates are cleared, the other Sisters find conversation with each other, leaving you and Margot alone, and the thought gently scratching at the back of your mind becomes clearer; this friendly conversation is a soft interrogation.  Margot will relay everything, your words and the tone with which you speak them, back to the Reverend Mother.  Whether or not she is actually interested in your opinions is entirely beside the point, but even with this she certainly makes you feel that way.  Her body language is demure but inviting, her questions polite but never overtly invasive as she asks you about your upbringing and your hobbies, how you spend time on your new planet.

You’ve never met someone who seems both serene and somehow unsettling in a way you cannot articulate but feels tangible.  She has a certain poise you realize the longer the two of you sit in the same vicinity, that you just haven’t matured into yet.  She’s older than you and Feyd, more complete than either of you.  

She tilts her head at you at one point and says, “Forgive my questioning, but had you ever been courted or had an intimate relationship before your marriage?”

“A brief-lived courtship,” you tell her.  “Nothing substantial ever came of it nor did I expect it to; neither of us had high hopes that my father would approve of him as a potential husband, and I suppose I’ve always been too practical to entertain the concept of a love-match.”

Margot blinks slowly, and her next words are as diplomatic and polite as anyone can manage with the subject you realize she’s about to breach.  “I ask only because I’m sure you’ve heard some discouraging, perhaps intimidating rumors about Harkonnen men?”

Ah .  There it is .

“I have,” you tell her.  “But I’ve also heard for years about how the best way to temper a man is through catering to his desires,” you tell her.  “Even without any substantial prior experience it didn’t take long to understand what my husband wanted and how to provide it for him.”

You don’t need to delve any deeper.  She’s both Bene Gesserit and married; she’s known this for years before you did.

But there’s a part of you that wants her to know that you’re more observant than people may realize.  There’s an even greater part of you that wants to know what caused Feyd to nearly flinch when he saw her when you’d never seen such a reaction from him before.

“May I ask how you first met the Na-Baron?” you ask, trying to keep your voice a mask of politeness and casual indifference.  

She doesn’t look surprised at your question, which unnerves you further.  “I was assigned to test him,” she says.

“On what?” you ask, fairly certain you know the answer.

“Whether or not he could play into our larger plans.  What I found was interesting.  Despite being a man with no Bene Gesserit training he possessed a level of prescience I’ve seen only in my Sisters.”

He dreamt about our son .  You try not to let your nerves show.

“And then there was his pain tolerance,” she adds, cat-like eyes on you.

You keep a straight face as you wonder how she’d be familiar with it.  Has she bitten him?  Flogged him?  

She keeps you waiting for only a second before continuing.  “Have you heard of the Gom Jabbar?” she asks.

“I think so?”  You weren’t sure if it was a real thing or a myth concocted to instill fear of disobeying the Bene Gesserit, but you’ve heard of a test meant to bring whoever takes it to the extremes of pain, and that many of those subjected to such a test did not live to pass it.

“He not only passed, but he lasted longer than anyone I’ve ever tested.”  She meets your gaze as she says, “I’ve never seen anyone react to it quite like he did.  He didn’t just endure it; he enjoyed it.”

Oh .  Well, that would explain how they know each other, you think, trying to parse your own jumbled thoughts.  That’s probably all she did; she has a husband, after all, and she was testing Feyd to see if he’d be a good match for you , not herself.

But despite yourself you imagine her riding him with slow, deliberate movements rather than the grinding, bouncing desperation that you had doing the same thing two nights ago.  The image makes you inhale and glance away as you try to shake it from your mind.

Weeks ago the thought of him satiating himself with someone else would’ve been a relief.  Now a shameful ball of jealousy blooms in your chest, and she can sense it.  The Bene Gesserit aren’t truly omniscient, you know this, but she seems almost close to it.  It’s embarrassing how transparent and vulnerable she makes you feel, like a child trying to keep pace with an adult who’s skilled at a game you’re still learning.

For her part she seems politely amused when you look away, feeling yourself flush. You won’t ask if she saw him in the arena and took to his bed.  You don’t want to know if she indulged him in some of his darker fantasies or if she was able to coax him into a submissive state that took you a month to discover.

Focus on what she just told you, you remind yourself.

“You've seen it in him,” she says.  It's not a question.  Not from her, in any case, but the Reverend Mother will want to know, and it takes only a couple of seconds to cave.

“I have.  Both his masochism and his prescience,” you admit.  You won’t share any specific details, though; it’s too intimate to share with this woman, even as it feels as though she’s seeing you naked, like she can extrapolate your most personal moments with Feyd from a single glance.

Margot smiles.  “Her Reverence will be most impressed with you.”

.

The evening concludes when it seems as though the Baron’s meeting with the Reverend Mother has, and servants come in to escort the Bene Gesserit to the guest suites.

As you all emerge you see Feyd, stone-faced, glancing between you and Margot as he notices the two of you walking alongside one another.  You look over at her, who curtsies towards you.

“It was a pleasure speaking with you, Na-Baroness,” she says, undoubtedly aware of the attention the two of you are getting.

“You as well, Lady Fenring,” you tell her as you incline your head.

Feyd barely manages a curt nod in her direction before turning away, presenting his arm for you to take as you head back to the private residence wing.

You don’t say it; if you say it you won’t be able to take it back, feign ignorance.  You don’t say a word on the walk back, and for a solid few minutes, neither does Feyd.  He offers no recourse, and doesn't tell you what he, his uncle, the Reverend Mother, and Itkonen were all discussing over dinner and beyond it.  His silence lasts just long enough to set you on edge, make you wonder if he’s upset about something.

“You did well tonight,” he finally says, as the two of you reach your quarters.  “Uncle doesn’t care to entertain female company,” he adds, the closest thing to innuendo he’s suggested when it comes to the Baron, “so while he won’t say it, he was relieved to push them onto you.” 

You smile.  “Diplomacy is what I’ve been training for since I was a child,” you tell him.  “I wasn’t prepared for the intimate parts of marriage, but I trained for the politics of it for most of my life.”  Marriage is politics for a woman in my position .  “Although I’d like to think I’m getting reasonably good at the intimate parts as well,” you say, leaning in, looking up at him as if to ask, Your room or mine tonight?  You start to wrap your arms around his shoulders, thinking about how you’ll get to sleep more easily if he’s there, nestled behind you like he usually is.  

Feyd doesn’t move, instead staying where he is, rigid and unyielding.  “Not tonight,” he says.

You’re confused at first, pulling back, certain you misheard, but he’s completely serious.  Hadn’t he talked about wanting to spill his seed in more places than just inside of you?  How he’d wanted to continue fucking you even after confirmation of your pregnancy?

You drop your arms and take a step back.  Did seeing Margot Fenring put him off?  Is she the type of woman he’d prefer?  Not a Bene Gesserit, he’s said as much, but a woman with more effortless poise?  Or does he intend to find someone else tonight now that he doesn’t need to take you?

“I understand,” you say, trying not to let your hurt and indignation show.  “We’ve done what was necessary to secure an heir and now there’s no need.”  Not for another year at least . 

Feyd looks amused for a moment, taking in your disappointment that he’s not going to bury himself inside of you like usual.  It is sort of funny, in a sense.  Weeks ago you would never have anticipated wanting his touch and feeling disappointed at not getting it.

“I abstain from indulging any kind of carnal desires the night before arena matches,” he says.  “With others or with myself.”

Why? you want to ask, pretty sure the answer lies in something along the lines of discipline or wanting to save pent-up energy to put on a show for his audience.   

“I’m pregnant ,” you say instead, more to yourself than to him.  It’s almost incredible how shocked you are that the realistic outcome to the past month is finally here.  Like being surprised that a seed you’ve planted and watered every day is starting to sprout.

His almost-smile turns as close to soft as you’ve ever seen on him.  “How ‘bout that?” he says quietly, pressing the palm of his hand to your stomach.  His touch is gentle, his eyes drifting to where his hand rests.  For a moment you don’t think you’ve ever felt closer to him.  For a moment you’re not concerned with politics, with the Baron, with your future, and you can insulate the two of you inside the warmth you feel blooming in your chest.

“Can I kiss you, at least?” you ask.  He looks at you and nods, and you take your opportunity, cradling the side of his face and wrapping your other arm around his shoulder as you pull him to you.

He breaks the kiss first, but still rests his forehead against yours, his hands on your waist.  You can’t resist giving him one last peck on the lips, needing to pull away because otherwise you’re going to keep holding on.

“Good night, husband,” you tell him, your voice thicker than you realized, feeling a rush within you.

You finally have allies here; you’ll be able to talk to the Reverend Mother, devise the best way to keep the Baron away from your children so that what happened to Feyd will never happen again.

You will find a way.

.

You wake up in the morning feeling resolute.  It’s not the same quiet dread that you had on your wedding night, but the tension in the air still feels thick.

You won’t be seeing Feyd until it’s time to adorn him with war paint; you will dine separately, prepare separately, and once you have finished painting his body will sit in the stands waiting for his not-match.  After that the people of Geidi Prime will shower him with their praise and adoration and the entire Fortress will celebrate the Na-Baron’s birthday.  You’re not likely to have any real privacy with him today, certainly not until bedtime and even then you imagine it’s going to be a late night of entertaining well-wishers and keeping up appearances.

Your food is brought to your quarters, and you find you don’t have much of an appetite, between the snug fit of your dress’s bodice and the thudding feeling that starts in your ribcage and spreads downwards.  Not just Idrisa but another attendant helps prepare you to look as anointed and pristine as you were on your wedding day.

You wear your hair down, save for two braids starting at your temple and connecting at the back of your head.  It’s not defiance against the Harkonnens; they surely know that you look precisely how the Na-Baron wants you to.

Lips painted black aren’t any less common here than teeth dyed the same color, you think as you apply your cosmetics.  In fact, when you apply it, you think about how your mouth resembles an inverse of your husband’s.  

Your husband .

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is beloved by his own people, feared and despised by others.  He’s a force of violence, a killer and stone-cold executioner.  He’s a sadomasochist who comes from the most dysfunctional family you’ve ever seen and is set to lead the most bloodthirsty population in Landsraad.  He’s also known you with such tangible intimacy that it’s sometimes overwhelming.  He’s brought you to heights of pleasure you hadn’t thought possible.  He’s the man whose child you’re carrying in your womb at this very moment, even if the whole of Geidi Prime doesn’t know yet.

You are going to go out and watch the arena match as the Na-Baroness, and as the bridge between his world and the rest of Landsraad, both of and separate from the Harkonnens.  

You keep your head held high, the quiet clicking of your heels against the floor the only sound you make as you and Idrisa head for the chambers where your husband’s preparing to make his appearance.

At the entrance is another girl whose name you don’t know, and they flank you down a flight of stairs you’ve traversed only once, and two a set of double-doors guarded by two men in white who bow their heads, eyes downcast before opening the doors for you.

On the other side of the room a pair of young women wait, one of them holding a bowl and the other a pair of translucent gloves.  

And there’s the man himself, stripped to ceremonial loincloth, watching you enter.  His gaze sweeps up and down the length of your body, taking in the sight of your long, unadorned hair, painted-black lips, and every feature your gown shows off to almost exaggerated effect.

You stop for a moment and incline your head.  “Happy birthday, Na-Baron,” you tell him.

“Come to give me my gift, then?” he asks, and a month ago you’d have thought his tone cold and mocking.  Now it sounds as close to playful as he’s willing to get with other people present, especially as he’s still staring at you.

“Yes, Na-Baron,” you tell him, and glance to the side, at the raised platform jutting out of the wall.  His Darlings are all curled up in a pile, lazily but contentedly watching the two of you.  They’re wearing clothes this time, matching outfits.

“You dressed them for the occasion?” you ask Feyd.

“I had servants sedate, bathe, and dress them, but yes,” he says.

One has a stripe painted on her forehead; she seems to be the leader of the pack, moving first and the other two deferring to her, and she leans over as far as she can manage, nuzzling against your side

You inhale sharply, picturing her not for the first time taking a bite out of your lower abdomen with those black fangs.

Feyd can sense it.  “They won’t hurt you,” he says.  “They like you.”

I wish I could say the same about them , you think as she purrs–another feature no doubt installed by the Bene Tleilax.

“Do they smell it?” you ask.  The baby?

“It wouldn’t surprise me if they did,” Feyd says, 

I won’t allow them near the baby when it’s born , is a conversation for another place and time, when there aren’t other people around and you don’t have an imminent task.  The girl holding the bowl steps forward, head bowed, to remind you why you’re here.

“Let’s prepare you, then,” you say, and Feyd gives you a small smile before turning his back to you.

Maybe when he first told you to paint him, he thought it would demean you, but it doesn’t.  You doubt he feels that way anymore, either.    He rolls his shoulders back briefly, and you watch the taut muscles ripple under his pale skin.

I was terrified of you the first time I saw you like this, you don’t tell him as you press your fingertips against him, but even then I thought you were impressive to look at.  Maybe not a traditionally handsome man as far as I was concerned, but I liked seeing you in a loincloth back then, too.

One of the girls holds the bowl for you, and the other gives you a pair of gloves to keep you from staining your hands.  You looked up the design–they change depending on the occasion and a birthday or other holiday requires its own set of strokes.

“Is this correct?” you ask, feeling pretty certain that it is.

“Yes, that’s right, Na-Baroness,” the girl holding the bowl says softly, hardly more than a whisper.  

“Very good, Na-Baroness,” echoes the girl just beside her, waiting to take your gloves off for you once you’re finished.

Feyd’s silent as you work, turning his head briefly and giving you a view of his profile as he glances over his shoulder at you as if to speak, but ultimately remaining silent.  You don’t have much to say, either, nothing that you want an audience for.

He’s going to kill people today; you assume prisoners of war, former soldiers who would put up a tough fight if the playing field were even.  Instead they’ll be drugged before meeting your husband, their ruthless and efficient executioner.  It’s not fair, it’s not good.  It’s not something you can call yourself proud to be associated with, but it’s him.  And you’re a part of his life, his legacy.  A knot forms under your ribs as you finish with his back and focus on his chest and stomach.  Does he share the combination of power and vulnerability you feel now, as he stays still for you to adorn his body with ceremonial paint?  Is he looking forward to cutting down total strangers in front of thousands of cheering people?  Because for all the discussion in the Fortress for it, Feyd seems less excited for it than everyone surrounding him.  Does he quietly long for the thrill of a real fight?  A challenge amongst everyone catering to his every desire?

You finish painting him and take a step back, allowing the girl next to you to pull your gloves off before she and her partner scurry to the side.  For a moment it feels like there’s no one else in the room, and you think as you look at Feyd in his loincloth and ceremonial paint that he’s devastatingly beautiful.

“Thank you, Na-Baron,” you tell him.

His eyes look dark in these halls; it’s tough to find the blue of them.  “For making me a part of this,” you add.  “A part of your culture.”

He stares at you for a moment, expression inscrutable, before snapping the fingers of his right hand.  Idrisa and the other girl hurry forward, hands clasped in front of them and eyes downcast.

He still looks at you.  “Uncle will sit in his usual spot, that's his alone.  He’ll have you sit in the private box with the Bene Gesserit Sisters.  It’s a gesture meant to insult you, but don’t take the bait.  Just keep being hospitable to our guests.”

“Yes, Na-Baron,” you say.

A figure enters; a fat man carrying a cushion laden with knives–the swordmaster.  Feyd’s eyes flicker briefly towards him before turning back to you, and he gives a small nod.  Dismissed .

For a moment you’re not entirely sure what to say.  Good luck?   It would be insulting to imply that he needs it.  I can hardly wait?  He knows that’s not true.  In the end you say nothing, opting to curtsy before leaving, taking the same steps you’ve taken once before, ready to play your part as he plays his.

The slaughter awaits.

Tagged: @alexandrainlove @richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai @cavillandevanssandwhich

Also please lmk if you'd like to be tagged!

Our supporting players for this chapter:

[ppumeonae-bigvibe]

for you, i'll wait

↖ navigation: seventeen masterlist || main masterlist

pairing: bf! wonwoo x gn! reader

↬ tags: 6 months abroad thats crazy!, talks about landing an overseas placement , wonwoo being a supportive bf! but wonu missing you loads, sappy sappy, very indulgent fanfic, small segment on the waiting part is so surreal for me, not mentioned but i want the readers to imagine that you and wonu are in a newly founded relationship!

summary: just like this, everyday he will wait for you, always (inspired from plave's wait for you)

word count: 882 words

"wonwoo! wonwoo!"

he puts down the phone in his hands, watching as you clumsily toed off your shoes at the doorway before rushing to him by the sofa.

"easy does it, baby."

"you know the interview i was preparing for? i got accepted."

a sense of pride surged through wonwoo’s veins and his lips curved into that beautiful smirk you liked.

"congrats, my love. i knew you could do it." he softly praised you. letting you lean against him, your head rested comfortably on his left shoulder as you snuggled closer to his side. you held up the confirmation mail and wonwoo immediately spots the salutations from the of the letter addressed to you.

his blood then runs cold then hot a second later.

"the…overseas one?" silence blanketed the two of you and he averted his gaze, afraid his eyes might tell too much.

“yeah and...the program will start next month, based on this letter." wonwoo knew how much you've been trying for a work-study program overseas with this particular company you really looked up to.

"but 6 months overseas—" he tried to not his disappointment show and chose to zip his mouth. leaning back, wonwoo exhales through his nose. he wrestles with his inner desires versus yours.

“they are waiting for my reply…i need to get back by tomorrow latest or they will pass the opportunity to someone else.”

he should be happy that you got accepted: you worked hard for it and he was rooting for you every step of the way. he'd been really supportive too, accompanying you to the multiple rounds of interviews and even going to the extent of preparing your portfolio together.

wonwoo begrudgingly accepts the situation at hand. he opens up his arms and you immediately move into his embrace. "if you’re asking me for an opinion, you know i’m gonna tell you to chase your dreams…but damn i’m going to miss you lot... like incredibly." a sigh uncontrollably leaves his lips and he hides his face in the juncture of your neck to calm his racing heart.

he hugs you tight like he doesn’t want you to go and your heart wrenched at his sudden display of affection. “i’m gonna miss you just as much too.” you soothed him, carding your hands through his hair, matching your breathing with his.

“i’m already missing you.”

—————

it was tough, really tough, trying to cope without you around. wonwoo didn't think he'd be that lovesick fool, but alas, he was just someone who terribly missed their lover.

while you were overseas, he catches himself preparing two cups of tea, only to remember (rather sadly) that you weren't around. he puts on your favorite show, and sits on the right side of the couch because for some reason you preferred the left side. he buys your favorite snacks and tries them for the first time (it was too sweet for his liking): he sees why you like them so much and misses the way you would light up whenever he got them from the mart.

—————

"wonwoo!"

in that moment, it was as if time had stopped. realization hit him like a ton of bricks and he feels his entire self awaken. he immediately puts down the drink in his hand, body reacting faster than his mind did. wonwoo stands up from his seat, eyes scanning the semi-crowded café for you.

he couldn't care less about how multiple pair of eyes were staring at him in the café: you were finally here. the instant his gaze connects with yours, he breaks out into an uncontrollable smile. (a smile couldn't even capture the extend of excited he was to see you.)

heart pounding loudly, he greets you with barely open arms as you sprint to him full force, luggage bag rattling loudly behind you. A bright beam on your face and sparkling eyes

"i'm back!" wonwoo easily catches you with a short chuckle, instantly pulling you into his embrace.

he holds you just a little tighter, for just a little longer. hands coming behind you to cup your lower back and your neck, wonwoo draws you in impossibly close, tucking his head in the juncture of your neck. it felt as if it was a fever dream: you two were just calling despite the time difference the day before, and today you were right in front of him.

"i thought you were going to be there for one more week..." he mumbles into your hair, inhaling your scent. who could blame him for being sappy and misty eyed? he really did miss you.

you giggle in his hold, explaining, "well.. it was a surprise! i know how much you're dying to see me, so i made some arrangements and i'm really back for good this time round." you glanced up at him, eyes sparkling and he stares at you, re-memorizing your every feature, the ones that he dearly loved. leaning forwards, he presses a kiss square on your lips, earning him a surprised gasp from you.

"you've gotten a lot bolder since last time, kissing me in public like that jeon wonwoo..." you hid your blushing face in his firm chest and he laughed, insanely happy that you were back.

"i'm so glad you're here with me now."

@ppumeonae-bigvibe 's work ; likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

[drarry-reccage]

A Game of Horcruxes by @sleepstxtic with art by @fantalfart (119K, E)

Tags: Prince Draco, Master of Death Harry, Dementors, Social Commentary (it's @sleepstxtic, so of course), Heist, Found Family

Draco whips out his wand and points it at Harry, walking towards him. “Insolent, aren’t you?” Harry glares back at him, defiant, and Draco has never looked twice into the eyes of a Squib but his are strangely luminous, bright. Like the jewelled tones of the Slytherin banner. It sets him off-kilter. “I know you need me for something important,” Harry says. “So I’ll say what I want.” Draco waves away the spell that surrounds Harry’s neck and digs his wand into the juncture of Harry’s jaw and throat. “You don’t think I can find someone else in a heartbeat?" he whispers. “When there are so many of you to choose from?" He draws back just a little, smirking mockingly. "I don't blame you, really. All that time spent toiling without magic, I can’t imagine there's much else to do besides fucking like animals and breeding like–” “No,” Harry snaps, and then catches himself, surprised. He clears his throat uncertainly. “I don’t think” –he pauses as Draco grazes the tip of his wand against his neck, up, up, to the edge of his mouth– “that you can find someone else.”

(rec by @cailynwrites)

I could rave about @sleepstxtic for days, but this is truly a masterpiece. The way she weaves the two fandoms together and creates something fresh and new and surprising and wonderful out of it. She and @fantalfart went all out, fantasy-book style, with maps and absolutely stunning art. I can't say enough good things about it but I also don't want to spoil any of it.